Adermoor Cove: Here to Stay - 3. Chapter 3

Moira was more than a little surprised when Anne Sterling called to ask if they could have lunch together. "Just you and I," she said. The occasions when Anne was not following Scott around playing Stepford Wife was rare. Perhaps she needed consolation after her daughter had gone missing. Moira accepted more out of curiosity than a desire to connect with her mother-in-law.

They met at The Pine Tree Cafe, just off of Central Avenue. Anne hugged Moira when she saw her. "Oh Moira, it's so good to see. I'm glad you're out of the hospital."

Moira patted Anne's back, uncertain of what to say. "It's good to see you too. I'm sorry for what I said back at the hospital."

Anne smiled sadly. She had dressed up in a yellow flower print dress and white heels. She'd put on makeup. But the cosmetics did not hide the fact she had aged since the last time Moira had seen her: There were more streaks of white through her hair, more wrinkles around her forehead and mouth. And her eyes were red from crying. "Don't apologize. I know you were upset - and who could blame you after what you saw and had been through?"

They sat down and their waiter came by with ice water. Both women ordered glasses of ice tea; Anne asked for sweetened tea, Moira wanted unsweetened.

Anne cleared her throat. "I wanted us to go somewhere where we could talk, just you and me, without my husband around."

Moira frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Anne licked her lips. When she spoke her voice was on the verge of breaking. "I don't know how I'm going to say this so I'm just going to say it. Ramona is gone. I just know it. For one thing two search parties have been sent out for her. Every mile of the island has been covered. If there was anything left to find they would've found it by now."

"But it hasn't even been a full week." Moira couldn't believe what she was hearing. It felt as if the walls of the cafe were closing in on her. She was grateful when the waiter came by with their drinks and to take their meal orders. It gave her long enough to catch her breath and gather her thoughts.

"I know this has to be hard for you," Anne said gently once she was sure the waiter was out of earshot. "But you saw what happened. I've been over the report multiple times. We both know the chances of her still being alive are next to none.”

“I thought you believe in miracles,” Moira said coldly. Her hands were clenched into fists. She wanted to reach across the table and slap the woman.

Anne wiped the tears away from her face with a napkin. “I did once, when I was young. Do you know I was seventeen when I married Scott? He’s thirteen years older than I am. You’re a teacher, if you do the math you can guess how old he was at the time. My parents were very religious, fanatics you might say, but you better believe when the opportunity came to get me out of the house they took it because that meant having one less mouth to feed. I’m religious because it’s what my upbringing and my marriage required. I’ve been unhappy for a long time. The only real miracle God ever gave me was my daughter and the devil took her away.”

Moira kept her mouth shut, watching the woman across from her tremble with barely suppressed emotion. In the year and a half she’d been dating Ramona, she’d thought of Anne Sterling as weak-minded and timid - but this appearance was only a mask Anne wore to hide what existed beneath the surface.

Moira felt a pang of guilt. She was angry at Anne for giving up on Ramona because it reminded her she herself had given up.

Ramona was dead.

“I can understand if you’re upset with me, Moira. I was wondering if you would help me pick out a coffin. Scott and I have already ordered a beautiful tombstone for her. It’s an angel - just like her.”

“Why don’t you want to pick out a coffin with your husband?”

Anne reached over to take Moira’s hand. Her skin felt soft, as if she’d just rubbed lotion into them. “Because no matter how my husband might feel about your relationship with Ramona I know you loved her and she loved you. I used to envy you two, the passion you held for one another. While Scott and I love each other in our own way, it’s just something we don’t have. Please, Moira. Don’t leave me to pick my daughter’s coffin on my own.”

...

Lane was sitting in his aunt’s rocking chair again, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, when Carlos pulled into the driveway. Carlos had been worried the younger man wouldn’t be there. I need to get his phone number. In this dang age there’s no excuse for not being able to call someone.

As he got out of the car he wondered what madness had instilled him to show up randomly like this. The truth was this: He was lonely. He needed someone to talk to. Having Moira over for the night had helped but the truth was there was only one person whose company he wanted. Throughout the day he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Lane.

Feeling like an awkward school boy, Carlos hovered at the bottom step. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” said Lane. He sounded weary. Exhausted. In the light of the setting sun Carlos got a good look at his face. For the first time since he’d met Lane it was free of makeup, showing just how young Lane really was. His features were softer but still retained a sculpted look. Carlos sensed there was something wrong.

“Is this a bad time?” Carlos asked.

“I don’t even know how to answer. Let’s say for the sake of my curiosity it isn’t.”

“If you need me to go...”

“I don’t want you to go.” Lane got up from his chair. He came over to Carlos, carrying the mug carefully in one hand, and perched on the top porch step. “How are you?”

Carlos’s knees popped as he sat down in the open spot next to Lane. Jesus, I’m getting old, he thought. “It’s been a long day. A long week.”

“Yeah.” Lane sighed. “You ain’t kidding.”

“I got my father’s urn today. I set it above the fireplace in the living room. He left me his house. I stayed there last night and most of today, just trying to process everything that happened but after a while the quiet started to get to me, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean. I spent a year living on the road, sleeping in my car. Going from place to place. After a while it begins to feel like you’re the only person in the world. Everyone else are just ghosts. And just when it seems like I might finally have a place to stay, someone makes obscure threats to try and get me to leave.”

Carlos sat up straighter. "Threats? Who's threatening you?"

"The mayor. Richardson. I was at The Netted Eel just enjoying a drink when he came up to me. He acted all nice at first before turning into a snake. What's wrong?"

"He visited me yesterday at my dad's house - it's my house now I guess. Moira was there. He wants to make me chief of police."

"Are you going to do it?"

"I don't know. I can't even think about it right now."

Lane sighed. "I'm tired of feeling depressed all the time. I want to feel something else. Have you ever smoked marijuana?"

Carlos laughed. "Are you shitting me?"

Lane gave him a look that said he wasn't.

"No. Never."

Lane smiled mischievously. "Wanna try it?"

"Are you trying to corrupt me?"

"The recreational use of marijuana is legal, so I'm not corrupting you, I'm enlightening you."

Carlos hesitated. He'd known plenty of cops in Boston who had done drugs, and not just marijuana. And most of the drugs they used had been confiscated from other drug users. The idea of people who were supposed to uphold the law using their authority to break the law made him feel sick. But by saying yes he wasn't breaking any laws - he had to remind himself that.

"Okay," he said. "But if I have a bad trip or something I'll never try it again."

"You won't, I promise."

Carlos watched Lane get up, brushing the seat of his pants. He had a tiny ass and narrow hips. Sometimes, due to his personality, Carlos forgot just how petite Lane was. It was hard to believe the kid - it was hard not to think of him as a kid - had stood up to an eight hundred pound bear.

Lane went to his car, keys ringing in his hand. The trunk of the Mustang popped open, obscuring him from view. Carlos could hear the rustle of bags being pushed aside. Lane was whistling a tune Carlos wasn't familiar with. Before long Lane was walking back towards the lighthouse with a Ziploc bag full of weed in one hand, and a small wooden box in the other. He nodded at the door, wanting Carlos to follow him inside.

Sitting on the sofa, Carlos watched Lane make a joint; rock music was playing on the stereo. With narrow, meticulous fingers, Lane rolled the paper up so the joint was tightly held together. He held it up demonstratively. "The world's most perfectly made joint." He lit it with a match, took a drag from it, inhaled the smoke, and blew it out.

Smoke curled through the air, the smell strong and spicy. It made Carlos think of all the times he'd caught whiff of a skunk in the middle of the night. Lane passed the joint to him. "Do just like I did."

Carlos did. The smoke stung his throat. He fell into a fit of coughing, his eyes watering. Lane was patting him on the back saying, "Don't inhale so hard next time."

"Good God," Carlos said. "I don't understand why people smoke this stuff."

"Give it a few minutes and you will. Pot always gives me the munchies. I want breakfast. Do you want breakfast?"

"It's almost ten o'clock in the morning."

"Yeah, so? Wanna help me?"

                      …

After picking up a few things on the way home from The Netted Eel, Lane stood at the stove, flipping pancakes and Carlos stood at the counter beating eggs with a whisk.

For the first time since coming to Adermoor Cove he felt something like a sense of belonging. Perhaps it was having someone over he felt comfortable around, doing something domestic. It reminded him of those blissful days with Charlie in Michigan.

He scooped the pancakes with the spatula and set them on plates. Perfectly round pancakes the size of hamburger buns. Crispy around the edges, soft and fluffy in the middle just the way Charlie would make them. Butter spread on the top, maple syrup drizzled on top. The world's most perfect pancake, he thought.

Carlos came up beside him and pushed the eggs next to the pancakes. They leaned against the counter and began eating.

"Hmmm," Carlos said, chewing. "I don't think eggs have ever tasted this good before."

"Because you're stoned. Everything tastes better when you're stoned."

They ate at the dining room table, speaking little, simply enjoying each other's company. When they finished eating Lane took the dishes into the kitchen.

He'd turned the water on to fill the sink with soapy water when he heard the dining room door open. He turned around and came face to face with Carlos who stood just a few inches away. Their lips touched and before Lane knew it he had his hands on Carlos's shoulders and Carlos had his hands on the small of Lane's back. They leaned against one another, swapping tongues and spit. Lane was ragingly, painfully hard.

It was when Carlos's hands went down to the seat of his pants that Lane realized he'd made a grave error. He pulled away. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry. I don't know what came over me." Carlos's olive toned skin became a bright red. He turned to leave but Lane grabbed his hand.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I think I led you on. Look, I don't want you to think that we don't have some mutual attraction thing going on because we do - and you have no idea how bad I want to explore that. But I can't."

"Because of Charlie?"

Lane nodded. "Because of Charlie, because of Brendan, and because of your father, and because you almost died yourself."

Carlos shook his head. "What happened on Donovan Road isn't your fault. I don't blame you, you know that right?"

Lane looked down at his feet, his face hot with shame. Tears pricked his eyes. He thought of Charlie and Brendan. Both had been good men and both had died because of him. "Doesn't mean I'm not to blame. If I hadn't been in the car with you and your father, Enzo might still be alive. That bear took you because it wanted to get to me. It used you as bait. This thing will always use the people around me, the people I care about."

"So what," said Carlos, "you're just going to be alone for the rest of your life?"

"If that's what it takes to be the hero then yeah."