“I’m not, no,” he replied.
“I imagine you’re here for this fancy wedding they’ve got running over there,” the man said. “Although I don’t want to presume anything.”
Everett chuckled inwardly. “You must have me pegged.”
“I figured. You look like a California man to me,” the man said. He swiped a gloved hand across his big, blonde beard and beamed at Everett. “You have people you’re meeting for Thanksgiving?”
“No. But I’m not much of a traditions guy,” Everett said. Even as he spoke the words, he thought, What does that mean? I love traditions. Why did I just say that?
“I guess that’s fair,” the man responded. At this point, Everett could sense that he struggled to maintain that smile. “And you’ll avoid that big sugar rush, I suppose.” He tapped his stomach and continued. “I myself have a mind to eat upwards of three slices of pie.”
Everett suddenly ached to dig into one of his mother’s classic apple pies. He could see her now: folding the dough over the cinnamon apples and humming to the radio.
“Here she comes,” the man said, gesturing out across the Sound as the ferry boat approached. He stepped away, almost hurriedly, as though any additional time spent with the likes of Everett might erode his soul.
Everett hustled into the belly of the ferry and ordered a hot cup of coffee on board. The coffee tasted burnt, but it warmed up his insides as he sat on the edge of the ferry’s indoor portion and blinked out across the waves. On instinct, he checked Instagram and found a photo of two of his closest friends out in Los Angeles, sipping cocktails beneath the sun.
Well, I’m an idiot.
When the ferry reached Oak Bluffs, Everett kicked his boots across the dock and checked his phone again for a taxi service or a rental car company. Against all the odds, the wind kicked up even more, whistling past his ears. The chill felt like needles across his skin.
Just down the road, a bright red sign advertised what looked like a hole-in-the-wall bar. He shot toward it and dove through the doorway like his life depended on it. As he blinked into the warm partial darkness, a radio fizzled above, playing a Christmas song. Normally, he grumbled that Christmas songs shouldn’t be played till after Thanksgiving. In this case, so far from home—and frozen to the bone—he thought, I’ll allow it.
Actually, it sounded pretty nice.
He ordered a whiskey from the bartender and sat at a stool toward the far end of the bar, where an antique pinup poster had a Santa hat taped over it, directly over the head. A television in the corner of the room played college basketball on low volume, and several people perched around it, gripping beers and talking in low tones.
The bartender pushed a glass of whiskey in front of him and told him he could pay later. Everett thanked him and shivered again, giving himself away.
“You really have to get a better coat,” the bartender said, tapping the side of his nose. “I don’t know if you’ll make it long in this world if you don’t. I’m not much for picking up frozen westerners off the side of the road, but I’ll do it if I have to.”
Everett gave him a dry laugh. Everyone really seemed to know he was from out west. He wondered if it was something about his clothes? His skin? He had a pretty stereotypical California glow. That must have been it.
At that moment, two women ambled into the bar, yanking off their hats and gloves and marching up to the bartender. They looked similar yet different: clearly sisters, both with glorious brunette hair that went down their backs, and beautiful features. One of them was quicker with a smile than the other, at least here with the bartender. The one that smiled said, “Hey there, Mike. Happy Thanksgiving!”
“If it isn’t the Sheridan sisters,” Mike, the bartender, greeted them. “You’re looking like snow bunnies.”
“Just trying to beat the cold. You think we could get two hot toddies?” the smiling Sheridan sister asked. “Christine and I are frozen and looking to drink away our sorrows.”
“If you’ve got sorrows, you know you’ve come to the right place,” Mike said.
Everett shifted in his stool, cursing himself for not ordering a hot toddy. It was perfect weather for it.
The Sheridan sisters sat just two stools away from Everett. The smiling one flipped her hair out and thrust her coat from her long limbs. The coat was too big for her, probably something that belonged to a boyfriend or a husband or something. The fact that it dwarfed her so much made it all the more adorable, Everett thought.
“Tommy keeps making me take this stupid coat out,” the woman said. “He says all my coats are for city slickers.”
Christine chuckled. “You really made a sucker out of that guy, didn’t you? All these years, he’s been alone, looking out for himself and himself alone, and now...”
“Ha. I know. He’s such a sweetie, too. He said he loved me in his sleep last night,” the other woman said.
“Lola!”
Ah! So the one always smiling was named Lola.
“I know. It’s a little ridiculous.” Lola sipped her hot toddy and hollered, “One of your best ever, Mike!” Then, she yanked around to Christine again and said, “Do you think Charlotte is going to lose it?”
“I think she already has. We’re just in the eye of the storm,” Christine offered.
“Do you regret telling her to do it? I don’t, really. I mean, it’s all chaos and it’s been fascinating to watch. But I have to admit that I thought it would pull her out of her depression and in reality...”
“I know.” The one named Christine looked as though she pondered this for a moment.
“And the fact that Zach changed the menu like that, so soon before the wedding itself,” Lola interjected.
Christine’s face darkened. “Don’t bring Zach into this. He has been killing himself for that menu.”
“Yeah, but that decision alone was
