Page 53 of Holding On

“I don’t know. But he should have thought about it more. His plan was to go to vet school and get established here. He was going to move back when he was thirty-five. That was the plan, thirty-five. And then he stayed a little longer, and then a little longer. And then your parents had more children, and then they adopted you, and then they died.”

Something in me starts to fray. My upside-down stomach isn’t helping. At least I’ve straightened the barge out so we’re taking the waves across the top and the rocking is reduced.

I don’t say anything for a moment. Then I start. “I’ve known George Hamilton literally my whole life. Listen, Maya. I know him as a man who is true to his word and true to his promise. He made a legal and moral pledge to my parents that he’d be there for us if something happened to them.” I shake my head. “I can’t turn that into something terrible. I won’t.”

“I know,” she says. “When I came here, I was angry all over again, seeing him with you all and feeling like he should have been there for us.”

“I thought something was wrong.”

“Not wrong. But not right either.” Her voice suddenly changes, and there’s a tremor running through it, making her next words all wavery and sore sounding. “He chose the Russos. He didn’t choose the Hamiltons.”

“Here’s what I think,” I say, and I put an arm around her, one hand still on the wheel. “Just go talk to him. George is amazing. If you want him to be in your life, he will be.”

The weight of her head on my shoulder is light. She kisses my arm and sighs. “I don’t know. So much time has gone by. It’s seems irrelevant.”

“But not to you. Just talk to him.”

“It’s easy for you,” she says. “You have a relationship with him. He’s like your father.”

“Yeah. True. But he’s your uncle, Maya. Do it in a loving way, but make yourself heard. All you’re really telling him is how important he is to you. That’s why it hurts so much.”

I cut the motor and coast a bit, steering The Winnow toward her slip.

“You make it all sound so easy.”

“I don’t think any relationship is hard if you love the person.”

She reaches up and kisses me again. I have to drop my hand from the wheel to grasp her, feel her. I’m so glad she’s here. And I’m so glad I listened to my mother during the time we were together.

That line about love is all my mom’s.

***

It’s Sunday, late in the morning, and I’m driving back down the coast. I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s like I’ve taken a drug. Remembering her body with small, firm, round breasts, long arms and legs, and a tight, high ass, competes with the road for my attention. The feeling of Maya in my arms, the way she would tremble in a moment of vulnerability or ecstasy, and then turn it around and show such strength, made me hard just thinking about her. Her hair was so soft. The skin stretched thin at her temples, so delicate. Her pulse fluttered there early this morning.

I had kissed her temple and then her mouth, her neck, moving down to where there was another thin, smooth glide of skin in the hollow between her clavicles . . .

Fuck me. Eyes on the road.

It’s when I turn on Route 1 that my brain starts to clear, and I’m left in a place I didn’t see coming. After an amazing day and night—and morning—doubt should be the furthest thing from my mind, but it’s here and almost suffocating.

Not that I doubt her. Not that I question what feels so real between us. Not that I’m unsure of my next steps or myself.

I adjust the rearview mirror, and for a moment, I catch the receding view of road and trees.

That’s when it hits me: the wavering uncertainty I feel around her is being triggered by something I’ve missed. Something maybe hindsight will deliver on.

But whatever it is, I also feel there’s a time element, and whatever isn’t right is tightening around everything I love.

Maybe Mom was wrong.

***

After seeing Devon’s red Corolla outside Weaver’s, I decide to drop in. She’s the one I seek out when I feel unsettled. Growing up, Claire always had too much on her plate and Chloe was gone. And so Devon was the one I’d turn to. Just being around her made me feel better.

Their apartment above Weaver’s is small but cozy, and it probably stinks of creosote. I know they’ve both come off a shift.

I take the stairs two at a time. I admit it, though, I still relish the element of surprise like some teenager, so I fly up as quickly and as quietly as I can.