Page 32 of Fire Island
Instead of charging off after my sister like I want to, I sit my ass back down at one of the smaller tables and pick up the paper. I turn to the community section for the month.
A half page write-up covers the first page of the section.
Talented Fantasy Writer-in-Residence Holds Signing for Bay Shore Library
The photograph is of Sherry from the library staff and a pretty twentysomething with black glasses and a tight smile. She holds a copy of a fancy-looking hardcover book as she stands at the front of a crowd of people, a line on one side of her table. To the right, a guy hunches by the loans counter, his gaze dead set on the woman holding the book. His scruffy, greasy hair is covered by a cap. Maybe he’s her husband?
The way he’s looking at her is . . .
Intense.
I shiver, shrugging away the unease washing over me. I fold the paper and check the front-page news. Same old thing, something bad. Nothing good ever sells. The door to the café chimes, and Errol walks in. I glance at the clock. Lunchtime.
He’s a creature of habit.
Lucky for Iris, half the town eats here. My sister’s cooking and her personality have won back the town. Mostly.
Errol tosses a scowl my way before plopping onto a stool at the counter. Paige’s face lights up as she slides a menu across to him. Without looking at it, he orders and reaches for the counter copy of the paper that’s splattered with food spills already.
I rise and roll the paper in my hands, tossing it onto the counter by the old shit. He turns, face not improving any as he says, “Generous of you, McCreary. Just don’t get any ideas about buttering me up to get in my granddaughter’s good graces.”
The actual hell, old man?
“The fuck you blithering about, Errol?”
“We all know you like them half your age.”
I set my shoulders back, setting my feet square as I cross my arms over my chest. My jaw grinds shut. He continues, obviously unaware of the ‘no talking about the last three years rule’ Em and Iris are abiding by. “Took her over there, early morning, couple weeks back. No clue why she wanted to come back after she got away.”
Got away?
She?
Maybe I can get something out of him, after all.
“You did what?” I ask.
“Flew into the watchhouse all hysterical, wanting Emmett. He was out up north.” He studies my face, brows lowering. “She know you ended up half drowned?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s the most recent event anyone’s talked about with me since the hospital.
I let my body soften, dropping my arms by my sides. “Wouldn’t know.”
He grunts. “Figures. Got what you wanted and?—”
Paige drops a plate in front of her grandfather. Her frown tells me all I need to know. Iris got to her. She’s not going to let Errol or anyone else in this little café slip another word.
Dammit.
So close.
“We’re not supposed to talk about anything that happened in the last three years, Grandpa. His memory has to return on its own.” Her words are firm.
Gauging by the surprise stretching Errol’s face, he didn’t know. “Huh. Well, shit. There is a god.”
“Grandpa!” Paige scolds the old man.
He chuckles and digs into his food. I retreat behind the counter and head upstairs for the spare room. My belongings are strewn about the space, but this is not my home. I can feel it in my bones. I sink onto the bed and drop my head into my hands. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut, like that will force thirty-six months’ worth of life and moments back into my brain.
