The car pulled into the parking lot of the church. It was filled with cars parked tightly together, and there was a yellow school bus dropping off a group of mourners. Austin’s family would be the last to enter. They would walk down the red, worn-out carpet of the aisle, on display for everyone to look at, to feel sorry for. Brooklyn stared out the window, wondering what the hell she was doing. She was a mere shell of herself, weak and unable to function. In a few moments she would have to put on a brave face and be strong for Austin’s mother. She was the girlfriend, and if Carly could function normally, so could she.
She didn’t deserve to be there, at least not as family, but she couldn’t exactly tell Carly why. The secret she kept weighed heavily on her, pushing down on her already-broken heart. It was her burden to bear and one she would take to the grave if she had to.
The car door swung open, and Brooklyn caught the eyes of Bowie staring down at her. All her mind saw was Austin standing behind him. They had been inseparable, best friends almost until the end. She knew Bowie’s secrets, and he knew hers. His outstretched hand waited. It would make sense for him to escort her into the church, to sit by her, to be her shoulder to cry on. She had spent years doing that, confiding in him. But that was weeks ago. Life was different now. She ignored him and mustered up her own strength to climb out of the limo. Standing on her own two feet, she saw Graham up ahead and walked toward him, calling out his name softly. It was his arm that she reached for, and if he was confused, he didn’t show it.
Inside the vestibule, Austin’s family gathered. His aunts, uncles, and cousins surrounded Carly as if they were protecting her from more sorrow. She had lost everything. Both loves of her life taken by the sea. Yet, she was strong, an example to all the women out there. As soon as she and Brooklyn made eye contact, the crowd parted. They hugged tightly, like mother and daughter. “You’ll sit next to me,” Carly told her.
“I shouldn’t. It should be your family.” Truth was, Brooklyn wanted to sit in the back. She wanted to be the first one to leave.
“You are family.”
Brooklyn wanted to argue with her, to tell her the truth. She nodded and squeezed Carly’s hand. There was no way Brooklyn was saying anything. Not today, and not anytime soon. Aside from Bowie, no one knew about the last words Austin had spoken to her, and she was going to keep it that way.
“Brooklyn!”
She turned at the sound of her name and scanned the parking lot. Running toward her, in high heels, was her best friend. Brooklyn broke off from the group and rushed toward Rennie. The two friends collided and held each other tightly. “I’m so sorry,” Rennie said.
The women parted and stared into each other’s eyes. “He’s gone, Rennie. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to come back to Seattle and stay with me until you figure it out.”
Before Brooklyn could respond, her father touched her on her arm lightly and led her toward the church. Her family, her support system, surrounded her. She needed this. She needed their comfort, their warmth, and their love.
The large picture of Austin that sat at the altar was one that Brooklyn had taken of him a few months back. They had taken Bowie’s boat out for the day and planned to spend the night on the water. The sun was setting, and Austin was glowing. He was leaning against the bow and just happened to smile when she pressed down to snap a photo. Once they were back on land, she rushed to the drugstore to have the film developed. The three days it took to get her roll of film back were pure agony. However, the picture had proved to be worth it. She smiled at the memory. One of their happiest . . . and one of their last.
The reverend took to the pulpit, opened his book, and started speaking. The words washed over Brooklyn as she stared at Austin’s photo. She missed him. She hated him. She loved him. Every emotion she could possibly have was taking over her body and senses. She wanted to scream, to punch him, to dive deep into the ocean to look for him. She thought about swimming out until she couldn’t swim anymore to wait for him. He would come for her. That much she believed. He wouldn’t leave her there alone. Not like he already had. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
The voice behind the podium changed. It was one she knew well. She watched Bowie, standing there with a black suit and matching tie on. The only other time she had seen him dressed up like this was at prom. He had worn a suit their junior year and a tuxedo their senior year. Every other occasion, it was nice slacks with a sweater or button-down shirt. Same with Austin, although getting Austin out of shorts or hip waders was a hard task, and one he wasn’t keen on doing much. She tuned Bowie out, not wanting to hear what he had to say about Austin. She knew the truth of how he felt about him and wanted to stand and ask him why he was up there. But she held it in. All of it.
The funeral procession was practically a parade. The five police cars the town used were putting on a display of red and blue. The two lead cars blasted their sirens, letting everyone know they were leading the empty hearse through town, giving Austin’s imaginary body one last ride. Brooklyn stared out the window, looking at the harbor. It was empty. There wasn’t a single boat out there. Every fisherman was somewhere in this line behind her, paying their respects to their lost friend.
The limo was full for this ride. All of Austin’s friends crammed in, suffocating Brooklyn. She needed space to breathe, and right now Mila’s mindless chatter about auditions, directors, and movie roles filled the close space, while Jason jockeyed for a spot to interject about school. He was following his dreams of becoming a doctor, something Brooklyn wished she had done. Graham sat across from her, his long legs stretched out, his ankle touching hers. He, too, stared out the window. Beside him, his brother, Grady, was passed out cold. This had become his life, drinking until he could no longer function, no matter the time of day. Brooklyn wondered when someone was going to say something to him. Was it going to be before or after Graham returned to California? Even though they were twins, they were vastly different. Graham was successful, working in Silicon Valley, while Grady stayed behind to open a business with Austin. The Chamberwoods Fishing Company had brought in decent money since its inception. But the future of the company was in limbo, as far as Brooklyn could tell. Grady wasn’t in any shape to tie his own shoes, let alone run a business.
As soon as the car pulled to a stop, the doors opened. Ushers from the funeral home helped Brooklyn, Monroe, and Mila out of the car. Jason and Graham followed, leaving Grady in the back seat to sleep off his intoxication. Before Brooklyn could take a step, Bowie was in front of her. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he wasn’t in the car with them. He should’ve been, but then she thought that maybe he was with Carly, playing the dutiful best friend.
Bowie told the others that they would be right behind them, and when Brooklyn sidestepped to get around him, he shuffled as well. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”
Brooklyn said nothing.
“We need to talk about what happened.”
She studied the ground and sighed. “Austin died. There isn’t anything to talk about.”
Bowie stepped closer and placed his hand on her hip. The touch electrified her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to push his hand away. “I’m not talking about Austin. I’m talking about us and what happened.”
“Nothing happened.” Those were the words she had been telling herself repeatedly. She figured she would start to believe them sooner or later.
“You know that’s not true, Brooklyn. We can’t let the guilt eat us up. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Didn’t they? It sure felt wrong.
“I have to go,” she said, stepping away from him. She didn’t walk to Austin’s gravesite or go sit by his mother. She walked down the road toward town, and never looked back.
SIXTEEN
Over the next few days, Bowie did everything he could to avoid Brooklyn. When he needed to ask her questions about her designs, he sent his assistant foreman,
Jarrett, to get the answers. When lunch rolled around, he scanned the area for any sign of her before he sat down. The person he couldn’t avoid was her daughter. She was everywhere, and Luke was with her from the second Bowie put his truck into park. Brystol waited for them to arrive each morning, always with a large piece of driftwood in her hand, and every time, Bowie relinquished all rights to his dog. He reached down, almost absentmindedly, to pet Luke, only to remind himself that he was likely on the beach or snuggled up on the floor of Carly’s home watching television with Brystol. A few nights ago, he had attempted to rest his head against Luke, much like he had seen Brystol do, only to have Luke growl and move away from him. “Traitor,” Bowie had mumbled. His dog had fallen in love with Brystol, much like Bowie had fallen in love with Brooklyn. The Hewett women were going to be the demise of the Holmes men.
Despite knowing Luke was safe, Bowie peered over the fence. There were quite a few people on the beach, most likely tourists. The renovation project was on track, something he prided himself on, especially with Brooklyn nitpicking how slow things started off. His crew had completed the lobby earlier this morning, and Simone was already behind the desk, typing away on the computer. It was only a matter of time before life returned to the Driftwood Inn.
People marked their spots in the sand with blankets and coolers, most too close to the surf and not paying attention to the tide. Colorful umbrellas spread out along the beach, giving the khaki-colored space a rainbow-like feel. Kites flew in the air, kids screamed in delight, and dogs chased after toys and birds.
Bowie scanned the area for Brystol and Luke. He should’ve known they’d be in the area in front of the inn. From his vantage point, it seemed like Brystol stayed in view of the massive windows. He peered over his shoulder and thought he could see the outline of Carly, but he wasn’t sure. It was clear to him that Carly had always been fully aware of Brystol’s existence. But what he couldn’t understand was why the rest of them weren’t.
Luke sat in the sand staring into a space shielded by a white-and-blue umbrella with the name of the inn written on it. It was one of the guest umbrellas, a luxury offered to those staying here. There had been many summers when Bowie and Austin would wake early and make sure the beach chaises were set out and poles of the umbrellas pushed deep into the sand. Summers used to be different here until Austin died. He took a bit of the town and everyone living in it with him the night he drowned.
Luke’s tail wagged back and forth, creating his own version of a sand angel. The sight brought a smile to Bowie’s face. His dog was happy. His dog had a companion who could pay her undivided attention to him. Maybe he needed a friend, another pup to chase around. The idea of getting another dog wasn’t high on Bowie’s priority list, though. His divorce, however, was, and he was thankful that he had finally remembered to drop the papers off this morning. Also, it seemed like a good thing to avoid Brooklyn, who happened to be climbing the stairs.
With one last look, he surmised that Luke was in the best possible hands and went back to the picnic table to eat lunch. Simone had prepared spaghetti and salad for the workers, and each of the guys helped himself heartily.
All around him, the guys chatted about everything except work. Bowie picked up bits and pieces, mostly that they were excited for the weekend. One was heading to Anacortes to see a woman he’d started dating. Another had his kids this weekend, so they were going to chill at home. A few mentioned they were going fishing, while others reminded everyone at the table that the Austin Woods Memorial was coming up. Bowie hadn’t forgotten, even though he tried every year. The town refused to let it go, and people who hadn’t even known Austin came out to celebrate him. The weekend was nothing more than an excuse to have a street party. Only his true friends honored him the way he would’ve wanted, on the beach with a bonfire and a case of beer.
At first, the mayor had used Austin’s death as a teaching tool. He had updated out-of-date laws and mandated that even if there was a blip of a storm on the radar, the port and docks closed to ships planning on leaving. There hadn’t been an accident since, and the mayor was proud of himself. He used that little statistic every time he ran for reelection. The truth of the matter was, no one was stupid enough to take their boats out when it was raining after what had happened.
Bowie dreaded the anniversary of Austin’s death. It would be him, Monroe, and Graham, sitting around and telling each other the same old stories. Mila would show if her schedule wasn’t too busy, and Grady . . . he’d be around. Last year, he came but sat at the edge of the surf, letting the waves wash over him. He hadn’t been right in the head since Austin’s accident, despite the many attempts by his friends to help him.
Every town had a drunk, and Grady was theirs. Most people ignored him, crossed the street when they saw him coming, and acted like they didn’t know him. Graham took care of his brother, while Monroe tried to help him get into a program—which had been a lost cause. Grady didn’t want help—he wanted to forget, and he was drinking his way to salvation. Honestly, Bowie was surprised he was still around. He had long thought Grady would’ve passed away by now, and there were times when he’d go a few days, even a week, without seeing him downtown or sitting along the beach and assume that prophecy had been fulfilled. But Grady always showed up when friends started looking, never with an answer that could satisfy their curiosity of where he disappeared to.
Only the people of Cape Harbor knew about Grady’s problem. He wasn’t a bum. He didn’t panhandle on the street corner. His parents made sure he had a roof over his head. His mother still did his laundry, his brother made sure he always had a place to drink, and he kept to himself. Some say the Chamberlains enabled Grady’s problem, but those close to the family saw it otherwise. Only they knew what Grady had been through. They were simply taking care of their own, which was more than Bowie could say he had done for Austin’s mom.
At the end of the day, Bowie didn’t have to whistle for his dog because Brystol brought Luke to him. His dog was dead tired, barely able to drag himself to the truck. Brystol laughed as Bowie heaved his black Labrador into the cab.
“I’m going to miss him this weekend. He’ll come back on Monday, right?”
Bowie leaned against the side of his truck, leaving the door open so Brystol could continue to visit Luke. “He goes everywhere with me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s a small town; everyone knows him. He usually stays in my truck or comes in with me while I’m running my errands.”
“That’s so cool. Most of my mom’s clients have little dogs. They are the pampered kind that are carried everywhere and eat off plates at the dining room table. Luke’s awesome, though. He loves to play.” And will never be pampered, Bowie wanted to say but held back.
“Where do you and your mom live?” Bowie knew the question was out of order, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know and knew Brooklyn would never tell him. He banked on Brooklyn not being forthcoming about life where he was concerned, and he was certain that if she had said anything about Bowie, Brystol wouldn’t be standing here with him right now.
The girl shrugged. “Nowhere really. During the summer I stay with my grandparents in Seattle or with Nonnie here.”
If he had been the friend he was supposed to be, maybe he would’ve been a part of the girl’s life. He could’ve been a father figure to her, unless Brooklyn had someone filling that void. Bowie hadn’t given much thought to what Brooklyn had been up to or where she had been until this moment. He found himself wanting to know everything about her, much like he had fifteen years ago. “And your mom?” he asked, letting curiosity take over. “Does she come stay here as well?”
Brystol shook her head. “My mom works a lot, different places.”
“In Seattle?”
“No, we came from Arizona the other day. Before that we were in Tennessee.”
He was thoroughly confused by her answer. Surely, Brooklyn had a home where she raised her daughter, and where her d
aughter went to school. But from the sounds of it, that wasn’t the case.
“I know your mom travels for work, but where do you live? Where’s your house?”
“Oh, we don’t have one. We just move from job to job.”
The kid was kidding, right? There was no way Brooklyn was raising her daughter like they were in a traveling circus. Bowie was at a loss for words. He wanted to pump her for more information but didn’t know where to start. If she suspected anything, she wasn’t saying, choosing to focus on Luke and not his idiotic questions.
“Brystol, come get cleaned up so we can go downtown.” Simone’s voice rang out, causing the girl to jump.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” Bowie heard her say to his dog. “Bye,” she said to him, giving him a little wave as she ran toward the house. From where he was standing, he could see Simone holding the door open for Brystol. By chance, he looked toward the second floor of the house, just in time to see the curtains sway and a shadow move out of view. Was it Brooklyn? Was she watching him with her daughter?
He decided to snoop more and went over to her car. “Florida?” He looked back at the house, tempted to go knock on the door and beg her to just talk to him, but he couldn’t. The less he knew, the better off he’d be when she left.
Bowie hopped into his truck and banged his hands against the steering wheel. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand his frustration. Brooklyn had left him. She had left all of them. He shouldn’t care why she was back or what she had been doing the last fifteen years.
But he did, and he hated himself for it.
He had long forgotten her, given up on trying to find her, and yet, here she was. He had thought things would be different when they came face to face, that she would apologize for leaving, beg him to forgive her, but she had simply brushed him off as if he were a stranger.
Bowie drove home in a daze, his cell phone vibrating on and off in his pocket during the entire journey. He had to carry Luke from the truck because the dog was dead tired and refused to budge. He couldn’t even lift his head when Bowie told him they were home. As soon as he stepped onto his porch, he set his dog down so he could open the door. There was a slight movement off to his side. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning. If someone or something were to attack him, Luke wouldn’t be able to defend him. In fact, his dog wasn’t even growling. “Some guard dog you are,” he mumbled into the open air.
After All Page 14
