Rachel was none too happy about having a dog in the house. She claimed she was allergic, but Bowie could tell that her sneezing fits were fake. The dog stayed, and mostly he ignored Rachel, following his master everywhere. The only time Rachel had given a rat’s ass about Luke was when she’d told Bowie she was moving out and wanted to take the dog with her. There used to be a time when Bowie would have given Rachel any and everything she asked for, but there was no way he was letting her take his dog. Getting the message loud and clear, she’d packed her clothes, left his dog with him, and never looked back.
Luke hung his head out the window with his tongue dangling from his mouth. His ears flapped from the wind, causing Bowie to laugh. As he drove toward downtown, he mentally ticked off the phone calls he needed to return. Business was slow. The days of Seacoast Construction building multiple houses at the same time had gone by the wayside. Vacant or affordable land in Cape Harbor was scarce, and where Bowie failed, other companies succeeded. He was far too focused on keeping his company local, never branching out to the other towns. He held on to the belief that if he took care of the locals, they would take care of him, and it so happened that he was right. He was everyone’s go-to for construction. The problem was, no one needed any repairs, or they couldn’t afford them right now. For a while, he’d been able to make excuses; however, he was out of them now. He had no choice. He needed to expand the area he was willing to work, take jobs even when overnights were required, and he needed some advertising. Nothing hurt his pride more than when he saw a commercial for his competition. But those flashy ads on television cost money, which he didn’t have, unless he laid people off. It had been months since he’d taken a salary, and even he was running out of money . . . mostly thanks to his ex-wife.
He pulled his truck up to the curb and shut off the ignition. He sat there with his arm resting on the door, waving at people as they walked by. A few stopped to say hi to Luke, who had become a local celebrity of sorts. Everyone in town knew who he was, and when they saw him sitting on the sidewalk or in the truck, they greeted him; some offered his dog a biscuit. Luke was the friendliest dog in town, and everyone loved him.
Bowie sighed and finally opened the door. “I’ll be in the diner,” he said to Luke, as if the dog knew which door led to the restaurant. As soon as he shut the door, his dog took his spot behind the steering wheel, watching as his master disappeared into the building.
Rachel waved. Bowie grimaced. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, but she put her hand down, and her smile faded; he knew she had. Not that he was mad at her; he was just frustrated by the process of their divorce. They’d had a good life, until she’d wanted children and they could not conceive. She had wanted to try IVF, and he’d been willing until he saw the price tag. They simply couldn’t afford it. Not without taking out a second mortgage on the house and a loan against his business. It wasn’t like there was a guarantee either. If the process didn’t work, they were out the money, in debt, and no baby to show for it. The risk was too much for him. Each step he took toward her now made him thankful he’d never caved. He never wanted to imagine what life would be like without a company to run, more debt than he had now, and a child to care for.
He slipped into the booth and smiled at Peggy, the waitress he’d known his whole life. She brought him coffee, asked Rachel if she was ready to order, and went on to the next table, writing nothing down and never asking what he wanted. She knew. He had the same meal every time he came in. The best part about eating there would come later, when Peggy brought the check. She would hand it to Rachel and walk away. Bowie was a town favorite. Everyone loved him. There was a time when they liked Rachel too. It took the people of Cape Harbor some time to accept her, though. Most of the grumblings through town had been about how Rachel thought she was too good for them. She was from a few towns over and had wanted Bowie to move, news that had spread like wildfire when his mother had mentioned it at her weekly book club years prior. The locals hadn’t taken too kindly to the thought of Bowie leaving on account of his new girlfriend, at the time. She had moved here, and all was good, until she asked for a divorce and the townspeople shunned her again.
The former couple sat across from each other. Rachel rested her hands in her lap while Bowie played with the handle of his ceramic coffee mug, avoiding the large envelope on the table. He sighed heavily, a sign meant to convey to his ex he had other things he needed to take care of. He chanced a look at her. Her eyes were staring at the chipped Formica tabletop. “I’m here,” he said gruffly.
She met his penetrating gaze. Her mouth opened to say something but closed quickly. Bowie cut eye contact and silently cursed his harsh tone. There was something she wanted; otherwise, why would she invite him to breakfast?
“Bad morning?” she asked. He wanted to reply sarcastically, reminding her that since she’d asked for a divorce, nothing had been easy for him. But he held his tongue and sat up straight in the booth.
“You could say that.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled and briefly stared at her lap before she placed her hands on the table and sighed. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you here.”
He shrugged. This was the last place he wanted to be. His company was failing, and he needed to focus all his energy there. The woman across from him had already quit on them—on him—and he was ready to move on.
Rachel cleared her throat and forced a smile that went unreturned by Bowie. “Should I cut to the chase?”
“You could say that.”
She leaned forward and placed her hand in the middle of the table. He noticed immediately she was wearing a much larger diamond than the one he had put on her finger years before. His mouth ran dry, and his tongue thickened in his mouth, making it hard for him to swallow. He shouldn’t be angry, but he was. He was livid and seeing red. They weren’t even divorced yet, and she wore a ring from another man.
“Bowie—”
He held his hand up. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. For almost a year, he’d supported her, paid what his lawyer said had to be paid, done what his lawyer told him needed to be done. The counseling they went to, the blame he took because his wife couldn’t get pregnant. The stigma of everyone knowing his marriage failed, all the while she was with someone else.
“How long?” he asked, knowing the question was open ended. He didn’t care what she responded with; he wanted to know if she’d cheated on him.
“We met about seven months ago.”
He sneered, shook his head, and fought the urge to slam his fist onto the old Formica tabletop. “Seven months?” His teeth clenched. “I’ve been supporting some other guy for seven months?”
“No.” Rachel looked at him as if he were stupid for thinking such a thing. “He’s employed.”
“But not enough to support you?”
“I don’t have a job, Bowie. What do you expect?”
He threw his hands up and scoffed at her ridiculous question. “I don’t know, Rachel. Maybe you should apply for one. That’s what most people do when they need money.”
She rolled her eyes and slid the envelope toward him. He hesitated before his calloused hand grabbed ahold of the thick packet. Every time one of these showed up in his mailbox, he had to sign in triplicate and usually send a check to his lawyer. That thought alone sent his stomach into a fit of knots. “What’s this?” he asked. It was a question he really didn’t want to know the answer to, but he hoped the contents would be the end of his marriage.
Rachel cleared her throat but said nothing. His gaze intensified on her while his fingers worked the metal clasp on the back of the package. He wished she would blurt out what it was she wanted from him to make things easier. He’d much rather hear her demands than read them in black and white because the legal mumbo jumbo made his eyes cross and his brain hurt. He was a numbers guy—measurements and area calculations. He could look at a room, tell you the size and the exact number of gallons it would take to paint. But read a legal do
cument? Not his idea of a good time. More so, he had to ask his mother for help, which to him was embarrassing. He hated airing his dirty laundry to her.
He pulled the stacks of papers out slowly, almost fearful of what they might entail. He took in everything he could on the page. Dissolution of Marriage, Rachel Holmes—Petitioner. Bowie Holmes—Respondent. The date and place of where they were married seemed to stand out over the other words on the paper. That was, until he came to line two: Irreconcilable Differences. That’s how his marriage would end, because of differences.
“I’ve decided to forgo my request for alimony.”
Bowie glanced at his soon-to-be-ex-wife. She had a smug look on her face, and he knew why. The next husband had money. He’d learned enough from his lawyer to know that alimony stopped once she remarried. “Is that so?”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
He knew better. Rachel never cared about what was right; she only cared about herself. She had shown him as much when she’d walked out. Still, he nodded and flipped to the next page, pretending to read.
“I also withdrew my request for my share of the house.”
Bowie chuckled and set the stack of papers down on the table just in time for Peggy to bring their orders. Eggs over easy set on top of shredded hash browns with two sides of bacon and homemade wheat toast for him. Fruit and oatmeal for Rachel. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of his plate. She didn’t like grease, fat, or anything else she deemed unhealthy. He was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, while she was a vegetarian. Not that he had anything against vegetarians—he just preferred lettuce on his burger and not by itself. Their different lifestyles meant they’d butted heads, often. When he was hot, she was freezing to death. When he was tired, she was wide awake and begging him to watch a sappy movie, something that would surely put him to sleep. When he wanted to relax and watch football, she pushed him into driving to Seattle for retail therapy, pulling him around from store to store and whining because he wasn’t paying attention to her until he put his phone away. To most, their clashing personalities would’ve been a turnoff. Yet, despite their differences, he’d fallen in love with her, and when she’d left, it had broken him, and now he could call their differences irreconcilable.
“Thanks, Peggy. You’ve always known how to treat me.” The comment was a jab toward Rachel, who preferred takeout over a home-cooked meal.
“My pleasure, sugar.”
“You just need to sign the papers, and in ninety days we’ll be divorced,” Rachel mumbled. She dipped her spoon into the bowl of plain oatmeal but didn’t take a bite.
He pushed his plate to the side, folded his hands and rested them on top of the table, and leaned forward. Rachel refused to make eye contact with him, something that irritated him to no end. “I want to make sure I understand what I’m reading or what you’re telling me. I sign the papers today, and in three months, we’re divorced?”
She nodded.
“And you take nothing from me? I keep my house, my business, and more importantly, my dog?”
She nodded again.
“Wow, he must have a great job if you’re willingly walking away from everything.” He was pissed. At her. At himself. At the whole situation. When she’d left, they’d both been angry, bitter—he more so than her because he couldn’t give her what she wanted, a child. And now, after months of haggling and unnecessary payments to lawyers, she was walking away. He should feel relieved. A huge weight was being lifted off his shoulders, but his feelings were different. Sitting there, he saw another side of the woman he’d once loved. A side that made him ill and elated all at once.
He picked the papers up and looked at Rachel. “Do you have a pen?” As if she’d known the question was coming, she handed him one, and he scribbled his name on the pages marked by the yellow flags stating, “Sign here.” When he was done, he gathered the documents, tapped them a few times on the table, and slid them back into the envelope. “Now what?”
“Now, I take them to the clerk’s office for filing.”
“When?”
“Well, I have to meet with my wedding planner—”
Again, he held his hand up to interrupt her. “I don’t care about your future wedding plans. I’ll file them today.” He placed the envelope on the vinyl bench next to him, out of her reach. He wasn’t going to wait for her to file the papers. He wanted the clock to start ticking down on their ninety-day sentence. He sat there and let the moment wash over him. He was free. His obligation to Rachel was over, and that made him smile.
He was also hungry, and his food was getting cold. He pulled his plate toward himself, picked up his knife and fork, and sliced through the eggs and hash browns, letting the yolk seep into the fried potatoes. He added ketchup and mixed everything together. This was his favorite part of breakfast. He intended to eat heartily, to fill the silence that lingered between him and Rachel and his thoughts with food. After two bites, Rachel had other ideas.
“Do you have anything to say?”
“About what?” he said, his words muffled by his mouth partially full. He signaled for Peggy, who strode over to their table.
“What do you need, sugar?” she asked, smiling at him with her back turned to Rachel.
“A Coke, please.”
“And I’ll take more coffee.” Rachel held up her cup, but Peggy never acknowledged her.
“She doesn’t like me much.”
He shrugged and jabbed his fork into his pile of food. “The people of Cape Harbor take care of their own. You know that.”
“I tried, Bowie. I really did. It’s just that there were things missing from our marriage. Desires and needs that I have.”
Her words pissed Bowie off. He slammed his fork down onto his plate, and Rachel jumped. He gritted his teeth and somehow got out, “You,” before Peggy was back at the table with his Coke. He downed it, threw his napkin on the table, picked up the packet that contained his freedom, and stood. “I can’t believe you. You didn’t try—you quit.” He threw a couple of dollars on the table and strode out of the restaurant.
He had fought for her, begged her. He’d cried when she’d told him she wanted a divorce, promised to change, be a better man, but none of his words had been good enough for her. She wanted more, and he couldn’t give it to her. Even through his ire, he knew he was better off without her.
He shut his truck door with such vigor that Luke cowered in the far corner of the passenger seat. He had never laid a finger on his dog, other than to love him, and the sight of his faithful friend showing fear broke his heart. He had to pat his leg a few times to coax Luke over to him, but once the dog finally obliged, Bowie wrapped his arms around his scruff and buried his head in his fur. Luke brought him a sense of peace.
The shrill sound of his phone jolted Bowie away from Luke. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and checked the caller ID, thankful it wasn’t Rachel calling, but his secretary, Marcia. “Hello?” he answered gruffly as he tried to clear away his emotions.
“Bowie, have you heard the news?”
He shook his head and peered out the front window of his truck, hoping to see something that would answer her question. “Um . . . no. What’s going on?” he asked, straining his neck to try to look down the road, eager to figure out why she had called.
“The inn.” She paused. “They’re reopening.”
He went silent.
“Bowie?”
“I’m here.”
“Mrs. Woods phoned. She would like for you to handle the construction for the renovation.”
He gulped. A job of this stature could help him over the financial burden he was experiencing. Not to mention, it would give him some much-needed clout. “What did you tell her?”
“That you’d be right over to discuss the details.”
He would. He would drop everything, assuming he had a full schedule, to work with Austin’s mother. But something was amiss. The inn had closed when Austin passed away, and this month marked the fi
fteenth anniversary of his death. So why now?
Bowie hung up after telling Marcia he would head over to the Driftwood Inn. When he pulled into the circular driveway, the same one where he’d learned to ride a skateboard, broken his arm, and parked cars during many of the town’s events, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been here since his friend died—not that he’d intended to stay away. He’d thought about visiting often, especially when he and his friends had gathered on the beach to remember Austin. However, as time had passed, he’d felt he couldn’t just show up on Carly’s doorstep. He had a lot of groveling to do, but didn’t know what he would say or how to even start because telling her he was sorry seemed like the wrong thing to say after being gone for so long.
THREE
Brooklyn stood on the front step of her new school, staring at the brick building, trying to psych herself up enough to walk the rest of the way. The bell had rung, and now she was late. Being as it was her first day, she wasn’t too worried that the school would call her mom or bother her father while he was busy saving the people of Cape Harbor.
By comparison to her former school, Cape Harbor High was small. Tiny even. Over the weekend, she and her dad had driven over here and walked around the campus. The whole time she wondered where the rest of the school was. Surely they had football, baseball, and softball fields. And the building . . . it was only one story. Where were the classrooms? Where was the gymnasium? Did they even have a basketball team?
It had been her parents’ intention to bring her here on Friday to meet with her teachers and to get a feel for the school, but with moving and the Labor Day holiday, time had slipped by them, and she faced the first day of school alone.
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