All she did was laugh and signal for the bartender. “You’re like an open book. Your hard-on is poking the wall in front of you.”
He adjusted himself on the stool, coyly glanced at his lap, and cleared his throat. He remembered now why Rennie had sometimes gotten on his nerves—she said what was exactly on her mind and never held back.
“You can’t be mad at her.”
“I can do whatever I want.” As he said the words, he felt childish and saw himself as a five-year-old trying to torment Monroe into chasing him around the playground.
Rennie set her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Trust me, Bowie. There’s a lot that you don’t know. You need to give her some time.”
“She’s had fifteen years to figure her shit out, Rennie.” He lifted his pint and took a long drink, emptying half the glass. Rennie had no idea what she was talking about, none whatsoever. He was certain she knew Brooklyn’s daughter and probably spent a good amount of time with her.
“Look, it doesn’t matter. She’s here to do a job, and then she’ll be gone.” He finished his beer and slammed the glass down on the counter. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and opened it without thinking. His eyes caught the corner of a familiar picture he had carried with him for years. He withdrew it slowly, taking in every square inch of the faded photo of him, Brooklyn, and Austin.
“Yeah, keep thinking that.” Rennie took her beer from the bartender and stood. Bowie had resigned himself to going home to wallow in his own pity party when he heard Rennie screech and yell out Graham’s name. Bowie’s heart sank. There was no way he was leaving the Whale Spout now.
FOURTEEN
Against her wishes, the woman she called her best friend took the empty stool next to Bowie Holmes. Brooklyn reached for the hem of Rennie’s shirt to pull her toward the empty table, but her friend had a sudden burst of energy that propelled her toward Brooklyn’s foe. Reluctantly, she sat and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She read Brystol’s book report while she waited for her friend to come to her senses. She sent a text to her daughter, telling her she loved her, thanking her for the report, and asking her to let her know if she needed her to come home. As soon as she sent the message, she hoped Brystol would text back and request she return immediately.
She set her phone down on the table and pulled up a home design app to work on an idea she had for the carriage house. As much as she didn’t want to look at Bowie and Rennie, she did. Every few seconds she found herself distracted, whether from a noise in the back of the bar, where people were throwing darts or shooting pool; a chair scraping on the wooden floor when someone stood; the waitress walking by; or the door opening. Each time she would look up from her app only to have her eyes land on Bowie. She studied the way he sat on the stool, rigid and put off by the fact that Rennie was talking his ear off. What she hadn’t expected was the slight lift in the corner of his mouth when he turned and saw Brooklyn staring at him. She focused her attention back on her phone, determined to ignore what was going on not too far from her.
Rennie had showed up days earlier than anticipated. When she and Brooklyn had spoken on the phone, Rennie had said she’d visit on the weekend, not midweek. Not that Brooklyn minded. She needed to have her friend there, mostly to give her comfort. Brooklyn’s rocky relationship with her former friends and town teetered on disaster, and Rennie would be the interference she needed to avoid everything else around her.
After Rennie had doted on Brystol for a bit, she had pulled Brooklyn out of the house, telling her that they needed adult time. Brooklyn preferred they walk along the beach, take a drive, or go down to the docks and watch the ships come in, anything that would allow her to hide behind her ball cap. The moment Rennie made a beeline for her car, Brooklyn knew they were headed for the bar. She thought about begging her friend—the idea of throwing a fit even crossed her mind—but she knew Rennie would call her out on her bullshit and give her one hell of a guilt trip.
Over the years, Brooklyn had thought about everything she would say when she saw her old friends again, how she would apologize and tell them she hadn’t meant to stay away. Those practiced words had failed her when she had seen Monroe at the grocery store. The only person who could possibly understand her reasoning would be Bowie, yet words had failed her when she had almost run him over outside the inn. He was so angry: first when he thought she was trying to kill him with her vehicle and again when he realized she was the one driving said vehicle. Years of pent-up anger and longing for the man she used to call her best friend kept her tongue tied, and instead of jumping into his arms and telling him how much she had missed him or dragging him into the house to see Brystol, she let his anger dictate how their encounter would be. He hated her, and she was going to let him.
They hadn’t discussed what they would do or say when they ran into their friends. There wasn’t a doubt in Brooklyn’s mind that Rennie would play it off as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, not years. She had the knack for not caring what others thought, something Brooklyn wished she could master, and in true Rennie Wallace fashion, she had walked into the Whale Spout like she owned the place.
Brooklyn glanced toward the bar once more and let out a sigh as Rennie stood and started toward their table. They were going to have a decent evening with appetizers, beer, and conversation. She was certain no one would bother them. Sure, they would stare, point, and whisper among themselves, but they would stay away until the right time presented itself. That was, until the door swung open and Graham Chamberlain walked in.
“Graham Cracker!” Rennie yelled as she launched herself into his arms. The act looked effortless until her beer sloshed over the rim of the glass and landed down Graham’s back and on the floor. Still, he held on to her. The scene made Brooklyn turn away. What she wouldn’t give to have a welcoming party like that. If she had found the courage to pick up the phone a time or two over the last fifteen years, her homecoming would’ve been the same.
Graham let Rennie down and held on to her hand. They walked together to the table, and when Brooklyn looked up, Graham smiled. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to stand up so I can give you a hug?”
Tears formed as she stood, and Graham held his arms out wide for her. He held her tightly while she tried not to cry into his shirt. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her ear. Words escaped her. She wanted to tell him that she had missed him as well, that she had thought about him often, but couldn’t get her mouth to cooperate. Graham was the kind of man who didn’t hold a grudge, and it showed.
The three of them sat down, with Brooklyn across from Rennie and Graham, who put his arm around the back of her chair. They had a history. One Brooklyn knew every detail of. They were never a couple unless Rennie happened to be in Cape Harbor visiting or when they both ended up in California for college, and then they were inseparable. Each time they would hook up, Rennie would give Brooklyn the rundown. As far as Brooklyn knew, the last time they had seen each other was Austin’s funeral.
“Rennie Wallace, I have to say, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Rennie fanned herself, and Brooklyn rolled her eyes at the antics. “Why, Graham Chamberlain, are you hitting on me?”
The Chamberlain twins had all the charisma in the world. They were sweet, well-mannered boys who always opened doors and pulled out chairs, but it was their looks that had women turning their heads. Tall, with dirty-blond hair and green eyes, but it was Graham’s crooked smile that could make any woman weak in the knees, and he knew it.
“Do I need to?” he asked her. Years ago, the answer would’ve been no, but Rennie was off the market and in love.
Rennie tilted her head to the side, chuckled, and shook her head. “Lots of things have changed over the years, Graham. Tell me, how have you been? Are you still in California?”
Brooklyn perked up. This was why she needed Rennie. She wasn’t afraid to ask the questions Brooklyn needed answered. She was dying to know what everyone
was up to these days but felt she had no right asking.
“I live here and run the bar for my parents.”
“What happened to your tech job?” Brooklyn asked.
His lips went into a fine line. “Sold my shares and came home. Grady . . .” Graham stopped talking and shook his head, a clear signal he was done with this part of the conversation. He glanced over his shoulder and hollered for Bowie, who seemed reluctant to join them. Bowie sauntered over and hesitated before sitting next to Brooklyn.
“How nice of you to join us,” Rennie snarked.
“How nice of you to visit us after all these years.” His retort hurt. He had every right to be angry, but not at Rennie. She had no reason to visit. Brooklyn had left, and the last either of them had known, Graham lived in California.
Bowie sat back and put his arm behind Brooklyn, something he had done too many times to count when they were growing up. Whether the act was intentional or not, it made Brooklyn feel closer to Bowie. Their thighs pressed together, another thing that was entirely involuntary. Surely, the last thing either of them meant to do was touch.
Rennie leaned forward and focused on Bowie, moving her eyes up and down. Brooklyn felt a twinge of jealousy, but she knew better. “The years have been kind to you, Holmes. You’ve got this ruggedly handsome thing going for yourself. You’re muscular in all the right places but still look like a teddy bear. You remind me of my cousin. He’s a lumberjack, and all the women fawn over him.”
“How very Paul Bunyan of him.” Bowie’s reply didn’t make much sense to her, and by the look on Rennie’s face, it confused her as well.
When the waitress walked by, Graham got her attention and ordered a round of drinks and one of everything from the menu.
“There’s only four of us,” Brooklyn pointed out.
“I’m sure others will join us,” Graham stated. He and Bowie started talking, but Brooklyn tuned them out. She watched the door instead, wondering who would be next to walk in. Grady, Jason, Mila? Other classmates who she wasn’t as close to but had been friendly with until she moved away? As she thought about it, seeing Monroe wouldn’t be so bad. They could catch up, and Brooklyn could apologize for her erratic behavior at the grocery store the other day.
She continued to zone out while Bowie, Graham, and Rennie chatted away. Rennie had told her she was excited to catch up with Graham but also that Brooklyn needed to make peace with Bowie. He was once her best friend, and they both were still hurting over Austin’s death. Over the years, Brooklyn had thought about Bowie, curious as to what he was up to. Was he married, and did he have children? She had missed their friendship, being able to talk to him about life, and wished she could have gone back in time and picked up the phone when she went back to her parents’ house. She’d tell him about her pregnancy and ask him to go away with her. Their lives could’ve been different if she had just reached out to him.
The door opened, and in walked Monroe. Her eyes drifted over the patrons at the bar, almost as if she was looking for someone. Brooklyn stood and went to her. Monroe gasped and smiled softly.
“I want to apologize for my behavior in the store the other day. I was out of sorts and wasn’t expecting anyone to notice me. I was unkind to you, when you’ve been nothing but a dear friend to me.”
Monroe pulled Brooklyn into a hug. The women squeezed each other tightly, and when they parted, both had tears in their eyes. Brooklyn motioned toward the table. “Rennie’s here, if you’d like to join us.”
“I’d love that.”
“It’s almost as if the gang’s back together,” Monroe stated as she sat and looked around the table. “Jason will be here for the memorial, and I’m sure Mila will find her way back into town.”
“And Grady?” Brooklyn asked. She hadn’t meant to contribute to the conversation since she felt like she had nothing useful to add or say. “I haven’t seen him yet. Does he still operate Chamberwoods?”
“Wow, Carly doesn’t tell you much, does she?” Bowie smirked. He shook his head and brought his pint up to his mouth, only to pull it away before taking a sip. “Let me guess—you don’t talk about Cape Harbor.” He acted hostile toward Brooklyn but kept his thigh pressed to hers and angled his body toward her when he was speaking. If he hated her so much, why touch her? Why flirt? Why sit next to her? There was plenty of space where either of them could move, but he had chosen to be next to her, and it was starting to feel like torture. Even with his pent-up anger coming in spurts, she didn’t want him to move. She liked having him next to her, and that bothered her greatly.
“We don’t,” Brooklyn said sharply. “And before you or any of the rest of you go throwing stones, you should remind yourself of how many times you visited Austin’s mom. I, at least, spoke with her.” Although their communication was strictly mundane or regarding Brystol and nothing more, and for that, Brooklyn hated herself. She had let Austin down, even when it wasn’t her responsibility. He had made that perfectly clear.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry for my outburst. Since I came back, a lot of things have been brought to light.”
Graham reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Grady’s around. He’s not in the best of shape, and he pretty much lives in the past.”
“I’m so sorry.” Brooklyn gave him a sad smile as her heart broke. That day, the day Austin took his boat out when he shouldn’t have, had changed the lives of everyone around him.
The waitress finally brought out the appetizers they had ordered and a stack of plates. She returned quickly with a round of shots and beer chasers. Brooklyn’s stomach growled and filled with dread at the same time. She was starving and had always loved the pub food from the Whale Spout. Drinking, not so much. Drinking led to loose lips, and loose lips led to revelations that needed to be kept locked away . . . locked tightly away and buried at the bottom of the ocean.
FIFTEEN
Monroe stood behind Brooklyn mumbling something about the summer and how their plans were still going to happen. How they were going to have their bonfires on the beach; go rock jumping into the river; pack their tents and spend weekends deep in the forest, under the lush green trees, drinking beer and talking about their futures. Their plans. Plans that they made as a group. A group that existed with one less person. The person who everyone followed around because he was the leader of the pack, their mayor of sorts. Monroe pulled the hairbrush through Brooklyn’s thick mane of chocolate-colored hair, gathering pieces to pin into place. The sun added natural highlights, a mixture of brown, red, and gold strands, making Brooklyn a natural beauty. Over the years, many of her friends and even strangers asked her who colored her hair and which salon her stylist worked at, hoping to achieve the same look. When she would tell them that she was born this way, or that the sun did all the work, many wouldn’t believe her. Half the time Brooklyn didn’t believe it herself.
Brooklyn felt the barrette snap into place but couldn’t give it much thought after the initial push into her scalp. It didn’t hurt, at least not as much as she wanted it to. She was numb and in desperate need to feel pain. To feel something stronger than the constant ache she felt in her chest. Her heart didn’t exist as she remembered. She barely felt it beat, couldn’t hear the thumping it made when she lay in bed at night. Her chest ached, burning whenever she would lay her hand there.
Two words were said over the roar of rain, and everything changed for Brooklyn. She had never known what it was like to lose everything, to know your dreams were disappearing and there wasn’t a single thing that could be done to change it. With those two words, her whole life vanished, and all she was left with was regret.
Monroe fluttered around her like a busy bee, taking care of mundane things like making sure Brooklyn’s shoes were on, that the buttons on the back of her dress latched tightly, and that the hat that Monroe had purchased for her fit perfectly. Another jab to the scalp hadn’t brought enough pain to register in Brooklyn’s mind.
“There, all set.”
Brooklyn barely noticed Monroe standing behind her with her hands on her shoulders. She didn’t know what day it was, where they were going, or how they planned to get there. She knew nothing, but somehow Monroe understood and had been by Brooklyn’s side since the night everything happened.
Outside, the sun was bright and caused Brooklyn to squint. Seconds later, a pair of sunglasses covered her eyes, and she sighed. She lifted her face toward the sun and let the warmth wash over her until Monroe started tugging her arm toward the waiting car.
The black limo wove through town, making unnecessary turns. The funeral was for show. There wasn’t a body to bury. Not a limb, a piece of clothing, or a lock of hair to put six feet underground, but people needed closure, and this was the way to get it. People lined the streets, as if a limousine driving to a funeral warranted some sort of parade. They waved, not knowing who was hiding behind the dark tinted glass. And there were signs. Signs everywhere with Austin’s name.
“Everyone loved him,” she muttered.
“They did.”
“Don’t you find it odd that people only profess their love for someone after they die? I’m surprised people don’t test loyalty by faking their own deaths just to see how their friends will react. Who will show up at their funeral? Who will cry tears? Who will mourn a man they didn’t truly know?”
That was Brooklyn’s thought when she had received the phone call that Austin was missing. That he was faking his own death to see if she would leave like she had threatened after he had told her he didn’t love her anymore. If he didn’t love her, there was no reason to stay. She hadn’t wanted to believe Graham when he had phoned. She had thought it was a joke, that if something had happened, his mother would call. She received her answer as soon as she showed up at the Woodses’ house. Police were everywhere, and the chatter on the radio—the one Austin kept in his room—proved to be true. Her boyfriend, the man she had planned to spend the rest of her life with, was missing.
After All Page 13
