by Ciara Knight
“Mom, I wasn’t fired. I left. My choice, not yours, so let me figure this out. As for you, I know you want your old life, and Dad, but you can’t have that.” Bri plated the food, pouring sauce over it in a beautiful corkscrew pattern. She placed the pan on the stovetop and turned to Julie. “Mom, I love you, and that’s why I’m here. Dad wouldn’t want you to be alone anymore. I think you should sell the shop, start creating again, and date.”
Julie let out a sound like a slowly leaking balloon.
Houdini tore through the house, into the kitchen, and up onto her shoulder, nuzzling her the way he did when he thought someone was upset. She scratched his head, and he purred in her ear.
“And Dad wouldn’t want you to give up your life to come home and look after me. I’m fine the way my life is. I’m happy.”
Bri smiled, an I’ve-got-a-secret-I’m-bursting-to-share smile.
“What?” Julie’s muscles tightened in warning. “No. You’re not setting me up with someone on a blind date.”
“No. Of course not.” Bri grabbed both plates, sat at the bistro table, and handed Julie a fork. “Sit, eat, enjoy. Let me take care of you for a change.”
Julie placed Houdini on the ground and sat across from Bri. “I told you I don’t need taking care of. Besides, I want you to go live your life. How’s that boyfriend of yours?”
“Gone,” she said matter-of-factly and scooped up a bite of veggies.
“What happened?” Julie asked.
“Nothing. Just wasn’t right.” She shrugged, as if discussing the weather instead of her life.
This had to stop. Bri needed to focus on her own life and forget about Julie. “You don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing wrong with me and the way I live my life. You need to start concentrating on your own future.”
“I knew you’d say that, but it isn’t just me.” Bri snagged her purse from the couch and returned, handing her an envelope.
“What’s this?” Julie eyed her daughter’s handwriting on the front of the envelope.
“Open it.” Bri took a large bite, but Julie wasn’t hungry all of a sudden.
She opened the first envelope and read the single sheet.
All call to Summer Island Book Club, January 14th.
Julie shook her head. “I don’t understand.” The words were hollow because her brain was processing a thirty-two-year-old message. The last time she’d seen those words, she was graduating high school. All her friends had moved on with their lives, leaving the slow, dyslexic, artsy girl behind to marry young because that was her only choice. Not that she regretted her years with Joe, not at all, but she had envied her friends’ worldly lives after graduation. Kat went Ivy League. Wind landed a part in a Broadway production. Trace joined some world-renowned ocean conservation company and made headlines cleaning up oil spills and inventing new ways to combat the plastic problem in the oceans.
Julie had stayed in the same town, doing the same thing, for three decades. “No,” she mumbled under her breath. “I don’t want to see them.”
Bri’s joyous expression folded into a frown. “But Dad used to always talk about how you and your high school friends could do anything together. That you were a girl powerhouse like this town had never seen. And no matter what, you all would drop everything to meet at your Friendship Beach for book club and anytime someone was in need.”
“That was then. They wouldn’t care now.” Julie’s hands trembled. To face so many successes while facing her own lack of living was too much. Not to mention they would never give up their lives for a childish notion of some female bonding time. “No way they’d show here. Please, tell me you didn’t send this to anyone.”
“I sent them to all of your friends, Kathryn Stein, Wendy Lively, and Trace Latimer.”
Julie shoved from the table and held her head as if it would lift from her body to escape the embarrassment of a pathetic attempt to reunite an old tradition that no one cared about anymore…Except her. She walked to the window and lifted the lace curtain, feeling the rough fabric between her fingers. Clouds must’ve rolled in, covering the moon, because the world seemed even darker than normal. “They won’t come.”
The chair squealed against the tile floor, and Bri approached. Three unopened envelopes were held in front of Julie. “They answered the call.”
Julie took the envelopes, recognizing the top message’s handwriting as Trace’s. The old friend she’d only spoken to via birthday and Christmas cards would never drop everything to come home for Julie’s birthday. Did she want to face the embarrassment of rejection? Yes, if it meant getting Bri to see the error of her ways and return to her own life.
Julie slid her finger under the lip, and it snapped free as if barely sealed. Her pulse quickened at the idea of having her old friends around her, yet fearing it all at once. She opened the paper and read:
It is my honor to answer the call of the Summer Island Book Club.
Tears pooled in Julie’s eyes at the thought of seeing her once closest friend again after all these years. If anyone would answer the call, it would be Trace. The others were never going to come. Last Julie had heard, Wind was on tour as a world-famous choreographer now, so she opened Wind’s envelope next. In swirling letters, as if she’d written it in calligraphy, it showed the same exact words that Trace had written.
It wasn’t possible. They hadn’t seen each other for over half their lives, despite her invitation during the holidays the first few years after they had left. By the third year, she’d given up and focused on her own family and let her childhood friends go.
Kathryn’s was last. The one who was born for greatness with a silver spoon in her mouth that her mother had shoved down her throat repeatedly as a kid. Apparently it had worked, though. She owned a law firm in San Francisco last Julie had heard. To her shock, she opened it to find the same message.
“So?” Bri asked from behind her.
“They’re answered. All of them.” Julie crumpled into the sitting chair by the front door.
Bri knelt in front of her. “Mom, what is it? I thought you’d be happy to have some time with old friends.”
“Yes and no.” Julie scanned her humble home. “I don’t know that I want my life overanalyzed and criticized. We were friends, but I was never like them. They’ve accomplished so much in their lives.”
“So have you.” Bri clasped her hands tight. “You raised me.”
Julie cupped her daughter’s cheek. Bri was her best creation. Nothing could ever compare to her. Maybe that’s why she’d given up on her art all those years ago.
“Mom, I know that you feel stuck. That you can’t move forward. That’s why I’m here. I know it’s scary, but you need to wake up. You’ve forgotten who you are. Dad said you were the best artist in all of Summer Island, Florida, if not in the world.” Bri squeezed her hand. “Do you know what Dad’s greatest regret in life was?”
Julie blinked, fighting her fear to ask but needing to know. “What?”
“That you never lived up to your potential because you would never turn your back on your family. You spent years utilizing your art skills in combination with Dad’s woodworking. When he passed away, you stopped creating anything. You stopped being you.”
Julie knew Bri had a point. She had fallen into a rut. “But I’m going to be fifty. It’s a little late to start dreaming now.”
“Who says? They say fifty is the new thirty.” Bri pulled her to stand. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. Take a chance, Mother. You’re healthy, beautiful, and kind. And I believe you have something inside you that needs to come out. It’s time for you to be you again.”
Julie sighed. Sighed because despite the truth of it, she had no clue who she was beyond mother, wife, daughter, store owner. Who was she now that everything had changed?
Chapter Two
The Florida morning sun erupted the heat on the back of Trevor Ashford’s sunburned neck like a flare gun to kindling. After three hours
hovering over the old diesel engine, his temper raged. He gripped the wrench tight, hooked it to the stubborn bolt, and turned with all his remaining strength. His hand slipped and he fell forward, sliding his knuckles against the rigid, rusted, ragged metal support beam, slicing his skin open.
He cursed like a sailor he wished he was, snatched the wrench free, and spiked it like a football in the end zone. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop at the end of the deck and tumbled down the sugar scoop steps, over the back of the boat, and plunked into the salty, brackish water.
With his energy drained, he fell back against the hull. He closed his eyes to shield them from the relentless light and grappled with his insane decision to move from the Northwest to the Southeast, all to escape his ex-wife and the constant attention she brought with her.
“You know, you could hire someone to fix that for you.” His friend, Dustin Hawk, leaned over the side and held a cold beer in front of him. “Thought you might need this.” Then he handed him a bottle of water. “And this.”
“Thanks to both.” He took the ice-cold beverages and held one to his cheek and the other to the back of his neck, hunching over in defeat. “You’re right. If I had the money.”
“You would if you hadn’t let that evil witch of an ex take you for everything. You were only married for seven years. She wasn’t entitled to alimony.” Dustin climbed aboard and settled on the sugar scoops next to him, eyeing the sixty-five-foot mast on Trevor’s newly purchased old catamaran. “Wait, that’s right, you gave her everything in your midlife/divorce crisis.”
Trevor set the beer aside, unscrewed the cap on his water bottle, and took a swig. The cool, fresh water soothed his throat. Too bad it couldn’t soothe his wounds. “I didn’t want any souvenirs. I’m not the sentimental type.” Or reminders of her having an affair with his assistant—a man he’d hired so he didn’t have a female in his office in order to soothe Marsha’s jealousy.
A welcomed breeze swept through the tiny two-dock marina as if to promise a little relief from his bad decisions.
“More like you don’t want to look at any reminders from the hell that crazy woman put you through. I’m not one to say I told you so, but…”
“You are exactly the type to tell me that,” Trevor laughed. His best friend since high school had warned him about Marsha, his then-wife-turned-cheating-lingerie-model. “You told me she was the dating, not marrying, kind.”
Dustin raised his own beer in the air. “Here’s to freedom and a new start.”
“How many times are we going to toast to freedom since my divorce? I think this makes about ten dozen.”
“However many times it takes for you to move on.” Dustin took a swig and set his beer down on the deck between them. “Not sure I made the right choice pushing you to leave your old job and life to take a break. Of course, my evil plan was to have you come work for me in the end.”
“No, you were right except for the working for you part. Not happening.” Trevor scanned his motorboat, his sailboat, his shack of a place, the abandoned old motel down the beach, and the docks. “I just decided to follow a stupid passion and waste most of the money I had left on this place. I should’ve followed your advice and found a sports car and a young woman. To date, not marry. I guess the tabloids were right… I’m a sugar daddy chasing his youth.”
Dustin laughed so hard he nearly fell overboard but grabbed the dinghy davits to stay put. Once upright, he took another drink.
“It isn’t that funny.” Trevor wrapped his knuckles in a dirty rag and swiped the blood from the deck with his other palm. He’d have to scrub the boat later anyway if he ever had any clients to take out.
“Sorry, I had a visual of the uptight, moral, practical, business-savvy man I know acting like a midlife stereotype. You are many things, but you are not a cliché.” Dustin pushed up onto his hands and knees and studied the engine bay.
Trevor eyed his friend, who was clinging to the hatch as if it were a life preserver. “You do realize you are on a boat that is floating on water, right?”
“I know. How could my best friend want to move onto the ocean? The one place I despise.”
Trevor shot up and pointed behind him. “I think I see a fin over there.”
Dustin glowered at Trevor. “Funny guy.”
“You know, I can get you over your fear of sharks. I’ll take you on a dive with me.”
“No thanks, Dive Master Ex-Best Friend.” Dustin returned his attention to the engine and away from his phobia. “Now, let’s see if we can fix this old motor. We’re men, right? It’s in our DNA.”
“Spreadsheets, marketing analysis, and business meetings are in our blood. I think the mechanical gene missed both of us,” Trevor complained, but he wanted to fix the engine himself more than anything. He’d spent hours watching YouTube videos and reading forums. It took weeks, but he knew all the parts of a diesel motor, how to change the oil, check filters, but he knew the basics weren’t going to cut it with this engine.
“Come on. I didn’t use up all my vacation time to watch you give up. I’ll make some calls and see if we can get someone out here to tell us what needs to be done.” Dustin stood and pulled his phone from his shorts pocket.
“No need. I know what needs to be done. I’m just not sure I can do it myself.” Trevor grabbed the beer and the water and eyed the sheets threaded through the cleats and wenches, trying to come up with a plan.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll have to rebuild the engine.” Trevor lifted his chin, snapped the tab on his beer, which made a tsst sound, and then chugged a few gulps of refreshing, relaxing, cool, fresh wheat taste. “And I’m going to do it myself.”
“Seriously? Do you remember what happened when we tried to fix your grandfather’s old Chevy?”
“That was different. We were teenagers who didn’t even know how to drive. I can drive cars and sail boats now. Heck, I can even sail this one if any tourists ever arrive.” Trevor eyed the little two-story shack he slept in that doubled as his office. “I’m going to do this.”
“I guess I better ask for some more time off. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”
Trevor quirked a brow at him. “You own the company.”
“Darn. I’d hoped you’d forgotten that part so I’d have an easy excuse out of this job.” He pushed up his nonexistent sleeves and eyed the water. “Can we work on land, though?”
Trevor clapped him on the back. “Sure, once I rig a pulley system to get the engine off the boat.”
“Fine. If you really need to rebuild this grease and metal blob yourself, then I’ll help, but if you change your mind, I’ll hire the repairman myself. It would be worth the money to get this thing running and get you out on the water like you’d planned so you can have some time off to get some beach days with bikini-clad babes.”
“I don’t think there are many hotties on Summer Island this time of year. I only said that so you’d come down and offer free labor.”
Dustin took another few gulps of his beer and then set it on the transom. “You think I didn’t know that? Despite knowing the truth, I came. That means I deserve the best friend award for backing your crazy, especially when it comes to the ocean.”
Trevor was thankful to have a lifelong friend like Dustin, even if he was a wild card and an effort to deal with at times, with his girl-hopping and overconfident ways. The way Trevor had been before he’d met Marsha and married her. She’d tamed him. Little did he know, she wasn’t relationship broke herself. He’d done plenty wrong, too, though. He should’ve supported her modeling career instead of trying to make her stay home and play house and support him all the time. “Thanks, man. I do appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m only here for the free beer and to see young girls in bikinis.” Dustin sat by the toolbox and handed Trevor a screwdriver, as if that would fix everything.
“Sorry. When I bought this place, I assumed the Florida beaches were always packed. Since the
cape closed across Banana River, Summer Island has lost major business with the locals moving away and the housing market tanking, but it only needs time to adjust and become a tourist destination alternative to crowded Cocoa Beach. I’m just getting in early, which meant I could have waterfront property for a steal. Don’t worry. Where there is water, spring breakers will come. This little island might be small, but it has potential.”
“Yeah, potential for a person to come to die. You do know you’re not eighty and you could have a social life, right?”
“I know I can. I just don’t want one.” Trevor opened the cockpit locker and found some extra lines and blocks. “I just don’t want to be social. It’s a waste of time and energy, and right now, this place takes all of that and more.”
Dustin stood, eyeing the water and keeping a tight grip on the stainless steel davits. He really was a good friend. The best. If only women could be more like him—dependable, honest, strong, and fun. Someone he could work beside for hours and not have to talk about feelings all the time.
“You know, I could work on that old hotel while you work on the engine,” Dustin offered, obviously in hopes he could get far from the ocean and the creatures under the surface. For the bravest, most accomplished person Trever knew, Dustin’s irrational fear of the ocean was amusing.
“Nice try. That old hotel isn’t part of my business plan. You’re the resort and rental property guy, not me. You should buy it from me and start a resort. We could work here together.”
Dustin laughed. “There are limitations on our friendship. There’s no way I’d ever give up my city life for some remote oceanfront, shark-infested, broken-down location. Thanks, but no thanks.”
The ocean breeze brought fresh, salty air, and Trevor couldn’t understand his hesitation. “You mean peaceful, sunny, warm, and a quiet opportunity to reflect?”
Dustin grabbed a rope and tied a bowline like Trevor had taught him. He didn’t want to tell Dustin they needed a figure eight stopper knot instead. “You have your breakdown. I’ll keep my life going in Seattle until you return.”
