Page 22 of Love Bound

He sets his jaw. "No."

***

On the drive back to her place, I find out what happened during the tour of the firehouse.

"Oh, he's still an asshole," she says, looking out the window. Her bare feet are up on the dash—a habit from high school. "They have this little bitty double bunk set up in case we get another woman firefighter, I guess, and a partitioned corner to dress in. He's done everything by the book. There's even a women's dispenser in the clearly marked unisex bathroom."

I blank for a moment at "dispenser."

"Tampons and pads," she explains.

"Are you kidding? How long has that been there?”

"I don’t know. I guess they got it all in when they renovated."

That was nearly a year ago, way before they knew she was coming home and needed a job, which meant all this gender-equal space was in the works before she arrived and was not built specifically for her. I don’t mention this though—the last thing I want is to appear to be standing up for David Keller.

He had Devon kicked off the soccer team her junior year when he was the coach and it would take a lot for them now to meet halfway.

Suddenly her voice grows soft. "Is Travis due home soon? I miss him."

I grip the steering wheel. "We all miss him." Sometimes I think people assume I don't miss anyone, or need anyone, or cry. I pause for a moment and take a breath to make sure nothing snarky comes out. "Not 'til Thanksgiving."

"Fuck."

When we pull up to the store we both hop out. I need new hoof trimmers and eggs, and she needs bread.

But she goes soft around the edges; Travis can do that to people. This softening makes her ask, "Do you ever think about Chloe?"

A steel trap door slams shut in my mind. "No."

Tossing her long dark hair over one shoulder, she offers advice I don't want or need. "You've got to forgive her, Claire."

My silence should be enough, but she presses on.

"She's been gone for so long. It’s not her fault. Mom and Dad—it wasn’t her fault."

Now, it’s my turn. "Shit."

Chapter Six

Finn

The town of Echo Bay is a smudge of buildings by the sea. A grocery store with a thirty-five percent mark-up in the summer and a single gas pump, an antique store, a barber shop/hair salon hybrid, the infamous Pine Cove Café, Cod's End on the Wharf, the Camden Chowder Place, a clothing store with very expensive bamboo clothing, the ferry landing, and storefront, and two stores that defy characterization. One was an ice cream dip at one end, a novelty store in the middle, and an art gallery at the end. The second was a Korean restaurant called Shin La, but the front display case housed the biggest donuts I've ever seen. One of their bear claws was nearly the size of a frisbee. Their dumplings were delicious. I had some last night.

Everything else—all the fisheries, wholesale lots, and dry docks—were along the shore, but so small and well maintained, nothing created an eyesore.

I peel off Route 1, the road that snakes up the coast, linking all the finger peninsulas jutting into the Atlantic, and was looking for Fourteen Belmont Place in Belfast.

I’ve never met the guy, this attorney. I’ve only spoken with him on the phone, and he said the owner—George Johnson—wanted to meet. I can’t believe this guy has any will to get me my land. He sure didn’t help the first time around.

The land came with The Inn. It's all right there on the county map, but George had it carved off, created a trust, and gave it to Claire Russo for a dollar—and I didn't find out about it until the closing.

And now he wants to talk.

I pull in and park, glancing at the small white Victorian house with red shutters and ancient shrubs.

Is every business in Maine operated in repurposed houses?