“Daddy, may I go to a bonfire this evening?”
“With who? You just started school.”
Brooklyn swallowed. “Austin Woods. He’s a local boy, a fisherman, and in my class. He invited me. There’s a group going, so it’s not just the two of us.” She purposely left out the part about Austin being the resident heartthrob, the cutest boy she had ever laid her eyes on, and how when he smiled, her heart raced so fast she swore she was having a heart attack.
“His parents own the inn that we stayed in, David. The one right on the water. The view from our room is what sold me on living here,” Brooklyn’s mother, Bonnie, chimed in. “What time will you be home?”
Brooklyn perked up. “Oh, I don’t know. Um . . .”
“Midnight and not a second later,” David bellowed. He tried to act gruff, but Brooklyn saw through the act. She smiled and kissed her father on the cheek.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
From her house, Brooklyn walked two blocks until she came to the large seawall. She all but galloped down the wooden steps, slipping her shoes off as soon as she touched the sand, and walked hurriedly toward the inn. You could see it from anywhere in town—it was the tallest structure and set partially on a cliff.
The closer Brooklyn came, the louder she could hear everyone. They were laughing, and their giggles were contagious. She stood there, watching the group of friends. They seemed in tune with each other, much like she had been with Rennie, who she couldn’t wait to tell about Austin.
“Brooke, you made it!” Monroe stood and rushed over to her, then slipped her arm in hers.
She didn’t bother correcting her on the shortened version of her name. Usually she would have, but that was before she had moved. Here, she wanted to be a different person.
Monroe brought her into the circle and introduced her to a few new faces, but her eyes were set on Austin, who was walking toward the group with his arms full of wood. As much as she wanted to go help him, she knew showing her cards too soon would not bode well for her. She waited for him to see her, and when he did, he winked.
Brooklyn had no idea a wink could do so much to her insides, but they were spinning. She was having heart palpitations, her palms were sweating—which meant sand was sticking to her—and her mouth was parched. In all her life, she had never felt this way.
As soon as the sun set, the ambience shifted. Boys and girls coupled together, sharing blankets, and some even wandered off toward the surf or the shacks. Brooklyn felt out of place, even though Monroe was still sitting next to her, but she was canoodling with Grady Chamberlain.
Still, Brooklyn sat there, watching the blue and red flames of the fire dance around, determined to have a good time. Her head bobbed to the music, she laughed at jokes she heard, and she smiled when people asked her questions. It wasn’t until she shivered and a blanket was draped over her shoulders that her night turned around. Austin sat next to her, his shoulder touching hers, and while sharing the same blanket, she realized she had been faking having a good time . . . her good time started as soon as she stared into Austin’s brown eyes.
Brooklyn wiped at the tears that had started to fall. It had been years since she thought about Austin and that first bonfire. That night, she’d thought for sure he would kiss her, especially when he walked her home, but he hadn’t. The kiss came the next day, and it was explosive. It was a game changer for her. They had almost gone all the way, but Austin had stopped them, saying their first time needed to be special, not in his truck or on the beach where people could see them.
Unfortunately, their first time was anything but special. Not because Austin hadn’t put in every effort but because she had cried, which made Austin think she regretted losing her virginity. She hadn’t felt that way at all. She was just in pain. The days following were awkward for them. Brooklyn thought for sure they were going to break up, that she had given away her virginity too soon, but Austin was giving her space. It turned out that they both needed time to sort out their feelings after what they had done, and once they did, they became inseparable.
The sound of someone trudging through the sand brought Brooklyn’s attention back to reality. She turned and saw her daughter coming toward her with two mugs in her hand. The smile that broke out over her face was automatic. Brystol sat down next to her and handed her a piping hot cup of coffee.
“How did you know I was out here?” she asked, inhaling the sweet aroma.
“Nonnie told me.” Brystol motioned toward the inn. Brooklyn turned and saw Carly standing in the window of the ballroom, likely looking out over the sea.
“You know I was just a year older than you are when I moved here.”
“I like it here. I like being on the beach.”
“How much of it have you seen? Because I’m under the impression that Nonnie doesn’t leave the house.”
Brystol shrugged. “Simone and I go out a lot, but Nonnie . . . sometimes she’s really bad, Mom. Like, she cries or is sick with a cold. Simone and I do a lot of things like go bowling or to the movies. She takes me digging for clams and out crabbing. And sometimes Nonnie comes with us if we go to Seattle or Port Orchard.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Brystol sipped from her mug. “Nonnie said telling you would make you worry, that your job was stressful.”
Brooklyn wanted to chide her daughter for keeping secrets, but she couldn’t. She could’ve asked better questions; she could’ve showed Brystol that she cared about what happened here. Moreover, she could’ve been a better friend to Carly.
“Is Nonnie sick a lot?” Brooklyn hated pumping her daughter for answers, but until she could get Simone alone, this was the only way to find out what was really going on here.
“Simi tells me not to worry, that Nonnie will be fine, but last summer I got really scared when I found Nonnie in the bathroom. She had blood around her lips.”
Brooklyn pulled Brystol under the blanket and held her. The lifestyle Brooklyn had chosen wasn’t conducive to raising a child, but she made it work. However, Brooklyn knew that having friends was something Brystol was missing, even though her daughter never complained. When Brooklyn wasn’t working, they explored the cities and towns they were staying in, visiting museums, libraries, parks, and whatever else they could find to satisfy the homeschool requirements. Brystol spent a lot of time on jobsites, helping the crew do their math calculations, which helped her master geometry. They were best friends, but she knew her daughter needed more.
“I’m thinking of taking some time off or at least booking jobs that are local after the inn is finished.”
“Where?”
“Here or maybe Seattle,” she said, smiling at her daughter. Staying in Washington would give Brystol full access to her grandparents and would afford Brooklyn peace of mind if she had to travel or work late. “You’d have to enroll in school.”
Brystol’s eyes went wide with excitement. “I could go to homecoming and prom. I’ve always wanted to get all dressed up. I see the pictures of you and Dad all over Nonnie’s bedroom and wish I could be a princess for one night.”
An ache shot through Brooklyn’s heart. She tried to wish it away, but it lingered. Carly kept photos of her and Austin, still to this day. Somewhere in a recess of her parents’ basement, there was a tote full of mementos. The last thing she remembered putting in there was Austin’s obituary. That was all that was left of their life together, aside from Brystol.
“It would be funny if I went to the same school as you and Dad.”
Brooklyn wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Nothing about it would be funny at all, but she understood why her daughter wanted to go there.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, it would. I bet there are teachers there that you and Dad had. They probably know all your secrets.” Brystol bumped her shoulder into her mom’s and winked.
Brooklyn blushed. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to hear stories of how teachers had caught her and
Austin in one too many compromising situations.
“Who was the better student?” Brystol asked, saving her mother from any potential humiliation.
“Your dad was a good student, but I was better. Your dad’s focus was on fishing. He just wanted to be out on the boat or in the middle of the stream fly-fishing. He came to school every day, though, but soon as the bell rang, it was time to go. I remember when the sun would shine, he’d beg me to skip school so we could go out on his boat or go hiking. We never did, though. Your grandparents would’ve been so mad.”
Brystol stood, reached for her mother’s hand, and helped pull her to her feet. Together, they walked a few feet toward the water. Brooklyn shivered as a wave washed over her bare feet but didn’t care once she saw her daughter bend to pick up a shell. Within seconds, Brystol’s hand had a sandy pile stacked up.
“Nonnie will love these,” she said.
“She does love her shells,” Brooklyn added as she searched for her own.
“Where did Dad take you on dates?”
Brooklyn sighed. “Cape Harbor is small, but we made the most of it. Louie’s pizza parlor is downtown—most of the time we went there. Sometimes, when our parents would allow it, we’d drive to Anacortes, or we’d go to Skagit Valley. One spring we went to the tulip festival with Nonnie—it was so beautiful—and before Grandpa Skip passed away, we sailed out to the islands. Nonnie and I ran in the lavender fields while your dad and grandpa fished.”
“Yeah, but what would you do? Did Dad, like, buy you flowers?”
A crouched-down Brooklyn smiled. She pulled a dead starfish from the sand and brushed it off before standing upright and handing it to Brystol. “He did. And he paid for dinner, the movies, all the normal stuff. I paid too because it’s important to be equal. We hung out with our friends. Bowie, Jason, Graham and Grady, Monroe and sometimes her sister Mila, and your aunt Rennie. When we were older than you are now, we’d go bowling, to the movies, or we’d just go hang out at the river and jump off rocks. A lot of the time we would hang out on the beach out in front of Nonnie’s.”
They continued to walk down the beach, scouring for shells. When their pockets were full, and they finally noticed their surroundings, they had wandered quite a way from the inn.
“Hey, Mom.”
“What’s up?” Brooklyn asked.
Brystol pointed toward the house they were in front of. “It doesn’t look like it has beach access, but it’s for sale.”
Brooklyn stared at the house they were standing in front of. The seawall seemed to limit the owner’s access to the beach, which wasn’t a big issue, but could be when it came time to sell it. That thought gave her pause. Was she really considering buying a house to flip it? She was, and she loved the idea. From what she could see, it needed work, but nothing she couldn’t tackle—of course, the inside could be a different story. “Is this some kind of hint?”
Her daughter giggled.
“We have a few months before school starts; we’ll figure it out together.”
“Do you know what I find funny about you and Dad?”
“Nope, tell me.”
“That he fished all the time, and you worked for the fish market. Fish really smells, so you guys must’ve been . . .” Brystol pinched her nose and waved her hand in front of her face.
Brooklyn laughed. “Grandma hated that I worked there, but it was fun. If we stay, maybe you should get a job down there.”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’ll work for you or Nonnie. I think it would be fun to work at the inn.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it would be, and Nonnie would love having you there. Come on.” She motioned toward the direction they needed to head. “Work waits.”
“Or we play hooky?”
Brooklyn leaned down and kissed her daughter on her forehead. Playing hooky sounded amazing. The idea of spending the rest of the day on the beach with her daughter was more enticing than painting. Normally, she loved work. It kept her mind busy, and that was something she needed to do right now.
“Let me get this project started, and then we’ll take a day to explore the area.”
“Deal!”
They trudged through the sand and found Carly waiting for them on the deck. Brystol ran up the stairs that led to the shared backyard of the main house and inn. By the time Brooklyn reached her daughter and Carly, they had the shells spread out on the picnic table.
“You ladies were busy this morning,” Carly commented on the collection.
“I believe you’re the one who told me that morning is the best time to gather shells.” Brooklyn brushed her hand over Brystol’s long dark hair. “Why don’t you run in and take a shower. I need to get to work, but I need an hour of reading from you before you start bugging Simone, okay? And don’t forget your book report.”
“Okay, Mom.” Brystol kissed her grandmother and disappeared into the house while both women watched her.
“She’s happy here.”
“She loves you, Carly. Of course, she’s happy.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
Brooklyn glanced at Carly and smiled. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
Carly stared at her with a guarded look. “Stay.”
“What do you mean?” Deep down she knew what Carly wanted, but something inside told her she needed to hear the words.
“Make a life here. Give Brystol a home. Let her grow up with her father’s friends. With me.”
She sat across from Carly and prepared to ask her a barrage of questions. “Why don’t they know her? Why haven’t they come around? Why haven’t you left this house?” She hadn’t meant to ask so many at once, but they just wouldn’t stop coming.
“Losing Skip was hard, but Austin’s death crippled me. If it weren’t for Brystol . . .” She paused, and Brooklyn knew what she was going to say. “Simone tried to bring life back to me, but to face everyone, to see the look of pity and sorrow on their faces—I wasn’t ready.”
“But you are now?”
Her mouth curved into a smile. “You’re here. My granddaughter is here. You both give me purpose.”
Brooklyn reached across the table and held Carly’s hand. “I’ll think about it. Truth is, I have so many thoughts about moving back here, mostly for Brystol. She seems to think it’d be funny to go to school where Austin and I had.” Carly’s brow shot up, causing Brooklyn to laugh. She had been on the receiving end of one too many calls about Brooklyn’s and Austin’s schoolyard antics.
“Brystol needs roots.”
“It would be nice to come home to a home. The thoughts are there, Carly. I promise you.”
Brooklyn left Carly sitting at the table. She went into the house, to her room, and changed into her work clothes. As soon as she heard the backing-up beeps from the delivery truck, she ran down the stairs and out to the front. She saw Bowie’s crew, but not him, and a few of the guys sent up from Seattle by a friend of hers. “Where the hell is he?” she mumbled as she walked out the door and prepared to start her day.
ELEVEN
Bowie woke to Luke licking his face. He tried to push his dog away, but to no avail. His head hurt, pounding like a jackhammer was right next to him. He groaned aloud, earning another round of wet, slobbery kisses from his best friend. He had drunk too much, laughed too hard, and mourned a lost friend right along with his lifelong friends. They had stayed at the Whale Spout long past closing, talking about nothing yet seemingly everything. The elephant in the room was Brooklyn’s return. Her close friends were pissed, at least those who used to be close to her. Monroe seemed to be the only one who understood why Brooklyn had left, while others did not, and a few kept going on about how well she had aged and how they would like to take her out. Those comments had pissed Bowie off, and the only way to shut out the voices had been to drink more.
He reached for his phone, thinking it was past the time Luke normally ate. When his clouded eyes finally registered the numbers, he sat up too quickly and fel
t sick. He barely made it to the bathroom before the appetizers he and Monroe shared the night before, and the copious amounts of beer he drank, came back full force and without pause. Once his stomach was empty, his throat parched, and his ribs aching, he lay there on the cold tile floor, contemplating life. He hadn’t been this hungover in years . . . not since Austin died and he found out that Brooklyn had left. For weeks after, he had drunk himself into a stupor to numb the pain from the realization that in a matter of days, he had lost both of his best friends.
His phone rang. The shrill tone made his ears bleed. By the time he made it back to his bedroom, the ringing had stopped, only to start again. He pressed the accept button and brought the offending electronic to his ear. “Hello?” His voice was raspy, and not in the sexy sort of way. It hurt to speak, think, and move. The only thing Bowie was planning to do today was sleep.
“Boss, you’re late. This chick is screaming her head off about some demo that needs to be done, and me and the guys are waiting for ya.”
Bowie let the words sink in as reality slapped him in the face. Brooklyn was back to do a job, nothing more. She hadn’t come back to make amends or make up for lost time. She was here to work. “Fuck,” he grumbled. If Bowie wanted the job at the inn, he had to get his sorry ass out of bed and get moving. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Brooklyn would pull the plug on his company where this project was concerned. “I’m on my way.”
It took Bowie twenty minutes to dress, feed Luke, and toss a few aspirin down his throat. He needed more sleep, gallons of coffee, and for the ringing in his head to stop. He wasn’t prepared to deal with Brooklyn, not today. He could barely function, let alone move enough to lift a hammer or think quickly. The ton of bricks pushing against his temple reminded him that he was old—much too old to get drunk.
For a moment, he wished Luke were human so he could drive him over to the inn and maybe do his job or make important decisions for him. Or at least a pack mule so he could carry things for him. Luke was neither. What he was, was eager and proudly sitting next to Bowie as they made their way through town.
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