“He’s my brother.” The day Graham returned home after the fateful phone call was the day he put Grady before everything else in his life.
Graham excused himself and went outside. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, brought it to life, and pressed Grady’s number. It rang and rang until voice mail picked up. “Hey, call me back. If you need me to come and pick you up, let me know.” He hung up and held his phone in his hand. Across the street, a group of teenagers playing a game of flag football got his attention.
“Okay, Austin, you’re going to linger near the line for a bit and then take off like you’re late for dinner. I’m going to fake a handoff to Bowie, circle around, and send a pass your way. On three.” The three of them clapped, and Graham moved toward the makeshift line of scrimmage. He crouched down, called his audible, and prepared to get the football from the center.
“Chamberlain steps back,” he said as he moved backward. “He looks to his left, to his right. He fakes a handoff to Bowie Holmes and fires a bomb downfield to Austin Woods. Woods catches the ball and dodges a tackle by Jason Randolph.” Graham threw his arms up in the air and danced around when Austin jumped over the broom handle they used as a goal line.
Grady dramatically fell to the ground.
“Get up, sore loser,” Graham heard Austin say to his brother.
“Every year. I give up,” Grady lamented. He sat up and pointed at Graham. “Next year, I get Austin on my team.”
“Whatever you say, Grady.” Graham walked over and held his hand out for his brother, helping him up. The friends huddled together and on three chanted, “Forever.”
Graham brushed the back of his hand over his wet cheek. That was the last time the five of them played together. By summer, Austin would be gone. The Thanksgiving following the accident, no one even suggested the boys get together and play. Their forever had ended. He went back into the house, kissed his mother on the cheek again, and went into the den to visit with his father.
George Chamberlain yelled at the television with a string of curse words to rival any sailor. He sprawled back in his recliner, jerking slightly when the mechanism locked into place. He pointed the remote control at the screen and mumbled incoherently.
“It’s not even the Seahawks,” Graham said as he sat down on the couch. Instantly, his body sagged and relaxed.
“It’s football. It doesn’t matter who’s playing,” George bellowed after another round of his yelling at the television subsided. Graham knew his father’s statement to be false. His dad was a die-hard Seahawks fan and flew a flag out front for everyone to see. That particular act of showmanship always confused Graham. It would stand to reason most people in Washington would be fans of their professional teams, and he could understand if someone had moved to the state, such as his neighbors, but they would display their hometown team, unlike the locals. Graham liked to consider himself impartial, something he’d learned while working at the bar. He never wanted to pressure his employees or patrons to root for one over the other and respected all the sports fans and whatever teams they supported. With that said, because he ran a tourist-town bar, he subscribed to the most expansive sports providers in the market so he could appease his customers.
Graham paid attention to the game, cheered when required, and greedily helped himself to the appetizers. When his pop was empty, he’d get up and get a new one, along with a beer for his dad, and the men would continue to watch the game until it was time to eat. Every so often, Johanna would come into the room, say something about the officiating while wiping her hands on her apron, and disappear back into the kitchen.
“Where’s your brother?”
“Not sure.” He spoke quietly as he took his phone out of his pocket, hoping to find a message from Grady. Nothing. He sent him a text message, asking him to call. He waited for the three conversation bubbles to appear; they never did. He typed out a message to his friend Monroe, asking her if she had seen Grady.
Monroe Whitfield had grown up with the twins and had always had a crush on Grady. From early on, when Grady and Austin decided to start a fishing company back in high school, Monroe said she had no plans of ever leaving Cape Harbor, and everyone knew it was because of Grady. Her younger sister, Mila, couldn’t get out of there fast enough. After the accident, Roe tried to fix Grady, show him he could still have a life, but he pushed her aside as he had done to everyone else. Yet, she still lingered, often showing up with him in tow after no one had seen him for a few days. She always knew where to look.
Monroe Whitfield: I haven’t seen him in a few days.
Okay, thanks
Monroe Whitfield: Is everything okay?
Nothing is ever okay, he wanted to say to her.
He’s late for dinner.
Monroe Whitfield: I’ll keep an eye out.
That was precisely what Graham didn’t want her to do, to interrupt her Thanksgiving to look for his drunk-ass, irresponsible brother.
Don’t, Roe. He’s an adult and needs to figure things out on his own. I’ll see you later at B’s.
Monroe sent back a sad-faced emoji, and Graham pocketed his phone. He felt like shit for ruining her holiday, even though she would never admit it to him.
“Maybe Grady should move in with you.”
Graham turned his head slowly until his gaze fell upon his father. “What?” he croaked out. “I don’t have enough room.”
“Move,” his father suggested gruffly. “Grady needs his family to be supportive.”
“What Grady needs is rehab and therapy, and he needs for his parents to accept the fact he’s an alcoholic. Besides, doesn’t he live here?”
“Dinner!” Johanna’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension-filled den. “Come on—come eat.”
Graham didn’t hesitate and followed his mother into the dining room. He sat in his usual spot, across from the empty chair where Grady would sit when he arrived. His mom would sit to his left, with her back facing the kitchen, and his dad would soon be to his right.
Their table was small, fitting the four of them cozily, but add anyone else, and it would feel crowded. The tablecloth was plastic and had turkeys, cornucopias, and leaves printed on it. A plate of sliced turkey sat in the middle of the table, and without giving it much thought, Graham reached for a piece of the crispy baked skin—his favorite.
“Do you want to talk about work?” his mom asked as she set down the bowl of mashed potatoes and took her seat.
“Not really. No offense, but I see you almost every day; I think you know about everything that goes on there.”
“Okay, what about your love life? Ever since the Holmeses became grandparents, I’ve grown rather jealous. I see Linda out and about with Brystol all the time and wonder when I’m going to get the opportunity.”
Graham sat in silence as he listened to his mother’s pleas. At times, he longed for a companion, especially after seeing his best friend Bowie reunite with Brooklyn. He had never given much thought to parenthood, though. Truthfully, none of his friends had. It was almost as if that ship sailed for everyone when Austin died. Somehow, he took a piece of each of them with him, and none of them had ever fully recovered.
“I don’t know, Mom.”
“Maybe you should try a dating app or something,” she suggested with a shrug.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” He stopped talking as soon as his father walked into the room. The moment George sat down, it was time to eat. Throughout dinner, his mother sighed, and Graham suspected it was because the chair across from him remained empty.
FIVE
Waking up to the sound of the ocean, the waves crashing against rocks, and the booming echo of the foghorn was a happy reprieve from the normalcy of car horns, screeching tires, and loud voices, most often arguing with someone over a parking spot. It took Renee only a split second for the realization to set in—she was in Cape Harbor, and for the next few days she was Rennie, the outgoing, wild, and fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants person she longed
to be in Seattle. Here, among her closest friends, she could be herself and not worry about the facade of being a professional. She could snort at the corny jokes and add her sarcastic two cents when someone talked about their current existential life crisis. Here, a few hours north of her hustle-and-bustle life in Seattle, she was free.
She rolled over and took in her room. She was on the third floor, at the end of the hallway. The converted rooms were the Driftwood Inn’s version of a suite and had the most privacy from the busy reception area. Her room had a sliding glass door and balcony, whereas other rooms only had windows that opened to let the ocean breeze in. The bed had an antique wrought iron frame painted white, set up against a navy wall. Across from the bed, the shiplap wall held lantern sconces and a piece of artwork she was sure Brystol had created of an anchor made from seashells. The room was different from when Carly Woods had owned the inn. Rennie wasn’t sure when the inn had been constructed but remembered clearly the decor. She had spent one summer cleaning rooms for Carly and hated all the brown fake wood that was everywhere. Part of her missed the old look, mostly because it meant Carly would still be around and Brystol would have her grandmother.
The soft knock on her door caused her to sit up in a flash. Her hand went to her head, as if to push back the impending headache. Coffee: she needed it—and fast. “Whoever is there, you better have your own key and a cup of coffee for me.” She heard the mechanical lock adjust and suspected the person on the other end was her best friend, Brooklyn Hewett.
The door crept open slowly, and long wavy brown locks made their appearance before Brystol stepped into the room with a mug in her hand.
“Brystol.” Rennie sighed and held her arms out for her niece. It hadn’t been very long since they had seen each other, but since her two favorite people returned to Washington, Rennie had been trying to spend as much time as possible with the mother-and-daughter duo. The teen made her way to Rennie, set down the mug, which was filled to the brim with coffee, and crawled into bed.
Brystol rested her head on Rennie’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I’ve missed you, Aunt Rennie.”
Hearing her niece’s sweet voice brought a smile to her face. She kissed the top of Brystol’s head and adjusted so she could look into her breathtakingly beautiful blue eyes. “I miss you every day and am so happy your mother decided to stay.”
“Me too.”
The two rearranged the way they were sitting, and Brystol handed Rennie her coffee. “I knew you needed this.”
She nodded and inhaled the aroma. “This is why you’re my favorite niece.”
Brystol chuckled. “I’m your only niece. Oh, get this. We were talking about family in my social studies class, and so I list everyone, right? Well, Tessa Cary raises her hand and says you’re not really my aunt. She literally argued with me in class over it.”
“Who is Tessa?”
Brystol rolled her eyes. “Like, the most annoying girl in school . . . and the most popular.” The last bit came out in a much-quieter voice, bringing back memories from Rennie’s high school days. She took a few sips of her coffee and set the cup down on the nightstand next to her bed.
“Here’s the deal, B. We’re family because we say we are. I’ve known your mom for most of my life, and the day you were born is the day I became your aunt. I’m your aunt because I say so and because you say so. Who cares what Tessa Cary thinks? She’s not in our family, is she?”
Brystol shook her head.
“Besides, she sounds like a mean girl.”
“Oh, she is.” She rolled her eyes again. “We like the same guy, and it sucks.”
“Does this guy like you or her?”
Brystol pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He likes both of us. Says he can’t decide.”
Rennie rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion, and Brystol giggled. “Run, girl. Run!” she screeched. “You don’t need a guy messing with your feelings. He either likes you, or he doesn’t. If you’re going to date . . . wait, does your dad know there’s a boy?”
She shrugged. “He’s been over before, but he’s scared of my dad.”
“As he should be. What’s his name?”
“Seth Sabine.”
“Well, Seth sounds like a politician.” Rennie adjusted her pillow and held out her arm, inviting Brystol to cuddle. “Honestly, B, before you find the right guy for you, you’re going to kiss a lot of frogs, figuratively speaking. The point I’m trying to make is, don’t waste all your emotions on this guy if he’s not willing to do the same for you.”
Brystol sighed. “You’re right. I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Me too, B. I really needed this minivacation. Now, tell me . . . does Simi have those amazing cinnamon rolls downstairs?”
Brystol sat up straight and nodded excitedly. “Yes, but you better hurry. We have a lot of people staying here, so they’re going fast.”
“I’ll be down in a few, okay?”
They got out of bed at the same time, and Rennie walked Brystol to the door. After shutting it, she picked her phone up off the dresser and scrolled through her notifications. All quiet on the work front. She mentally calculated Theo’s flight to Japan and figured he would be landing soon. Rennie turned the ringer on, opened her music app, and took her phone into the bathroom. She wasn’t worried about missing the cinnamon rolls, because she knew either Brystol would save her one or Simone would make another batch. Simone was good like that.
After her shower she added tinted moisturizer to her face, opting to go makeup-free while away from meeting with clients for a few days, and pulled her wet hair into a french twist, securing it with a couple of bobby pins. She dressed in black leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, opting for comfort before she sat down for Thanksgiving dinner later. After placing her phone in one of the two side pockets her leggings had, she sent a silent thank-you to whoever created the pants she wore, because she hadn’t wanted to carry her purse everywhere. She slid her key card into the other pocket and headed toward the lobby. In the hall, she passed a family of four chatting excitedly about driving north to Canada for some skiing. She couldn’t help but smile, knowing she and Theo were going to do the same thing for New Year’s. Instead of taking the elevator down, mostly because she didn’t trust it even though Bowie swore it was the best-working elevator this side of the harbor, she took the stairs. More exercise was going to be one of her resolutions in the coming year. Her office had stairs, and there wasn’t any reason she couldn’t use them, other than convenience. In the elevator, she could type out an email on her phone, return text messages, or scroll through social media. Taking the stairs meant paying attention. The last thing she wanted was to trip and fall on concrete steps.
As soon as she came to the grand staircase, the smell of every breakfast food imaginable surrounded her, and she envisioned a plate of crispy bacon and eggs, an ooey-gooey cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting, another cup of coffee, and some orange juice to help fight against pesky germs. A side of fruit and yogurt would do her some good as well.
Rennie stood on the imaginary divider between the reception area and the dining area. She glanced at the tables, each one full. The sight of families on vacation during the holidays no longer surprised her. Once her parents retired from their jobs, they sold their home, put most of their stuff in storage, and began traveling the globe. The first holiday Rennie spent without her parents was hard, but she grew accustomed to them being away.
A perk of knowing the owner was the liberties Rennie could take. Walking into the kitchen like she worked there was one of them. As soon as Simone came around the corner and saw Rennie standing there, she held her arms open for a hug.
“Simi.” Rennie sighed when she saw the woman she considered to be a part of her family. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“I’m so happy you could come.”
Rennie inhaled deeply, taking in the way Simone smelled like cinnamon and baked fruit. She released her hold and step
ped back. For as long as Rennie could remember, Simone Dowling had been a figure in their lives. As a young teen, when Rennie would visit, Simi would drive them to the movie theater or make them lunch. Simi never meddled but always had an opinion when asked. When life changed, she became Carly Woods’s caregiver, and she helped take care of Brystol when she would visit over the summer. Simi was the one person who stayed on, despite the inn closing. Who made sure Carly had everything she needed. Rennie never knew Simone’s title until Carly’s will came across her desk and the document referred to her as confidante, but she had been and continued to be so much more to the family.
“There isn’t any other place I would rather be right now.” Rennie spoke the truth. Being in Cape Harbor meant being with family.
“You must be starving. I heard from our overnight desk agent you came in late last night.” Simone motioned for Rennie to follow her. They walked out of the kitchen and into a little alcove, which had a small table and a couple of chairs in the corner. “Sit here; I’ll get you some breakfast.” In a flash, she was gone, leaving Rennie with her thoughts and a view of the ocean. Off in the faint distance, she saw a ship, and it reminded her to pull up her calendar to see where her parents were. Australia.
“That’s right,” she said to herself. She typed out a quick text to her parents, wishing them a happy Thanksgiving and asking that they send pictures when they could.
Simi returned with a trayful of options and set it down in front of her. “Brooklyn is helping a customer, and then she’ll be right in. Can I get you anything else?”
“Just your Christmas list,” Rennie said.
She waved her off. “Don’t be silly. I have everything I want.”
“Yes, but sometimes it’s nice to get new socks or something.”
“Meh, don’t you worry about me.”
Rennie watched as Simone walked toward the kitchen. She would buy presents for her, whether she gave a list or not. It was nice, though, to have some sort of idea what people wanted when she went shopping over the weekend. Rennie thought Simi would like the perfume sampler as well, but then it occurred to her she loved the way Simone always smelled like pastries.
Until Then Page 5