“It was good to see you too,” he replies simply, and then he leaves, his little duck waddling obediently behind him.
I watch them until they disappear around the bend, then let myself into the cabin, change into dry clothes and towel-dry my hair, and then I lie down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I lift my hands and I notice that I’m still wearing my wedding band on my ring finger.
I slowly pull it off, and I rub at the light indentation it has left behind. It doesn’t rub off. It’s there to stay, even though my marriage is over. And it is over. Nothing has ever been more over. I set the ring on the bedside table and roll over onto my side, pulling Gran’s handmade afghan over me as I roll.
6
Ethan
The next morning, I get up at dawn, just like normal. I make a cup of coffee over my little propane stovetop, and I walk down toward the dock with it in my hands. I like to watch the sun come up. It’s always peaceful in the morning. There are no cicadas warring to see who can be loudest, and even the birds aren’t awake yet. Well, except for Wilbur. He goes to paddle around in the shallow water.
“’Morning,” a voice says from behind me. Pop, to be as big as he is, is quiet as a mouse when he wants to be.
I turn and nod at him and then continue along my way.
He follows. “I thought I told you to stay away from that Marshall girl,” he says, his voice as stern as I remember it being in my youth.
“That was the plan.”
“Then she had to go and try to get herself killed by standing on the dock in the middle of a storm.” He walks closer to me, and I take a step to the side. “She okay?”
“Seemed fine when I left her.” And she had. She’d seemed odd in an I-want-to-stand-in-the-pouring-rain kind of way, but otherwise she was fine.
“Did she lose her marbles when she lost her husband?” he asks. He stares at me so hard that it’s disconcerting.
I cough into my fist to clear my throat. “I don’t know anything about her husband.”
“She didn’t bring him up?”
“No, sir.” I want to ask, but I figure it’s really not any of my business. But the question eats at me deep inside. Might explain her odd behavior. “Did he die?”
He shakes his head. “Pretty sure he’s still breathing. He’s just not hers anymore.”
He goes quiet for a long moment as we continue to walk. Then he suddenly blurts out, “Her grandmother was a looker, too.” His cheeks turn pink when I glance at him, surprised by his comment. “Well, she was,” he rushes on defensively. “She had those damn curls that blew all over the place. Always made me want to grab her by them and hold her hair still.”
The image makes me almost laugh. I’ve never wanted to hold Abigail’s hair still. I like that it flies all over the place, a riot of curls.
“She was a free spirit,” he goes on. “Got to admire somebody that can be that free.”
I nod without comment.
“So the Marshall girl was okay?” he asks again.
“She seemed fine. Wanted to sit in the rain.” I still don’t understand that part.
He suddenly stops, and out of politeness so do I. “Did she remember you?” He looks everywhere but at me, which helps to put me a little more at ease. “She did.” She’d said my name and everything. While she may have maintained the curly hair, the tall willowy body, and the startling brown eyes, she was very different from the girl I used to know. And I’m sure I’m different too. Hell, I haven’t even seen my face in years. My beard is inches thick. I’m really surprised she knew who I was at all.
“I believe I told you to stay away from her.”
“That’s my plan.” I watch as Wilbur ducks his head over and over, enjoying his bath.
“Well, if she needs saving again, you’ll probably feel obligated to rush to her rescue.”
I inwardly roll my eyes. I wouldn’t dare do it where he can see me; I’m afraid he’d jack my jaws. Mr. Jacobson used to be quick, and I’d wager that he still is. “Let’s hope she doesn’t need any more saving.”
He nods toward my duck. “Jake was telling me you found a motherless duck. This him?”
I nod. “A red fox raided a duck nest. I saw it carrying one of the parents away.”
He gives a satisfied grunt. “He imprinted on you.”
When I found the duck, I’d googled duck care and learned all about imprinting. For all intents and purposes, the duck considers me to be his parent. That’s why he sticks so close to me.
“That duck will be good for you. It’ll give you something to love,” he says. “And it’ll love you back.”
I’m not sure I’m deserving of love, at least not right now.
“I got some of those books you like to read, up at the house. Drop by and pick them up when you’re ready for them.”
I’d found out early on that Mr. Jacobson and I share a similar taste in literature. “I don’t want to be a bother,” I say. “Katie has enough to take care of with all those kids.”
“I’d wager that Katie is dying to get some time with you.” He laughs. “She has a thing for lost souls.”
“I’m not a lost soul.”
“You’re as lost as anybody I ever met,” he says quietly. “But you’ll get found. She’ll make sure of it.”
“Who, Katie?”
He smiles. “Her too,” he says with a chuckle.
That’s when I realize he was referring to Abigail. “I knew Abigail when we were younger,” I say. “We were best friends.”
He nods. “I remember. Used to drive Maimi crazy, sending that girl out with you.”
“What? What was wrong with me?”
“Not because you were you. Just because you were a boy and she was a girl, and that summer was when you two first started acting like boys and girls, instead of kids.”
I’m glad he clarified that, because I was beginning to get offended.
He points toward the big house. “Walk on up to the big house and you can get those books. Katie’s in the kitchen.” He nods toward the house like the inclination of his head can get my feet moving.
“It’s awfully early,” I remind him.
“I just said she’s in the kitchen, didn’t I?”
I immediately remember the time I smarted off at him when I was ten and he popped the back of my head. Not hard enough to injure, but definitely hard enough to get my attention. Reflexively, I reach up and rub that spot.
He chuckles. “Go on, now. Get the books. It’ll give you something to do late at night.” He nods at me and then he walks off toward the dock. He’s carrying a fishing pole in one hand and a bucket in the other. “I’m going to pretend to be fishing so I can get some peace and quiet.”
I bite back a laugh. “Sounds like a plan.” I start toward the big house, but he calls me back.
“Hey, Ethan.”
I turn back to face him. “Yes, sir?”
“Don’t let the judge-y world get you down, son. The people in this town have some growing to do, and I reckon it’s about time we helped them do it.”