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He couldn’t wait to tell me all about baby number two, but of course, being the narcissistic prick he was, he’d made a big show of it, taking me out to lunch so we could have a “man-to-man chat.”
He loved playing the good-guy role, when if reality he was anything but.
Fucking asshole.
My legs started to burn as I reached the ferry terminal. It was mid-October, so the parking lot was fairly empty. Not many tourists visited this time of the year, and it was a much-needed break for the locals—even if it meant a solid dip in income for many of the business owners.
As always, I tried to avoid the massive sculpture that loomed over the water. The one that had been installed years earlier to memorialize the thirteen lives lost out on sea.
But clearly, I was a glutton for punishment today because as much as I tried to look away, I found myself doing the exact opposite.
It wasn’t uncommon to find a small crowd gathered during high season. The man who had sculpted it, a mainlander turned local, had garnered quite a following, and people always wanted to check out the memorial created by Ocracoke’s blind carver.
This usually suited me just fine on a run because it meant I could turn my attention away from the crowd and focus on the road instead.
But today, there were no tourists.
There was no crowd of fans, adoring Aiden Fisher’s work.
There was just one.
I nearly stumbled over my feet when I saw her. She must have heard the commotion, too, because she turned her head at the sound, her eyes recognizing me instantly.
The elderly woman held her hand up in the air in my direction. It was a greeting, but it held no enthusiasm. As if the simple gesture had taken a monumental amount of effort.
Just keep running, Macon.
I could just wave back, turn my sights back on the road, and never look back.
I mentally groaned, slowing my pace as I turned off the road and steadied my breath. I’d been running for miles, and it showed, but Mrs. Crewes didn’t seem to notice.
“Afternoon, Macon,” she said, giving a polite nod in my direction. “Nice weather for a run, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, ma’am,” I answered, noticing the fresh flowers at the base of the monument. My stomach churned when I saw the names etched into the stone.
“Today would have been Wade’s eighty-first birthday,” she said, gesturing toward the flowers. “He wasn’t much into celebrating, but I always liked to make a cake. I started bringing flowers round here a few years ago after they put the memorial up, but it’s not the same, you know?”
I merely nodded, although I had no idea why.
I didn’t have a dead spouse, so, no, I didn’t know.
Not even a little.
“The kids say I should make a cake anyway even though he’s not here to enjoy it. Seems like a mighty waste of food, but they keep telling me it’s important to remember all the happy days and not just the bad.”
Realizing I hadn’t said anything in a while, I opened my mouth to respond, but she beat me to it.
“Guess I’d better be going. You take care, Macon, and enjoy the rest of that run now.”
I watched the old woman walk away, her bright floral dress swaying in the ocean breeze. She got into a late model sedan, the only car occupying the parking lot, and slowly drove off. I took a deep breath, looking down at those thirteen names.
I didn’t need to look at them to know who they were.
They’d been etched in my memory since the day it had happened.
Since the moment I’d realized…
I was the reason they’d died.
