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“You know, we’ve been doing this for over thirty years,” Bernice said. “Every week, rain or shine.”
“Or blizzard,” Steph added.
“Shit! Remember ’96?”
“That was the year Erica put on her snowshoes and hoofed it over here.”
That brought on a round of cackles from the whole table.
Erica, who had been the first woman foreman at the mill, raised her glass. “It was a great workout. We’re Maine girls. A little snow won’t keep us from wine and gossip.”
I bused a few tables as I made my way back to the bar, watching them laugh with one another and wondering, not for the first time, whether things would have been different if my mom had had friends. If there had been anyone nearby to support her. But I put a stop to my musings quickly. It was a dangerous train of thought. She was gone. Dead the year I went off to college. And no amount of what-ifs would bring her back.
Nope. Best to put my head down and keep working, keep moving.
Just like I’d always done.
After last call, as patrons filtered out, I was stacking the final load of glasses in the dishwasher rack. Once the stragglers had left, I could mop up and leave.
Remy’s boots thudded on the hardwood as he approached. The music was turned down low, and the murmurs around the room were muted.
“More water?” I asked when he stepped up to the bar.
He shook his head.
“Always thought you were more of a beer guy.”
He winced, the action making my stomach sink. I knew better than to say something like that.
“It’s not good for me. Water’s good for me.”
I had heard the gossip, and I’d gotten bits of the truth from Dylan. Last fall, Remy had gone through a hard time after Crystal left him. He was skipping work and drinking too much and had caused some problems for the family business. I suspected there was a lot more to the story.
I had known Remy for almost three decades, and I had never seen him like this. Serious, quiet, and almost defeated. He was carrying some baggage. A concept I was all too familiar with. I gave my old friend a smile, wanting him to know I understood.
“It’s all good,” I said. “You know me. Don’t drink and never have.” It was a silly cliché, a bartender who didn’t drink. But being raised by an addict had scared me off any type of controlled substances for life.
Rag in hand, I wiped off the section of the bar in front of me. He gave me a nod of understanding.
Remy and his family had had the pleasure of front-row seats to the train wreck that was my mom. She loved us fiercely, but the disease took her from us, and we never got her back. Watching how it ate away at my mother, eroded every aspect of her personhood, convinced me early that the risks outweighed any kind of benefits. And I respected the hell out of Remy for making hard choices and putting his health first.
“Plus,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood, “alcohol is expensive and makes accomplishing things harder. I wouldn’t have graduated summa cum laude if I made a habit of coming to class hungover.”
He smiled. “You never disappoint. Always my favorite nerd.”
He gave me one of his flirty winks, and I hated myself for the way my heart rate sped up and how heat pooled low in my belly. It was like I was thirteen years old all over again and dreaming about him giving me my first kiss. But I had never, ever been on his radar. To him, I wasn’t a girl, or at least a possibility. Sadly, his nobility and loyalty to his friendships only made him more attractive.
He was known to most as the fun, carefree guy, but there was so much more beneath the surface. It was what had always attracted me to him. He felt deeply and thought deeply. He empathized with others, and he’d always treated everyone, even in high school, with kindness.
Sure, he was a tall, broad, muscular lumberjack with big hands and a sexy, scruffy beard, but under that disturbingly attractive exterior was a man with a massive heart. Which made the cavewoman part of my brain light up when Dylan had mentioned marriage.
Because a teeny tiny part of me would always be just a little in love with Remy Gagnon.
Chapter7
Remy
Hazel had always been… around. The little sister. Wearing her brother’s hand-me-downs and asking endless questions, she was a daily fixture during my childhood.
