I’ve almost survived thirty-six hours without fighting with Winnie. It’s honestly the closest I’ve come to a miracle in my life. After I watched her hug that asshole who had his hands on her, and told her how stupid I thought she was for taking him back, she has been avoiding me. I’ve barely even seen her. She’s kept herself hidden upstairs while I’ve been in the house, and when she leaves, she walks past me, and the trailer, like we don’t even exist. But today, we’re gonna have to confront each other again. It’s demo day. Walls are coming down. She won’t be able to ignore that.
I woke up this morning early, and exhausted. I couldn’t sleep most of the night because earlier, as I puttered around the trailer, made dinner and tried to watch some Netflix on my laptop, but I could hear her. Again. Like every other night, she was crying. I could tell she was drunk because when girls drunk-cry it’s way louder than their normal cry. Guys too for that matter, although I’ve only witnessed my father drunk-cry, for weeks after my mom died, and he didn’t know I heard him. I didn’t dare talk about it. Anyway she didn’t cry long, at least not that I could hear, but it stuck with me.
I lay awake much longer than I should have thinking about whether she was okay, knowing she wasn’t. What had this girl so distraught? I thought, from what I’d seen, she’d worked things out with that boyfriend. But if so, why did he leave? Why hadn’t I seen him again and why was she still here? Was it something else that had her so wounded? If it wasn’t just the boyfriend and it was something else, that just proved this guy is a world-class piece of shit. Because if a girl I loved was this broken up over something, I would be there to help her through it, at all costs. He had left her here.
As I opened up the storage hatch in the side of my trailer and started to take out my tools, I called my own sister not just to get my mind off Winnie, who I have yet to see this morning, but because I needed to know when I might get my truck back. She answered on the first ring.
“I was going to call you after work,” she explains without so much as a hello. She sounds defensive so I try to defuse the situation immediately.
“How did Duke’s hockey tournament end?” I ask. “Thanks again for letting me stay and watch a game.”
She had been at my nephew’s hockey tournament in Boston when her car died on the way to the arena from the hotel. She had it towed to a garage and called me in a panic that night when she found out it would take a few days to get the part it needed. I know it killed her to have to call me. When I came back to Maine, I reached out to her right away. But just like she said the last time I saw her, when I was sixteen and she was almost eighteen, and she still wanted nothing to do with me. I made a point of running into her a lot this summer because this town was so damn small I knew what places she would frequent. She begrudgingly introduced me to my ten-year-old nephew, Duke, but not as his uncle. She just called me Holden, which stung but it was better than nothing. She stayed aloof and distant—until the call.
So without hesitation, I drove straight down there and insisted she take my truck until her car was fixed. Duke’s team was in the middle of a game when she met me in the arena parking lot, and she invited me to stay and watch it. They won and Duke even scored. It felt like we made progress that weekend—like maybe we were inching our way back to a family relationship again. But now, she sounds distant and aloof.
“They lost in the finals,” she explains curtly and I can hear a lot of noise in the background of wherever she is. “Anyway my car is fixed. I just have to pick it up in Boston. We were going to take a bus there after work tonight. I think if I hustle and Duke isn’t late coming home from school, I can get us on the seven o’clock one. You’re in Ocean Pines, which isn’t far from the bus station, so I can drop off your car on my way there and walk from your place.”
“You can just drive it to the bus station and I’ll pick it up there,” I offer. “If that’ll be easier.”
“I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have,” Bradie replies.
“It’s not putting me out and, if you want…” I pause, worried volunteering to do her another favor will piss her off. Everything about me kind of does. “I can swing by tonight and just drive you guys to Boston.”
“I can’t ask you do that,” she snaps.
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” I correct her gently. “I’m working a new job, but I can wrap it up around five and head right over. It’ll be quicker than taking the bus and cheaper. I know the new alternator you had to get isn’t cheap.”
All I can hear is her breathing. It’s almost labored. Like the debate going on in her head is actually physically taxing. I try to put her at ease. “I’m not asking anything in return, Bradie. I’ll just drop you off and go.”
“I’m still not telling him who you are,” Bradie replies, her tone serious but also a little heavy with guilt. “His dad disappeared on him. He never had any grandparents and I just don’t want him to get his hopes up on you. Okay?”
“I know. I have a lot of trust to earn back,” I reply. “I’ll just be your friend Holden who is doing you a favor. That’s it.”
“Okay,” Bradie relents and I can’t help but smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll be there at like five thirty,” I tell her. “I’m going to walk there so it’ll take a minute. You’re still on Union right?”
“Yep,” she says, sounding embarrassed. “The dilapidated white one on the left.”
“Your brother is a contractor,” I tell her. “You should see if he can do something about that.”
“Yeah, well right now I just need my car back,” she mutters. “See you tonight.”
She hangs up. I shove my phone in my pocket and glance up at the Braddock cottage. Everything is quiet and dark. Winnie clearly isn’t up yet. I decide I’ll walk down to Hogan’s, since Cat doesn’t want me at her store, and grab a coffee. If Winnie isn’t up by the time I get back, I’ll have to wake her ass up. I have work to do.
I think about the Braddocks as I walk east to Hogan’s. I used to watch the Braddock kids with wonder. Jude and his sisters liked to pretend they hated each other, but everyone knew they didn’t. The three girls would go to all his summer games. Even on the hottest beach day, they’d be in that crappy indoor rink cheering him on…admittedly, it did sometimes sound like heckling. But I remember him getting into a fight once, some kid went after him and dropped his gloves first, and those three were at the glass threatening his life and calling him names that even made me blush.
My sister and I were nothing like that, even before my mom died. We didn’t fight all that much, but we certainly didn’t support each other. We were just two very different people coexisting in the same house. And then after our mother died, we handled it two completely opposite ways—Bradie withdrew and I lashed out. My dad and I fought every time we were near each other. She would always ignore us and lock herself in her room. She never took my side or defended me, which is what I desperately wanted. So, I started picking the lock and I would take or break her stuff. I hated her for not taking my side, not reacting, not helping me through my grief, but I realize now that I wasn’t helping her either. The day I got busted and went to juvie she told me that she never wanted to see me or hear from me ever again. She was angry I was tearing the family apart even more, which at the time I told her was bullshit because she never acted like she wanted me around in the first place. Anyway, she got her wish for over a decade until this summer.
Hogan’s is empty, so I get my coffee and am back at the house in less than half an hour. I drink half of it on a bench on the beach, watching the tide come in, but then it’s nine o’clock and I have to start work, especially now that I have to quit at a certain time to get Bradie and Duke. I head back to the cottage, up the front stairs and knock on the door to the porch. No response. So I walk across the porch, and knock on the heavier, oak door. Still nothing, so I open it with the keys Jude gave me. The whole first floor is empty and quiet.
“Winnie!” I call out, but she doesn’t answer. “I’m starting work now!”
Still nothing. Maybe she went out while I was off getting coffee? Oh well, fact is I’m here to do a job and I’m going to do it. I head back out to my trailer to grab my tools so I can get started demoing the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, as I’m breaking up the tile, I hear stomping and she appears in the doorway looking rougher than a homeless alley cat. Her ash-blond hair is sticking out every which way, and she’s got makeup smeared around her eyes, which are puffy and red, giving her a distraught raccoon look. “What the fuck, Holden!”
I stop hammering the tile and look up at her. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Yes!” She blinks and crosses her arms. She’s wearing a gray sweater three sizes too big for her. “Why do you have to start so early?”
“I hate to break it to you, princess, but this is starting late.” I hammer another tile, as if to prove a point and it makes her flinch like she’s been physically assaulted by the sound. “I’m planning on starting at seven every morning going forward.”
I hammer a couple more tiles and pieces fly up. She places her hands, covered by the cuffs of the sweater, over her ears. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I laugh at her overdramatic act.
“And where am I supposed to shower? This is the only bathroom!”
“Yeah, I guess that’s why Jude wanted me to do this when the house was supposed to be empty,” I remind her and she narrows her eyes on me, like she’s trying to wither me with her stare. “You can use the bathroom in my trailer while I’m working in here. I’ll pull out the toilet last and turn the water back on so you can use this place at night.”
“Use your trailer?” she repeats, clearly horrified. “For showering?”
“Yeah. The bathroom is pretty decent actually,” I say trying not to sound too defensive. I mean, yeah it’s a trailer, but I’ve made it as nice as possible and I’m not a slob. I keep it neat and clean.
“You think I’m going to shower in your bathroom?” she repeats, still annoyed and somehow offended.
“What’s your problem?” I demand. “Use it or don’t. I don’t care. You can always go stay with your boyfriend, wherever the hell he is. That option would suit me best, actually, if you were just gone completely. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
She’s so defensive and angry all the time I feel like I should be sympathetic, because I was like that once too. But instead it makes me want to challenge her more and push her buttons. It’s a very old, very bad habit I thought I kicked. The fact that she keeps making me realize I haven’t just annoys me more.
I hammer another tile, much harder than required just to make as much noise as possible. She makes this strangled, gurgle of frustration in the back of her throat and storms off. She stomps her way all the way up the stairs.
For the next twenty minutes she’s banging around the house. Her frustration is starting to thicken the air in the whole house. I find myself grinding my teeth and scowling, but at least it seems to make me work harder and faster. I’ve finished breaking up all the tile so I head outside for the big rubber trash can I bought for hauling out debris. It’s around back from the trailer and as I walk by the window in the bathroom I hear the shower running. Good, Princess is taking me up on my offer. I grab the bucket and head back inside.
As I’m hauling out the first load of broken tile, Winnie is walking around the side of the cottage pushing a very ancient looking bike. I have a vague memory of her traipsing around town on it as a kid. She doesn’t say a word to me, just shoots me a quick, penetrating glare, hops on the bike and rides away very unsteadily.
Whatever. At least she’s gone for now.
Winnie doesn’t come back for hours and I’m able to get all the demo done and then I take a quick break for lunch, scarfing a turkey sandwich in front of my sink in the trailer before spending the afternoon clearing out the rest of the debris. As the day went on the temperature rose. It was an abnormally warm September day and since Winnie was gone, I pulled off my shirt and used it to mop my face as I worked. I leave the toilet intact for now and I’m debating whether I should try to haul out that ancient metal shower stall before cleaning up to go meet my sister when I hear the bang of the screen door.
I freeze in the doorway to the bathroom and slowly turn my head toward the porch. Winnie appears and whimpers softly as she steps into the house. I’m instantly concerned. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she says, but it’s through gritted teeth. I turn away from the bathroom so I can face her completely. My eyes sweep over her as she visibly limps and I immediately notice a tear in her jeans, at the knee, that wasn’t there before.
I point to it. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she replies tersely but as she reaches out to balance herself on the nearby table, I notice her palm is full of angry red scrapes. I walk toward her. Her eyes snap up and meet mine. She looks like a wounded animal. “I fell off the bike. It’s nothing.”
As I get closer, I can see the extent of her injuries and I know immediately it’s not nothing. Both her palms are badly scraped up and there are bits of gravel and dirt still in them. I can’t see her skin, where the knee of her jeans has torn away because it’s nothing but a bloody pulp. I wince and when our eyes meet again, hers are watering.
“I just need to clean it up,” she insists.
“You need to see a doctor about that knee,” I argue. “I think it might need stitches.”
She shakes her head furiously. “No. It’s just a scrape.”
“Winnie…” She just keeps shaking her head and she’s got her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes are glassy and she looks like she’s about to come undone under the weight of the lie she’s trying to make me believe. I don’t know if it’s her raw emotions or my own panic that she’s really hurt herself here but for some reason I reach out and gently cup the side of her face. “You’re right. It’s a scratch. But let me help you clean it up, okay?”
She doesn’t want to say yes. I can feel the tension in her neck as she stops herself from shaking her head, no. She bites her lip a little harder, swallows and says, “Sure.”
I help her to the dining room table and get her to sit down in one of the chairs and then I grab some scissors from the kitchen. I start to cut the torn bottom half of her pant leg off. She doesn’t complain, just watches. The jeans are destroyed anyway and I think she knows that. As soon as I have a better look at the wound, I know for a fact she’s entirely wrong. This thing is way worse than a scrape. I’m squatting in front of her knee, my hands gently holding her calf. There are streaks of blood running down it. I look up, and our gazes connect. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my trailer.”
I stand up and reach out for her hands. She looks startled and kind of leans back, away from me. “It’s easier if you come with me,” I lie. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
She looks like she knows I’m up to something, but she puts her hands in mine anyway and lets me help her to her feet. But when I quickly step forward and scoop her up so I’m carrying her, she gasps and squirms like an earth worm on a sidewalk. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“You can barely walk,” I remind her and start toward the door. “Now, stop squirming or I’ll drop you.”
She stops moving but not talking, unfortunately. “You do not have to carry me. I am not an invalid. It’s a scratch. I don’t want your help if you’re going to be all Neanderthal about it.”
“You should really stop insulting me as I’m doing you a favor,” I warn and as soon as we’re on the drive, I walk past my trailer and start down the street. That makes her start squirming again and I almost drop her, so I yank her even closer and turn my head to glare directly at her.
Our faces are so close together the tips of our noses are almost touching. Her eyes, although filled with anger and pain, are mesmerizing. I always knew they were hazel, but I thought that just meant a really light brown. This close I can see that there is hardly any brown in them. They are a mix of amber and green and a touch of gray. “You’re incredibly beautiful, despite your personality, you know that?”
She blinks and rears her head back a little. “What the fuck.”
“I’m just saying.” I shrug as best I can with her in my arms. “If you’d just calm the fuck down and maybe cut me some slack you’d be irresistible.”
“So I should what? Smile more?” she asks, seething. “I’m kind of going through something personal and I’m currently being taken against my will God knows where by a man I dislike immensely, so excuse me if I’m not perky enough for you. And another thing, I don’t want to be irresistible to you or anyone else.”
“Well then, goal crushed!” I announce with mock enthusiasm. She flips me the bird a millimeter from my face and I pretend to bobble her, like I might drop her, so she squeaks and wraps her warms tightly around my neck. “Also you don’t know me.”
“Excuse me?” she asks.
“You’re with a man you don’t know,” I explain. “Not one you don’t like. I was a boy you didn’t like. I’m a man now, and you don’t know me, so you can’t dislike me.”
She stares at me as if to say Get the fuck out. And so I grin at her and wink. “Trust me, sweetheart, Holden Hendricks the teenager was a piece of work worthy of hate. But Holden Hendricks the adult is actually a pretty decent guy.”
“Maybe you can be a decent guy,” she says but she’s still glaring at me. “You coming to make sure I was okay when Ty and I were fighting was a decent thing to do. And I was grateful. But you assuming that I forgave him and calling out my childhood self-esteem issues was a totally judgmental dick move.”
“What the hell are we doing?” she asks in a heated whisper, ignoring my question. “Tell me or I’ll just start screaming.”
“We’re going to Dr. Whittaker’s place.”
“His house?”
“Yep.” I turn left toward the center of town. “He lifted the cottage and had a small separate office built under it last year so he could still work part-time. Said he wasn’t ready for retirement.”
“Didn’t you knock his kid Robbie’s teeth out in a fight at the beach when you were fourteen?” Winnie questions.
“Wow you have a better memory than an elephant,” I snark back.
“Did you just call me an elephant?” she snaps.
“No,” I retort. “Dr. Whittaker doesn’t even remember that by the way. I know because I apologized to him when I worked on his renos.”
“He forgave you?” She seems so baffled, like it’s an impossibility.
“After I reminded him what I did, yes,” I smile at her. “You can actually blame him while he stitches you up because he’s the reason I’m back in town permanently. When I did the job here for him, Carter Construction was looking for people and I was short on jobs so I came out. When Dr. Whittaker forgave me, I decided to see if I could make amends with everyone and I came back.”
“You can’t,” she says after a moment of silence.
“We’ll see,” I reply as I climb the stairs of the Whittaker house. The shingle on his office door says “closed,” as expected. He only works three days a week and only until three. I had to see him once this summer when I stupidly put a nail through my finger.
I gently place Winnie on her own feet once we hit his large wraparound porch. She immediately pulls away from me, but she can’t put her full weight on her bad knee so she has to reach out and grab my shoulder again. I circle her waist with my right arm to hold her steady and ring Dr. Whittaker’s bell.
He answers right away. I haven’t seen him in a couple months, but he hasn’t changed. He’s still got a slight belly, curly salt-and-pepper hair, kind brown eyes and a warm smile. “Holden! How are you?”
“I’m good, Doc, but my friend Winnie fell off her bike,” I explain as we shake hands and I motion toward Winnie, who is clutching the back of one of the rocking chairs on his porch.
Dr. Whittaker recognizes her immediately. “Winnie Braddock!” he exclaims, and his brown eyes shift to her exposed knee. “Oh dear! Let’s go down to my office so I can get a proper look at that.”
He steps onto the porch, but reaches back in and grabs something from a hook by the door—a white lab coat. He closes his front door, slips the lab coat on over his checkered blue shirt, and starts for the stairs. I lift Winnie back up before she can object and the look on her face says that she wants to, wholeheartedly. By the time I get us down the stairs, Dr. Whittaker has already opened the door to his small office. As he turns on the lights, I stride right in and drop her butt onto the exam table. She looks angrier than a nest of hornets, but she manages a “thank you.”
Dr. Whittaker puts on his glasses and some weird headgear thing with a light on it I swear he must have gotten at an antique sale and bends down over her knee. “Yeah. You’re gonna need some butterfly tape or maybe even a stitch or two. But first, we have to clean it up. There’s still gravel in this. When did you have your last tetanus shot, Winnie?”
“I have no idea,” she answers back.
“Okay, well you’re getting one today,” the doctor says and I watch her groan and drop back on the table. I glance at my phone and realize it’s almost six thirty. I was supposed to be at Bradie’s house long before now.
“Shit.” They both turn and stare at me. “I’m so sorry. I have to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”
I step out of the office and, once on the sidewalk outside I dial Bradie’s number. She doesn’t answer so I dial again. She still doesn’t answer. I dial again.
When she finally answers, she doesn’t let me get a word in. “I get it. You’re not coming. I’m already on my way to the bus station with Duke. Your car is in front of my place. Keys are in the wheel well. Pick it up when you want but that’s it. I don’t want to see you.”
She hangs up just as I’m about to say I’m sorry.
“Fuck!” I hiss and fight the urge to punch the tree I’m leaning on. I totally fucked that up. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her why, not that it matters. I had one chance to fix things, or at least start to, with my sister and I blew it.
I decide to text her anyway, even though I don’t think she’ll even read it. I send three texts in a row explaining Winnie was hurt and I was helping her out. She’s here alone, no family, and I didn’t want to leave her. And I beg Bradie’s forgiveness.
I don’t get a response, just as I expected. The door to the office opens a second later and Winnie hobbles out followed by Dr. Whittaker. Her knee is now wrapped in white gauze. “Thank you so much,” she tells him. “I’m so sorry to bother you after hours and I insist you bill my insurance, Dr. Whittaker.”
“I’ll do that, if I get around to it,” he replies and winks before turning to me. “She’s going to be just fine. No stitches, just some butterfly tape.”
I nod and shake his hand. “Thanks again.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Whittaker starts up his stairs to his house but stops for a moment. “Winnie, be sure to keep it clean and no baths or swimming for seven days.”
She nods and turns hobbling down the street back to her house. I fall in step beside her. “You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t want to see a doctor,” she replies tersely.
“You needed to see one. If you didn’t get the doc to patch it up, you’d have a big nasty scar,” I tell her.
“Oh no. What would I ever do with a scar on my knee,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who would want me without perfect knees?”
“With that sparkling personality, you need all the help you can get,” I reply.
She’s stopped walking now, stunned by my comment. “Fuck you.”
“Yeah fuck me,” I bark back. “I’m such an asshole for trying to make sure you don’t die from your own stupidity. Dumbass me should have ignored you and all your blood just like I’m trying to ignore the bitter sadness on your face every minute of the day and the sobbing you do at night that gets so loud, it’s like you’re a wounded animal. I should have just walked out of the house when I saw you hobble in all bloody and broken. I should have just gone about my day. But I didn’t. And now I’ve got a sister who hates me, still…or again, not sure which, and I can’t even get a thanks from you. So yeah. Fuck me!”
I storm off and leave her standing in the middle of the sidewalk. I don’t head home, I head toward my sister’s house and I curse Winnie Braddock with every step.