“Dance with me,” Brooklyn said, extending her hand to Austin. He shook his head and sipped on a bottle of beer.
“I’d rather watch.” He winked.
“I will.” Bowie stood and joined the girls, encouraging Austin to do the same. Brooklyn’s lower lip jutted out as she stared at her boyfriend. Her hand remained suspended in the air as her hips moved to the music, but Austin wouldn’t comply.
“You’re such a jerk, Austin,” Monroe yelled out. She took Brooklyn’s hand and spun her in a circle. Still, Brooklyn wasn’t giving up on Austin.
He never relented.
Monroe came toward Brooklyn with open arms. They hugged, even though Brooklyn felt completely out of place. She didn’t deserve the fact that Monroe was being so nice to her after she had left all those years ago without warning or provocation. She’d deserted her friends in their time of need. They had lost their friend, the man they had all grown up with. When she should’ve consoled them, they were consoling her, and the guilt was too much to bear.
“What are you doing here?” Monroe asked.
“I’m here for the summer, visiting Carly.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. She could’ve been passing through; she could’ve been doing anything other than what she said. But it was too late. She could tell by the expression on Monroe’s face her words had done damage. Brooklyn, who’d cut ties after Austin died, hadn’t, in fact, cut ties at all.
Still, Monroe feigned a smile. Something Brooklyn knew she could do all too well. Ironically, the years of accepting that her younger sister was the favorite, even among the community, had made Roe one of the best actresses the area had ever seen.
“That’s right—with Austin’s memorial service coming up, of course you’d come home.” Monroe reached out and squeezed Brooklyn’s hand . . . a sharp jab right to the heart. That one stung. She hadn’t been a good grieving girlfriend, at least not to the local people or their friends.
Brooklyn inhaled deeply, finding some inner strength to let the comment roll off her. She deserved it. “I’m not sure if Carly is up for attending.”
“But you’ll be there, right? It’s such a wonderful way to remember Austin. The town does a fireworks display, but you probably know that since Carly pays for it. There’s a reading on the pier, and sometimes people get up there and tell stories about Austin. As time passes, though, more and more of our friends don’t come back or they can’t get the time off from work. We’re all so spread out around the country now with our careers. But for those of us that do come back or are still here, we always meet on the beach for a bonfire. You should come—bring Mrs. Woods if she’s up for it. I’ve tried a few times over the years to reach her, but she’s never taken visitors. It’s nice to know you’ve been speaking with her and that she’s okay. I miss her as much as I miss you. I know everyone would love to see you.”
She expected that to be a lie. She knew one person who could go their whole life without ever seeing her again, and she felt the same way. As nice as it sounded, she would have to memorialize Austin in her own way, with his mother, watching from afar. Too much time had passed, and Brooklyn’s excuse for giving up on everyone was, at best, weak and selfish. She hadn’t counted on needing to explain her absence, nor had she wanted to.
“How are you? How’s Mila?” Brooklyn asked. Now that she’d seen someone familiar, her emotions were all over the place. Aside from Austin, she missed Roe the most. There were many times when Brooklyn picked up the phone to call Monroe, to beg her to come to Seattle—or wherever she was at the time—to see her. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Mila’s . . . Mila,” Monroe said with a shrug and a long, exaggerated sigh.
Brooklyn felt like there was a story there, one that would take a few beers to coax out of her. Right then, it hit her like a ton of bricks that there was no way she could hide out until the renovation was complete.
“I’m teaching third grade at the school. What about you? Are you married? Kids?”
Brooklyn shook her head slowly. She wasn’t going to answer either question. “I travel a lot with my job. I don’t really have time to date.”
“What do you do?”
“Design work, mostly. Home renovations.”
“Oh, just like on TV. Maybe you’ll get your own show someday.”
Brooklyn loved Monroe’s enthusiasm and her ability to look past the obvious elephant in the room.
“Look, here’s my number. I have to get back to work. I’m helping proctor some exams at the high school today.” Monroe handed her a slip of paper. “I’d love to see you before you leave.”
Brooklyn smiled but offered no response. Monroe gave a little wave and grin before leaving her standing in the aisle where she had found her. She sighed and turned her attention toward the shopping list, trying to remember where she was before a small sliver of the past came back to haunt her. Unwilling to go through that again, she slipped her sunglasses back on and pulled her hat down even lower, hoping that she could get out of the store and back to the inn before she ran into anyone else.
SIX
Bowie thought about slamming his head against the side of his rig to knock some sense into his brain. Today had been one of those days where nothing was going right, but everything had seemed to fall in place, exactly where he needed his life to be. Putting his ex-wife issues aside, he needed the Driftwood Inn job. As much as he didn’t want to tell himself it was about the money, it was. He needed it. His crew needed it. Reaching inside the cab of his truck, he picked up the clipboard and patted Luke on the head before tucking tail and walking back toward the carriage house. He knocked once before the door swung open and Carly smiled at him.
“I believe I forgot my manners, ma’am,” he said. “And how to conduct business. If you still want my services, I’d be honored to complete the job for you.”
“There isn’t another contractor I would ever consider hiring, Bowie. You were Austin’s best friend. He would want this.” Her words cut him, and they cut deep. He wasn’t going to argue with her about her son; there was no point. If Austin were here, he would likely disagree with his mother.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to take some measurements.” Bowie pointed to the double doors that would lead to the lobby of the inn.
“Of course, come this way.” Carly pushed the door wider, inviting him back into her home. She led him through the dining room, kitchen, and down the dark back hallway that still lacked electricity, where she unlocked a door. He stepped inside first, letting the cold, drab, dark inn settle upon him. Cobwebs were now a staple of the decor, and white sheets covered most of the furniture in the lobby. The space belonged in a horror film. Lights flickered overhead, one popping and fizzing out almost instantly. Behind him, Carly chuckled. “I’m not sure what I’m thinking with this project.”
Me neither, but Bowie kept that thought to himself.
“The cleaners will start tomorrow. Simone will supervise. Once the walls and woodwork are cleaned, it shouldn’t be a problem to paint, right?”
Bowie shook his head. “Do you only want to paint in here, or do you want a new counter?” he asked as he pulled on the top of the lobby desk, testing to see how sturdy it was. His father had built it, thirty or forty years before, but it still seemed to have held up over time.
“Yes, I believe so. Although I do reserve the right to change my mind.”
Of course, he thought while he surveyed the room, mentally counting how many gallons of paint he would need. His hand ran along the woodwork as he tried to determine whether it would be easier to sand or use a deglosser. Both would be time consuming, considering the amount of wood they would need to cover. The woodwork was pine, a thinner wood known to show its knots. Most people loved this look. Others, like Bowie, found it hard to work with. The decision on how to handle the wood could be something he and the renovator decided. “What did you say the renovator’s name was?”
“I d
idn’t.” Carly moved into the foyer, turning on more lights, most of which seemed to be dead. She found this comical for some reason, and Bowie made a note to have the electrical wiring checked out. He would also need to check out building codes on commercial property. It had been some time since he had done any work on the commercial side, and he wanted to make sure inspectors weren’t going to find any issues. He watched her for a minute, wondering why there was secrecy regarding the renovator. He had worked with his fair share from the Seattle area.
Bowie followed Carly as she moved through the main floor. When they came to the ballroom, he saw a lone rocking chair with an afghan sitting by the massive window. He knew instantly this was where she sat. He would, too, but for other reasons. He left her standing by the double doors as he went to the window. The view was indescribable. People along the harbor had tried to emulate what they’d seen from this ballroom, but no one had come close. He would know because he’d either built or renovated many homes along the cliff, and none of them compared to what he was seeing now.
“The windows stay,” she said, as if she thought he was going to suggest they change. He wouldn’t do anything different here and didn’t bother to respond. In due time, he would see the sunset from this window, reminding him of a different time in life. A time when all he cared about was drinking with his buddies, sneaking stolen glances with the girl he was in love with, and thinking he was invincible.
Carly shut off the lights, an indication that she was ready to move on. She paused in front of the grand staircase, her hand resting on the end of the banister. It was almost as if she was deciding whether to go upstairs.
“Mrs. Woods?” Bowie tentatively asked. “Is there more on the first floor that you want to look at?”
It was a long minute until she acknowledged him. “I need to talk to . . . I don’t know yet.”
“Talk to Simone? Do you want me to get her?”
Carly shook her head. “Shall we?” she asked with a smile. She climbed the wide planked steps one at a time. Bowie stayed a step or two behind her, fearful that she might fall. He realized he’d been mistaken earlier when he’d assumed the color of her hair was all that had changed. The death of her son had aged her, more so than what he deemed normal. His mother was still full of life, running half marathons and working. She had pep in her step, whereas Carly could barely move around. He’d had no idea death could affect people like this, and the thought that he could’ve possibly prevented any of this by coming around and being present in her life weighed heavily on him.
At the top of the stairs, the second-floor hallway was laid out in front of them. He knew there would be another staircase halfway down, as well as an elevator. Whether the elevator worked was a whole other question. He wasn’t going to test it out now; he’d wait until he had a crew member here.
She set off toward the first room. The inside was much like the downstairs, covered in cobwebs. He made a note to have the place fumigated, as well as to have the building checked for rodents and termites. This was turning out to be a much bigger job than he had thought. An idea came to him, one that would allow him to stay on as staff once the remodel finished. He could be the handyman, or his company could, making sure the inn was always functioning the way it should be. He’d talk to her about a permanent solution once the job he was there to do was completed.
Each room they entered as she led him through was like the previous, and he noticed that Carly made no bones about it. She told him her design ideas, what colors she wanted for each of the rooms, and he continued to argue with her that the lodge theme was their best bet, but she wasn’t listening. His pleas for change fell on deaf ears.
They finally found their way downstairs, once again avoiding the kitchen. The temptation to walk in there was great, but he would wait until tomorrow, when he came back to measure for wood. He could do that now but wanted to give the cleaning crew she hired a chance to wipe the grime away. Maybe then, Carly would see that changing the decor wasn’t necessary.
He left Carly in her house and went back outside. He walked the perimeter, making notes. The driveway needed to be dug up and repaved, and for the most part, the windows were sound. He moved brush away from the foundation and ran his fingers along the creases, looking for weak spots. Still, he decided that adding a layer of concrete to the exposed portions would be helpful. While out there, he stopped and admired the view. He hadn’t had a chance to take his family’s boat out yet this season—with the divorce and his company failing, he hadn’t felt like it. But standing there, seeing the barrage of colorful sails of the sailboats, made him miss being out on the water. It had taken years after Austin died for Bowie to set sail again. It was something they had loved doing together. His best friend gone, his life changed forever.
After Austin passed, Bowie had found himself questioning life. What was the purpose of it? Why was he given the one he had? He spent most of his nights drunk, and during the day he longed for the person who shunned him, and his best friend. His life was in turmoil. He hated himself for what he had done, and he couldn’t even atone for his actions. Water under the bridge—that’s what Carly had said to him. Would she have said the same thing if she knew that while her son was dying, the unthinkable was going on? Probably not. In fact, Bowie was certain that if Carly knew the truth, she would’ve never called him to do this job.
Fifteen years ago, Bowie and Graham had put their lives on hold searching for Austin. Every morning they would take a boat out, trailing close to the shore, looking for his body. They went as far north as Canada, as west as they could before the temperatures dropped, and south until the water warmed, knowing there wouldn’t be anything left if Austin had gone this way. The men wanted, more than anything, to bring Austin home, giving Carly closure. They weren’t the only ones looking. Fishing crews put their jobs on hold to look for Austin. Every day, the townspeople would wait down by the docks as the boats came into port, hoping for an answer.
Bowie focused on his clipboard as he rounded the house. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black SUV barreling toward him. He jumped out of the way only to lose his footing after the vehicle almost sideswiped him. “Fucking out-of-towners,” he grumbled as he brushed his dirty hands against his pants. Determined to give the driver a piece of his mind, he went toward the car. The driver’s door was open, and a foot dangled out. He gripped the side of the door and peered into the cab. Bent over the console, the driver was rummaging through something, ignoring him and the fact that she could’ve killed him. “The inn’s not open. You’ll need to head back into town. You’ll find a place on Colonial, three blocks up from Third.”
The driver froze.
“Hey, are you okay?” Panic set in. Bowie wondered if the driver needed medical attention, maybe had suffered a heart attack, which could be why she hadn’t seen him. Maybe she was slumped over and not ignoring him. He reached for her arm and pulled her upright. He moved closer, leaning in as far as he could to get a look at the woman. His heart stopped. His lungs ceased to inhale or exhale. He didn’t know for how long, but he was sure every vital organ in his body shut down as he took in the woman. He knew her . . . well.
And he hated her.
She’d ruined his life.
He despised everything about the woman sitting in the driver’s seat. He recoiled at the feel of her arm pressed into the palm of his hand, and he stepped away as she slowly slid out of the SUV. She shut the door and leaned against it. Bowie desperately wanted to see her ocean-blue eyes, yet the thought of looking into them made his stomach roll. “What are you doing back here?” he seethed.
She looked down at her shoes. He followed. In fact, he was looking her up and down and unable to stop himself. She had filled out over the years. Her once-slender body now had curves and muscle, and she was still as beautiful as she was the day he met her. Bowie closed his eyes and wished the images of a young Brooklyn away from his mind. He had shut the book on his past a long time ago, and yet, here she was, st
anding in front of him.
“I asked you a question.”
Brooklyn let out a mechanical chuckle. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing sniffing around the Woodses’ property?” She stepped toward him, ready to do battle. She pulled her sunglasses off and stared Bowie dead in the eyes. His knees buckled. For as much as he hated her, he loved her the same. But he would never tell her.
“Oh good, you’re both here. We can go over the plans now that you’re back, Brooklyn.”
They both turned toward Carly, who was standing on the small porch with Simone by her side. Oddly, she appeared pleased, and Bowie couldn’t understand why. Carly smiled, beckoned them in, and turned back toward the house.
Bowie took this opportunity to give Brooklyn another cursory glance. She was gorgeous. But why is she here? It couldn’t be for Austin’s memorial. She hadn’t shown up the other fourteen years, so why start now?
That’s when it hit him. She wasn’t here to pay tribute to Austin. Brooklyn had returned to renovate the inn. If he wanted the job, he was going to have to work with the one woman who could bring him to his knees and drive him off a cliff at the same time—and as far as he was concerned, he was screwed.
SEVEN
The music was thumping. Loud bass echoed down the street, a sure sign that the cops would be out later to bust up the party. This alone made Brooklyn want to ditch, but Austin insisted they make an appearance. Always concerned with making appearances. In Seattle, Brooklyn had been popular. She’d had friends everywhere, from different high schools and even at the University of Washington. It had not been unusual for her to have an invite to the hottest frat party or to come sit in the student section during the Apple Cup. Things were different in Cape Harbor. Austin wasn’t just popular; he was the most sought-after guy she had ever met. If the girls weren’t chasing him for dates, the guys were chasing him to hang out. Everyone wanted to be Austin’s friend, and sometimes Brooklyn couldn’t understand why. To her, he was just Austin, the guy she fell in love with shortly after she moved here. But to everyone else, he was a god. The community worshiped him . . . it wasn’t like he was a star athlete or anything—he was just Austin Woods, the guy who made everyone smile. He was charismatic, sweet, and loving, and he volunteered for everything. He was someone you could count on. People adored him. They wanted to be in his presence. But dating him had its challenges. They couldn’t go out without someone bothering them. And everyone referred to her as “Austin’s girl,” as if she didn’t have her own identity, or she was a piece of property he’d acquired in a trade deal. Still, Brooklyn was so head over heels in love with him she brushed most of her complaints under the rug or confided in the one other person who understood what it was like to be in Austin’s shadow, Bowie.
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