Page 58 of The Maine Event

“Come on, Rachel!” she calls. “What do you want to do first?”

I smile at her eagerness, trying to muster up the same level of excitement. “It’s your day, Chloe. You decide.”

Her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “Can we take the boat out?” she asks, practically bouncing on her toes.

My stomach drops. “Oh… I don’t know. Your dad didn’t say anything about boats.”

Chloe doesn’t even seem to notice my hesitation. “It’ll be fine. Dad taught me how to row, and we always wear life jackets. I’ll show you!”

I should put my foot down, insist on staying on dry land, but the excitement in her eyes makes me hesitate. I don’t want to be another adult who’s taking away Chloe’s agency and always saying no, who’s too afraid of messing up to take a risk. I’ve done that my whole life—shying away from anything that might blow up in my face. But Chloe’s counting on me to say yes, to just go with it, for once.

Before I can come up with another excuse, she’s already dashing toward the boathouse, leaving me no choice but to follow. Maybe it’s worth letting my guard down. Just this once.

As we get closer, I can’t help but feel a twinge of something raw in my chest. The morning sun streams through the wide, open doorway, catching on the fresh coat of deep red paint and bouncing off the water beyond. It’s beautiful.

But stepping inside is like taking a punch to the gut. It’s here, right here, that I thought maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay. Where Dan’s hands on my skin felt like the start of something incredible. Where his mouth on mine made my head spin and my heart pound. And just an hour later, it all fell apart.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to focus on Chloe, who’s already darting ahead, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside me.

“Look!” she says, beaming as she points to the small rowboat hanging from a winch a foot above the water, newly painted and practically gleaming. “Dad and I worked on it for weeks! He let me paint it. Isn’t it awesome?”

I move further into the boathouse to take a closer look. It was covered with streamers and party decorations last night and, well, I thought it was part of the decoration rather than an actual working boat—plus my focus was on something else entirely. It’s a simple little thing, nothing fancy, but the wood is sanded smooth, and the paint job is immaculate. White with a deep blue trim, and hanging from a hook on the bow, a wooden nameplate is painted in careful, bold script: Rebecca.

I pause, feeling a pang of something bittersweet. “Rebecca,” I murmur. “Named after your mom.”

Chloe nods, her fingers grazing the painted letters with a kind of reverence. “Yeah. Dad named it after her when we fixed it up. It used to be all broken down and sad-looking, but he said giving it her name would make it beautiful again.”

My throat tightens, and I glance away, not wanting her to see the way my eyes are stinging.

“It looks beautiful,” I reassure her. “You did an amazing job. I love the name too.”

She glances at me, a little shy now, her fingers tracing the neat lettering. “Mom loved the water… She always wanted to go sailing, but Dad never got around to fixing the old boat until… well, after.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and I feel a pang of sadness on her behalf. I didn’t know Rebecca, but I know the kind of impact loss can have on a family.

“Your dad seems like he’s really doing his best,” I say gently. “You must be proud of him.”

Chloe nods, but she’s not smiling anymore. “He tries so hard to be both parents at once. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do.Sometimes he overdoes it, you know? Like, trying to bake fancy cupcakes for my school bake sale when I just wanted plain ones. Or fixing my hair in these perfect braids that don’t even look like me.” She shrugs, giving me a sideways glance. “I don’t want him to think he’s not enough. But… sometimes, I just wish he’d let me do some things myself.”

I bite back the lump in my throat, touched by how perceptive she is. “You’re a smart kid, Chloe. And you’re right—he’s trying his best. But maybe it’s okay to tell him that you can handle some things on your own.”

She thinks about it, her little forehead creasing in thought. “Maybe. It’s just… I don’t want to make him sad. He gets that look sometimes, like he’s trying not to cry when he thinks I can’t see.”

I swallow, wishing I had the right words. “You know what? Your dad’s lucky to have you. You’re brave, and you’re thoughtful, and you care about him. Not every kid would understand that. You’re a pretty amazing team.”

Her smile returns, tentative but real. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

Chloe brightens a little, and I can see the tension ease from her shoulders. She glances at me with a spark of curiosity. “You don’t have kids, do you?”

“No,” I admit, trying to keep my tone light. “I barely remember to water my plants, let alone take care of another human being.”

She giggles at that, and the sound lifts the mood like a ray of sunshine through a dusty window. “Well, you’re pretty cool. You’d probably be a good mom if you ever wanted to be.”

The unexpected compliment hits me square in the chest, and I’m not entirely sure why.

I muster a smile and ruffle her hair. “Thanks, Chloe. That means a lot.”

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