Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [109]
“That sounds good,” Rhiannon said. “I think your grandmother got me a bit smashed.” She shook her head. “That’s a sentence I’ve never said before.”
They stood at the kitchen window. Maggie could see Alice across the way on her porch, talking on the phone. Who was she talking to? Probably Ann Marie.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Maggie said. “It’s going to be so lonely after you’re gone. And my grandmother—I’m not sure I can take her.”
“She’s not that bad,” Rhiannon said.
“Maybe I should call Gabe.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Rhiannon asked.
“No. Yes? I don’t know. I can’t believe I haven’t heard from him.”
“If I tell you something, do you promise to take it in the spirit in which it’s intended?” Rhiannon asked.
“Sure,” Maggie said.
“Remember when you and Gabe came to my restaurant for dinner?”
Maggie nodded, feeling her heart sink.
“Well, when you were in the bathroom, he put his hand on my ass. I think he tried to kiss me. I don’t know. He was drunk. I wasn’t going to say anything, but—well, I see you holding out hope and it scares me, Maggie. He’s not a good guy. And you’re wonderful.”
With that, finally, she knew for sure what she had been trying not to know for days: it was only her in this; he wasn’t going to be there to raise a child.
Maggie felt foolish about how much time she had spent with Rhiannon, talking about Gabe, without knowing that the two of them shared a secret of their own. Naturally Gabe wanted Rhiannon—what guy wouldn’t? Her body tensed up. She wished she had never introduced them.
“I’m going to bed,” Maggie said. “You probably shouldn’t drive. You can sleep in the big room. Okay?”
Rhiannon seemed taken aback by her abruptness, but she just said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
Maggie turned toward the bathroom to wash her face.
“I’m sorry,” Rhiannon said. “Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Maybe,” Maggie said. She closed the door behind her, feeling guilty. She was never mean like that, not to anyone, let alone a friend. She started to cry.
Maggie couldn’t sleep. After she heard Rhiannon go to bed, she paced the living room, paying attention to each creak of the floorboards as she stared at her cell phone screen and searched for a signal.
Finally, in the corner by the kitchen, she got two bars. She dialed the number, her heart racing as she listened to the phone ring. For a second, she thought he was going to let it go to voice mail, but then he picked up.
She heard people laughing in the background, the sound of women’s voices.
“Mags?” Gabe said. “Hello?”
It was so bitter and sad, looking for safety in the person least likely to give it to you. Like drinking salt water, she thought. The house felt eerily quiet.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hold on, I can’t hear you—let me go outside for a sec,” he said, and then there was a lot of muffling and yelling and laughing before the noise faded.
“How are you?” he asked. His voice was faint; she could hardly make it out. She crouched down lower, searching for a signal.
“Fine,” she said. “Listen. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Hello? Are you calling from your apartment? You’re all fuzzy.”
“No. I’m up in Maine.”
She tried to sound unafraid, wanting him to be shocked by her, maybe.
“What?” he said. “I can’t really hear you.”
“I’m in Maine.”
“Oh yeah? By yourself?” he asked.
“No,” she said. She didn’t think she could mention Rhiannon’s name without crying again. “My brother and some friends are driving up now.”
“Oh hey, fun,” he said. “Tell Chris I say hi.”
“How’s New York?” she asked. And then—as furious as she felt, she couldn’t help it—“I miss you.”
“I’m in East Hampton, actually,” he said. “Missing you too.”
Her stomach flipped, and suddenly her sadness turned to anger, the two feelings so much aligned when it came to him.
“Why?” she said.
“Why do I miss you?” he said.
“Why are you in the Hamptons?”
“Some girl Hayes knows from college, her parents have this sweet beach