Page 8 of Must Have Been Love

“You’re just like your father,” she told me after she read that one. And I knew from the way she said it, that it wasn’t a compliment.

Maybe that’s why I’m here. This was the one place he kept coming back to. The place he grew up in and the last place he lived before he died.

The rain has stopped and night has fallen, the ocean an inky black mass of liquid as it laps against the shore. The smell of damp air lingers, like the weather can’t quite bring itself to move on.

Lee calls and we talk for a while, but then I spend the rest of the evening exploring the bar, the outside porch, and searching through the drawers in the apartment to try to find the reason I’m here. The reason he wants me to stay here.

But there’s nothing. Just sad piles of clothes and old letters and photographs. I find one of him. It’s faded but you can still see him smiling at the camera. He’s leaning against an old car, wearing a pair of jeans and no shirt.

He looks to be in his mid twenties – the same age he was when he met Mom at a concert in LA. I can see why she fell for him. He has this easy grin and a handsome face.

He was her only rebellion in life. And the one thing I think she regrets, though she insists that she doesn’t regret having me. Even if I am her problem child.

And then a rush of exhaustion comes over me. Maybe it’s the day of travel or the storm. Or maybe it’s the angry man with eyes the color of the ocean on a sunny day. I’ve only met three people so far, and each of them has treated me strangely. The ferry captain, Jesse, and now this man.

Hudson Fitzgerald.

Even his name sounds stuffy. I hate the way he acted like he owns this bar when it’s mine. I sit down on the freshly made bed and let out a sigh.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone in my life than I do right now, sitting in this empty apartment.

Do you think I’ve made a mistake?

I type quickly and send it to Lee.

She replies just as fast, her name on my screen making me feel wistful.

No, I don’t. You’re right where you need to be. Now go to sleep.

How many times did she tell me that when I was young? Being six years older, she was like my second mom sometimes. Bossy, overbearing. And completely loving.

You go to sleep. You’re the one with the baby.

She sends back a heart. And I heart her heart.

A couple of hours later, I finally do as my sister tells me and fall into a fitful dream about an angry man with piercing blue eyes.

* * *

When I walk out of the bar area onto the deck the next day it’s as though the storm never happened. The sun is beating down, golden rays sparkling as they bounce off the waves in the ocean. I lift the cup of black coffee to my lips and take a long sip.

It tastes stale. I found an old unopened jar of coffee in the tiny apartment kitchen, and last night and this morning it’s all I’ve had in my mouth. I brought enough food to see me through until I could make it to the grocery store, but I’m not hungry.

I lean against the pole holding up the overhang of the bar, breathing in the salty ocean air. I was so happy to get up and put on some shorts and a midriff tank, because those are the only clothes I packed to do cleaning. I’d hate to soil any of my vintage ones. They have too many memories in them – mine and so many others.

Thinking of memories, as I look at the bar area from my vantage point on the deck, I can almost see Hudson Fitzgerald – the angry man from yesterday – standing there, as he berated me.

I frown, angry at the memory, because I would never treat anybody like that. I’m new, my father died, and he pretty much told me I wasn’t welcome.

When I told Lee about him she’d thought it was hilarious.

“Oh my God,” she gushed. “It’s just like those small town Hallmark movies. The two of you are going to end up doing it.”

Ha! As if. I can think of a dozen things I’d rather do than let his disdainful mouth come anywhere near me. Like pull my nails out of their beds one by one.

Angry sex is great if you want to get off, but the older I get the more I’ve learned that relationships should be about caring, mutual trust.

Love.

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