Ester pulled the hidden advertisement out from under her keyboard and flipped rapidly until she came to the page she was looking for. She turned it toward her boss. “I get one for my daughter every year, and she loves it.” Ester pointed to a box of sample perfumes. “You get thirteen of the most sought-after fragrances, all designer, and the best part is they get a full-size bottle of their choice, all for sixty-five dollars.”
Renee took the paper out of Ester’s hands, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she’d been told. Sure enough, the fine print said the same thing. “Is it worth it?”
“So worth it.”
Renee made a mental note to get one for Ester. She knew she was a single parent, and Renee tried to do what she could to help. “What else?” she asked. Ester continued to flip and point out what the hot items of the season were.
“I’ll text you a list, Ms. Wallace.”
“Thank you, Ester.” Renee asked her to email the attorneys whose clients had missed their necessary payments for the month, and once she did, she could go for the day. “Have a happy Thanksgiving,” she said before disappearing into her office.
She sat at her desk and texted Brooklyn. Do I brave the traffic and leave now?
Brooklyn Hewett: Bowie says there’s an accident and to wait.
Of course, there is.
Renee pushed her phone aside and shook the mouse on her desk to wake up her computer. She had depositions to go over in a custody dispute, briefs to write for the tiny humans she was a guardian ad litem for, and she needed to read through a stepparent adoption case, but the only thing she wanted to focus on was her solitaire game. She clicked “New” and watched as the computer laid out the board for her, groaning when multiple red cards in a row flipped over. Renee preferred a mix; it was easier to build a sequence that way. As tempted as she was to click “New” and get another board, she accepted the challenge and started moving her mouse from one spot to another.
Halfway through her game, Ester came on the intercom and told her boss she was leaving and to have a fun time shopping, and then there was a knock at her door. She closed the application, pulled up a random file, and acted as if she were knee deep in reading. “Come in.”
She hadn’t bothered to look to see who walked in, figuring it was Donna or someone who needed something from her. Out of her peripheral, she saw something move and turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse. What she saw had her moving her chair around so she could face forward. Someone stood at the front of her desk with a large bouquet of roses.
“You can set those down,” she said as she stood up to reach for the small white card that contrasted with evergreen and lush red of the partially opened rosebuds.
The person holding the vase lowered it, and as he did, Renee’s eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. “Theo,” she said breathlessly. He barely had time to set the flowers down before she was in his arms. His hand rested softly on her lower back, and his other went around her shoulders. Theo brought Renee into his embrace and tilted his head as her hands encased his neck. They looked at each other, both smiling before closing the gap. The kiss started off soft. A small brush of the lips until Theo pulled her forcefully against him and let out a slight growl. Her breath left her body in a quick gasp, and then his tongue plunged into her mouth. Once their lips parted from each other’s, she cupped his face with her hands and tried to slow her breathing. “I thought you couldn’t make it to Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t,” he said, and her exuberant demeanor changed instantly. He touched her chin lightly and said, “I changed my flight plans so I could have a brief layover. I only have a few minutes before I have to be back to the airport.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but I really appreciate it.”
“I wanted to see you before I flew to Japan. I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“Me too,” she said as she took him by his hand and led him to the couch in her office. She fixed him a drink and then took the spot next to him. She kicked off her heels and brought her legs up onto the sofa.
“Do you want me to massage your feet?” he asked her.
“No, I want to lean my head on your shoulder and absorb as much of you as I can.”
“Me too, sweetheart.” Theo patted her knee three times and then rested his hand there. He had quirks, much like anyone, and a few bothered her, such as the knee pat. It was always three. And he never wore jeans, shorts, or sweatpants. He always ordered for her, and it was often a meal for them to share. At first it really irritated her, and she figured if she gave him a list of foods she didn’t like, he would be mindful. Most of the time he was but was also insistent she try new things. She hated seafood, and he would often order it for them until she reminded him she wouldn’t eat, and no amount of persuasion would change her mind. But in the grand scheme of things, these were all minor annoyances when it came time for them to be together. His job kept him busy, and the distance between them often seemed greater than it was.
Thinking about his love for seafood made her laugh.
“What’s so funny, sweetheart?”
“You’re going to the land of sushi. You’ll be in heaven.”
Theo grinned. He had a great smile, and it was one attribute that attracted her. “But I will miss turkey, stuffing, and all the fixings.”
“Not to worry, my love,” she said as she brushed her fingers through his hair. “I’ll make you your own dinner when you come back.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
They stayed in this bubble until Theo had to catch a taxi back to the airport. He insisted Renee not come with him, telling her it was more reasonable since she had to travel north, and the airport was south. After he left, she went to her window and, once again, looked down at the miniature-size people bustling along the sidewalks. She could never pick him out but liked to think she could. She saw someone in the same cream-colored trench coat Theo wore and set her hand on the windowpane. “I’ll miss you,” she said aloud.
FOUR
The repeated sound of a foghorn finally woke Graham from a restless sleep. He lay in his bed, nestled under the weighted blanket his mother had given him for his birthday. When he unwrapped the heavy present, he was confused until she told him she thought it would help him sleep better at night. He wasn’t aware he was having trouble sleeping until he started using the genius invention, and now, most nights, Graham slept well, always waking up refreshed. Unless Grady was on his mind. Graham missed his brother. Their parents missed their son.
There were times when Graham thought everyone would be better off if Grady had died the night of the accident. Grady felt the same. The life he had known, the one he wanted, no longer existed, and no matter how hard he tried, he would never be the same.
Every year downtown Cape Harbor closed Third Street for the annual Austin Woods Memorial Celebration. The town would come together to memorialize not only Austin, but also other fishermen lost at sea, but it was Austin’s tragic death that spurred a couple members of the town to create the event in his honor. Vendors would line the street, selling their goods, and the stores would keep their doors open and their storefronts looking fresh, hoping to entice a tourist or two. The football field at the high school would become a carnival. There would be Jet Ski races in the bay, and a 5K race. Everyone in town loved the event, except those who suffered the most. Those people stayed away from downtown and only met on the beach for one night of drinking and reminiscing by the bonfire.
It had been five years since Austin and Grady had their fateful accident, and nothing had been the same since. Graham, Jason, Monroe, Bowie, and Mila sat quietly around the fire, a few feet from the Driftwood Inn. Every so often, Graham would look toward the massive windows and wonder what Carly Woods did while all her son’s friends were outside, near her home, but never had the courage to go knock on her door. His brother had survived, when her son had died. He often thought of what he would say to her or her to him. The last time they had spoken was at Austin’s fu
neral.
When Grady finally joined the group, he stood on the cusp and watched while everyone stared at him. They, too, had no idea what to say, especially on the anniversary of the accident. This particular year had been a milestone. Graham heard people around town saying, “Wow, I can’t believe it’s been five years.” He could. He lived with the aftermath every day. He saw the pain and anguish in his brother, as if those words were written on his face.
“Grady.” Monroe finally broke the silence among the friends. Graham watched as his brother looked everyone over and made the decision to head toward the shoreline. Monroe stood to follow, but Graham held his hand up.
“I’ll go.”
Graham left the bonfire and trudged through the sand until he caught up with Grady. They walked quietly, side by side, until they reached the surf. The brothers stood there, absorbing the peace and quiet.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“You can tell me anything, Grady.”
“Most of the time, I wish I had died on the boat that night.”
Graham let the words sink in. He couldn’t imagine his life without his twin. On the other hand, he hated what Grady’s drinking had done. Not only to himself, but to their family as well. Graham put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “Someday, I hope the demons go away, Grady. I miss my brother and my best friend.”
Grady inhaled harshly, almost as if he fought back tears or even rage. “I miss him, too, but he’s long gone, Graham. He’s buried out at sea with Austin.”
Those words haunted Graham. Ever since Grady spoke them, Graham had been at a loss for how to get through to him. To get him the help he needed even though he didn’t want it. Some nights were worse than others. Graham had a lot of anger and resentment toward Grady and even Austin. If they had made better decisions, his life would be different. It would be where he wanted it to be. When nights like this existed, nothing worked. Graham would simply avoid crawling into bed and would opt for the sofa or the chaise on his patio, although he found he never really slept when he was out there. He loved the ocean, but it haunted him as well.
The foghorn sounded again, and Graham groaned. He had hoped the weather would clear for Thanksgiving, that maybe the rain would stop, and the sun would come out . . . anything Mother Nature could do to help improve the day he dreaded already. He glanced toward his sliding glass door. Long black curtains hung, blocking any light from seeping into his room. Beyond those doors was a deck facing the water, with two chairs and a small table. It was where he went to think and relax. Where he often sat in the early hours of the morning, watching the ships leave port, and where, when he had a rare night off from the bar, he’d watch the sunset.
Living on a houseboat had its challenges but also had many perks. Friends came to visit but rarely stayed. His place was small, tiny by most people’s accounts, yet perfect for him. Space was an issue, and he barely fit himself. If his shoes had a bit too much lift, he’d brush his head on the low-lying ceiling. He had to duck under doorways and slouched when he had to do the dishes. The bathroom wasn’t big enough to do much in either. Graham had to replace the showerhead with one that came with a detachable hand shower, and when it was time to shave, his arm brushed against the wall. His bedroom wasn’t anything to write home about, either, with his bed taking up most of the space. His bedroom was by far the biggest space, occupying the full length of the house. When he bought the houseboat, there had been two bedrooms. He and Bowie removed the wall between them to give Graham more space. He had a small closet, a little storage, and still washed his clothes at his parents’. Still, he wouldn’t give up the houseboat for anything. He loved living on the water and felt at peace there. The quiet, serene moments were worth the hassle of missing modern-day amenities.
Graham threw his covers back and sat up slowly. His head already throbbed, and he would bet money the pain was only going to get worse as the day went on. He rotated until his bare feet touched the hardwood floor, and his toes wiggled, which made him laugh. Before him, the black-covered sliding glass door called to him. As much as he wanted to confirm the doom and gloom, the foghorn warned him that coffee and aspirin were more important. Still, he stood and made his way the few steps from his bed to the door and pushed the curtains aside, sighing. He longed for summer, when the sun lingered high in the sky and cast an orange-yellow-red-and-pink glow over everything. When he could look out from his room and have to squint, and he could feel the heat penetrating through the glass. He had months until those days would return, and until then, he would have to cope with the winter blues.
Graham placed his bare feet onto the planks of his narrow stairway. Brooklyn called it a floating staircase, held together by suspension cables to give off the illusion of a bigger houseboat. The perfect concept for tight, confined spaces.
He made his way to the kitchen, flipped a switch to turn on his water pump, and waited. Outside, the single mom who lived across the dock from him appeared. Shari and her two boys, Bryce and Brayden, moved to Cape Harbor a few years ago from somewhere on the East Coast. Other than saying hi when Graham saw his neighbor, he didn’t know much about her. For the most part, they kept to themselves. The day Shari and her boys moved in, the youngest boy decided to see if he knew how to swim. He jumped off the dock before anyone had any inkling he was even thinking of doing so. Graham reacted instantly and dove in after him. Now, every time he was outside, Brayden teetered on the edge to get a reaction out of Graham. One of these days, he was going to pretend to push him in to tease him.
Shari glanced toward Graham’s houseboat and waved. He returned the gesture and pulled up on the handle to turn on the water. It spurted a few times before gushing a slow but full stream out of the faucet. He filled the reservoir of his single-serve coffee dispenser. Another gift for his birthday; however, this one was from Brystol. She had asked him to take her shopping so she could buy something for her parents, and when she saw him fiddling with the coffee maker, Brystol told her dad she wanted to give it to Graham. In the time since Brooklyn returned to town with her teenage daughter, Graham had adopted the role of doting uncle and appreciated the gift. The only downfall—he had to fill the canister each time he needed a refill. Still, it was better than using instant coffee or the old percolator pot his father kept stored in the garage with all their camping gear.
With his reusable pod filled with coffee grounds and the button pressed to start brewing, Graham went back upstairs to grab his phone. Notifications of emails, sports reports, and text messages from his mother filled his screen. He cleared them away and put on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt before heading back downstairs. The one hard lesson Graham learned early on about living on a houseboat was to always use the handrails. Often, a gust of wind would blow against the house, or a powerful wave would crash into the bay, rocking his house back and forth. One knock to the head was one too many for his liking.
Downstairs, his coffee maker spurted out the last drops of freshly brewed coffee, which he carried out onto his deck. It was cold—the wind blew slightly—but it was the quietness that grabbed his attention. The ocean was calm, barely any movement, and the seagulls that usually hung around the pier didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. Graham reached into the small aluminum garbage can he kept on the deck and scooped a handful of salmon pellets into his hand. He let them go slowly, watching each bunch hit the water. The plunk, plunk, plunk echoed, yet no fish rose to the top. He finally opened his hand and released the rest, expecting to see hungry fish clamoring to swallow every piece, but nothing. Migration had happened. The salmon had gone back to the rivers for the winter.
He drank his coffee as he looked out over the horizon. He shivered from the cold and opened his phone to look at the weather app. It was going to be in the midforties and had dropped to the low thirties overnight. It seemed colder, for some reason, and Graham deduced it was because his subconscious was looking for an excuse to stay home.
After another cup of
coffee, he finally texted his mother back, confirmed he would be there for dinner and that no, he wasn’t bringing a date. There wasn’t anyone in town who caught his eye, and the person he would like to be with was in a committed relationship. He still struggled with his feelings toward Rennie. There were times when he wished he had pursued her back when they were in California and times when he was glad he hadn’t. Graham had a lot of baggage in the form of his brother and wouldn’t wish the burden of caring for an alcoholic on anyone. As much as he wanted to put off the holidays, they were upon him.
Graham finished his coffee, washed his mug, and changed the light bulb in the bathroom. He showered quickly, dressed nicely in a cobalt-blue button-down and a pair of relaxed-fit jeans—a far cry from the look he had when tending the bar—and made his way over to his parents’, which took him about ten minutes. When he walked in, the smell of roasting turkey made his stomach growl.
Johanna Chamberlain stood over a boiling pot with a wooden spoon in her hand. She wore an apron that read “Kiss the Cook.” Graham did as it asked and placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek.
“Smells good in here.” Graham rested his hand over his rumbling stomach. He hadn’t eaten earlier because he knew he would need the space for dinner.
“Thank you. Your father is in the den. There’s sausage, cheese, crackers, and chips and dip in there. Drinks are in the cooler on the sunporch.” She paused and looked at her son. “Have you heard from your brother?”
The question gave him pause. Grady lived with his parents, and Graham had expected to find him sitting next to their father, watching football.
He shook his head slightly. “He didn’t come home last night?”
His mother continued to stir. “He hasn’t been home in a couple of days.”
Graham placed his hand over his mother’s. She stopped moving the wooden spoon, turned, and looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“I didn’t want you to worry. You have so much going on with the bar . . .” She trailed off.
Until Then (Cape Harbor) Page 4