Page 84 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
Tate
They say the ocean keeps its secrets.
But my secret is simple:
I never stopped loving you.
-Tate
The sky over Wisteria Cove can’t decide whether or not it wants to storm. I get it, I feel the same. I slept on a couch in the cabin out at the Bennett Tree Farm last night. It’s cold, lonely, and I miss Willa. I even miss Cobweb.
The more I think about it, the stupider it all seems. Why did I even consider that trip? I don’t blame her for being mad. It’s stupid. Just when things are good, I mess it up. And I can’t help but hear my mom’s voice in my head.“There you go messing things up, just like your dad always did.”
I know she doesn’t want me to go out fishing anymore. She worries, and rightfully so after what happened. But part of me can’t help it. It is who I am. But even I’m doubting that now that I’m settling in here and working alongside Remy. Fishing isn’t everything to me, it was just a job.
Willa is everything to me.
Low clouds stack over the harbor like bruises, and wind curls off the water, cutting through coats, sneaking under doors. The weather feels like it’s coming for something. I feel it in my chest and in my ribs. A part of me always expects the tide to drag something precious out to sea. Like I’m not supposed to have anything good. And I’m trying to let that go and accept the good. Claim the good, take the good, and not take less than that. I deserve this, and so does Willa.
Rain pounds sideways against the side of the workshop at the tree farm. Inside, I keep my head down. Keep moving. Keep sawing, sanding, stacking, because if I stop, I’m afraid I’ll come undone.
Remy called out today. Junie has a cold, and Donna’s up against a deadline. So it’s just me, trying to keep up with the daily tasks and get ahead on what’s coming. I’m using the distraction of work to pretend like I’m not unraveling thread by thread. Because I am.
This morning, Old Pete came and found me out at the Bennett Tree Farm. I was surprised to see him, and it made me worry. Before this, he never came out to the farm. He sat beside me in the small break room, sipping coffee. He looked smaller than usual, like the flannel he had on was wearinghiminstead of the other way around. I was sipping my coffee when he told me. “Doc says I don’t have a lot of time left.”
My chest went tight, and I felt like the air whoosh out of it.
“Lungs,” he said matter-of -factly, like it was a weather report. “Caught up with me after all these years. There’s not much more they can do.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing, just slid my chair closer and threw my arm around his shoulders, and he leaned into me. He didn’t seem to need my words, anyway; he just had things to say. “I know you’ll take care of it. Wisteria Cove. Theharbor. All of it. Just like I would. You’ve always been special to this place.”
I was speechless. This moment took me back to when he came and told me that my father and Phil Maren were missing, and they had stopped looking and didn’t think they were coming home. My mom had screamed and cried. She stayed in bed for a week after that. I will never forget the look on his face when he told me. And now? Now he’s telling me that another good man in my life was leaving. And I know it wasn’t easy for him. He looked wrecked.
He clapped my shoulder once. Like that was that. “You’ve always had a better compass than you think, son.”
Then he left, like he hadn’t just handed me the responsibility of the whole damn town and taken away another piece of my heart.
And now I can’t breathe. I put my face in my hands and cry. Old Pete isn’t just special to me; he’s special to everyone. And this town is going to have a crater in it when he’s gone.
There’s no way in hell I would ever leave Wisteria Cove, not that I think I ever would have. But now? Now I need to make the most of every day with Pete.
I get up and finish up work for the day and sweep the shop thoroughly. Making sure everything is perfect, I glance around, then shut off the light and lock the door. I swallow and exhale a deep breath at the bomb Old Pete dropped on me today.
I make my way to the new-to-me truck I bought and start the engine, my breath in front of me. It’s cold, but I can’t even feel it.
My mom’s deadline is looming. Her texts are brief:“Don’t forget, end of the month.”Like I could. She wants me out. I just thought maybe I’d have more time. Time to figure it out. But time doesn’t wait. Life keeps on moving, and there’s never enough time.
And now Pete is dying. And Willa…God, Willa. She hasn’t spoken to me since our fight. Since she told me to go. She’s going to be devastated about Pete.
She thinks Iwantto leave. But the truth is, I just don’t know how tostaywithout breaking something. Without being the one who ruins it all.
I lose everything. My dad. My mom. And now Old Pete. The man who stepped up for me when my dad died. His boat is going to be gone soon, too. The last place I called home. Every time I reach for something good, I lose my grip. It’s like there’s a hole inside me that nothing can fill.
I sit on the steps of the cabin, boots wet, flannel soaked through, head in my hands. Rain pelts the roof above the porch like it’s trying to punch through.
I want to scream. Instead, I sit on the steps and let it all wash over me.
I think about the night my dad died. How we’d argued before he left. How I told him I wanted to go out with him on that trip. I had a feeling that something wasn’t right. And part of me blames myself for not telling him that I had a bad feeling and trying to make him stay. But I know that he probably wouldn’t have listened. And I know that I probably let him down. He wouldn’t have wanted me to run away like I did. My dad never ran from anything. He faced things head-on and took care of his family. And I know he fought for us even when he was going down. I know he did. I feel it. That’s the man he was.
