Graham went back to the sink and finished the dishes, packed his leftovers, and kissed his mother goodbye. He sat in his car, looking at the house he had grown up in. So much had changed—and not for the better. He and Grady had so many dreams when they were teenagers. No one ever faulted Grady for wanting to be an angler. Most everyone embraced it. If anything, people turned their noses up at Graham for planning to leave Cape Harbor. Grady had been supportive of Graham’s career choice, and he of Grady’s. Now, all Graham wanted to do was find his brother. And when he did, he was going to ask him to finally pull his head out of his ass.
He started his car, and at the same time, his phone rang. He expected it to be Bowie asking him where he was. The display showed an unknown number. He declined the call, switched his car into reverse, and pulled out of his parents’ driveway. He’d made it to the corner when his phone chimed with a new voice mail. He sat at the stop sign while his car idled and wondered what kind of telemarketer would leave a message on a holiday. His curiosity won out, and he pressed the button to listen.
“I’m trying to reach Graham Chamberlain. My name is Traci Birk, and I’m calling from Port Angeles General. If you could return my call . . .”
Graham’s heart plummeted. He pressed the callback number and waited. Ring after ring, he sat there while his heart raced and his palms sweat. By the time someone picked up, his mouth was dry and parched. Images filled his mind of his brother lying somewhere alone—or worse, dying or already gone.
“Port Angeles General, how may I direct your call?”
“Yes, I need to speak with Traci Birk. I’m returning her call.”
The operator asked Graham to wait while she transferred his call. He needed to turn around, to head back to his parents, but he felt trapped, paralyzed with fear. After what seemed like an hour, Traci picked up.
“Traci speaking.”
“Um, hi, yes, this is Graham Chamberlain. You left me a message a few minutes ago.”
“You were listed as an emergency contact for Grady Chamberlain.”
“Is my brother . . . ?” Graham stopped, unable to bring himself to ask the question that sat on his tongue. “Is he . . . ?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t say much over the phone, other than you and your family should come to PAG. The doctor on staff will be able to fill you in.”
“Can you tell me if he’s alive or what happened?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chamberlain—it’s out of my purview to say.”
Graham thanked her, hung up, and flipped a U-turn in the middle of the road. He sped toward the house, pulled back into the driveway, and left his car running. He ran toward the front door, threw it open, and yelled for his parents.
“Graham, what is it?” his mother asked as she rounded the corner.
“It’s Grady. We have to go.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice cracked.
He shook his head slightly. “I got a call from the hospital in Port Angeles. Grady’s there. We have to go. Where’s Dad?”
“What’s all the commotion?” George asked. He ambled into the room and yawned.
“George, we need to go with Graham.”
“What in heavens for? The game is on.”
“Dad, Grady needs us,” Graham said. “He’s in Port A. We should go now.”
George waved Graham off. “That boy will find his way home.”
“Not this time, George. Get your coat, and get in the car. Graham will drive us.”
George looked from his wife to his son. His eyes were like a Ping-Pong match, going back and forth. Graham waited for the realization to settle over his father, and when it finally did, his face went pale.
“What happened?”
“I got a call. They said to come to the hospital.”
Once the words sank in, George rushed to put on his shoes while Johanna put her coat on. Graham went into the den and turned the television off and made sure the oven was off as well, in case his mom had forgotten. He flipped the light switch for their walkway and waited for his parents to exit.
“I should drive,” George said as they approached Graham’s car. Graham wanted to chuckle, but his father was serious. The elder Chamberlain prided himself on being the best driver of the household.
“Not a chance.” Graham held the passenger door for his mother and waited for her to be safely inside before he shut it. He ran around to the driver’s side, got in, and reminded his dad to put his seat belt on.
Graham drove out of town, north toward the highway. It would take them approximately three and a half hours to get to Port A if they caught the ferry at the right time. He couldn’t be sure the ferry ran today and couldn’t very well ask his parents to look the schedule up on his phone. He took his phone out of his pocket and asked the artificial intelligence to call Bowie.
“Hey, what’s up? Are you on your way over?”
“Can you look up the Port Townsend ferry schedule to Coupeville?” he asked, avoiding his friend’s question.
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t know. Grady is in Port A General. My parents and I are heading there now.”
“Holy shit, Graham. What happened?”
“Not sure—they won’t tell us over the phone.”
Bowie didn’t speak for a few moments, and when he came back on the line, he gave Graham the schedule. The ferry ran on a limited schedule because of the holiday, and Graham would have to time his arrival to make it across to Coupeville.
Graham thanked Bowie, hung up, and pressed the gas pedal a bit more. His mother wouldn’t be fond of him speeding, but he needed to hurry. In hindsight, he should’ve gone the other direction, but he’d thought he would save time by heading north.
During the drive and ferry ride, no one spoke. Graham held his mother’s hand most of the trip, and when they were on the boat, his father refused to get out of the car. Graham needed fresh air. He needed to think. He went to the top deck, where very few people were, and stood against the railing. The harsh wind beat against his face. If he wasn’t already in pain from the ache he felt, the wind might’ve hurt. He tried to think about anything other than Grady’s cold dead body lying on a table. Since the fateful accident, Graham’s outlook on life was far from positive. He saw the bad before the good. He expected nothing to go his way, and when it did, he looked for the underlying message. Bad luck and shitty outcomes followed him like the plague, especially when his brother was involved.
When the port came into view, Graham headed back to his car. The windows had fogged over, which led him to believe his parents had argued while he was gone. Growing up, his father never uttered a nasty word toward his mother. That all changed after the accident.
At first, Johanna catered to Grady. She coddled him. She made his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Did his laundry, cleaned up his messes, and sat outside the bathroom door while her son threw up the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed hours before. She spent hours on the phone with Graham, crying, asking her son repeatedly why this happened to their family. They were good people, never caused harm to others. And yet, everything fell apart around them. Graham had never had an answer, and he never would.
George, on the other hand, spent hours at the bar with his son. When he wasn’t working, he sat on the stool next to Grady. In George’s mind, he helped Grady cope the best way he knew how and refused to believe he enabled his son in any way. He was his friend. They were best buds. A voice of reason wasn’t what Grady needed at that time. He had lost his best friend in a tragic and traumatic accident, barely surviving himself. Grady needed support, and George provided it, pint after pint.
The Chamberlains each saw their son in a vastly different light. Johanna wanted her son in rehab. George denied Grady had a problem.
Back on the road, Johanna tried to make small talk. Graham would answer and offer an opinion, but George stayed silent. Every so often, Graham would look at his father in the rearview mirror and try to figure out what the man thought. Wa
s he scared? Was reality finally setting in? Graham wanted to know, but there was no way George would express his feelings. He wasn’t that sort of man.
An hour later, Graham pulled into the parking lot of Port Angeles General. The hospital was new and looked practically like a shopping center. It wasn’t one of those monstrosities you would find in a big city but a two-floor, well-designed building with a view of the mountains. Regardless of its facade, it was a hospital, and they had been summoned there because something happened to Grady.
Inside the main entrance, Graham went to the reception desk and gave the woman his name and told her he was there to see his brother. She asked the names of the other two people in his party and typed them into the computer. Name tags printed out of the machine, and she handed them to Graham.
“Go down this hall, and take the elevator on your right to the second floor. When you get to ICU, press the button on the intercom, and give them your name.”
“ICU?” Johanna asked. “What’s wrong with my son?” Her voice quivered.
“I’m sorry, ma’am—I don’t have that information. They can help you on the second floor.”
“Thank you,” Graham said as he placed his hand on his mom’s shoulder and directed her toward the elevator. The doors opened immediately, and they stepped in. Graham gave his parents their name tags and peeled the backing from his before adhering it to his shirt. His stomach flipped and flopped on the ride up. Silently, he let out a prayer. Intensive care meant Grady was alive and not on a slab in the basement. There was still some hope.
When they stepped out of the elevator, they followed the signs down the hall, which seemed to take a year. Everything moved in slow motion. Graham stood at the double doors keeping him and his parents from entering the ICU and pressed the button on the intercom. When asked, he gave his name.
The double doors opened to a waiting room. Four other people were sitting; one was asleep, and the rest were watching television. His parents sat while he paced.
Up until now, Graham had no idea he was Grady’s emergency contact. The thought had never crossed his mind, and while he waited for the doctor to come out, he checked his phone. Other than “Home,” no one would know who to call if he were in an accident. What had Grady done to make sure someone knew to reach out to Graham?
The second set of double doors opened, and a doctor came out. “Chamberlain?” Graham stepped forward just as Johanna and George stood.
“What’s wrong with my son?”
“Follow me, please.”
Graham wanted to reassure his mother that this was protocol. The doctor wasn’t going to tell them anything with other people lingering around. There were privacy laws and etiquette. Inside the unit, there was a large semicircular desk in the middle of the room. The nurses there had a line of sight to each room, although some had their blinds pulled. The noise was what caught Graham’s attention. Everyone was quiet except for the machines. The static beeping, the whooshing of breathing machines, and crying filled the void of people talking among themselves. As he followed the doctor, he fought back the tears.
The doctor took the Chamberlains into a small room. There were three chairs, and even though Graham wanted to stand, the physician motioned for him to sit down. “I’m Dr. Field and have taken over Grady’s care while he’s in the ICU.”
“What happened to my son?” Johanna asked.
“Grady came in earlier this morning via ambulance. He was found on the side of the road, suffering from an overdose.”
“Oh, God,” Johanna gasped.
“My son doesn’t do drugs,” George added sternly.
Graham stayed quiet.
“The officers who found him were able to bring him back with naloxone. However, he coded in the ambulance on his way here.”
With each bit of grave news, Johanna cried out, while George continued to deny that his son was a user. Graham held on to his mother and internally criticized his father for being so damn naive.
“What’s Grady’s prognosis?” Graham asked.
“His organs are shutting down. Grady has severe deterioration of his liver and pancreas. Right now, we have him in a medically induced coma to flush his system and hope we’ll be able to grasp how much internal damage has been done. If Grady survives, he will need a strict lifestyle change.”
“Meaning what?” George asked.
“Meaning he needs to go to rehab, Dad. It’s time you accept that Grady is an addict and get him the help he needs before it’s too late,” Graham ground out. “If this isn’t your wake-up call, I don’t know what is.” Frustration poured from Graham. Grady should’ve been in rehab years ago.
“Dr. Field, what are Grady’s chances of survival?” Graham asked.
“Right now, low.”
“And if he does survive?” Johanna asked.
“Without rehab?” Graham and Johanna nodded. “He won’t make it.”
Dr. Field left the family in the room. The tension between them grew until a nurse came to get them. They would only allow one in at a time. Graham told his mother to go.
When Graham and George went back to the waiting room, George walked through the second set of doors, claiming he needed something to drink. Graham let his father go. They both needed space away from each other to cool down.
He sat down and pulled his phone out of his pocket to text Bowie with an update, only to find a text message from Rennie: I’m here at the hospital. Where are you?
SEVEN
The dining room at the Driftwood Inn had five circular tables set up, all dressed in cranberry-colored linens. Most of the tables had filled with guests or employees of the inn who didn’t have any family and opted to stay at work for Thanksgiving dinner. Brooklyn and Simone had gone above and beyond to make dinner special for everyone. Every possible food someone could want to eat sat on the rectangular tables surrounding the room, and all around, people chatted and got to know the strangers beside them—in the true spirit of Thanksgiving.
Rennie sat back in her chair and placed her hand over her stomach. She was full, having eaten one of the best meals of her life. A few morsels lingered on her plate, and even though Rennie lacked the energy to lift her fork, her index finger did the job for her and scooped the last bit of mashed potatoes off her plate. She stuck her finger in her mouth and moaned.
“I don’t know what you put in these potatoes, Simi, but they are the best thing I’ve ever tasted. You should open a restaurant.”
“Don’t give her any ideas, Ren,” Brooklyn said. She lay back in her chair and mimicked Rennie.
“It’s an old family recipe,” Simone responded with a smile.
“Can I join your family?” Rennie asked. Simone and Brystol laughed.
“You’ll give it to me, right, Simi?” Brystol batted her eyelashes at the woman who had helped raise her over the years.
“Of course.” Simi cupped Brystol’s cheeks and gave the teenager an adoring smile. Rennie enjoyed watching the two of them together. They had a fondness for each other that was hard to come by lately.
As people finished dinner, they came over to the main table and thanked Brooklyn and Simone for dinner. Brooklyn told everyone that it was all Simone and her team who deserved the credit. She also reminded them to come back for pie or to take a piece to their room, as room service would be off for the night.
“Pie? How can you even mention dessert?” Rennie whined. She wanted pie. A slice of each one if she had her way. Earlier in the day, she had her hand slapped by Simone when she was caught trying to sneak a piece. As far as Rennie was concerned, she could live off cookies, cake, and pie and never eat a regular meal again, if she wouldn’t balloon to five thousand pounds.
“It’s always pie-thirty somewhere,” Bowie said as he stood and went over to the table of desserts. Rennie watched him like a hawk. Her mouth watered when he returned with a piece of pumpkin pie with a mountain of whipped cream on top.
Brooklyn pulled the plate away from Bowie just as his
fork touched the whipped cream. “What are you doing, woman?”
“We’re waiting for Graham to get here.”
Graham.
The sound of Graham’s name made Rennie pay attention. She sat up a bit straighter and ran her hand through her hair to make sure there wasn’t a strand out of place. Thankfully, she had changed her clothes for dinner. Although she still had on a pair of stretchy pants, she looked normal.
Wait, why do I care?
Rennie’s thoughts gave her pause. Why did she care if Graham came over? Rennie had a boyfriend. She was in a committed relationship. Yet, since the day she walked into the Whale Spout five months ago and saw her Graham Cracker, he had been on her mind. Fifteen years she’d spent missing him because her best friend had asked her to stay away. Rennie had regrets, and there had been many times over the years when she’d picked up the phone to call or would fall down the rabbit hole of social media and spend hours looking him up online. And there were times when she remembered how he ditched her, ignored her after everything happened. How, when he went back to California, he packed up his stuff, quit his job, and left without a single word to her. They never had a proper goodbye, at least not one that meant anything. The last time Rennie saw Graham, all those years ago, they were in the parking lot of the church after Austin’s funeral. Rennie had to leave to go back to her job. They hugged, and Graham promised to call when he got home at the end of the week. The call never came, and Brooklyn left shortly afterward. It seemed their lives in Cape Harbor were over, along with any friendships they had established.
Over the past few months, there were times when Rennie was in Cape Harbor, and she had chosen not to see Graham. Not because she had been mad at him, but for her own peace of mind. Rennie noticed that when she hadn’t seen Theo for lengthy periods, her thoughts moved on to Graham. Rennie likened those moments to her past, when she and Graham would practice the friends-with-benefits role. Their relationship had always been easy. They gravitated toward each other, flirted relentlessly, knew each other’s thoughts, and often finished each other’s sentences. Their friendliness toward one another was often an issue when they were exploring other relationships. When Graham had a girlfriend, Rennie was always friendly. A little bit too much, and her exuberance often caused problems with Graham. Toward the end, when she was busy with law school and internships, she distanced herself from Graham. Mostly out of respect for his girlfriend at the time.
Until Then (Cape Harbor) Page 7