After All

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  Cars lined the road leading to the inn, more than Bowie expected to be there. He tried to recall his meeting yesterday, wondering if he had missed something important, like a change in plans. He was sure he hadn’t. He tried to pull into the driveway, but a bulldozer dumping old concrete into a dumpster blocked him. He would have to walk, which wasn’t a problem for him but was for Luke. He didn’t want his dog to get hurt. There was no way Luke would stay in the truck, leaving him no option but to put him on a leash.

  At the front of the inn, his crew lingered in the driveway—or what used to be the driveway. There were piles of lumber, drywall, and piping and spools of wire lined up along the side. He hadn’t ordered any of this and instantly felt his blood start to boil. Brooklyn had overstepped, and he would have to put her in her place. Before he could even move to find her, she yelled out his name.

  “Bowie, you’re late. Not just a few minutes late, but hours late, and that’s not acceptable.”

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I don’t like excuses. What I do like is progress, and right now your crew is behind. We have a timeline to keep, and if I have to, I’ll set a deadline. I’ve never missed one, and I’m not about to start because you can’t get your shit together and be at work on time!” She was in his face, looking up at him. He could see how she could be menacing to someone who didn’t know her so well. To some, she was probably a bitch, but her reviews said otherwise. Everyone loved working with her; however, at this point in time, all he wanted to do was pick her up and toss her into the ocean to cool her fiery temper. “And you stink. I can’t believe you showed up hungover. What is wrong with you? Carly needs this. It’s the least we can do for her.” Her voice was quiet. He thought for a moment that she was trying to spare him some embarrassment.

  “Rough night,” he muttered.

  She scoffed. “Get your shit together or you’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me. Carly hired me, not you.”

  This made her laugh, which pissed him off even more. She didn’t bother with a response. She wouldn’t need to. Deep down he knew she was right. It wouldn’t matter who hired him; she was Brooklyn Hewett, and she got whatever she wanted. If that meant he had to grovel to make sure he wasn’t out of a job, so be it—he knew he couldn’t lose this opportunity, no matter how difficult it was going to be. He watched her walk back into the house, flipping him the bird as she did, and then glanced at his crew, who were looking everywhere but directly at him. She hadn’t needed to embarrass him. He was doing fine with that all on his own. He hated her more now than he had yesterday, when his life was just complicated. Now it was downright messy. There was no other way to spin it: Brooklyn was back, she was in charge, and he had to be at her beck and call . . . something he wasn’t looking forward to.

  After what seemed like hours, Bowie and his crew were finally tearing down walls, replacing pipes, and sanding down the dark wood that would eventually become white. Everywhere Bowie went, Brooklyn was there, either supervising or working. He watched her from afar, taking her in. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top and wore tan work boots. But it was her hat that really caught his attention. For as long as he’d known her, she’d always worn one. He didn’t find this odd, but soothing, as if his Brooklyn—the one he remembered—had come back. After high school, her hair was shorter than it was now and braided, like it had been yesterday when he’d seen her. The darker color truly highlighted her skin tone.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Bowie cleared his thoughts at the sound of Carly’s voice. He didn’t know what to say to her and whether he should agree with her. He shouldn’t—that’s what he told himself. After the run-in this morning, he wanted to forget she existed, which was proving to be difficult. Still, he was determined to finish the job and walk away just like she had.

  “I’ve asked her to stay.”

  “Why?” He hadn’t meant for the question to sound rude, but it had.

  “She needs to put down roots, and this is her home.” Carly was nonchalant about her statement. She left Bowie there to wonder if Brooklyn had given her an answer or not. He didn’t want her to stay, to clog up his mind with the past, and he would tell her as much when the opportunity presented itself. She needed to finish the job, get the hell out of town, and never come back, as far as he was concerned. Except, he wanted her here and was unwilling to admit that to himself.

  By the time Simone yelled for lunch, Bowie had finished sanding the entryway. He went outside, dusted off, and followed his crew to the picnic tables. Simone stood there, dishing up plates with sandwiches, chips, and fruit and cans of pop. “Thank you,” he said as he took a plate from her. “You and Mrs. Woods didn’t need to do this.”

  “Well now, you’re just being silly if you think she wasn’t going to feed you. She’s always fed the people who came to her home.” She had. There wasn’t a kid who went hungry around here, thanks to Carly.

  Bowie sat down and whistled for Luke. He had felt confident that his dog wouldn’t take off or go anywhere near the construction happening outside once he had shown Luke the backyard. At best, he figured Luke was down on the beach chasing the seagulls and swimming in the ocean. He shouted his name, and moments later the pooch appeared at the top of the stairs that led down to the beach. He appeared ragged and ready for a nap. Bowie patted his own leg, beckoning his dog, but he didn’t come. Luke ignored his master and kept his attention on the stairs behind him. His tongue hung from his mouth, and his tail wagged excessively. Bowie watched as a young girl ascended. His breath caught, and the bite he had just taken felt like a lump lodged in his throat. He knew her, but from where? She crouched down and ruffled Luke’s mane before giving him a kiss on his nose.

  He watched her every move, unable to take his eyes off her. Her presence mesmerized him. Luke, too, seemed to be enamored by her because he was following her toward the house instead of coming to see what his master was eating. When she was out of sight, Bowie sat there, staring at his food. He couldn’t eat, his appetite lost, and he couldn’t understand why. Clearly, she was a visitor or a neighbor, and it would make sense for her and Luke to bond. His dog was friendly; he loved people. So then why did she seem so familiar to him? The imaginary lunch bell sounded by way of his crew getting up and thanking Simone for the meal. Still, he sat there wondering what had just happened.

  “Your dog is really sweet,” Simone said as she came to brush away the crumbs. “He’s made himself at home here.”

  “Who was the girl?” he asked, ignoring the positive comments about his dog.

  Simone continued cleaning and smiled. “That’s Brystol.”

  “Does she live around here? I’ve never seen her around town, but I feel like she’s familiar.”

  She shook her head.

  “Simi, may I go into town with you?”

  Simone glanced up just as Bowie turned toward her voice. “Of course, sweetie.”

  The young woman was a few feet away, smiling. She had the same smile as . . . her mother. Bowie swallowed hard, but the lump blocking his airway stayed put. He was having trouble breathing. The miniature version of Brooklyn was standing there talking to Simone as if they’d known each other for longer than a day or two.

  “Is the black dog yours, sir?”

  “His name’s Luke,” Bowie barely whispered as he tried to decipher all the thoughts running through his mind. If this girl was comfortable here, did that mean she was Austin’s? There was no way Carly Woods would hide her son’s daughter from his friends.

  “He’s very nice. I asked my nonnie if he could stay in the house with me while you worked.”

  “Nonnie?”

  The younger version of Brooklyn smiled. “My grandma. She owns the inn.”

  Bowie stood. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he needed to get the hell out of there. Austin had a child, and no one knew. Not even one of his friends had been invited to be a part of her life. They hid her away like a dirt
y secret or an abomination. He wasn’t sure which, but neither made sense to him. Why wouldn’t Carly have told him that Austin’s blood still flowed?

  Because he hadn’t been a good friend—that’s why. He didn’t deserve to know anything about the Woods family, let alone be present in the life of a daughter his best friend never had an opportunity to raise. However, he couldn’t help but think that he could’ve been there for Brooklyn, helped her out, been her support system, been there when she gave birth. Austin’s friends would’ve made sure the girl was loved by all, cherished, and knew the best parts of her dad, but instead, no one had said anything. No one had bothered to share the news. He had so many questions surrounding Brystol, Brooklyn, Carly, and their actions. He was hurt. He wanted answers that he knew he wasn’t due, but he planned to ask the questions anyway.

  TWELVE

  Brooklyn perched herself on the top of the ladder and scrutinized the scene below her. Four of Bowie’s men were in the lobby with her. One was deglossing the trim, one taping plastic to the floor—which, in her opinion, should’ve happened right after they’d removed the furniture. The third man was on his cell phone, and the fourth was standing off to the side with his hands on his hips, staring at the pile of scaffolding that should already have been up and ready for use. If it had been, Brooklyn wouldn’t be on the ladder trying to tape off sections of trim.

  She was already frustrated by Bowie’s efforts. The way he conducted business was not to her level, nor was it the level she had learned from his father. It was Bowie’s dad who gave her a job with Seacoast Construction after high school as his personal assistant. The job wasn’t much, but it paid her rent and put food on her table.

  She returned to the task at hand, stretching as far as she could without tipping the ladder or falling off. She was trying to give Bowie some leeway. He had sworn his team was efficient and worked fast. None of which she was witnessing. She pulled at the tape, ripping off a chunk. She was about to slap it to the wall when Bowie’s booming voice interrupted her. He was screaming loud enough that he could be heard throughout the house, but his words were unclear. She scanned the room, watching as his employees scrambled to look busy. The brushstrokes of the man who was working with the liquid sander suddenly became faster. The pieces to the scaffolding started to clank together. The gent on the phone now had a bucket and rag in his hand, and the plastic floor covering seemed to unroll much faster.

  Brooklyn was laughing when Bowie entered the room. If his employees thought he was mad at them, they didn’t show it. Bowie slowly turned toward Brooklyn and huffed. She conjured up an image of a bull turning red with steam coming out of his nose, making her giggle even louder.

  She had started to climb down when Bowie’s words stopped her. “How long did you think you’d get away with it?”

  “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

  “Do you think this is all a joke?” he asked. “You act like we meant nothing to you.”

  Brooklyn was confused. What the hell was he going on about? She finished her descent, and once her feet were firmly on the ground, she handed Bowie the tape. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but your crew in here is really slow and needs to pick up the pace. They stand around, waiting until you come in before getting to work. It’s unacceptable.” She used their lack of efforts as a buffer between her and Bowie. It was the only way she could cope with him around right now.

  Bowie’s mouth dropped open. She had no intentions of going tit for tat with him and left him standing there. He could deal with his crew, or she would. It didn’t really matter to her; she just wanted the job done efficiently and effectively.

  Upstairs, she went from room to room, checking the progress. Walls were open, exposing pipes that needed to be replaced. Lights from the ceilings were sitting on the floors, with gaping holes overhead. She found one man standing on a ladder, only she couldn’t see his head because he was in the ceiling, likely working on the wiring. Spools of wiring cluttered the hallway, and men walked by her with their tool belts clanking.

  Tape measures had a distinct sound to them when being pulled from their cases. Brooklyn watched as a two-man team measured the exposed wall and jotted notes down. If she listened carefully, she’d hear the buzz saw that was outside, slicking through the wood. This excited her. Creating something out of someone’s vision always brought her joy. Once the shiplap went up, she’d bring Carly up here so she could see the progress. Everything she wanted out of the magazines would be exactly as she liked. Brooklyn would make sure of it.

  Down the hall, she came across Bowie’s men. She walked in, expecting to find them sitting down. Much to her surprise, this room was further along than the others she had inspected. This pleased her, but there was no way she’d give Bowie the satisfaction of knowing. But she would give his guys a compliment because they deserved it. “Looks great in here.”

  “Thanks, boss lady,” one replied.

  Brooklyn walked to the end of the hall and used her master key to unlock the room. It had been years since she had been in here. She flipped the switch, and the light dimly lit the room. Before looking at anything, she went to the window and pulled open the blinds, letting the sun beam through. This room aside, Brooklyn decided she was going to make sure the windows were open in all the rooms. The inn needed the sun; it needed to have life brought back into it. She left the room, avoiding even a glance at the bed. Her life had changed in this room. It was where she had become a woman. But recalling those memories right now was too painful. One thing was certain: she wanted the furniture gone, sooner rather than later.

  Downstairs, she saw progress in the lobby. The scaffolding was finally up, and work was being done. She went back to the house, needing a break. In the living room, Brystol was on the floor with the remote in her hand. Nothing odd except for the fact that she was using a dog as a headrest. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for Simi so I can go with her.”

  “Where’s she going?”

  “Into town. Wants to stock up on food because Nonnie insists on feeding everyone.”

  Brooklyn gave her daughter an odd look. “How do you know this?”

  Brystol sat up and shrugged. “Nonnie talks really loudly sometimes.”

  “Did you finish your reading?”

  “Yes, and I wrote my book report. I emailed it to you.”

  “Thank you for doing it without me asking.” Sometimes homeschooling was a struggle. It was hard to find a happy medium, which was another reason she should do the right thing and enroll her daughter in school. A constant schedule and structure could do her some good. “Whose dog is this?”

  Brystol turned and started petting the black dog. She leaned down and kissed him before burying her face in his coat. If this wasn’t a sign that she needed to put some roots down for her daughter, she didn’t know what was. Living on the road, going from hotel to hotel, wasn’t the right life for a teenager.

  “One of the workers’. I don’t know; I talked to him out back at lunch. His dog is really nice.”

  “Seems it. Does Nonnie know you brought him in?”

  Brystol nodded and resumed her position. The dog didn’t seem to care that she was using him as a pillow; in fact, he seemed rather content. Brooklyn went into the kitchen, now hungry and a bit angry with herself for missing lunch earlier. She rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out the makings for a sandwich. With her arms full, she closed the door and jumped. “Don’t you have people to supervise?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Bowie said.

  “It can wait until after I eat.” She wasn’t suggesting or even asking; she was telling him. She expected Bowie to leave, but instead he pulled out the barstool and sat down. She eyed him warily, wondering what he was up to, but she was serious—he had people to manage and should be there.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Brooklyn glanced up at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She was standing next to Bowie, and he
was looking at her like she was a long-lost relative.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Brystol,” she said sweetly.

  Bowie glanced at Brooklyn, who diverted her eyes back to her sandwich. She tried to spread some mayonnaise, but her hand was frozen. She supposed she should introduce them but couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth. She had a hard time understanding Carly’s logic and wished she would’ve known before she came back to town. She preferred being prepared for any situation, not that you could really prepare for something like this.

  “I’m Bowie, an old friend of your mom’s.”

  “And my dad’s,” Brystol said proudly. “Nonnie talks about you all the time. She’s even shown me some of the houses you’ve built, and she’s told me stories about how you and my dad would do crazy things that would more often than not end up in one of you going to the hospital. Like the time my dad convinced you to jump off the garage into the swimming pool and you broke your arm.” Brystol laughed. “Nonnie tells me all the time that I should be like her boys. Anyway, I was wondering if I can take Luke for a walk after I come back from the store. We’ll only go to the beach.” Brystol spoke a mile a minute while Brooklyn kept her eyes on Bowie.

  “He would like that, but if he starts bugging you, let me know.”

  Brystol laughed. It was a genuine laugh and tugged at Brooklyn’s heart. She needed to make a change, and fast. Brystol deserved better.

  “Thanks, I will. Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, be good and don’t buy a ton of sugary crap.” The words likely fell on deaf ears. Not that Simone would allow it, but Brooklyn felt better giving some motherly structure.

  “It’s pretty shitty finding out that Austin has a daughter this way.”

  Brooklyn sighed. This was a conversation that she hadn’t wanted to have, but Carly had put her in this position. She’d thought, with the girl being here every summer, people would’ve figured it out, and Brooklyn wouldn’t look like she was hiding her daughter. She wasn’t. She was just hiding herself.