“Please,” Hugo said, gesturing for me to sit down. I shuffled into the same side as Sebastian, since Hugo’s long limbs could probably use the extra room.
A white-haired woman in a faded chambray shirt and decades-old jeans arrived at our table, plastic menus tucked under her arm. Hints of an elaborate tattoo curled up from beneath her collar, distorted by neck wrinkles.
“Haven’t seen your face in a while, darlin’,” she said to Hugo, her hoarseness likely the mark of a lifelong love affair with nicotine.
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Hey, Roma—yeah, sorry, it’s been a busy few weeks. I’ve been out of town for most of them.”
“Lured by the big city, huh? Well, the important thing is that you’re here now.” Roma turned to the opposite side of the booth. “And you’ve brought some visitors, I see.”
“Sure have—Roma, meet Clover and Sebastian.”
I liked how he introduced us as if we were old friends.
“Welcome to the Curious Whaler,” Roma said, forming an opinion of us she was unlikely to share. Instead, she transcribed our orders without fanfare, tucked the pen into her messy bun, then strode back through the swinging doors of the kitchen with the assured swagger of a big-hatted sheriff.
“So, you guys drove all the way from New York today?” As Hugo leaned forward, his fingers laced together on the table, I couldn’t help studying his hands. Large, but somehow graceful despite the smattering of scars.
“Yep, we got an early start,” Sebastian said proudly, as if a seven-hour drive was an especially impressive feat.
“Yeah, I prefer to try to do it in a straight shot too,” Hugo said. “Get up before sunrise and beat as much of the traffic as possible.”
Now I was intrigued. “Do you go to New York often?”
Hugo rested his long arm along the back of the banquette. “I have been lately—I’m a landscape architect and I’ve been consulting on a few projects for the city councils down there.”
“That’s a pretty long commute,” Sebastian said.
“You’re not wrong. If I were smarter, I’d think about getting a place down there.” Hugo gestured to the view of the tempestuous bay out the window. “But I can’t seem to tear myself away from my sea-dog roots. Just like my grandfather.”
I dared myself to make eye contact with Hugo, unsure why it made me so nervous. It could’ve had something to do with Sebastian’s thigh pressed against mine. I pushed my nerves away to focus on the reason we were there.
“So if your grandfather moved to the States for Claudia, why didn’t he ever tell her? And how did he end up in Maine?”
“You know, I’m not exactly sure,” Hugo said, apologetically. “He didn’t give me too many details except to say that his biggest regret in life was letting her go.”
The revelation almost made me giddy. We’d done the right thing coming here after all.
Hugo thought for a moment. “It does explain why my grandparents never really seemed that affectionate—more like good friends,” he said. “I always just figured that was normal for their generation.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “I definitely wouldn’t call my grandparents’ marriage the happiest. My grandfather was kind of an asshole. I think my grandmother has actually been happier in the ten years since he died.”
Roma arrived balancing a tray of drinks, winking at Hugo as she slid a beer, a neat bourbon, and a club soda with bitters onto the table.
Hugo raised his club soda. “Cheers.”
As we clinked glasses, Sebastian nodded at Hugo’s drink. “On a health kick?”
“Not quite,” Hugo said, good-naturedly. “I gave up drinking a few years ago. I just don’t like who I become when I drink alcohol, you know? Turns out I’m much happier without it, anyway.” His relaxed self-awareness was disarming—and made me rethink my bourbon.
“Right. Good for you,” Sebastian said quickly.
We all sipped in silence.
“So, it’s great that you guys came up here looking for my grandfather,” Hugo said, “but what did you hope would come of it? Did your grandmother ask you to find him?”
“No.” Sebastian looked at me. “She doesn’t know we’re here.”
“We didn’t want to disappoint her if we couldn’t find him,” I said quickly in defense. “But we thought that if we did, maybe we could give her some kind of resolution before she died by being able to tell him that she always regretted not marrying him. Apparently they spent time together in Corsica.”
“Ah,” Hugo said. “That’d explain why he asked to have his ashes scattered there. I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t been able to make the trip yet.”
“Claudia requested the same thing.” It hurt to imagine an unfulfilled love that had endured more than half a century—loving somebody so deeply that simply being near them was your dying wish.
“You said your grandfather only passed away two months ago?” Sebastian asked Hugo. “We were so close. I wish we’d found out about this sooner.”
“It really is a shame,” Hugo said. “I’m guessing she doesn’t have long left?”
Sebastian looked forlornly into his pint glass. “A few weeks at best, they say.”
“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” Hugo said. “I know how much it sucks to lose somebody you love.”
“Well, I’m kind of lucky,” Sebastian said, tracing the top of his glass with his thumb. “Apart from my grandfather, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with losing a family member.” He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping again. “Any chance it gets easier the more you have to do it?”
Hugo looked pained. “I wish I could tell you that’s true, but my mother died fifteen years ago and it still hurts.” He watched a loose tarp writhe against the storm outside. “The truth is, grief never really goes away. Someone told me once that it’s like a bag that you always carry—it starts out as a large suitcase, and as the years go by, it might reduce to the size of a purse, but you carry it forever. I know it probably sounds clichéd, but it helped me realize that I didn’t need to ever get over it completely.”
It almost felt like Hugo had reached over and hugged me. For a moment, my grief felt a little less solitary.
Sebastian turned to me. “What do you think? You see people die all the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s my job.”
Hugo’s eyes widened. “Your job is to watch people die?”
“Not exactly,” I said, uncomfortable with the sudden focus on me. “But I do see a lot of people die as part of it.”
“She’s a death doula,” Sebastian said, a little too dramatically.
“Oh, wow, that’s cool,” Hugo said, face lighting up. “I read an article about that the other day. It’s a pretty new profession, right?”
Relieved that I didn’t have to go into detail, I also felt an inkling of pride. “The term ‘death doula’ is, but people have been performing the role for thousands of years in one way or another. Priests, nuns, hospice workers, doctors. And even now it’s kind of vague—everyone has their own interpretation of what it means.”
“Interesting.” Hugo sipped his drink without breaking eye contact. “And what does it mean for you?”
I searched for skepticism or judgment in his face but all I found was gentle curiosity.
“I guess it means helping someone die with dignity and peace.” My palms felt clammy around my bourbon. “Sometimes it’s just about them not being alone or helping them get their affairs in order before they go. Other times it’s about helping them reflect back on their lives and work through any unresolved issues.”
“Like tracking down a long-lost French sailor to tell him that he was her one true love?” Hugo’s kind smile countered his teasing tone.
I managed a shy smile back. “Occasionally, that.”
“What a beautiful thing, to help someone die with dignity,” Hugo said. “It reminds me of that Leonardo da Vinci quote, what is it again? Something like, ‘While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.’ I bet you’ve learned some pretty great lessons from it all.”
Sebastian coughed and stared hard into his beer.
My face glowed pink.