Off Beat (Forgotten Flounders Series Book 1)

by J. C. Hannigan

  “He left through the back. It was closer to his car, I guess.” I answered her unspoken question.

  “We’ll call it the celebrity exit,” she giggled, and I smiled. “Do you think he’d mind if I shared the photo now?” she added a moment later.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “He’s home for his grandfather’s funeral, so maybe wait until Monday?”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense.” Shelly nodded with understanding, her eyes darting to me with mild curiosity. “That’s sad about his grandpa.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. Shelly’s expression turned pensive, and I wondered if she was thinking about her mom again.

  “So…did you guys date in high school or something?”

  Her question caught me by surprise. “For a while. But that was a long time ago. We’re…friends now.”

  “Still, you dated Calum Jacobs!” She remarked wistfully, instantly romanticizing the idea. “That’s amazing. He’s so dreamy!”

  “Mhmm,” I said distractedly. “All right, missy. Enough chatting. Time to restock the children’s nook.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Shelly nodded obediently, crossing over to do just that.

  That evening while leaving the shop with Asher to go home, I spotted Shay, who was coming to pick up his daughter. Asher had just climbed into the car’s back seat, and I was about to open my door when I noticed him.

  “Oh, Shay!” I called out before he reached the shop doors. He turned, his lips tugging into a warm smile when he saw me.

  “Hey,” he replied, walking toward my car. I joined him on the sidewalk.

  “Hi. So, I’m sorry but, some things have recently come up, and I, unfortunately need to cancel our date on Friday…” I trailed off, my brows pinched apologetically. The disappointed look in his eyes made me blurt out an explanation. “My ex—Asher’s dad, he’s back in town. Full disclosure, things are complicated right now, and I’m really not in the right headspace to start something new.”

  The disappointment eased, and Shay nodded with complete understanding. “I get it. That’s too bad, but it’s important to be in the right frame of mind. Some days, I’m not at all sure I am, either.” He laughed a little.

  “So, no hard feelings?”

  “None at all,” he assured me, his eyes twinkling. “I hope you figure things out. Have a good night. I’ll see you around.”

  I watched as he went into the shop, then quickly walked back to the car. Asher hadn’t noticed the delay. His headphones were in, and he seemed lost in the music. Buckling up, I glanced at him in the rearview mirror as Calum’s visit ran through my mind.

  The remark about the funeral struck me again, and I warred with the idea of going to Frank Murphy’s funeral, for Cal. I understood why he didn’t want Asher’s only memory to be that. Still, the idea of him going alone wasn’t sitting well with me.

  Calum

  My fingers numbly struggled with the black tie. Frustrated at having to redo it again, I tugged it free and started over.

  “Let me help,” Mom said, moving from the doorway of my bedroom and into the room. She was dressed in a simple black mourning dress, her makeup natural. Her auburn hair was pulled into low, flat twisted bun. She stopped before me, expertly tying my tie in under thirty seconds. She smoothed it out, drawing in a deep breath before lifting her chin to look at me. “There.”

  “Thanks, Ma,” I sighed, gaze drifting to the mirror. My eyes were dull, jet leg had caught up to me, and I wasn’t sleeping well at all.

  My thoughts were ensnarled with everything that had happened over the last four days—finding out about Gramps, coming home, seeing her again, and finding out about Asher.

  In a matter of days, my entire life had changed abruptly, leaving me in a tailspin. It had opened my eyes and made me realize that I couldn’t continue living this lie anymore.

  It wasn’t enough.

  I loved Harper. That simple fact had never changed, had never lessened, no matter how many drinks I’d poured down my throat, or how many women I’d tried to escape in. I’d had just fleeting moments with music for years, years when I could have had her, had them, and had music.

  I’d dreamt about it, during those fitful bursts of sleep I managed to get each night. I dreamt of all the things I’d missed, another life I could have been living, and I woke up feeling utterly bereaved.

  Especially today.

  For years, Gramps had been telling me to come home and make it right. For years, I’d been ignoring him, unwilling to face what I’d walked away from, or why.

  Mom’s hand encompassed my forearm, and she squeezed gently, nodding once at me with gentleness in her green eyes. “We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” I nodded, jaw clenching with tension. Mom wanted the four of us to arrive together, which meant I’d be in their SUV with them.

  “It’ll be fine,” she assured me, leaning up to plant a kiss on my cheek.

  I wondered if she’d still say that if she knew what was really eating me up. That my inexperienced, selfish hands had laid damage to so much more than I’d originally envisioned—a break so deep, words couldn’t possibly breach the gorge.

  It wasn’t the prospect of having to endure my father in the closed quarters of their SUV for twenty minutes—then, however long it took us to get from the funeral procession to the graveyard, too. I could handle that. I was numb to that. It was their inevitable reactions to this news.

  Their inevitable disappointment. Surely this would just prove every point my father ever had to make about me. Selfish, careless, destructive, reckless.

  But now wasn’t the time to brood on things I couldn’t change. In an hour and a half, the funeral would begin. I forced a smile, glancing back at her. “You look beautiful, Ma.”

  “Thank you, Cal,” she smiled, her eyes twinkling with warmth. Gramps used to say that Mom was the belle of the eastern shoreline. A beautiful, kind-hearted girl whose voice and piano skills led her to perform locally. Before her career took off, she met my father, and the rest was history.

  She chased an imperfect love instead of her dream, and I’d never caught the single impression that she regretted that choice. She loved Dad with everything that she had, and he loved her too. He loved her well. Even I could see that.

  “Maeve! I can’t get this blasted tie—“ Dad abruptly stopped talking, spotting her in my room. His lips flattened into a discontented line, eyes tracing what skin my black suit didn’t cover with disdain.

  Mom nodded, smiling at him. She moved toward him, and they disappeared down the hall to their bedroom, Mom talking lowly. I turned to the mirror, casting one last dark glance at myself before grabbing my phone, sliding it into my pocket before heading downstairs.

  Connor was seated in the living room. Her head turned to the picturesque window. She looked sad and was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear me.

  “Hey,” I said cautiously, leaning against the doorway.

  “Oh, hey,” my sister said quickly, standing up. “Are Mom and Dad ready?”

  “Almost,” I replied, still watching her with concern. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Her shoulder lifted absently, although she avoided meeting my eyes. “Just not sleeping very well lately, and. Well…” she trailed off, eyes welling a little.

  I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her. Words weren’t necessarily; not that I’d be able to harmoniously string enough together to provide any comfort.

  Gramps was gone, and nothing I said or did would change that.

  Mom’s heels clicked against the wooden staircase as she descended, and I looked up, catching her sad smile. Dad’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were pinched with sorrow, too. I knew it pained him to see Connor and Mom upset. We were the same in that regard.

  He put his arm around Mom and nodded curtly; an acknowledgement, abide silent, of his appreciation. I used to live for those silent nods of approval, broke my back t
rying to earn them.

  “Time to go.” Mom said, feigning a positive note to her tone.

  Pulling away, I bopped my sister on her nose. “Come along, Pippy,” I said, using a nickname from her childhood. Connor smiled, rolling her eyes, and pushed past me to loop her arm through Mom’s. They walked out through the front door, leaving Dad and me alone in the foyer.

  A prolonged silence fell between us, and for some reason—I waited.

  I don’t know what I was expecting; some kind of apology? Some kind of verbal acknowledgement that he didn’t hate me as much as I felt he did?

  But no words came from my father. Stoic and silent as ever, he grabbed the keys from the bowl on the entry way table and disappeared through the front door, leaving it open for me. I sighed, head bobbing with resignation, and followed.

  The funeral home was full of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar. Dare, Evan, and Tai had caught an early flight in, and they were already there when I arrived.

  When it was time to sit, I leaned back against the wooden bench, sandwiched between my sister and my mom. I kept my gaze trained to the modest pine casket Gramps rested in.

  I was caught in a sorrowful numbness; one that allowed me to acknowledge with precision, the sting of his loss.

  The reverend stepped up to the podium, his gentle hazel gaze shifting from us to the rest of the guests in attendance, acknowledging everyone before he began. “Welcome, as we celebrate Frank Murphy, and the imprint he left on us all. Let us begin with the reading of a poem; His Journey’s Just Begun by Ellen Brenneman.”

  The pastor paused to collect his breath before continuing in an unwavering baritone. “Don’t think of him as gone away; his journey’s just begun, life holds so many facets, this earth is only one. Just think of him as resting from the sorrows and the tears in a place of warmth and comfort where there are no days and years. Think how he must be wishing that we could know today how nothing, but our sadness can really pass away. And think of him as living in the hearts of those he touched…for nothing loved is ever lost and he was loved so much.”

  Connor sniffled beside me, wiping a tissue over her tear-soaked cheeks and running nose. Mom’s jaw trembled, her eyes welling, and I slid both of my hands through theirs, giving them each a squeeze.

  I held their hands until the pastor called Mom up to read the eulogy. She shared some of her favourite memories of him, her tears happy as she recalled them. She noted that she would always miss him, but that she was glad he was back in her Mam’s arms again.

  After she returned to the bench, it was my turn. Stiff legs carried me to the podium, and I cleared my throat before speaking.

  “I owe a lot to my Gramps. He taught me that it’s okay to be sensitive, to express myself. He gave me an outlet to be and do both of those things in music; he taught me how to play the guitar…” I trailed off, my eyes catching movement by the doorway. Harper paused, her eyes locking on mine from across the room.

  I cleared my throat, continuing, holding her gaze. “But the most essential thing he ever taught me was the importance of family…of forgiveness. It might have taken me a while to learn this lesson, but it’s one I’ll never forget.”

  The Warf was packed. Conversations drifted over one another, setting a somber backdrop of remembrance.

  I leaned against the bar, fingers around a whiskey I’d yet to sip from. The ice clinked against the glass, joining the harmony of bar sounds. For a rare moment, I was alone in the crowd—and I took advantage of that, my eyes surveying the room.

  Connor was talking to Dare, a small smile tempering her lips. Evan stood on Dare’s left, with Tai beside him. Given the searching glances I received from Tai, a discussion about work was in my imminent future.

  I turned my head, my gaze coming to rest on my parents. They were talking to a couple that had been close friends of Gramps and Nan for sixty years; Ted and Margaret Watson. Our grandparents would bring us over to visit the Watsons regularly when we were kids.

  As I grew older and opted to spend more time with my friends and music, my visits with the Watsons dissipated. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in the same room as them, probably not since before I turned fourteen.

  Time had painted more wrinkles on their faces and stripped the colour from their hair, but it hadn’t altered the way Ted Watson doted on his wife. Margaret was perched on her walker’s seat, and Ted had a protective withered hand on her shoulder. She was nodding at something my mom said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  Seeing them again had a wave of nostalgia tugging at my battered heart. My jaw clenched with tension and grief and I looked away, lifting the glass. The edge of the glass stilled against my lips as Harper strolled through the door.

  She saw me, her eyes connecting with mine for a suspended moment. Everything in me stalled—my heart, my lungs, even my brain froze and rebooted clumsily.

  During the eulogy, I’d noticed her in front of the doorway. I hadn’t been able to pull my gaze away from her. A few curls now escaped the bun she’d twisted her hair into, framing her face. Her cheeks warmed beneath my appraisal as she uncertainly made her way over to me.

  Setting the glass on the bar, I moved toward her, meeting her near the entrance. There was so much to say, but all I could do was stare at her, a small smile teasing the corner of my lips up. “Hey.” I drawled, breathing in her sweet perfume.

  “Hi,” she smiled tentatively, tucking one of those curls behind her ear. “The funeral was beautiful, Cal. Your gramps would have loved it.”

  “Thank you,” I swallowed hard, inclining my head and stepping a little closer to her. I couldn’t help myself; I was seeking refuge in her presence. “And thanks for coming, Gramps always adored you.”

  She inclined her head, letting out a soft chuckle before her brows pulled together with sorrow. “I really am sorry for your loss.” She said, reaching out so that her fingers brushed tentatively against the back of my hand.

  I looked down at the contact, unable to prevent myself from flipping my hand and clasping hers, my thumb interlocking with hers. I needed to touch her; to assure myself she was really here.

  Surprise widened her eyes and tinted her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away from the contact. The sound of walker wheels against the hardwood floor had us both turning to meet the curious gazes of the Watsons.

  “Harper, is that you, dear?” Margaret squinted, pausing with her hands shakenly griping her walker.

  She pulled her hand away, bringing it to her purse strap. “Yes. Hello Margaret, it’s nice to see you up and about.”

  “It’s nice to be up and about!” Margaret smiled. “Thank you for the book—I’m enjoying that Gideon fellow.” Her eyes twinkled at Harper before moving to me. “We won’t keep you long. We just wanted to say hello before we head home.” Margaret’s cloudy, wise eyes fell on me.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Watson.”

  “Calum, we haven’t seen you in well over a decade. But your grandfather kept us well informed of your endeavours over the years.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’ve done well for yourself. Frank was so proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” I managed, fighting the impulse to glance back at Harper. Instead, I kept my attention politely on two of my late grandfather’s closest friends. “It’s good to see you both.”

  “I would say the same to you, but you look like a colouring book.” Margaret teased. Genuine laughter spilled from Harper’s lips, and I couldn’t help the smile that sound brought to mine. “And just how do you know Miss Morrison?” Margaret added, her eyes twinkling as they moved from me to Harper.

  I glanced at Harper again, warmth spreading through my heart. “We go way back.”

  Margaret’s snowy eyebrow rose, but she nodded wisely, accepting my vague answer. “It’s quite sad, and yet remarkable, how funerals bring people back together. We’ve seen it happen many times over.”

  “Too many times. Most of our friends are dead now, at least the ones our age. W
e’ve been to a lot of funerals.” Ted added, sadly shaking his head. “Best to love the people in your life hard while you still have them. Anyway, we need to head back. Margaret is getting tired, and it’s almost time for your afternoon medications, dear.”

  Margaret nodded, smiling up at her husband before she fixed her attention back to us. “It was a lovely service, Calum. We hope to see you again before you go back to globe-trotting.” She reached out to take ahold of my hand and gave it a surprisingly strong squeeze before releasing me.

  After saying their goodbyes, the Watsons left the bar, leaving Harper and me alone in a crowded room.

  “I wasn’t aware the Watsons knew your grandfather,” Harper said quietly, her brow furrowing.

  “Yeah, they live next door to him. How do you know them?”

  “The bookstore,” she replied, glancing away. Her gaze surveying the room nervously. “I should go.”

  “Stay,” I pleaded, catching her hand before she could turn, unashamed of my desperation to have her near. I couldn’t explain why, but being near her made me feel like myself again. My fingers tangled with hers, and she squeezed back.

  “I can’t, Cal.” She said regretfully, but she was still holding my hand, like she didn’t want to leave, but had to. “School lets out soon…”

  Tomorrow night was the dinner, but it seemed eons away. It was agony trying to keep my space when all I wanted to do was insert myself fully into her world again; into their world.

  But I hadn’t earned that right, and she’d given me tomorrow. I couldn’t push for more—not yet, even if that meant I was fighting against my most basic instincts.

  Harper’s hand slipped from mine. She adjusted her purse strap and worried her lip, watching me—seeing me in a way nobody else ever had. She deliberated for a moment before stepping toward me and wrapping her arms around my neck, her soft breasts lightly pressing against my chest.

  My arms wrapped around her like a habit, and I rested my chin on the top of her head, breathing her sweet scent in. My heart was pounding, and I had no doubt she felt it. I’d held her exactly like this a hundred-thousand times over the course of our relationship, and she would melt into me every time.