“Welcome to the Cliff’s Head,” he said. “May I get you a table?”
I wanted to blurt out I was looking for Maya Scott, but from my experience of living in Brookmount, I knew how small communities worked. They protected their own. Being too direct might not get me what I needed. Besides, Maya could be in the back somewhere, or maybe her shift hadn’t started yet. Either way, she didn’t know my face. When she saw me, she’d have no reason to suspect I was anything other than a paying customer, a tourist traveling the coast.
“A table for one would be great,” I said.
“Of course. You chose a lovely day to stop by. I’m Patrick, by the way,” he said as he guided me over to a table for two by the window. “Let me get you some water and the menu.”
After he’d brought both, I wiped my hands on my pants, acutely aware of how clammy and damp my palms had become. I sipped my drink, staring out over the ocean, my stomach lurching as the images of another dream I’d had about Jack took over: his body limp, bloodied and bruised, tossed around in the waves like a rag doll, smashed and cut against the rocks. I moved farther back, away from the view.
When Patrick returned to take my order, I muttered something about being chilly next to the window, and then asked for the daily special. When he walked over with a sweet-smelling lobster quiche and a colorful side salad, the mere sight of them made my stomach growl. I hadn’t bothered eating much again and was glad I’d brought a belt with me to stop my pants from slipping.
“Are you visiting the area?” Patrick said as he put the plate down.
“Yes, I’ve never been to Maine before. Are you local?”
“Waterville, originally, but my boyfriend’s from here. It’s a great place—I love it.”
I wanted to keep our conversation going, but I didn’t seem able to string another sentence together. I was about to make a pathetic comment about the weather when a huge man with short red hair walked into the restaurant.
“Hey, Patrick,” he called over. “Maya in today?”
“Excuse me,” Patrick said, and as he walked to the entrance, I heard him say, “She’s got the day off.”
“Probably at Drift then,” the other man said, and Patrick gave a noncommittal shrug.
I wondered what Drift was, and quickly searched it up on my phone, finding a local store selling knickknacks made from driftwood, including mobiles and a number of impressive animal sculptures. I didn’t notice Patrick until he stood next to me, inquiring if I was enjoying the food. Replying it was delicious, I hoped he hadn’t noticed my screen, the sweat above my lip or how badly my fingers shook as I slid my phone back into my pocket.
16
MAYA
As I was about to head out to work in the garage in the morning, Ash practically bounded down the stairs, his face freshly shaved, the dark circles under his eyes almost gone. “What are you up to?” he said with a small yawn as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not at the restaurant today?”
“No, I’m covering for Barbara at Drift over lunch.”
Ash frowned. “Did you tell me that?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping my gaze even. “Last night.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s taking her grandson to the dentist, remember?”
“Right, right.” He let out a sigh. “Actually, no, I don’t remember you telling me.”
“I did... Look, maybe mention how you’re forgetting stuff like this to Dr. Adler today?”
He looked at me, and I could practically see his brain trying to make the connection as he narrowed his eyes, gave his head a small shake. “Hell’s bells, I’d almost forgotten about that. Did you say you’d take me or am I messing that up, too?”
“No, you’re right. It’s at two, so you can come to town with me and hang out at the store until your appointment.”
Ash sighed again. “Thanks. I’ve decided I’ll ask the doc about when he thinks I’ll be ready to find a job and go back to work, at least part-time or something.”
“Hold on,” I said, raising a hand. “I really think we should discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” he snapped. “Don’t baby me, Maya. I’ve got to get into a proper routine, have something to get up for in the morning, and if I need more checkups or whatever, I’ll need cash to pay for them. I’m not mooching off you forever, it’s not right.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ve got some savings.”
“They’re your savings,” he said. “And it makes me feel uncomfortable. I want to find work as soon as I can. Maybe get back to carpentry.”
“But you don’t remember being a carpenter.”
“What does that matter when I feel like one in here?” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m sure I can do it. Maybe it’s muscle memory or something. Whatever it is, I’m asking him about it.” He raised a hand when I opened my mouth. “Can you give me the password for your laptop so I can see what work might be available?”
“Dr. Soares said you should stay off screens. You have a concussion, and—”
“That’s enough, Maya,” he said, his voice sharp, a clear warning I should back off, and although I shut my mouth again he continued anyway. “You really need to stop trying to protect me from everything.”
“You know the old bathroom in the garage?” I said, deciding to change tack and waiting until he nodded. “A few weeks before Brad died, you two put in the plumbing for a shower.”
“In the garage?” he said, pulling a face, his frustration turning to curiosity. “Why would we do that?”
“Because there were three of us here and we couldn’t add another to the house. Anyway, the plumbing’s all there. Actually, before you left, we talked about finishing it. It makes sense, considering how much time I spend in there.”
His face softened. “That’s a good point. It’s practically your
