They stopped at the pharmacy to fill the prescription for antiseizure meds, and then, soon enough, they were on their way back to Little Harbor, Eliza driving, Russell beside her, and Charlie stretched out in the backseat of Rob’s Audi, his eyes closed.
They rode for a long, long time in silence, and after a while Eliza said, “Thank you for coming with me, Russell,” and he said, “Of course,” and after that they were silent again and Eliza thought about how with strangers or casual acquaintances you always felt like you had to keep the conversation moving with useless chatter, but with someone you’d once known very, very well—even if that was a long time ago—you could just be quiet, and that was okay.
Back home, Eliza woke Charlie gently and with Russell’s help she got him upstairs and into his bed. He closed his eyes again almost immediately, and Russell and Eliza tiptoed down the stairs, and somehow it was only then that Eliza remembered to ask Russell what he’d been doing at Charlie’s house in the first place. Was he there to continue their recent argument?
“Oh,” said Russell. “That, yeah. Forgot all about it.” He looked uneasy.
“What?” said Eliza.
“Some of the guys were talking about maybe splitting up Charlie’s traps to haul them. But we need Marine Patrol to sign off on that, so I wanted to ask him.”
Maybe that was what made it seem more dire than anything had, and she felt her face crumple, and she said, “I’m scared, Russell. I’m really scared.”
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
Eliza didn’t mean to lean against him, but she had to lean against something, and he was there. He put his arms around her and that felt like a gift, to have someone to cry against. She cried, and she sniffled, and she gulped, and she stayed there longer than maybe was strictly appropriate because it felt so nice just to lean on someone, just to be held.
“I’m sorry,” she said, finally pulling away.
“That’s okay.”
“You look nice. You have a date?” She had been sort of joking, because she wasn’t sure who in Little Harbor would be available for Russell to date, but Russell nodded seriously and said, “Maybe.”
She sniffled and realized there was a wet spot on his shirt now. She said, “You do? A date? Who with?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled. “Nobody you know.”
She squinted at him. “Summer person?”
He shrugged.
“Not a local. Right?”
He shrugged again.
“Make sure you dry off your shirt first.”
“I will.”
“I hope it’s a summer person. I hope she’s stinking rich, and I hope you marry her and she pays to fix that reverse gear on your boat.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry about my reverse gear. I’ll worry about that.”
“Actually, if she’s stinking rich, you won’t have to haul anymore.”
“Right,” he snorted, and put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels and they stared at each other for a long moment and just like that the years passed between them and the electric jolts from earlier in the summer turned into something else, nostalgia, history; they crossed all of the lines, slid into the past. Then Russell cleared his throat and said, “Listen, I’ll come by tomorrow, talk to your dad then, okay? About the traps. If he’s feeling like it. You let me know.”
Eliza’s throat clotted with the words she could have said. She didn’t say, I’m sorry for all the things that happened. She didn’t say, I’m sorry for all the things that didn’t happen. She didn’t say, I’m sorry for the stupid things I said at the café. She didn’t even say, I’m sorry I cried on your shirt. This was because she was a native: she knew to show her emotions through actions instead of words, so she grasped Russell’s hand and she squeezed it and he squeezed back. And even though she knew she’d see him again it felt solid and right, like the perfect goodbye.
“I hope you have a nice date, Russell,” she said. “I mean it. And thank you, for today.”
“Anytime, Liza. You know that.” She held the door open for him and he gave a little wave after he went through it and then he sauntered off, taking a little bit of her heart with him. But not the most important part. And anyway, the heart is a renewable resource. Even people who didn’t go to medical school know that.
37
NAPLES, MAINE
Rob
Zoe and Evie did not want to drive up to Long Lake with Rob, but Christine Cabot had requested an in-person, on-site meeting, and Rob put his parental foot down, insisting that the girls go with him.
“We just got back from Maine!” they said. “We’ve been in the car so much!” They could stay alone, they said; they’d be nice to each other, they’d stay off their screens. They’d play board games! That usually got Eliza, the promise of playing board games. Eliza ate that stuff up. But Rob wanted the girls with him. The last time he’d left them alone for the whole day, the time he’d gone to look at the new floor tiles, he’d come home to find a dollop of peanut butter on the living room rug, popcorn kernels in the bathtub, and Zoe napping with the door to her room closed while Evie sat in a chair by the pool, getting lavishly sunburned and reading a young adult novel that very likely contained teenage sex. They were not to be trusted.
“We can stay with Deirdre!” Zoe said. “She won’t mind, I know she won’t.”
“Deirdre never minds,” inserted Evie unhelpfully.
“Nope,” said Rob, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve already decided. Let’s go, ladies.” He opened the car door. “If it helps, I can guarantee that there will be ice cream involved at some point during the day.”
———
In the category of pleasant surprises, the girls got along famously both on the car ride and once they arrived at Cabot Lodge, and, admittedly, Rob felt some stirrings of pride when he pulled up in front of the lot and was able to show them what he’d been working on all spring and summer. If he burst an ulcer before all was said and done, at least they’d have a visual of the cause.
When Rob introduced them to Mrs. Cabot they shook her hand solemnly and firmly and inserted pleases and thank yous in all the right places. His heart swelled: his daughters were doing their best for him. They were trying. And because they were trying, he didn’t complain when they began to walk around in the mud pit that a recent rainfall had been kind enough to create from the bare soil.
Ruggman was late—Ruggman was never late!—so while they were waiting Rob took a stab at polite conversation. He mentioned to Mrs. Cabot that her friend Nadine Edwards had contacted him and that he was going to send her some preliminary sketches in the next couple of weeks. They walked through the house and noted the progress made in the installation of the floor tiles. Mrs. Cabot told a funny story about her son, Jonathan Junior, and even though Rob knew Jonathan Junior was a complete cokehead and a liar and a thief he laughed agreeably.