by Jenny Hale
Hallie deliberated. “I…” She started to let out her secret, the alcohol giving her courage, the words bubbling up more easily than usual, but then she stopped short. She couldn’t do it.
Sydney turned to hear the rest of the sentence.
“I… did the right thing, calling off the wedding,” she said instead, choosing to mention the easier one of her burdens. It came out as if she were still trying to convince herself. The truth was, she knew she’d been right. She didn’t miss Jeff, just the security of a relationship, so her decision had to be the correct one.
“Of course you did. Take it from me, you don’t want to have to go through all that after the wedding. It’s so much harder.”
Sydney had no idea… “I believe we’re cursed.” The Flynn women could never seem to find that happiness that lasted a lifetime. Not a single Flynn since Aunt Clara had managed it.
“Maybe.”
“You never really talked about the day Christian walked out.”
“There’s nothing to say, really. He’d found someone else—what could I do?” Sydney sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “And I think the purpose of it all was to give me Robby.”
Robby was Sydney’s whole world, the last remnant of the life she’d worked so hard for which had come crashing down around her a few years ago when Robby’s father Christian had left. Just like that. Sydney and Christian had known each other since his family had moved down the road from them when he was fifteen. They’d been really close friends until he and Sydney had gone off to college. They’d lost touch for a few years, but after graduation found each other again, and they’d fallen quickly in love. They were married a year after returning home, their degrees in hand. But their marriage was short, and out of nowhere Christian had disappeared, leaving Sydney’s life—and heart—shattered.
The one thing about Sydney was that she didn’t often share her feelings, even when Hallie wished she would. Hallie was always right there, waiting for the moment when Sydney would finally let down that protective wall she’d put up around herself. But now, with the kind of contemplations Hallie was holding on to, she understood a little.
“I never asked because I didn’t want to upset you, but for some reason, everything with Aunt Clara has put things into perspective for me. I feel like I should know what you went through—as your sister.” Perhaps if she heard Sydney’s deepest feelings, it would give her the strength to divulge her own.
“I haven’t talked about it to anyone. It was too hard.”
“Can you tell me now? What happened the night that he left?” Hallie urged her.
Sydney’s eyes dropped to the blanket. And then, suddenly, she started to talk. “I could tell the moment he got to the door.” She ran her hands over her arms, and it looked as though she could still feel the emptiness caused by that moment. “Something had shifted in his face, something wasn’t right—I could tell. He had a look I’d never seen before. He was distant. And I immediately started to shake all over—like my body already knew and began to react before my brain.”
The tiny line that formed between her eyes when she cried started to show, and Hallie reached out and grabbed her hand.
“He came in, but said he couldn’t stay, and that was when I knew for sure. He didn’t have to say anything else. Our whole relationship flipped through my mind like a deck of cards, and I scrambled for any reason that this could’ve happened, but I came up empty. All I asked him was, ‘Why?’ He broke eye contact then, and his voice was oddly soft, like he was trying not to upset me further. And then he told me he’d found someone else.” Sydney blinked away tears, the pain still very present even three years later.
“You can’t prepare for something like that,” Hallie said, clutching her sister’s hand.
Sydney turned toward her. “In an instant, things can change. Our world can change. We have to be so careful with our choices, you know?”
“Yeah.” Now, more than ever, she understood how important her choices were. Hallie opened her mouth to let out this terrible thing she was hiding, but she didn’t have the courage. “Who needs guys when we have each other,” she said, holding out her arms to her sister.
Sydney embraced her, and the two of them held on to one another. Sydney squeezed her tightly in solidarity. “Nothing can ever change between us. So we don’t need them,” Sydney said. “Plus, you’re way cleaner than Christian was. I’d much rather live with you.”
Hallie laughed. “Let’s just live out our days as the two old Flynn women: men-less but darn clean.”
“That sounds like the best plan I’ve heard.”
Then something rustled in the sea grass, making them both nervous.
Sydney grabbed the keyring and stood up, looking around. “What are we still doing out here? We should get inside.”
Hallie wadded the blanket and kicked the bottles far enough toward the house that they wouldn’t wash away. She’d get them in the morning. “Let’s go.” She linked her arm with Sydney, the way they used to do as girls, and together, they headed up to the path leading to the house.
SEVEN
“Whatcha doing?” Ben said the next morning, his bare feet sinking into the sand as he neared Hallie on the beach, holding two cups of coffee as he stopped next to the piled empty beer bottles from last night. He lifted one of her plastic buckets just slightly with his foot, and inspected it.
“I’m trying to make a sandcastle—the first item on Aunt Clara’s list.” She dipped her hands into one of the buckets she’d filled with water, and patted the small lump of sand.
Beau ran past them after a seagull.
The gulf was translucent this morning, the white sand stretching endlessly under the water as it lapped quietly onto the shore, its sound the hymn of their childhood. Maybe it was the fact that she’d finally had a restful night’s sleep, or perhaps it was having Ben around after so long without him, but this morning, as the sunshine hit her face through the window, Hallie had felt a little more like herself. She lay in bed and made a promise to focus on the present, right now, not the past. None of the bad things that had happened could be changed. There was nothing left to do but move forward.
Ben yawned, and only then did she notice that his hair looked untouched. His T-shirt was wrinkled, presumably from the night’s sleep. He’d been under his blankets on the pullout sofa when she’d come in from the beach last night, and she’d made her way to the bedroom through the dark. Beau had greeted her and then resumed his post at the end of the sofa. She’d fallen into bed, losing her battle with consciousness without a moment to consider her thoughts, which hadn’t happened in a long time.
Ben set one of the mugs in the sand next to her. “Glad to see you’re trying.” He gave her a supportive nod. Perhaps he could sense her change in mood.
Aunt Clara had always liked Ben. It was as if the two of them existed on the same plane of consciousness sometimes. When Hallie faced challenges, Ben would give his advice, and then if Hallie shared the same questions with Aunt Clara, she’d offer a carbon copy of what Ben had told her. Hallie wished he could decipher Aunt Clara’s motivation for all this.
She rinsed the sand off her hands and picked up the coffee, taking in the warm liquid. She’d risen with the sun this morning, the conversation with Sydney running through her mind. She was going to be intentional about her choices from here on out.
“I think what you told me on the way here is right,” she said. “If Aunt Clara wants me to do the things on the list, there has to be some reason. I just can’t see it yet.”
“That’s my girl.”
She inhaled the earthy, nutty smell of the coffee and peered over at the small lump of sand beside her. She’d been trying for quite a while and still had no idea how Uncle Hank could get the sand to pack down like he had.
“I’m not doing very well, though,” she admitted.
“I think your uncle needs to show you.” Ben lowered himself down next to her, his eyes as vibrant as the water.
Hallie caught the familiar scent of him on the breeze, and it was as down-home as Aunt Clara’s cherry cobbler. She’d missed this.
“I don’t think Uncle Hank is in any shape to build a sandcastle.”
Ben frowned sympathetically. “Have you been up to the house yet this morning?”
She shook her head. “I needed some time to get myself together first. Sydney texted that breakfast will be ready at around eight, and for us to come over then. What time is it now?”
“It was seven thirty when I came out, so I guess I should jump in the shower. I can be ready in ten.”
“I’ll clean up my mess here and join you for breakfast.”
Hallie picked up the buckets, stacking them unsteadily and filling the top one with the empty bottles as she held on to her coffee with her other hand. Ben reached down and picked up the last pail for her, dumping the water onto the sand.
“I’ve got it,” she said. “Go get ready and I’ll take care of all this.”
* * *
“Hello.” A tentative voice came from behind Hallie as she washed out the last bucket with the hose by the porch, startling her, the remaining coffee in her mug sloshing dark brown liquid onto the white siding before she clutched it to her chest.
She whirled around to find Gavin. This time he wasn’t covered in paint, but spruced up and clean-shaven, and without the fear that he was a trespasser, she could actually pay attention. She realized just then that he was rather handsome. His dark brown hair fell across his forehead just a little, the tan on his face showing off those green eyes framed by tiny laugh lines that made him seem friendly before he’d even spoken.
“I keep making you jump,” he said with an apologetic smile. “Am I that scary?”
She laughed softly. “No. I’m just generally on edge.” She took in his casual but neat clothes—not a single blue smear on them. “No painting today?”
“Not until later. Your uncle lets me come down and use his beach. I live just outside of town and you know how the Firefly Beach public access is—so busy.”
Thankfully, Hallie had never had to use it, but she remembered how hectic the small public beach could get in the summer months. She and Aunt Clara had waited for droves of vacationers to lug their beach umbrellas, chairs, towels, and rolling carts of beach toys over the crosswalk, the only stoplight in the town turning green and then yellow and red over again, no one able to move, until a stream of cars snaked down the road behind them. “Yes, I stay away at all costs.”
He grinned, putting his hands in his pockets. “I like the light out here in the mornings. And if you can catch a glimpse of them, there’s a pod of dolphins that play in this area. They’re so lighthearted, bumping each other and jumping out of the water. It’s amazing to watch.”
“I know those dolphins! I’ve seen them.” Until he mentioned it, she’d forgotten about them. It had been a long time since she’d sat on the beach to observe them, without a care in the world.
“Were you making a sandcastle?” He pointed to the lump of wet sand down the beach.
“Trying.” She stacked the buckets next to the house and sprayed the coffee off the siding, then wrapped the hose around its holder, freeing her hands.
“I could never make them either…” He stopped talking and took a step closer to her, into her personal space.
She looked up at him, surprised.
Gavin’s chest filled with air and she thought he was about to speak but then didn’t, and he smiled instead.
“Were you going to tell me something?” she asked.
For a second he seemed stunned that she could read him, but it only intensified the interest in his eyes. “I thought about asking you… but I didn’t want to seem forward, and then I ran into you now and…” He looked out at the water and back at her. Then he just spat it out: “I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink sometime.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! You’re asking me out?” His flirting game was clearly rusty, but she didn’t mind. Hallie wasn’t exactly great at it herself.
Gavin let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, I was attempting to. Very badly. I’m not good at this sort of thing, but after meeting you yesterday, I just thought that if I wanted to ask someone to get a drink then it would be someone like you. You seemed… nice.”
“Is that your line?” she said, feeling heat in her cheeks. His honesty, while bumpy in its delivery, was actually quite sweet.
“No,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed. “Believe me. I have no lines.”
Gavin’s timing couldn’t have been worse. It was just too soon after Jeff and what she was dealing with. And then there was Uncle Hank and trying to get Aunt Clara’s wishes taken care of…
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, his face falling into a gentle smile that didn’t quite hide his disappointment. “I just thought…”
“It’s not you,” she said. “I’m not in a dating kind of place right now.”
“Well, we could get a drink as friends then.”
Yes. Friends was good. She’d promised herself never to date a friend so he’d be way off limits, and it couldn’t hurt to have another friend. “I’d be happy to get a drink as friends.”
“Okay,” he said, excitement swelling in his features. “I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I look forward to it. Now, I have to get inside for breakfast. My family’s probably waiting on me.” She picked up the sandcastle buckets, snagging the handle of the coffee mug with her last free finger.
“Will you tell your uncle that I’m here?” Gavin asked. “He and I had gotten to talking the other day, and he mentioned that he was looking for his bucktail lure. He couldn’t locate it, which is a real shame since it’s one of the most productive fishing lures on the market. I found him another one. Maybe you can convince him to let me help him out to the shore at some point to use it.”
“I hope I can,” she said, moved by Gavin’s generosity. This went beyond his painting duties. “I’ll tell him.”
* * *
The kitchen was bustling when Hallie entered. Bacon snapped in the frying pan on the stove, Sydney buzzed around Robby, buttering his biscuit—the flaky, hand-rolled look of them making Hallie wonder how long her mother had been up this morning—and Mama was whisking eggs in a bowl like her life depended on it. Uncle Hank sat quietly at the end of the table. He was staring out the window.
The spectacle in front of Hallie was a far cry from the days when Uncle Hank played piano while Aunt Clara cooked, or the late afternoons when early supper was nearly ready, and he lingered around the counter telling jokes just so he could dip his finger in the cookie batter, Aunt Clara swatting his hand away with a loving scold. Seeing him now, it was clear that that version of Uncle Hank had left with Aunt Clara. Hallie’s aunt was noticeably absent, the melody of her humming silenced, the air thicker, heavier without her. Ben walked up behind her. Uncle Hank didn’t even seem to notice they’d come in.
Hallie didn’t move. She wanted to turn around and walk right back out the door, forgetting all about the renewed sense of duty she’d felt this morning. Her appetite was suddenly nonexistent, anguish crawling up her face and pricking her eyes. As if Ben could decipher her body language, she felt his protective hands supportively settle on her shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his chest at her back.
“Can we help with anything?” he asked, to no one in particular. He’d comfort any of them if he could.
Mama’s head whipped up from her bowl and she blinked rapidly, as if she needed help understanding for a second. “We’re just fine, dear,” she said, whisking harder. “Go on and have a seat and I’ll bring it to the table.”
Ben walked over and pulled out a chair, motioning for Hallie to sit. Then he put his arm around Uncle Hank. “How ya doin’?” he asked.
Uncle Hank finally acknowledged Ben, his eyebrows rising in silent contemplation. He shrugged, but his attention remained on Ben instead of the
view out the window.
Ben sank into the chair next to him, between Uncle Hank and Robby. “After breakfast, I was going to hang the old swing back up for Robby.” He held up his fist and Robby gave him a fist bump. “Pow,” they both said, opening their fingers. Then he turned back to Uncle Hank. “I’ll put a chair out there if you’d like to guide me. I know it’s been a while since you hung it, but maybe you can teach me how to do the knots in the rope like you do.”
“You need double running bowline knots,” Uncle Hank returned, his voice gruff. It must have been the first thing he’d said all morning, because both Sydney and Mama stopped and looked at him before glancing at each other.
“I knew you still had it in ya. I’ll get that chair out for you,” Ben said with a smile. “How high are we going to swing, Robby?”
“As high as we can!”
“That’s going to be pretty high. Uncle Hank’s swing is really fast. Think you can handle it?”
“Yes,” Robby said, excited.
Uncle Hank’s expression softened just a little.
Mama set a plate of bacon down. “How many pieces would you like, Uncle Hank?”
“I reckon two or three,” he said, his words surfacing a little quicker now. “Where’s that old dog of yours, Ben?” The question came out cautiously, almost as if he was afraid to think about anything other than his current state, like he was testing his own waters to see if he could exist in the regular world again.
It was a surprising change in mood, but then again, that was what happened when Ben was around. Just as Hallie had noticed Ben’s similarity to Aunt Clara in temperament and opinions over the years, so had Uncle Hank, and the two of them had become fast friends. They’d changed the oil in Uncle Hank’s old farm truck together, fished off the dock most Sundays, and of course in the fall there was football.
“Beau’s in the guesthouse.”
Uncle Hank grunted and scooped an overflowing serving spoon full of eggs, dropping them onto his plate. “Better leave a piece of bacon for him then.”