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“Yeah?” Avery’s warm hand had reached Ethan’s shoulder, drawing small circles on top of his t-shirt, his touch nearly burning through the worn fabric.
“Yeah. I think it’s best if you check on it from time to time. You know, maybe in a few hours or so and then again tonight.” Ethan moaned when Avery pushed his thumb into his shoulder joint and started kneading it, a sign of silent agreement.
“Sounds good,” Avery hummed, his eyes shifting, taking on a darker color. “I may need to apply more balm, too. Give you a good rub over. There could be more bites hiding away.”
“Uh huh.” Slowly melting under Avery’s skillfully administered touch, Ethan could only consent to that. His limbs were slowly going mushy, and he reached out, grabbing Avery’s shoulder, while steadying himself. “More balm. Definitely. Good idea.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Matty – Then
“SHIT!” REACHING FORthe large cardboard box on the top shelf of the cabinet, something had hit him square on the forehead.What the fuck!Matty swiped his fingers against his right eyebrow, hissing as he felt moisture coating his fingers. It stung like hell, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of queasiness spreading in his stomach. He inspected his hand, fingers covered in bright-red blood.
He should’ve just used the small stepladder in the corner behind the basement door. Reminding him to do so had been the last words Millie had spoken before Matty had run down the squeaky stairs to the basement. Why the fuck didn’t he just use the ladder?
Stupid, useless piece of shit.His father’s go-to sentence whenever Matty fucked up or just uttered a word—which was too often if you asked Eden’s Chief of Police. The words instantly went on repeat in his mind along with a ringing sound in his ears.If I want any shit outta you, ya sonofabitch, I’ll squeeze your head, ya hear me, boy?Matty could almost feel the spiteful spittle land on his cheek and smell his father’s nauseating aftershave, making his stomach churn as his body remembered. Yes, his body remembered everything, like codes printed into a memory card. Matty was programmed to be alert. To be always on guard. One moment of putting his protective shield down and there would be a price to pay. He wasluckyif his father charged at him with a random, hateful slur instead of a broken bone.
When Matty had arrived in Saco, he’d gone to a drugstore first thing because the trip on the Greyhound had given him a persistent headache. As soon as he’d walked past the personal hygiene section, he’d recognized the heavy, suffocating smell of Old Spice and he’d almost lost his breakfast in the middle of the aisle. He’d turned on his heel and made a quick escape, headache be damned.
He looked at the concrete basement floor, the cardboard box on its side, broken shards of multi-colored glass spilling out of the opening and covering the floor.Fuck.Why couldn’t he just get one thing right in his miserable excuse for a life? He was just supposed to get Millie the box of dessert bowls for her rhubarb trifle and now he’d fucked up again.
One month. Matty had lived with Will and Millie for just one month and he’d already screwed up epically. One month experiencing what it was like being part of a real family for the first time in his life aside from the sleepovers at Ethan’s house. A measly thirty days of “will you pass me the potatoes, hon?” and “see you in the morning, son.” Thirty days of lying in the small bed in the interim guestroom in the attic listening to the muffled voices coming from the downstairs living room. Cheerful chuckles and whispers of fondness accompanied by Willie Nelson’s melancholic voice. By now, Matty knew the song by heart. An ever-present soundtrack in the kitchen when he would do the dishes with Millie.In the twilight glow I see, blue eyes crying in the rain…
When the wind picked up some nights, the walls of the old cottage would creak and whine, the white-washed shutters on the front of the house hitting the shingles with a soft thud repetitively. Matty would lie awake listening to the wind as it swept across the dunes surrounding the small house.Western red cedar shingles.That’s what Will had told him when he’d asked about the almost black and blotchy surface of the small fisherman’s cottage.
“My grandfather built it with his own hands. Hard to believe, but the cedar was red when it was built in 1915. The climate here takes a toll, though. And it don’t discriminate, son. Peopleandhouses. Everything gets a withered look over time if you just stick around long enough. You’ll see.”
Matty had looked at Will’s kind, weather-beaten face and then back to the outside wall of the house. Yeah, he could see what the older man meant. Matty had secretly jubilated over Will’s implied notion that he would indeed stick around in Grant’s Harbor. That someone wanted him to stick around. No one at his house had ever asked him to stick around—more likeget lostorpiss off.He wanted that, too. To stay. More than anything—that and to be reunited with Ethan.
“Not like those new tourist cabins they’re building up the coast. White cedar. Sure does look pretty and fancy. But white cedar ain’t as tough as it’s cousin.” Will had knocked on the hard surface of a shingle, a solid sound escaping it. “Nope, pretty and solid doesn’t always go hand in hand. Not like my Millie. I got lucky that one time, Matty.” Will had gotten a faraway look in his gray eyes. “She was a nurse when I met her in Biddeford. I was up for the day to get an x-ray of my wrist. It’d been bugging me for some time, kid.” Will had twisted his left wrist around in a circular movement. “And there she was, all bright eyed and pretty, in her white nurse uniform. Never really understood what she saw in a brute like me, but that’s a story for another day.”
That’d been a good day. A great day, even. Yeah, Matty’s father was right. Matty was a screw-up. Well, it’d been good while it lasted, right? Great, if he was being honest with himself. It was weird at first. Being around Millie at the house and working alongside Will at the docks sorting the lobsters or cleaning the deck. It took some getting used to, alright. Being acknowledged and praised instead of ignored or yelled at. It was always one or the other at the Craig house.
“This is Matty. He’s staying with me and the missus for a while,” Will would introduce him to the other lobstermen at the harbor, while he placed his large hand on Matty’s shoulder, giving him a fond shake. “Don’t know what we’d do without him, to be honest. A real God send, this one.”
The other fishermen would nod in agreement, looking at the broken trap that Matty was fixing with some wire. He still lacked the same level of skill that Will had, but what he lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm.
“Looks good, Will,” the younger guy, Austin, would nod in recognition at him while addressing Will. Austin went out on the ocean every day with his father, Ray O’Neil. Matty often ran into Austin at the docks, but he was yet to talk to him aside from a briefhior a shy nod in passing.
“Yeah, he’s getting a hang of things, alright,” Will would smile, ruffling Matty’s hair which had taken on a permanent state of unruliness since he’d arrived in Grant’s Harbor. There was a lilt of devotion in the older man’s voice, pride even, if Matty was being honest.
“Matty, hon, are you alright?” Millie’s concerned voice rung down the stairs and pulled him out of his cocoon.
“Shit,” Matty mumbled, looking at the mess he’d made. He bent to pick up the box, more shards of colorful glass spilling out onto the floor, catching the outside light shining through the basement window.
“I’ll be right up,” he yelled back. Looking around in the basement, his eyes landed on a broom leaning against the stone wall. He meticulously began sweeping up the bits of colored glass that he could just make out through the veil of tears in his eyes. He jumped when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, hon, are you alright?” Millie looked curiously at the pile of glass shards and then at the cut on his eyebrow.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Matty blurted, dropping the broom from his hand, wiping at the tears lining his cheeks. “I’ll pay you back. I swear to God, I’ll pay you back, Millie.”
“Shush, now, sweetie. Let me look at that cut.” She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs and into the kitchen where the smell of sweet and tart rhubarbs hit his nostrils. Will looked up from his spot at the small, wooden table where he was prowling through the Sunday paper, a worried frown building between his bushy, gray brows.
“Hon, will you get the first aid kit in the bathroom?” Millie spoke to her husband over her shoulder as she turned Matty’s head towards the mid-afternoon light slipping through the thin linen curtains partially covering the kitchen window. Carefully prodding at the puffy skin around the wound, she scrunched her pointy nose. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, sweetheart. It nearly stopped bleeding.”
Returning to the kitchen, a look in his eyes which Matty couldn’t decipher, Will handed his wife the small first aid kit. Then he disappeared down the stairs, his large feet thumping on the whining steps. Swiping at the cut carefully, Millie looked at Matty’s trembling lower lip.
“Now, how many times have I told that stubborn, old fool to move that box onto a lower shelf. Do you think he’ll listen? That giant thinks everyone is just as tall as him. Nah. Just a matter of time before it fell…”
