The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  “Don’t start. You can’t pull these strings and make me feel bad. I’ve been a good mother. Man up and be her father for a while.”

  “You. Are. Unbelievable.”

  “I could say the same to you. You knew I wouldn’t want to come down there for pizza.”

  “Of course I did, but your daughter begged to talk to you. I won’t be accused of standing between you two. But keep this up and pretty soon she won’t be asking for you at all. In fact, maybe that’s the best thing that could happen.” He punched the phone off and scrubbed a hand through his hair, his body strung tight with wanting to hit something.

  Three deep breaths later, he smoothed his hair and returned to Emmy. He threw thirty bucks on the table. “Come on, let’s go get some ice cream. I know the best place.”

  She slid off the prefab bench and followed, but her smile hadn’t returned. He crouched to hug her. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, so he stood and carried her out of the store and the next two blocks to Gopher’s ice-cream shop. She didn’t say a word but laid her head against his shoulder and people-watched along the way. Given her age, he knew she’d let him carry her now only because she was sad. She always got clingier when Val let her down. He had no idea how to help her through this, but he held tight every step.

  Sanctuary Sound’s central business district consisted of a green commons surrounded by streets, with colorful shop awnings and multiple restaurants, most of which had been around for more than a generation. The townsfolk knew almost everyone by sight, although an influx of vacation homeowners had breathed fresh life into the area.

  He noticed the newly laid brick sidewalks, a chic Asian-fusion restaurant that must’ve opened in the past few months, and a fancy women’s apparel store. Of course, the old guard remained—Mother of Purl yarn shop, J. Patrick’s Pub, and Lockwood Hardware. He suspected Ben Lockwood still worked there with his father, although Ryan hadn’t run into Ben in a few years.

  He stifled a groan when he saw the line outside Gopher’s. Bad planning on his part. A muggy Friday night in August—prime time for ice-cream sales. He lowered Emmy to the ground. “Think you can wait a bit? It’s a long line.”

  “Okay.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Actually, it’s close to eight o’clock. Almost bedtime. Maybe we should try tomorrow.”

  “You promised!”

  Technically, he hadn’t promised, but he knew she was still processing her disappointment about Val. “Okay. You want to run up and look at the ice-cream-flavor board by the front door?”

  “Sure!”

  “Go ahead. I’ll save our place in line.” He never needed to scan the list. Mint chocolate chip: his lifelong go-to.

  Emmy scampered ahead and disappeared somewhere in the front of the line. A minute later she came running back. “We can skip in line, Dad. Gimme some money.”

  “What do you mean we can skip ahead?”

  “Miss Lockwood is up front with some man. She said I can go in with them.”

  He shouldn’t care what man Steffi was with, but his pulse kicked an extra beat anyway. Steffi’s boyfriend would put a crimp in his mother’s not-so-subtle machinations. “So you’re going to leave me back here by myself?”

  “No, silly. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for us. That way you don’t have to wait, either.”

  “I don’t know, Emmy.” He didn’t want Steffi and her date to do him and his daughter a favor. More important, he didn’t want Emmy taking shortcuts in life. “That seems a little unfair. What about all of these other people who’ve been waiting patiently? How would you feel if you were one of them?”

  “Dad.” She crossed her arms and let her head fall back with a groan.

  “Go tell Miss Lockwood thank you, but we’ll wait for our turn.”

  Emmy scowled and stomped off with all the drama of her mother. When she returned with a pout, he said, “Listen up. You can be nice to me and make the best of our wait, or we can leave right now, because spoiled kids don’t get ice cream.”

  Emmy sighed. “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Thank you.” He ruffled her curls. “Now, what flavor did you choose?”

  “Cotton candy.”

  “No chocolate?”

  She shook her head. “Can I get sprinkles?”

  “Sure.” His teeth hurt from thinking about her choice.

  Five minutes later, as they neared the entrance, Steffi came out through the door, followed by Ben. Ryan chose not to analyze why his muscles relaxed upon seeing that she was with her brother instead of a date. He watched her lick her cone, knowing without needing to verify that she’d ordered pistachio.

  “Hey, Ryan.” Ben extended his hand. Tall and muscular, Ben Lockwood had been a favorite among the girls in high school, with his sandy-blond hair and dimples like his sister’s. It surprised Ryan that he’d never settled down. “Been a while.”

  “Ben.” Ryan shook his hand and nodded a silent hello to Steffi.

  They looked like they’d been on a run. Something he used to do with them eons ago when they’d all played soccer. He assumed their next stop would be their dad’s, where they’d drink a beer and engage in something competitive like poker or horseshoes. The Lockwoods had always been doers, not talkers.

  Ben looked at Emmy. “You decided?”

  “Cotton candy,” she repeated, smiling.

  Ben put out his fist for a little bump. “Good choice.”

  Emmy giggled. “Are you her boyfriend?”

  “Heck, no. I’m her brother.” Ben winked at Emmy. Ryan had forgotten how much he’d liked Ben Lockwood. That friendship had been another casualty of Steffi’s kiss-off.

  Emmy looked at Ryan. “I wish I had a brother.”

  She might’ve if Val hadn’t miscarried their second pregnancy six years ago. After that, Val hadn’t wanted to try again for a long time. By the time she might’ve been willing, the marriage had already been showing signs of trouble.

  “Do you have kids?” Emmy asked them both.

  “No,” they answered in unison.

  “Why not?”

  “Neither of us is married, for starters,” Steffi said.

  Not for the first time, Ryan wondered about the men who had come after him, but he brushed the pointless thought aside.

  “Why not?” Emmy’s relentless interrogations set the stage for a brilliant legal career someday. In that way, she took after him.

  “Um.” Steffi paused, casting a quick peek at Ryan. “Bad decisions and timing.”

  Ben ate his ice cream, but Ryan watched his brows rise in surprise. Had Steffi meant to insinuate regret about his and Steffi’s demise? And if so, what kind of reaction did she expect from him? He grunted, causing Emmy to look up with a puzzled expression.

  “Look, it’s our turn to go inside.” He nudged his daughter forward. “Let’s let these two get on with their night. Say goodbye.”

  Emmy waved goodbye while he held the screen door open for her.

  “Have a nice night,” Steffi said, catching his eye.

  Flustered, he almost smiled. “You too.”

  Ben waved, and then the Lockwood siblings turned to go off to wherever they planned to spend their night. He stood there, watching them leave, his body flushed from the summer heat and unexpected run-in. Steffi still had those great legs . . .

  “Daddy!” Emmy called, having made her way to the counter. He let the screen door slam shut behind him. Damn if Steffi’s wistful remark hadn’t split a seam in his stitched-up heart. He’d better sew it back up before things began to spill out.

  Chapter Three

  A light breeze whistled through the leaves of the oak trees overhead, carrying the scent of the nearby seawater. Summer days like this made Steffi want to throw down her tools and jump on a bike. Or hit the beach with sunscreen, a trashy novel, and a friend.

  Sighing to herself, she pried another wood strip from the exterior of the screen panels. Damaged or ro
tted stuff would be discarded, other things could be repurposed, and new elements would be introduced. In the end, the old house would be improved.

  If only her life were that predictable. That simple.

  Today she’d planned to remove all the screens, but she was running out of time. It was already nearing five o’clock. Given that Ryan preferred no contact with her, she wanted to leave before six to avoid bumping into him. She’d managed to steer clear of him these past few days, but only because she’d been meeting with Molly off-site to pick out windows and moldings and such. Now that demolition had begun, she knew they’d be forced to see each other again.

  That thought caused old butterflies to emerge from their chrysalides. She rolled her eyes at herself. Since when had she become a masochist?

  The wood strip she tossed onto the pile of ones she’d already removed landed with a satisfactory clatter. Dragging the back of her hand across her brow, she chugged from her water bottle as Molly’s car pulled into the detached garage. Steffi heard its doors open and close while Emmy’s voice chattered away. That kid could talk.

  Steffi waved at them when they crossed the yard toward the back door. Molly was carrying a cake box. Predictably, Emmy followed behind her, wearing a pastel floral sundress and carrying a gift bag in her hand.

  “Looks like you two are planning a party.” She tried to recall if any of the Quinns’ birthdays fell in August but didn’t think so. “Special occasion?”

  “Ryan’s new job was also a sort of promotion, but with the move, we haven’t had a chance to make a fuss yet.”

  Molly’s proud smile made Steffi miss her own mother, who remained a dreamlike amalgam of watery memories, scattered photographs, and stories told by her dad and her brothers. Would her mom be proud of whom her only daughter had become—a self-sufficient if slightly lonely construction worker? Visits to her grave never settled that question.

  Steffi smiled at Molly. “That’s great.”

  “Something to celebrate in an otherwise turbulent time.” Then Molly’s gaze darted to Emmy and her ever-alert ears. “I must go set this down, Emmy. Don’t distract Miss Lockwood while she’s working.”

  Molly made her way inside, but Emmy lingered a bit, shaking the small pink gift bag dangling from her fingers. “I made my dad a present.”

  “How thoughtful,” Steffi said. “What is it?”

  “A cup.” Emmy set the bag on the ground and retrieved an oversize coffee mug that she’d painted—in pinks, purples, and reds—at the local pottery-painting studio. “See the heart? And ‘Dad’ on this side. And this”—she proudly pointed at a giant white-and-yellow flower—“is a daisy because they’re my favorite flower.” She stuffed the mug back into the bag. “He can take it to work.”

  “He’ll love it.” Steffi grinned at the mental picture of Ryan sitting at his desk and drinking from a pink-heart mug with its enormous flower. Those butterflies fluttered again as she imagined sitting across the desk from him, his thick brown hair neatly combed, his sincere brown eyes seducing her from over the brim.

  Emmy set the bag on the grass and wandered closer, craning her neck to investigate the pile of trim. “What are you doing?”

  The kid treated Steffi like some kind of fascinating zoo creature. Steffi didn’t mind her company, although she knew Ryan didn’t welcome her involvement. “Removing the wood moldings so I can take out all these screens.”

  She pried the final strip free and tossed it aside.

  “Do you get splinters?” Emmy asked.

  “Sometimes, if I forget to wear gloves.”

  Emmy narrowed her eyes as if trying to judge whether or not this kind of job would be worth risking splinters.

  Steffi retrieved her rubber mallet to tap out the screen panels. Emmy wandered to her side and crouched, watching her tap and then nudge the first screen free.

  “Can I try?” Emmy looked up, her pleading hazel eyes making it hard to say no. Steffi had warned Ryan that she wouldn’t turn Emmy away. It was up to him to get her to leave Steffi alone, not the other way around.

  “How about we make a deal? I’ll let you help with one panel, but then you go inside and help your memaw get the house ready for your dad’s special dinner?”

  “Deal.” Emmy nodded like a boss, apparently having inherited her dad’s take-charge spirit. Then Emmy thrust out her hands for the mallet.

  “Now, listen, you can’t whack at it. Tap gently around the edges, and then we nudge. Okay?” She held on to the mallet while awaiting agreement.

  “Okay.” Emmy took the mallet in both hands and gave it a midair test swing.

  “Tap it right here and here.” Steffi pointed to the lower left corner of the frame. “Then I’ll reach the high points, and you can help me push it out.”

  Emmy furrowed her little brows and tapped a little too gently at first, but then gave it some more oomph, loosening it from the post. After Steffi hit the high spots, they pushed the screen free, with Steffi keeping hold of it so it didn’t crash onto the stone floor. “Good job, Emmy. Pretty soon you’ll be wearing work shoes and protective eye gear.”

  Emmy smiled dubiously. “I don’t know about that.”

  Steffi’s phone rang, interrupting their debate. Peyton? She hadn’t called since their last awkward exchange following the mugging. “Hey. What’s up?”

  Instead of Peyton’s voice, she heard sniffling followed by a croak. “Steffi, I’m in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Hopefully not the kind that would require Ryan’s professional services. Peyton had always been a bit of a risk-taker—from teenage pool hopping to the occasional billiards hustle.

  “I . . . I have . . .” A choked sob came through the line. Steffi’s heart pounded in her ears while she waited for whatever terrible news was coming. “I have cancer.”

  “What?” Steffi blinked as if she’d heard wrong, one hand covering her mouth. She leaned against the porch column for support, trying to block out Peyton’s crying so she could think. Cancer. The word never failed to send a cold shock wave through her limbs. The disease had already claimed her mom too young. Now her friend? Her throat closed as she struggled for something to say. “How? When?”

  Steffi listened to Peyton ramble incoherently—HER2 positive, chemo, Herceptin, and a string of more confusing medical lingo. She dabbed her watery eyes, hearing herself repeating, “I’m sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry, Peyton.”

  “Who’s Peyton?” Emmy interrupted, surprising Steffi, who’d forgotten about her young audience.

  She put her finger to her mouth to shush Emmy while she tried to focus on what Peyton was saying. The chirping and buzzing of birds and insects grew annoyingly loud.

  “Why are you crying?” Emmy persisted.

  “Not now, Emmy!” she snapped. “Go inside.”

  Emmy froze for a second before dashing to her gift bag, snatching it off the ground, and bolting inside. Crap.

  Steffi smacked her forehead, then pinched the bridge of her nose and refocused on Peyton. “What can I do?”

  “Pray, I guess. Not that you and I have been the most religious people.” Wry humor—one of Peyton’s defense mechanisms. Steffi supposed at this point any humor would be better than none.

  “Will you be treated at Yale New Haven Hospital?”

  “I’m staying with Logan in New York and going to Sloan. At least, that’s the plan now. I know I’ve done things to change our friendship, but I just wanted to bring you up to speed. I know Claire won’t care, but maybe you and I could meet for lunch in the city or something.”

  “Of course.” Things might be strained because of all the romance drama, but she’d never turn her back on a lifelong friend in crisis. “Why are you staying with your brother? Where’s Todd?”

  Not that Steffi cared about Todd or wanted to see him. In her opinion, he belonged in a special circle of hell. As her thoughts looped, she realized Peyton hadn’t answered her question. Silence stretched between them while warm summer breezes plag
ued Steffi with the false promise of a pleasant evening.

  “Gone.” Peyton’s deadened tone suggested she was still in shock. “He started distancing himself when they found the lump a month ago. Told me he couldn’t handle this—I think he actually used words like ‘didn’t sign up for this.’” Peyton sniffled, but Steffi couldn’t pretend to be surprised. “He’s not who I thought he was, and right now I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Peyton.” Todd had now devastated two of Steffi’s friends, which made him the biggest ass-wipe she knew. Her mom’s deathbed advice drifted back and caused her to frown, because it didn’t apply to Peyton. Peyton did—and should—regret a decision that had, for a while, made her happy. “Can I come visit this Sunday?”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Perfect.” She held her breath for a second, then tiptoed onto a minefield. “So, is this news something I should share with Claire?”

  “Why bother? She hates me.” Peyton’s quiet words landed like deadweights filled with misery.

  “She’s hurt and angry, but hate? I don’t believe it. I can’t.” A memory of the three of them huddled in a tent while camping out on the Prescott lawn resurfaced. Flashlights, caramel-coated popcorn, gossip, and Teen magazine. If only a night of innocent giggling beneath the stars would cure what ailed them all now. “But I don’t want to overstep. If you’d rather no one else know for a while, I won’t say a word.”

  Another long pause preceded Peyton’s response. “It’s not a secret. There’ll be no hiding my bald head and double mastectomy.”

  Steffi held her tongue. Now wasn’t the time for lectures or pep talks. And like the rest of the Prescotts, Peyton had always taken pride in her Pantene model–worthy hair and enviable figure. Losing them would be a blow, but even that couldn’t compare with confronting her own mortality. “I wish I were with you now. I’ll check in tomorrow, but plan on seeing me Sunday.”

  “Thanks, Steffi. Love you.”

  “You too.” Steffi hung up and shoved the phone in her pocket. She set one hand on the side of the house while her body begged to crumple to the ground from the weight of the news.