It was almost evening by the time she reached the city and dropped off the car. She walked into her apartment, set down her bag in the empty foyer, and realized, not for the first time, how much she hated living there. And, too, how easy it would be to forget that, to once again be habituated into the familiarities of her life, accustomed to her misery. She called in sick the next three days and wandered her hallways, staring at the walls and out the window and in the mirror. She drank too much and got high and checked Jack’s social media channels a dozen times a day and felt shame about it and reprimanded herself for being a stalker and then kept doing it anyway. She didn’t know what she was looking for there.
The following week an offer came in on Nana’s house for higher than what she’d asked. Blue took it off the market instead and turned in her two weeks’ notice.
In September she packed up her stuff and left the city behind.
Early fall settled over Montauk, blowing in waves the color of dolphins and winds like chilled glass. Blue turned the corner onto Nana’s street, now her street, with the last of her belongings. Fear zapped her in intermittent surges. What was she going to do out here? She had no plan, no direction. She’d been rash making so many drastic changes at once. It was so unlike her. But death had been undraped from denial in the days after Henry’s funeral. And death did that—it made you scramble for life. Grab without thinking.
She’d noticed, as she drove through town, that the restaurant she’d once loved so much was still up for sale.
She could afford it.
Of course, she didn’t know how to run a restaurant.
And restaurants were a bad bet. Everyone knew that.
But the idea of a place where people would gather for joy, a place she could come and go and always belong—she liked the thought of it.
Probably she wouldn’t do it.
But maybe she would.
And of course, in the back of her mind, Jack. She knew it was inevitable she would bump into him somewhere in town. She’d finally found the courage to text him an apology. His reply had been muted. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all good.” Blue knew it was a blow off. Whenever she thought about it, it was like a slow, sharp razor across her chest. Still, she fantasized about the day when she would maybe own that restaurant and he would happen to walk in, see the afternoon sunlight spilled like a drink across the polished bar, surfboards riding the beechwood walls, a large aquarium in the corner teeming with fanciful fish. And be impressed. This was as far as she could walk it. With him or any other man. Love was still too dangerous a hope to carry. For now she’d settle for making her life better and hoping someone would notice.
She pulled in to her driveway, got out and looked up at Nana’s house, her house. She did love it so. Dust motes floated in the panels of light through the windows as she entered. A chaos of boxes and paint buckets and cleaning supplies was scattered everywhere. She put down the grocery bag of sandwiches and snacks and drinks she’d bought for the girls and put them away. The clock on the microwave said noon. They’d be here any minute. She went outside, lit up. She’d promised herself she’d quit after the move, but then life hadn’t quit and there was too much stress and tomorrow, she told herself, tomorrow I’ll do it.
The traffic out front had thinned to a dribble. It was so quiet here after Labor Day. Soon early darkness would take over, the air would smell of wood smoke and then of snow, and only the locals would remain.
It would be lonely. But then that wasn’t new.
And, too, she needed it—the quiet and the clean air and the open space. It was so hard to know yourself or what you wanted when there was so much noise and too many people and every city breath engaged her lungs in extra labor.
She heard the familiar sound of pebbles hopping under tires followed by cheerful honking as Maya, Hannah and Renee pulled in. One last drag on her cigarette, then she stubbed it out and stepped forward to greet them.
“Hey!” Renee said, climbing out. She hadn’t started to show yet but there was a flush in her cheeks that made her look more like the teenager Blue remembered. She moved as if to hug Blue, then paused, unsure. The bond was still so fragile.
“I’ll grab your bag,” Blue said instead.
“I could kiss the ground!” Maya said, stepping into the sunshine. “Grandma—” she pointed toward Hannah “—drove the last leg, clocking five miles under the speed limit and wouldn’t let us turn on the radio because it was ‘too distracting.’”
“I told you guys you could drive if you wanted,” Hannah said.
“Technically Maya did,” Renee said. “From the back seat.”
Blue shook her head and laughed.
Hannah smiled through tired eyes. Blue noticed the subtle drag in her movement and took her bag, gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m just happy you’re here,” she said. “Seriously, thanks so much for coming out to help, guys. I should probably warn you...”
Blue let the mess in the foyer finish her sentence for her. Maya let out a low whistle as they waded through the minefield of supplies and unlabeled boxes. Blue shot her a warning look. She’d given Maya a loan for her house on the condition she get a second job to pay it back. And Maya had actually done it, gotten herself an additional job selling paint or something random. Still Blue knew that whenever Maya had money, she spent it. If Blue was lucky, she’d see half of that loan returned, so she planned to hold the debt over Maya’s head as much as possible.
Now she sighed, overwhelmed. “I didn’t even bother to sort it. Just moved all my junk here. I don’t even know where to start.”
Renee put her hands on her hips, surveyed the scene. “We should probably throw out everything you don’t need first,” she said. “Then we can work with whatever’s left.”
They all nodded.
A daunting task.
But a start.
Perhaps even a life philosophy.
They headed upstairs to drop off their bags.
* * *
Hannah was the last one up and with an effort that belied her years. Grief, she was learning, moved in slow, heavy turns, made a shipwreck of its inhabitants, pinned them in its murky aquatic hold. But today, or at least in this moment, the ache was accompanied by gladness. It was like a fluid leak into the wrong engine, the way hope could find its way into sorrow.
She entered their room and Maya turned and gave her an encouraging smile. She gave one back. “You look tired,” she said, just noticing now. Maya never looked tired.
“I worked fourteen hours yesterday,” Maya said.
“Ugh,” Hannah said.
Maya shrugged. “It’s temporary.”