to use it for weather reports when I’m out on the boat, but I don’t want to make myself available all the time, you know?”
Except to one person.
God. Nora’s continued absence was gutting him.
If only he knew her goddamn number, he could call her from his landline. But he didn’t, and there was no way to get it without asking Eve or Maya or someone. Which he still might do. He just wasn’t quite that desperate yet.
He had asked Eve once how she was doing, but there wasn’t much news. “Sounds like she isn’t doing well but is still hanging on,” she’d said, as if that were specific enough. As if that told him anything of use.
And anyway, he wanted to know how Nora was doing. The “she” in his question had meant Nora.
“You might actually be onto something with that,” Clara said. “I’m starting to think my phone is affecting my brain, and not in a good way. You want Android or iOS?”
“I have no idea what those words even mean.”
“If budget is a primary concern, I’d say Android. But since—don’t take this the wrong way—you’re kind of a beginner, I’m going to say we should go with an iPhone. It’s more intuitive.”
“Just get me a phone.” He winced. That had come out way too sharply. She hadn’t done anything but help him. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Jake.” She smiled affectionately at him. “I’m not going to tell Sawyer.”
“Why not?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking. He shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Honestly?” she said as she tapped away at her phone. “Because you’re one of the only people in this town who isn’t giving me shit about Sunnie.”
“People are giving you shit about Sunnie? What people?”
“Calm down. Not like that. Just, you know the way everyone in this town acts. They’re being all wink-wink, nudge-nudge. Like, I just met the girl a few months ago. She’s my first girlfriend. Meanwhile, Pearl has started emailing me pictures of wedding cake toppers with two brides. Even Sawyer is being kind of weird.”
“Yeah, I can’t help you there. I don’t know how to make Pearl not be Pearl or make Sawyer not be weird.”
“I mean, I get it. It’s hard to be from Moonflower Bay and not let all this nosiness rub off on you. But why do people have to verbalize every thought in their head?”
“I ask myself that every day.”
“Like, for example, even if I suspect that your suddenly buying a phone is related to your massive crush on Dr. Walsh, that doesn’t mean I need to say it out loud.”
He was tempted to protest. But what was the point? Clara was just a kid. She wouldn’t understand the concept of friends with benefits. And the relevant point was that she wasn’t going to tell Sawyer, who also, it seemed, didn’t understand the concept of friends with benefits. So he returned the conversation to an earlier topic: “If anyone gives you shit—like actual shit about who you are—you let me know, okay?” People didn’t just mess with Clara Collins.
She smiled. “Thanks, Jake. I mean, my brother is a cop and all, so I don’t think I’m going to need to tap you for vigilante justice purposes, but I totally appreciate that I could. Now hand over your credit card so we can buy you a phone you’re going to use to check the weather for all that fishing you don’t do.”
Grandma was slipping away. Every day she was awake less—overall and at each interval. And when she was awake, she was starting, sometimes, not to know where she was, or what year it was.
“You should think of medical school,” she said to Nora on the morning of Christmas eve, reaching out and flailing her hand. Nora grabbed the hand in her own. Her grandma’s skin was thin and crepey and pale and studded with a line that was delivering fluids and meds.
“I did go to med school, Grandma,” she whispered. “Remember how I’m patching up boo-boos in Moonflower Bay instead of cutting people up like real doctors do?”
They’d been joking around as recently as last night, but Nora didn’t get the smile she’d been aiming for. Her grandma furrowed her brow. “I’ve seen you with patients. And more importantly, I’ve seen you with doctors. You already know as much as they do.”
Hmm. Grandma had not seen her with patients—she’d been retired by the time Nora was in med school.
“She thinks you’re me, honey.” Her mom came up behind