After All

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  “Sort of.” He shut his truck off and made his way to the other side to open Brooklyn’s door, then held her hand as she climbed out. Once her feet were firmly on the ground, he shut the door and pushed her up against it, kissing her. They had only been hanging out for a week, but he had already kissed her the night of the bonfire. They both had a free period together—she had wanted to study, but Austin had other ideas. He had taken her down a ramp, toward the music rooms, and into a small alcove, where he kissed her for the first time. It wasn’t a peck or even two. The teens made out for an hour, groping and touching each other. Still, she was curious as to what it all meant. She wanted to be his girlfriend but had a feeling Austin wouldn’t appreciate the label. He hadn’t seemed like the type, and she feared he had other girls waiting in the wings. Aside from Monroe and Mila, the other girls in the school gave her the cold shoulder, and she had a feeling that was because of Austin. She saw the way they stared at him, with stars in their eyes. Much like she had.

  When he pulled away, his eyes were hooded, and his bottom lip was between his teeth. Seeing him like this, and knowing she was the cause of his reaction, excited her. She wanted him, and she knew he wanted her. She could feel how much when he pressed against her. He took her hand in his and led her not into the hotel but to the house attached to the side. Compared to the hotel, the house was small. As soon as she stepped inside, though, it was anything but. The cathedral ceiling made the living room look large, but it was the back wall of the house, where the kitchen was, that really took Brooklyn’s breath away.

  “Your mom must love to cook,” she said, standing at the sink. Through the window, she could see boats coming in and out of port with sails of all different colors. Austin stood behind her with his hands on her hips.

  “Do you see the one with the pink sail? That’s my dad’s boat. He’s done fishing for the day and will sail down to the next port and sell to the market.”

  “He doesn’t sell locally?”

  “Sometimes—it depends on what he caught and who is looking for what. There’s a system out on the sea.”

  “Why’s his sail pink?”

  “So my mom can always find him.” Brooklyn turned to face him. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Come on—I want you to meet my mom. She’s going to love you.”

  Again, he took her hand and led her through the main floor of the house, through a wooden door, and down a dark hallway. “It’s an old passageway.”

  “Why aren’t there any lights?”

  “There’s no electricity in here, and my dad doesn’t want to use those oil lamps because he’s afraid they’ll cause a fire.”

  “Does your mom use this?”

  “No, not usually. Normally, she walks out the front door and into the main door of the inn.”

  “So why are we?” Brooklyn asked, wary of where they were. She bumped into him when he stopped walking. His arms went around her instantly, and his lips found her mouth. He didn’t need light or even touch; he sensed exactly where she was. His tongue sought entrance into her mouth, and she gave him access freely. She moaned when he leaned into her, yearning for him to touch her.

  “Because I wanted to kiss you like that,” he said as he pulled away. His forehead rested against hers, and his breathing was labored.

  “You can kiss me anytime you want.”

  “Thank God, because I can’t get enough of you.”

  His words made her heart dance. She, too, couldn’t get enough of him and knew she was already falling in love with him. She knew love was dangerous, though; it led to heartbreak and turmoil.

  He opened another door, and they stepped out into the lobby. There were a few people sitting by the hearth, and some were sitting in rockers by the large window overlooking the ocean. Austin led her through the lobby, where the desk clerk smiled at him; through the dining room, where staff were setting small round tables; and into the kitchen, where a dark-haired woman in a white coat barked orders.

  “Mom.” He said her name only once. His mother turned, and her face lit up. Seeing their connection warmed Brooklyn. It was clear that Austin was close to his mom, and she liked that. “This is Brooklyn, the one I was telling you about.”

  Those words meant something to Brooklyn. She felt hopeful that she and Austin were going to build a beautiful relationship. Brooklyn reached out to shake his mother’s hand, but she had other ideas and pulled Brooklyn into a hug. “It’s so great to meet you. Now when my son’s yapping about this gorgeous, amazing girl he’s met, I’ll know who he’s talking about.”

  His mother pulled away and cupped Brooklyn’s cheeks between her hands. “I’m Carly. None of this Mrs. Woods crap. Got it?”

  “Got it, Mrs. Woo . . . I mean, Carly.”

  Carly gave her another hug and told her she could raid the refrigerator whenever she wanted. At first, Brooklyn didn’t understand, but as time went on and she spent more and more time at the inn, it made sense.

  Brooklyn wiped the tears that had fallen. She missed Austin more than she cared to admit. She missed his laugh, how he made life seem so easy, and how he made her feel. What she didn’t miss was his attitude about their future, his nonchalant way of dismissing her feelings when she saw him flirting with other girls, and the way he spoke to her the night he died. She hated that their last words were etched forever in her mind, that neither of them would ever have a chance to apologize.

  She stared at the bed where Carly lay, still unconscious and with machines monitoring the last days of her life. The doctors were hopeful that she’d wake up but couldn’t promise Brooklyn that she would. She needed her to, though. She needed direction, guidance, and answers. She wanted to know why Carly had kept this secret from her, and why she hadn’t said anything when she and Brystol arrived. The first night would’ve been an opportune time, but Carly had said nothing. Not even a hint, and now it could be too late.

  Carly moaned out a word. It was unintelligible but sounded like she was asking for help. Brooklyn rushed to her side and held her hand. “I’m here, Carly. What do you need?”

  “Wa . . .”

  “Water?”

  Carly’s eyes remained closed, and she tried to move her head up and down, but she was too weak. Brooklyn filled the mauve-colored cup and put the straw a nurse left earlier into the water. She held on to it tightly, bringing it to Carly’s lips. “Little sips,” she told her.

  She drank, but it took a lot of effort. Watching her struggle was heartbreaking, and Brooklyn had to keep her emotions in check. She didn’t want to upset Carly in any way. After a few swallows, Carly turned her head away. Brooklyn set the cup down and pulled the orange plastic chair over to the side of Carly’s bed. She held her hand and stroked her soft skin.

  “I’m gonna see Austin,” Carly croaked out. Brooklyn suspected that this was why she refused treatment. She wanted to see her son again and hadn’t had the opportunity after he died. With no body, there was no closure for his mother.

  “I know. What do you want me to do, Carly?”

  “The inn.”

  She couldn’t help the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She was thankful Carly’s eyes were closed and couldn’t see the mess she had become. “What about it? Do you want me to sell it?”

  She tried to shake her head. “Brystol.”

  Brooklyn was shooting in the dark. She didn’t want to assume anything, but that was all she could do now. “Is the inn for Brystol?”

  “Old . . .”

  “When she’s older?”

  “Mm. Paper . . .”

  Brooklyn sighed in relief. “Where? In your desk?”

  “Mm.” Carly’s eyes fluttered. Brooklyn waited, but the soft snore spoke volumes. Brooklyn checked the monitors and saw no change. Her breathing held steady, as did her heart rate. She was praying that Carly would become more lucid later. They needed to finish their conversation.

  Brooklyn laid her head down on the bed and watched Carly sleep. She was thankful Austin wasn
’t here to witness his mother dying. He wouldn’t have handled it very well. She was also thankful that Carly had tracked her down after she’d left. She had found Brooklyn at her parents’ house weeks after Austin’s funeral. She was the only one to come looking for her. That fact had never left Brooklyn’s mind. It was only Carly who came. No one else. They sat on the beach for a long time without talking, both looking out into the ocean, wondering where Austin was.

  “My son loved you, and I love you. I think of you as my daughter.”

  “I’m pregnant, Carly. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” What she had thought was the flu turned out to be anything but. She had stood for an hour in a pharmacy looking at the variety of pregnancy tests. She only needed to use one of the dozen she had bought to understand why she had been so sick.

  Carly put her arm around Brooklyn and held her while they both cried. “Well, we’re going to raise this baby with all the love we can muster. Between your parents and me, this child will be rather spoiled, and you won’t be alone. You will never be alone. You know you can live with me, help me run the inn. I’ll take care of you, Brooklyn.”

  “But I’m alone now, Carly. You’re leaving us,” she whispered. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but Carly had never let her down, and she couldn’t imagine their lives without her. When Brooklyn’s career had taken off, Carly had begged her to let Brystol live in Seattle or Cape Harbor; however, like most mothers, Brooklyn hadn’t wanted to be without her daughter. The compromise was that every summer, Brystol would split time between the grandparents. Brooklyn needed time to heal and grow. She wanted to find love again and felt she couldn’t do that under Carly’s thumb.

  Sometime after the sun had risen, Brooklyn felt fingers brushing through her hair. She smiled at the sensation. She loved having her hair played with. As she opened her eyes, the day and night before came rushing back. She popped her head up and saw that Carly was awake. She looked ashen and tired. “Hi,” she said.

  Carly tried to smile, but her lips barely moved. “You know now?” she asked, clear as day.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you would’ve forced me to get treatment, and that’s not what I want.”

  “I would’ve respected your wishes, but yes, I would’ve encouraged it.” Brooklyn sat up and reached for Carly’s hand. She wanted to hold it for as long as possible. “We need to talk about your wishes, and what you want to do with the inn.”

  Carly swallowed and spoke softly. “It’s Brystol’s. My will is in my desk, in my room. I’m leaving everything to her with you as the executor of my estate.” She inhaled deeply, gasping slightly for air. “I want my ashes spread where the accident happened. The coordinates are in a file. You, Bowie, and Brystol will do it. Simone gets seasick, so she won’t go.”

  “Brystol and I can manage.”

  Carly moved her head back and forth slowly. “I know, Brooklyn. I’ve known all along.”

  “Known what?” Brooklyn asked her, confused by her statement.

  “Brystol . . . she’s Bowie’s.”

  Brooklyn let out a ghastly sound, something like a laugh and choking mixed together. “I think the meds are playing with your mind, Carly—I’m going to go get the doctor.” She stood, but Carly held on as tightly as she could to Brooklyn’s hand. She could’ve easily pulled away, but something held her there.

  “No. Sit.”

  She did as Carly requested.

  “I know, and I’m telling you it’s okay.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brooklyn told her. “You’re worrying me. Please let me get the doctor.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Carly said. “Bowie is Brystol’s father. I’ve known it all along. But I didn’t care. I know my granddaughter doesn’t belong to my son.”

  Brooklyn shook her head as tears started to fall. Not only was Carly dying, but she was making outrageous accusations that had repercussions for everyone. “You’re wrong, Carly.” She ripped her hand away from hers and left the room.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Carly stood in the doorway of Brystol’s bedroom, watching the toddler sleep. On her bedside table, a framed picture of her parents sat, watching over their daughter while she slept, played, and sat in the rocker while her grandmother read to her. As far as Carly knew, it was the last photo of Austin and Brooklyn.

  Every summer, the tot returned to Washington, but this was the first year she had come to Cape Harbor for an extended visit. For the first couple of years, Carly would travel to Seattle and stay in a hotel while Brystol visited. It wasn’t ideal but the only way to get to know her granddaughter. Each time she saw her, she looked for any sign her son was living in the little girl’s eyes. She had yet to see anything, and still she hoped. Maybe it would take time for Austin’s attributes to make their presence known, or maybe . . .

  She sighed, made sure the night-light was flicked on, and checked that the baby gate was latched before she went downstairs. The last thing she wanted was for the toddler to take a tumble down the stairs if she got up in the middle of the night. So far, though, Brystol had been very good about yelling for her nonnie when she needed her. And each time Carly heard her sweet voice call for her, her heart broke.

  Downstairs, Simone sat in one of the rocking chairs that faced the ocean. Carly joined her without saying a word. There were very few sailboats out on the water, and all the fishing boats had long come in. The ocean was calm, and any families that had been out had long gone back to their homes or hotels for the night.

  “Took some calls today,” Simone said.

  “We should disconnect the phone.”

  “Or we should reopen the inn.”

  “We don’t have a kitchen.”

  The Driftwood Inn didn’t necessarily need a kitchen, but it was part of the hospitality they offered. Unfortunately, Carly was right. After Austin’s passing, she had taken a sledgehammer to the appliances and cabinets, destroying the interior.

  “We could call Seacoast Construction, hire them to rebuild.”

  “No,” Carly stated. “I don’t want people here anymore.”

  “I think that’s why the kids don’t come around anymore—they must feel like you don’t want them.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Carly—”

  She held her hand up to stop Simone from speaking. She didn’t want to hear what she had to say, especially about Austin’s friends. She was not ready to see them and didn’t know if she ever would be. They held far too many memories. Memories that hurt each time she thought of them. Her heart was better off locked away in her house than exposed to others. The only person she wanted to see was Brooklyn. At first, she had gone to her, looking for answers as to why her son would take his boat out in the middle of a storm. Deep down, Carly knew Brooklyn knew why. What had happened that night? What would possess her son to go out? It was so unlike him. He was always so cautious and aware of the weather.

  Yet, when she found Brooklyn at her parents’, and she told Carly she was pregnant, Carly’s priorities changed. Her mission was to make sure her son’s only child made it safely into the world. She had to focus on Brooklyn, which left her no choice but to close the inn. She hadn’t cared, because she was in mourning; the people would understand and come back next year or the year after or whenever she decided to finally reopen. There were more important matters to take care of.

  She had been duped, though, into thinking life was somewhat perfect and back to normal, but she knew better. She’d had suspicions since her granddaughter had arrived and was going to do the unthinkable. Even if she was wrong, it would be peace of mind.

  “Brystol doesn’t belong to Austin,” Carly blurted out.

  Simone spit her drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Excuse me?”

  “She’s not my granddaughter.”

  “She most certainly is.”

  “She looks nothing like Austin, me, or Skip. Brooklyn, yes, but not my son.
”

  “Carly, I think you’re looking for another reason to shut people out. Brystol’s yours, and she loves you.”

  Carly stood and placed her hand on the window. “I don’t doubt her love for me or the love I feel for her, but when I look into her eyes, Austin isn’t there.”

  “I think you’re speaking nonsense.”

  “That night, something happened between Brooklyn and Austin, and only Brooklyn knows what. Maybe she told him she was in love with someone else or that she was pregnant, and the child wasn’t his. Whatever happened, it led to his death. Austin knew better than to take his boat out in the storm.”

  Simone sighed heavily. “If that sweet, beautiful little girl upstairs isn’t Austin’s, then who does she belong to?”

  “Bowie Holmes.”

  “He’s Austin’s best friend, Carly. He would never betray him like that.”

  “He was in love with Brooklyn—even I saw that.”

  “Are you going to ask Brooklyn?”

  She turned and looked at her friend. “No. I have a friend who works at a clinic in Seattle. We’re going to take Brystol there; he’ll test her.”

  “Carly, I don’t think you should do this.”

  “I have to know, Simone.”

  “And how do you plan to get Bowie’s DNA?”

  “Bowie used to spend nights here when he and Austin were out late together or drinking, and he had a drawer of things in the bathroom. A toothbrush, hairbrush. After Austin died, he never came back for them. It should be enough, especially with my DNA.”

  Simone stood and went to her friend. “Please rethink what you’re about to do. I know you love that little girl, and she loves you. If you get the results you’re expecting, it will change you forever. Sometimes, it’s just best not to know. You could go the rest of your life feeling as if you have a piece of Austin, or you can break your own heart.” Simone left her standing there with her thoughts.