Page 92 of Fire Island
Ava studies her son, but his expression doesn’t change. “I’m sure that would be fine, when he’s ready.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Reese stands and swipes up his phone.
He’s tall. Built like me, and I even recognize the gait as he walks away, disappearing through the door to the café.
“I would appreciate it if you would run any offers past me first.” Ava’s shoulders are set back, her chin tilted up.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You want me to ask permission to see my own son?”
Her mouth opens to say something.
I don’t give her the chance. “So we’re clear. You faked your death, turned an entire town against me, and ran off with my flesh and blood. And now you’re trying to set the rules?”
“I—”
“You don’t get a say, Ava. He’s twenty-one. He doesn’t need your permission to do a damn thing. And neither do I.”
I stand and stalk from the room.
She can sit in her propriety and stew, for all I care. If she’s doing such a wonderful job, why is the boy not in college? Why is he being chauffeured around by his mother? And why the hell is this town so okay with what she’s done?
It’s almost as if . . .
Small-town business is everybody’s business. But this is surprisingly not getting the reaction I thought it would. They either truly do hate me that much, or something else is going onhere. I find Iris behind the counter with Paige. They are tallying the bill for a disgruntled customer, and I give them a wave as I head for the door.
Iris mutters something to Paige and slips out from behind the counter, following me out. The door jingles to a close behind me, and she grabs my arm. “So? What’s he like? How did it go?”
Her green eyes are lit by hope and curiosity.
“As I’d expected. Awkward and short.”
“Urgh, come on, you have to give me more than that.”
“He’s a chip off the old block, that oughta tell you all you need to know.”
Her eyes narrow and she folds her arms over her apron-clad chest. “He looks so much like you. Is he coming back?”
“I have no idea. I invited him out to the house, but something tells me Ava isn’t on board with that.”
“Well, he is old enough to do what he wants. So maybe he will?”
“Maybe.” I move to leave, but she stops me, a hand on my arm.
“Cal, I’m—” She tamps back emotion. “This feels like a good thing.”
“We’ll see, Irry.”
She shakes her head, stepping out of my space. I press my lips to her forehead. For all she’s done for me. For the way she constantly fights for me. With a brief squeeze of a hug, I leave her on the sidewalk and head for Firefly. The only person I want to see right now—to talk to—is Evie.
Twenty-Five
EVIE
Laying on the grass by the shed, I let the sun’s warmth soak into my skin. The ocean breeze is my friend today, caressing my skin as it warms me, lulling me into a restful doze. The days have started cooling off, and I will catch every ray of warmth I can before they disappear.
“Pass the wrench, will you?” Cal’s grunt snaps me back to reality.
I sit up and scan the tools laid out at my side until I find the one he needs. He sits on the other side of the old Indian bike, hands filthy with grease, some smudged over his cheek, and his beard darkened with it where he’s been rubbing his hand as he thinks.
