Now or Never Page 3

  “Sorry,” he says and moves into a row so I can pass. I start to walk by when he follows me with his eyes and says, “Hey! You look familiar. Have we met?”

  Seriously? I mean we haven’t seen each other in fourteen years, but still. I recognized him immediately even though he’s a few inches taller and has a beard and a whole bunch of things he didn’t have when he was sixteen, like an imposing frame and biceps as big as my head. I keep looking straight ahead, down the aisle in front of me and not at him. “Nope.”

  I keep walking, settling in the window seat in the second to last row. I glance up and see he’s tucked himself into a row of seats, but he’s standing and facing backward, looking right at me. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him like I did the first time he was mean to me…when I was ten. Our relationship only sunk lower after that, hence the broken nose. I move my eyes deliberately away from him and focus on digging my phone out of my purse.

  Ty has left four text messages, each angrier than the next.

  Ty: Winnie we can’t work this out if you don’t come home. Eleven years of our life is worth some effort and you know it. Meet me at the gate.

  Ty: Winnie, why are you doing this? If you were going to break up with me you should have done it years ago, when I made the mistake. And it was a mistake!

  Ty: You are being selfish and stupid. Grow up Winnie and get your ass to the gate now.

  Ty: If you don’t get on this plane and come back to Toronto with me, it is over. For good. And I will hate you for doing it this way.

  I look at the time on my phone. Our plane leaves in ten minutes. He’s probably already on board. I sent a quick text back.

  Winnie: I’m sorry for everything.

  I’ve never meant four words more in my life. He cheated. He is responsible for that, but I was the one too weak or too stupid—or maybe both—to end it when I found out. Instead, I promised to forgive him, and then I never did. I couldn’t. That’s my fault.

  I could go back to Toronto. I could move in with him, like I planned, at least for the first few months. I could start teaching again at my old school, first as a substitute and then hopefully back to full-time. I could pick up my old life almost exactly where it left off. But I can’t forgive him. I know that now. Maybe I always knew it. I don’t know. But since my dad died, my tolerance for pretending, for forcing myself to endure situations and feelings that I don’t want to endure is gone. I just can’t lie to myself anymore. Life’s too short.

  Ty and I are over.

  I’m all alone.

  I glance up again. The bus driver is dropping into his seat and yet Holden is still staring at me. I glare at him, then turn to look out the window.

  I spend the entire ride with my iTunes cranked in my ears and my eyes glued to the scenery out the window. The closer I get to the cottage, the better I feel. This is irresponsible, irrational and selfish, but it’s right.

  When we pull into the depot, the sun is low in the sky and dusk is setting in. I wait until everyone else is off the bus, count to fifty and then grab my purse and make my way off. I want to make sure Holden has had enough time to get his bag, if he has one, and get the hell out of here. The bus driver has unloaded everything and my suitcase is on the curb. An older lady is walking toward the parking lot with her own bag and everyone else seems to have left. Good. I pull up the handle on my bag and begin to walk away.

  There are a couple cabs idling by the curb, but it’s just a fifteen-minute walk down Main Street and I need to stretch my legs. The summer season is officially over, so the usually crowded sidewalks are empty…except for Holden freaking Hendricks. He’s about half a block in front of me, walking in the same direction. Why is he walking? What is he even doing in Maine? I thought he moved away or ran away or was in jail or something. There were a lot of rumors when he disappeared at sixteen, but I didn’t know which one to believe. If I had to bet, it would be on the jail rumor because he was always in trouble.

  I make sure my pace is slower than his, so I stay half a block back and watch him carefully. He looks relaxed and not quite as…aggressive as he used to be. I know it’s weird to think that someone looks aggressive, but when he was a kid everything about him oozed bad energy. From the way he walked to the tone in his voice—sharp, tight, ominous—he was just not a good guy. I mean, I never felt like he would hurt me physically, but he used to tease me mercilessly. Of course he teased just about everyone, but I am…was sensitive and took it to heart.

  I’m almost at my street. In a few seconds I can turn left and leave him to wherever the hell he’s going and never seen him again. There’s a truck heading west toward us and it slows and finally pulls over, into oncoming traffic, to stop in front of Holden. He jerks up abruptly at the sight of the vehicle blocking his way, shoulders back, chin out, fists clenched. Yeah, there’s the aggressive guy I knew and hated.

  A head pops out the window. I’d know that greasy face anywhere. It’s Stephen Kidd. He’s a local guy and was one of Holden’s best buddies back in the day. I guess he still is. Unlike Holden though, Kidd as they call him, is someone I was scared of back in the day.

  Kidd waves at Holden. “Hey, buddy! What the fuck happened to your truck? I thought it was new?”

  “It is,” I hear Holden respond. “Long story.”

  Kidd makes a face, like he wants to hear this long story, but he doesn’t ask Holden anything more. He just says. “Get in. I’ll drive ya home.”

  Holden doesn’t move right away. His hesitation piques my interest and causes me to slow almost to a stop. Kidd and Holden were like brothers when we were teenagers. Holden’s reaction now makes me think something might have happened to change that. But then Holden shrugs and starts around the side of the truck.

  That’s when Kidd notices me. His dark beady eyes lock with mine and I look away and start walking again, quickly. I want to get out of his line of sight because the look on his face was one of recognition, and I don’t want him telling Holden who I am and then the two of them attempting a conversation with me. But I’m not that lucky.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Kidd crane his skinny neck farther out the open window. “Hey! You’re a Braddock chick aren’t you?”

  I think about ignoring him and just walking faster but the idiot will probably follow me with the truck. So I stop momentarily and look up again. Now Holden, who has climbed into the passenger seat, is leaning forward to look at me too. I stare back at him for a second and I can practically see his brain working, trying to grasp the reality that he does in fact know me. I turn my gaze back to Kidd. “Yep.”

  I start to walk again. But Kidd yells out. “Which one are you again? You all always looked like triplets to me.”

  I glance up again, my feet still moving, my suitcase wheels squeaking as they frantically turn. I zoom right in on Holden’s silvery gaze. “Larry.”

  I turn on the first cross street. Not my street, but I don’t give a shit. I just want away from the two town goons. I can hear Kidd let out a hoot of laughter and Holden tell him to shut the fuck up, but I don’t turn around and a second later I hear his tires screech as Kidd drives off. I’m so fucking glad they aren’t going to pretend we’re long-lost friends.

  Holden decided, when I was thirteen and awkwardly tall for my age, battling bad acne and very frizzy hair I hadn’t learned to tame yet, that my sisters and I were the Three Stooges. Dixie was Curly, Sadie was Moe and I was Larry. He referred to us by those names anytime we ran into him in town. I didn’t even really know who the Three Stooges were, but I asked my dad and from the way he explained them, I knew it wasn’t a compliment.

  God, I think as I finally reach our family cottage, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea if those two are going to be hanging around town. Ocean Pines is small and like Cat already mentioned there aren’t a lot of people here in the off-season. Moving back to Toronto and forcing myself to make it work with Ty might be easier than running into those two jackasses every time I leave the cottag
e. Then again, I’m probably not leaving the cottage much anyway. I unlock the door and flip on the lights on the porch. I look right out at the dunes at the end of the block that border the seven-mile beach. The sun is almost completely gone, but it’s painted the clouds a lovely pink color. I open the door into the main part of the house, and leaving my suitcase and purse on the porch, I head into the house and straight for the wine rack. I grab a bottle of merlot, turn around and head outside again.

  I walk to the beach, drop down in the dunes and open the wine. Drinking straight from the bottle, I watch the waves crash against the shore, take a deep breath of cool salty air, and wonder what the hell I am going to do now.

  3

  Holden

  I wake up to the manager of the campground pounding on my door. Hard. I flip over and open my eyes, slowly, painfully. I blink until I can read the alarm clock on my night table. It’s only seven in the morning. Jesus. What the hell is his problem?

  “Hendricks! Time to move this hunk of junk!”

  “It’s fucking early, Jaime!” I bark back, lifting my head to direct my angry yell toward the door but not bothering to get out of bed. “Checkout time is noon!”

  “Not on the last day of the season, Hendricks! It’s eight a.m.”

  Is he fucking kidding me? Who the hell does anything at eight in the freaking morning? I groan but give in and throw back the covers, then grab my pants off the floor and tug them on, swearing the entire time.

  I walk through the ancient Airstream trailer to the front door and swing it open. He frowns at the sight of me in nothing but my jeans, like I’m somehow offending his sixty-year-old senses. Fact is, I could be dressed in tux and tails and this guy would still look down his nose at me because he just doesn’t like me. Because he remembers when I was a kid and my dad used to run this place. Back then he was just the maintenance guy.

  “You have to go,” he says firmly.

  I give him a smile. “Sure thing, Mr. Moutis.”

  Calling him “mister” always takes his disdain down a notch. It’s the sign of respect I should have shown him when I was running around this place as a kid. But back then I called him Marsh-Breath Moutis. To his face. Because I was an asshole.

  He looks at his watch and back at me. “Twenty minutes.”

  I nod. “Yes, sir. Just gotta call someone to tow me out.”

  “Where’s your truck?”

  “I lent it to someone who needed it more than I do.”

  His watery eyes sweep from one end of my Airstream to the other and lands back on me. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

  He shakes his head disapprovingly and stalks off, back toward his office, which is also a trailer. I watch him go, squinting against the offensive way-too-early morning light and sigh. Fuck. This feels like yet another sign that you can’t come home again…and maybe I was an idiot for trying. Maybe I really burned all my bridges here and there is no way to rebuild them.

  I sigh and head back into my trailer to find a shirt. As I dress, wash my face and tidy up as quickly as possible, I rack my brain to figure out who I can ask to tow my trailer besides Kidd, but I come up empty. I’ve been living in Ocean Pines for three months and have miraculously managed to avoid him, and all my other previous partners in crime. And I mean partners in crime. I don’t blame these guys for the fact that I ended up in juvenile detention for two years. That was all on me. But they certainly didn’t help me make good choices.

  Since I’ve been avoiding the people from my past and working my ass off all summer long, I haven’t met new people. I’m stuck. I grab my phone off the tiny counter by the sink and dial the number Kidd insisted I take when he drove me home yesterday. He picks up on the fifth ring and sounds like a bear being woken from hibernation.

  “Who the fuck is this?” he growls.

  “Hey, Kidd. I am so sorry to wake you up,” I tell him. “It’s Holden. I have a bit of an emergency.”

  “Oh. Hey, Hendricks,” he yawns. “Dude it’s like predawn or something.”

  “Yeah,” I don’t correct him. “But you said you were looking for work and I have an emergency job. Just a one-time thing, but if you help me I’ll give ya fifty bucks.”

  I’m really hoping that’s enough to lure him out of bed because I don’t have much more to give him. All the money I’ve saved this summer living in this dump and working construction I invested in my new business. And it’s paying off because I booked my first big job—which starts tomorrow—but this, having to rely on Kidd, is a price I have to pay.

  “Anything before noon requires a seventy-five buck fee, doesn’t it?” Kidd replies.

  “Sure. Seventy-five,” I agree through gritted teeth because I have zero options. “And it’ll take you only about twenty minutes and then you can go back to bed.”

  “Okay. What do you need?”

  “I need you to haul my trailer,” I explain, leaning against the counter. “Just like a mile or so. The park is closing for the season. I lent my truck to my sister who was stuck in Boston and took the bus back so I can’t haul it myself.”

  “Okay,” he says easily. “Where to?”

  “I’m staying in the driveway of a job I’m doing over the next few months,” I explain. “The Braddock cottage.”

  “Seriously?” Kidd questions and lets out a raspy chuckle. “You’re staying at Larry’s place? She hired you? She sure as hell didn’t look like someone who would hire you yesterday. She looked like someone who would kill you. Bare-handed. And with a smile on her face.”

  “Yeah, she didn’t hire me,” I explain and scratch my beard. “Jude did. I guess she’s not happy with it. Anyway, I doubt she’s going to be in the place very long. Jude said the house would be empty all off-season so she’s probably leaving any day now.”

  “Okay, whatever,” Kidd replies. “I’m getting up now and I’ll be there in like an hour.”

  “Make it twenty minutes and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks,” I counter.

  “See you in twenty.”

  I end the call with Kidd. I want to call Jude and double-check that it’s still okay to park my trailer, and my life, in his driveway while I do the job, but it’s just after four in the morning in San Francisco so I can’t. So instead, I put my phone down and head into the bathroom for a quick shower before I secure the trailer contents for the move.

  Kidd shows up forty minutes later, which is not as late as I expected him to be, and gives Mr. Moutis an exaggerated friendly wave as he pulls in. I try not to crack a grin at that. He swings his truck around so he’s in front of the trailer near the hitch. I pull in the awning as he gets out of his truck and walks over to me. “This is really where you’re going to live from now on?”

  “It’s where I’ve been living,” I say. “And where I’ll continue to live for the next few months. I’ll probably move back into a house or apartment or something by Christmas.”

  “You better,” Kidd advises. “This thing is not going to keep you warm in a nor’easter.”

  Right. The infamous New England snowstorms. I nod and secure the awning to the side of the trailer. “I wasn’t planning on staying in it through the winter.”

  “I’m on the verge of getting kicked out of my place,” Kidd explains to me. “My girlfriend has turned into a total tight-ass since we had a kid.”

  I turn to him in surprise. “You have a kid?”

  He nods, but he’s frowning as he walks over to the truck again. “Yeah.”

  “Congrats,” I say, but it sounds hollow because clearly he’s not happy about it.

  “Thanks,” he pauses before climbing in the truck again. “He’s a cool little dude. We named him Buck. But like, now my girlfriend does nothing but bitch about how I need to make more money.”

  “Well you’re about to make seventy-five bucks,” I say as he climbs in the truck. “That’s something.”

  “You said a hundred,” Kidd corrects.

  “If you got here in twenty but you got here in forty,”
I remind him and he swears but doesn’t argue. He starts the truck and sticks his head out the open window as he backs up, watching me as I guide him toward the hitch with hand signals.

  “What about you?” Kidd calls back to me. “Kids? Wife?”

  I point at the trailer. “Yeah. I’ve got a family of five in there.”

  “Still as sarcastic as ever,” Kidd jokes.

  A minute later, he’s in the perfect position and I hook up the trailer, then walk around and get in the passenger seat. He starts to drive forward I stick my head out the window and wave at Mr. Moutis who is scowling, glad to see me gone. I’ve known him for twenty of my thirty years on this planet and he’s hated me for every single moment of them. “Thanks for a great season, sir.”

  He twists his face up like he just passed gas or something and turns and heads into his office. Kidd laughs. “He still hates you.”

  “He’s not the only one,” I mutter.

  “Well the boys don’t hate you,” Kidd explains. “Although they’re a little pissed that you’ve been in town this whole summer and haven’t hung out with us once.”

  “You told the guys I’m back?”

  He nods, his greasy brown hair falling into his eyes so he pushes it back. “Yeah. Went out for beers with a couple of them last night. Kyle, Donovan and Ken’s brother Pete. Ken is in jail.”

  “Ken’s in jail?” I repeat, shocked. Ken and his brother Pete were some of my closest friends when I was a teenager.

  “Yeah,” Kidd shrugs. “He was borrowing money from his work. And product.”

  “Where did he work?”

  “Same place I do. Super Shop and Slop,” Kidd replies and scowls. “Fucking place pays shit and I’ve been part-time for a year even though they promised me full-time.”

  Super Shop and Slop was the nickname we used to give the grocery store that was actually called Super Shop and Save. We used to shoplift from their alcohol section all the time. The owner caught Kidd shoplifting a few times but never called the cops. Still, I’m surprised he’d hire him at all after that. I guess maybe Kidd has changed at least a little. Clearly, Ken hasn’t.