Chapter 16

June 2008

"What are you doing here?" I ask Fred on the train platform, my hands shaking.

His face falls. The last time I saw him, he was still a boy, but he's a man now. His shoulders are squared, his hair is short and a bit darker, and there's a definition to his features that was missing before. I can't believe this is happening. I was just dreaming about him on the train, and now here he is, in front of me, wearing chino shorts and a polo shirt—not so different from his old uniform at the beach.

"Ashley didn't tell you?"

Oh no. Oh, Ash. "She said she was picking me up."

"I should've known."

"It's not your fault. But … why are you in Southampton?"

"My uncle died last week."

"I'm so sorry, Fred."

"Thank you." He reaches down and picks up my bag. It's light in his hands, like it's nothing.

"When's the funeral?"

"Tomorrow."

I don't know what to say. My heart is beating too fast, and my palms feel sweaty. Part of me is glad to see him and part of me is furious. "You never called."

"We said we wouldn't."

"Did we?"

The days after our breakup are hazy. I kept expecting him to call or email, to tell me it had been a misunderstanding and I wasn't going to have to pay for the mistakes of some other girl. But he never did. Eventually, I stopped looking for his name in my inbox. And I didn't reach out because I shouldn't be the one to apologize. So how could I call him? What would I say? Just wait in silence for him to say the right thing? And what if he didn't? What if he was expecting me to be the one to put us back together?

It was too many questions, too many unknowns, so I let it fade to history. Us.

"It was a long time ago," Fred says.

"Five years."

"And now it's five years later."

What is he saying? That this is what we agreed to? That he'd reappear in my life after five years of radio silence, and we'd pick up where we left off?

"I … I can get a cab."

"No, I'll drive you."

I want to refuse, but Fred looks as sad as I feel. I'm going to kill Ash. "Okay, thank you."

I follow him out of the station to the parking lot. It's half full of cars, and the sun is gleaming off their windshields. Trees ring the lot, and sand is swirling across the cracked tarmac.

"I'm over here." He points to an old black pickup with rust spots on the side. He puts my bag in the back, then opens the door on the passenger side for me. I climb up into the seat, wincing as I go.

"You're injured," Fred says as I settle myself gingerly into the seat.

"Cracked rib."

"I didn't know."

He closes the door gently after me, then circles the truck and gets into the driver's seat. My brain is flooding with the questions I've been holding at bay. Where has he been all this time? How long is he going to be here? Is he single?

Did he miss me?

"Why did you agree to pick me up?" The only safe topic is transportation.

He turns on the engine. "I wanted to see you."

Or maybe not. "How did Ash know you were here?"

"I ran into her in town the other day."

"She didn't tell me."

He backs up and leaves the lot. His hands are sure on the wheel, and it's already one new thing about him. We've never driven together before, but I feel safe. Secure.

That's a false feeling that I need to quash immediately.

"Seems like she's keeping a lot from you these days," he says.

You're dead,I text to Ash, hiding my screen from Fred. I killed you. "I'm sorry she asked you."

"I'm not."

I glance at him, but he's staring straight ahead. The station isn't far from Taylor House, but it feels like a million miles. "How have you been? I mean, in general."

"Good."

I turn away; it's too hard to look at him. The same old houses flash past, tourists with sunburned arms and trucker hats. The brine of the ocean hugs the air. "Did you go into the Army?"

"The Navy."

"Right." I didn't forget, but I can't make my brain work right. "And?"

"I did my four years. I'm on the G.I. Bill now."

"What college?"

"Boston State. Studying business."

"All according to plan, then."

He glances at me now, his face a shadow across mine. "Mostly."

I sink into my seat. It hurts my rib, and I hold it gently, knowing it's another hour before I can take a pill.

"Does it hurt?"

"A lot."

"What happened?"

"I went for a shot I should've let pass me by."

"Sounds like a metaphor."

"Probably." I hug myself. "Anyway, I'm out for the summer, so I thought I'd recuperate here. What about you?"

"Here for the summer. My mom's in town for the funeral, and then I'll stay and help my aunt till school starts in the fall."

I roll down the window, needing air. We're on my street now, the dunes rolling by, the crashing waves our background music. "So we're both here for the summer."

"Seems like."

What now? I want to say, but I don't. I don't know what I want, and until I do, I don't want to make it about Fred's wishes. Assuming he wants anything from me at all. But he said it's five years later …

Is this my decision to make? Could we be reuniting right now if I said the word?

He turns down my driveway and stops the truck in front of the house. I don't even know if there will be anyone but Aunt Tracy to greet me, but it doesn't matter. Soon, I'll take another pill and then a long nap, and tomorrow I'll see how I feel about all of this.

"Thanks for picking me up."

"Can we … can we get lunch later this week?"

"I'd like that."

He smiles for the first time since the station, but it's short-lived. He climbs out of the truck, and I do the same. He lifts my bag from the back and puts it down in front of the door. "Do you need me to bring this in?"

"I can do it. Or Aunt Tracy can help me."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry again about your uncle."

He lifts his chin. "He was sick for a long time. Ever since …"

"The heart attack."

"Yes."

That day lingers between us, and I wonder what Fred thinks of me now. I'm five years older too. I have less baby fat in my face, and the body of a professional athlete. I'm strong, sure, outwardly confident. But inside I feel the same as I did the first time we talked on the beach. Unsure, nervous, excited.

"Where's the funeral?"

He names a Presbyterian church and I nod, my chest tightening, sadness a veil. We're lingering, not saying goodbye, but I need to leave. I need to go inside and cry and so I say, "I'll see you in a couple of days," then turn and walk to the door. I put my hand on the doorknob.

"Did you see it?" he says. "When it came out?

I smile through my tears but I don't turn around. "The Golden Compass?"

"Yes," he says to my back. "I wanted to call you, but …"

"You didn't," I say, then open the door and walk inside.

"Why are we going to this?" Ash asks the next day. We're both dressed in black, and I've borrowed Charlotte's car to drive to the funeral.

"Because Fred's uncle died."

"Amendment: Why am I going to this?"

"Because I need backup. And you owe me big-time after that stunt you pulled yesterday."

"You never would've called him."

I turn into the church parking lot. "That was my decision to make."

Ash shrugs. She's pulled her hair back into a bun, and with the sharp-cut jacket she's wearing, she looks like a young executive. "You should be thanking me."

"Uh-huh."

The parking lot is full. Though they hadn't been in town that long, Fred's aunt and uncle were popular. I'd see them on my visits home every year, walking together on the beach or peering into shop windows. His aunt was cheerful and friendly, and she quickly gained them entry into various charitable and other institutions, including the SLTC.

I'd never spoken to them, though, too worried about what that might lead to. Did they even know I existed? I didn't want to find out.

I park the car at the back of the lot. "How about this? Stay out of my love life from now on."

"What love life?"

"Ha ha."

We join the somber-dressed line of people walking into the church. My plan is to sit at the back and leave before Fred knows I'm there, but that gets thrown out the window when he's standing just inside the entrance, handing out programs. He's wearing a black suit, and now, finally, he looks like the boy I remember, adorable and a little lost.

"Olivia." The way he says my name, I don't know if I'm a blessing or a curse.

"Hi, Fred. I'm sorry for your loss."

He nods to me, then hands me a program. There's a woman standing behind him who looks just like him. His mom.

"Mom," he says, tugging on her sleeve, "this is Olivia."

She turns toward me, her brown eyes warm. She's heard my name before. She knows our story. "Nice to meet you, Olivia."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I repeat, feeling inadequate.

"Thank you." She moves on to the next person in line.

"There are some seats at the back," Fred says.

I fold the program between my hands. "Okay, thanks."

Ash and I walk past him and take two seats in the last pew. The church is simple, with little adornment. The low murmur of church-talking fills the air.

"What's going on with you two?" Ash whispers to me once we've taken a seat.

"Nothing. I told you. We're maybe having lunch in a couple of days, that's it."

"Do you want more?"

I sit back on the hard seat. My rib still hurts, and I'm grateful for the cushion the pill I took right before we left gives me. "What I want is to get through this funeral without bawling my eyes out."

Ash is stricken. "I didn't even think of that. This is where …"

"Yes." Where my mother was buried, the last funeral I went to.

Ash came to the funeral, clutching her parents' hands. She was the only friend who did, everyone else opting out of the sad event. I didn't want to be at that funeral either, but I wasn't given a choice.

Ash reaches for my hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"What do you need from me?"

"If I want to go, don't argue."

"Of course." She sits back and opens the program. "We'll be out of here in an hour."

"Good."

"And I'll lay off the Fred stuff."

"Thank you."

The organ starts and we go through the familiar rituals. The family walks in and takes their seats, and the minister tells us to rise and sit in a predictable pattern. I try not to think too much about what they're saying, pushing back the memories of these same words and readings from my mother's funeral. Charlotte so cold, almost frozen. Sophie in tears for days, her face pressed into my shoulder. William, solemn, sober, resolute.

When I can't help myself, I watch Fred, his head bowed, his hands holding his rolled-up program. His jaw is tight, and I know him enough to know that he doesn't want to break, and he's doing everything he can not to.

And then the minister invites him up, and he rises to speak.

I grasp Ash's hand. I want to run, but I'm rooted to the spot.

Fred coughs, covering his mouth, then pulls the microphone toward him. He's taller than the podium is set up for, so he stoops.

"Most of you know that I lost my dad when I was young. When that happened, I felt at sea. So my uncle, he did the funniest thing. He took me to sea. He came to Boston, and he chartered a boat, and he took me out into the bay. It was a cold day, stormy, and we really shouldn't have been out there. But he wasn't afraid. He'd seen worse he said, and so had my dad.

"I remember him standing there in his yellow slicker with the waves kind of tossing up on him, and his arms were out wide, and he said, ‘Sometimes you have to embrace the sea.' And I knew what he meant. He meant that when bad things happen, you have to lean into them. You have to embrace the bad times because that's when you learn—when you know—what you're truly made of. He did that for me that day, and he stood by me every day after that. Whenever I needed him, he was there."

Fred pauses and wipes a tear off his cheek. "These last five years, while he's been sick, I got to give some of that back to him. And you did that too—this community. He loved living here, walking on the beach, seeing the seasons come and ago. ‘Live near the ocean,' he always used to say to me, ‘and then you'll know you're alive.'"

I lean against Ash, and she puts her arm around my shoulders.

"So, I wanted to thank you on his behalf and my aunt's for being welcoming and helping to make his last years happy ones. We're all at sea, but we're going to embrace that. I hope you'll join us."

He steps off the podium as my tears fall. His loss pierces my soul the way our ending did.

"Let's get out of here," I say as the organ starts up and the priest lifts his hands in front of him, inviting us to stand and sing.

Ash doesn't fight me, and we slip out of the pew. I take a last look at Fred over my shoulder, and something in him senses me watching. He turns and meets my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mouth.

He nods once, then turns away, and then Ash's hand is in mine, and we make our soundless escape.