“Right, and I started making another part of the garage into a proper storage room but didn’t have time to finish. You know the rough framing? I need to insulate it properly and add a subfloor and heat to keep the temperature stable so I can work on my pieces all year.”
“Want me to take a look?” Ash said, his eyes lighting up, exactly how I knew they would.
I smiled. Ash had always been the first one to offer assistance, never wanted to let anyone down. “Would you? I’ve thought about selling my stuff online for years, and I’m excited to make a proper website, but I need to be able to keep up with demand.”
“I’d love to help, and it’ll be great practice for when I get a job.”
I smiled tightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Sure, sure,” I said, stopping when my phone buzzed and I looked at the screen, immediately recognizing the number. My stomach tightened. I held up a finger to Ash in a give me a minute gesture before turning away and answering. “Hi, Barbara, is everything okay?”
“Barbara?” Dave laughed. “Okay, I’ll roll with it.”
I knew he would. Dave Decato was a chameleon of the highest order, capable of adapting to any situation he was thrown into. The fastest liar in Maine, he liked to say, probably the entire East Coast. I’d met him a few months after Brad died and I’d tried to cope with the loss by drinking too much and partying too hard. I’d gone out with some friends one night, ended up at a bar thanks to my fake ID. Everyone else admitted defeat and went home while I was intent on ending the night as drunk as possible. Enter Dave, who liked to pretend he was a NYC drug lord instead of the country bumblefuck he truly was. He’d bought me another drink and struck up a conversation before slipping me a little bag of weed, what he called a “teaser,” and writing his phone number on my arm in case I wanted access to a more regular supply. I had, and often, until Ash caught me smoking in my bedroom one night and had gone ape.
“It’s just weed,” I’d said. “Jeez, lighten up, grandpa, what’s your problem?”
I’d protested as he’d insisted I flush the rest down the toilet, and promise—cross my heart and hope to die—I’d never bring drugs into the house again. Although I’d crossed my fingers behind my back, too, I’d mostly kept my word. Even after Ash left Newdale and I was losing my mind, I only partook on the odd occasion when a joint happened to be going around after a shift at the Cliff’s Head. I tried Molly once and vowed I’d never do it again because I hated not being in control. It was why I never got drunk anymore. Most people developed a loose tongue when they had too much booze. God only knew I’d seen it often enough at work. But the clonazepam I’d got from Dealer Dave after Dr. Adler stopped prescribing me benzos helped me relax whenever I couldn’t deal with not knowing where Ash was. I’d done a good job slowly weaning myself off them, hadn’t called Dave in over six months, but with Ash home and my anxiety levels rising, I needed a refill, and Dave had been more than happy to oblige.
“Earth to Maya.” Dave’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “You high or what? I said I’ll be at the usual spot in ten. If you can’t make it, it’ll be next week.”
“I’ll be there.”
I hung up and walked to the kitchen, where Ash sat at the table with some paper and a pencil. As I got closer, I saw he’d sketched out the rough shape of the garage, and when he looked up, he smiled. “I’m working on your fancy-shmancy bathroom. Figuring out where the claw-foot tub and walk-in steam shower will go.”
I laughed. “My check might bounce, but by all means, you carry on. I have to run an errand. Won’t be long. Can you be ready to leave for Drift in about forty-five?”
“Uh-huh,” Ash replied, barely glancing up as he continued drawing.
See, I thought, I know what’s best for us. Of course I did. I always had.
When I got to the old Newdale cemetery, I parked the car. As usual, the place looked deserted and no other vehicles were in the lot. Nobody would ask, but if they did, it also had great walking trails for the less morbid, and I’d changed into my sneakers before leaving the house in case I needed a plausible excuse for being there. As I walked down the path to the spot where my exchanges with Dave always took place, the grave of a family called Snow—which he thought was “poetic destiny”—I noticed the woman coming toward me in the distance. Too late to turn back, she’d already seen me and was waving now, her red curls bouncing as she picked up the pace.
Ash had told me about his chat with Fiona outside Drift, and I was in no mood to speak to her. When she got talking, she barely knew when to stop.
“Hey,” Fiona said. “Sorry I haven’t been to see you. How are you and Ash?”
“We’re okay,” I said, hoping she’d leave it at that. When she raised an expectant eyebrow and smiled, I gave her as succinct an overview as possible about the last few days.
“I only just found out about Keenan causing trouble at your house,” she said. “He’s been on a hunting trip this past week.”
I let out a grunt. “That’s why he hasn’t been around. I’d hoped he’d come to his senses. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”
“Yeah, well, he told me about how he laid into Ash.” She rolled her eyes, pushed her hair out of her face. “Christ, my brother can be such a hotheaded dipshit, particularly when he’s been enjoying his beer. What a prick.”
“No argument there.”
“The
