“I’m okay.”
“Amateur.”
“Am not,” I say in my defense. “I might not live here, but I have been coming down at least twice a year for my entire life.”
“And every time you get burned the first day and have to spend the next few days hiding from the sun.”
I slip my cover-up over my head, refusing to say he’s right even though he is. I hand the sunscreen over and turn around so my back is facing him.
Beau squeezes the lotion on his hands before rubbing it into my back. He starts at my shoulders and works his way down, kneading my skin like he’s giving me a massage instead of just helping me put sunscreen on. I think about saying something but it feels good, so I let it go.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the bottle when he’s finished.
“You don’t want help with the other side?” he asks, straight-faced.
I reach for the sunscreen again, not justifying that with a response. He pulls his hand away, teasing, but I know better than to play this game. I lean back and put my arms behind me, propping myself up. I’m not the one who wanted me to put sunscreen on in the first place.
Beau waves the sunscreen closer to me, ready to snap it away the instant I reach for it. His face falls when I don’t respond. “You’re no fun.”
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I tell him.
“You want me to go?” he asks, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. It’s so much harder talking in person, without having an arsenal of emojis to let someone know when you’re kidding.
“I didn’t say that.” I hope he doesn’t go, and not just because I forgot to bring a book to read. “Just hand me the sunscreen. My sunscreen.”
Beau smiles and tosses it over. “Only so you don’t get burned.”
I squeeze the lotion onto my hands and apply it evenly over my skin. Beau’s eyes follow my hands as I rub it in, and I try to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach.
Beau is like a brother to me, I remind myself.
But Liam doesn’t know that.
“Let’s take a selfie.” I pull my iPhone out of my beach bag and Beau slides over so we’re sitting side by side. I hold it up to get the best angle and pout my lips a bit. Not bad.
Before I can post the picture, a commotion down by the water distracts me. “Is there a shark?” I ask. My biggest fear is already coming true this summer, so nothing else would surprise me.
“More like guppies.” Beau rolls his eyes and leans back on the towel.
“Guppies?”
“Or groupies, whatever you want to call them. I don’t get what the big deal is about this stupid show.”
“The Seasiders?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of them, too.”
The question is so offensive that I don’t bother answering him. Of course I’m not a groupie. I’m an actress, waiting to be discovered. I pull my brush out of my bag and quickly pull it through my tangled ponytail so I don’t blow it if this ends up being my one chance.
“Who is it?” I ask Beau, even though I’m sure I know more about the cast than he does. Since I saw the billboard, I have been googling every single one of them.
“Does it matter? They’re all nobodies. Except for Monica Whistler and she—”
“It’s Victoria and Peter!” I interrupt, recognizing the actors who play the twins as soon as they clear the crowd of immature fans clamoring for their attention.
I decide right then and there that I’m going to come down for a walk on the beach every day until I run into the two of them again. I’ll impress them from the start, acting professional and polished so they know to take me seriously as the mature actress I am.
I smile, leaning back onto the towel; this plan might just be crazy enough to actually work. If the worst can happen, who’s to say the best can’t happen, too?
Chapter Twenty-One
Alexis
CeCe isn’t coming?” I ask as Tommy gets into the passenger seat. My driving everywhere is just one of the things that has changed in this new normal.
“She says she’s not hungry,” Tommy says, buckling his seatbelt.
“Jill said Beau didn’t want to come, either,” I say. “You don’t think . . .”
“Beau and CeCe?” Tommy asks.
“No way.” I shut the idea down before it has a chance to fester in my mind. “They’re like brother and sister—and she’s still hung up on Liam.”
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Tommy says. “Beau’s a good kid.”
“He was a good kid,” I say, putting the emphasis on “was.” It’s both endearing and annoying how much Tommy tries to see the good in people. “But he’s a teenager now. You should see the pictures he posts on Instagram—he treats women the same way his father did.”
“Women?”
“Girls, whatever. He’s like a mini Adam. And he’s a fifteen-year-old boy,” I add, which should be a scary enough thought on its own.
The realization of what I’m saying settles across Tommy’s face. “Should we make her go with us?”
I hesitate. The part of me who tries to be a good parent thinks that yes, we should absolutely make her go. We should be assertive and show her that we are in charge. But the selfish part of me knows that if we make her go, she’ll be a pain in the ass and ruin what could otherwise be a very nice evening.
“If you want.” I shrug, hoping he doesn’t.
“Forget about it,” Tommy says. “If she’s miserable then we’ll all be miserable.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” I back out of the driveway before he can change his mind.
PULLING INTO THE parking lot of Camille’s, I can’t help but think back to the first time Tommy took me here. We were on a double date of sorts with Adam and Jill, although we were still firmly in the friend zone—which is why I was so confused when he pulled his car into a motel parking lot. Part of me may have been a little disappointed when I realized the restaurant was on the second floor.
“First full day here, and I’m already checking something off my Kick the Bucket list,” Tommy says, getting out of the car.
I frown. I’m trying to be supportive, but his making light of everything has the opposite effect on me than it does on him. If it didn’t have such a strong reference to death, I might have appreciated his twist on a summer bucket list. But I could do without all the reminders of what the end of this summer holds.
“Uncle Tommy?” Abigail says.
I hadn’t noticed Jill’s car pull in, but Abigail is standing there looking so timid and lovely. Tommy gives her a smile that lights up his face, and with the permission that it’s okay, she lunges into his open arms.
My eyes well up at the sight of them. Tommy and Abigail have always had a special bond, and it hasn’t diminished over time. If anything, it’s even stronger now that Abigail doesn’t have another reliable father figure in her life.
It shouldn’t surprise me that Adam has gone MIA since he ran off to play house with his new girl-toy, but it still makes me angry. Even now, Jill tries to make excuses for him, saying that Adam’s tried, but the kids refused to talk to him. But he’s the dad. It’s his job to keep trying. To show that he loves them, even half as much as Tommy does.
“Who is this stunning creature?” Tommy asks Jill over Abigail’s shoulder.
“Uncle Tommy, you know it’s me.” Abigail plays along even though she knows he’s teasing.
Tommy holds her an arm’s length away. “Abigail Jane?” Tommy looks over at me, the smile on his face stretching from ear to ear. “Lex, look how much our girl has grown.”
Suddenly shy again, Abigail drops her head, letting her silky straight hair fall in front of her face. Tommy pushes it back behind her shoulder and gives her a kiss on the cheek. He leans closer to whisper something in her ear.
I catch Jill’s eye as she wipes away a tear, and I reach my hand toward hers. Her fingers lace through mine and she clears her throat. “We shou
ld get upstairs before they give our table away.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Tommy says. He gives Jill a hug before walking over to the bottom of the staircase that leads up to both the restaurant and the second floor of the motel, allowing us all to go before him. I try not to notice how he stops to rest halfway up the stairs, or how out of breath he is as we walk through the door to one of our favorite restaurants in Destin.
“TomTom!” Brit, the longtime hostess, calls as she walks toward us. One of Monica’s best friends back in the day, she’s still beautiful, but less intimidating than she was all those years ago. She gives Tommy a kiss on the lips like she always does, then moves to kiss my cheek—which she didn’t always do.
“Did you know Monica is back in town?” she asks Tommy.
My stomach tightens into a knot and I am grateful CeCe isn’t around to hear this conversation.
“I heard something about that,” he says, putting his arm around my waist. I see right through his gesture, but I appreciate it.
Brit smiles and launches into the story about how Monica landed this great Netflix project and it was just a coincidence that they were filming in Destin, how it’s just like the old days and that they should all get together sometime.
Over my dead body.
Brit waits for Tommy to agree, as if she doesn’t remember how badly things between them had ended. When he doesn’t, she picks up the menus and leads us to our usual spot by the windows in back of the dining room.
As we take our seats, I try to push thoughts of Monica out of my mind and focus instead on the people gathered around our table. We’ve had so many good meals and good times here, the three of us. I’m grateful that Abigail is completing our foursome tonight instead of her cheating jerk of a father.
That night we first came here, the four of us, was the first time I suspected that Adam might not be as wonderful and doting as Jill claimed. I remember watching him watch Brit as she bent down to pick up a napkin, putting on a little show.
Not only is Jill better off without Adam, but it seems like she’s finally coming into the person she was always meant to be. She looks ten years younger and so much more carefree than the last time I saw her. “You look great,” I tell her, interrupting whatever conversation I hadn’t been paying attention to.
Jill brings her fingers up to her mouth self-consciously. “I can’t remember the last time I put on lipstick.”
“I keep telling her she should get back out there,” Abigail says.
“There is no ‘there’ here,” Jill says. “Trust me.”
“You wouldn’t know,” Abigail says with a little sass in her voice.
“Have you tried the apps?” I ask.
“The appetizers?” Jill teases.
I laugh, but Abigail just rolls her eyes.
“You know I’m talking about the dating apps—I should set up a profile for you, return the favor.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Jill threatens through a smile.
“You know,” I tell Abigail, “before your uncle Tommy and I started dating, your mom made me sign up for a dating site. But she checked the wrong box.”
“Lex,” Jill warns.
I smile. She doesn’t have to worry about my telling her young, impressionable daughter that she clicked the “casual sex” box on the dating profile. The emails I had gotten—and the pictures. Once I’d realized what had happened, I went online and canceled my account.
“Let’s just say that there were no love connections,” I tell her.
“I beg to differ,” Tommy says, leaning in to give me a quick kiss.
Abigail clearly isn’t ready to close the topic. “Even if you got her on the apps—”
“Never going to happen,” Jill says, interrupting her daughter.
“Even if you got her on the apps,” Abigail repeats, “Mom wouldn’t have any time to go on a date. She’s at the café every day before we wake up, and some days, she’s still there after we go to sleep.”
“Oh, stop,” Jill says, looking flustered.
Even though they’re bickering, I’m a little jealous of their relationship. I can’t imagine CeCe and me teasing each other that easily.
“You make it sound like I’m never there for you guys,” Jill says to Abigail. “I promise, I’m not a terrible mother,” she tells us even though we both know she’s anything but.
“That’s not what I meant,” Abigail says, getting defensive.
“You’re one of the best parents I know,” I tell Jill. “Look how well your daughter turned out!” I hope no one notices that I left Beau out of the equation, but his issues have nothing to do with Jill.
A waitress I don’t recognize approaches our table with a bottle of white wine in one hand, and a plate of Camille’s famous fried green tomatoes topped with lump crabmeat in the other. My mouth waters in anticipation. “Compliments of Brit,” she says.
The waitress opens the bottle and pours a little taste in my glass, since I always seem to be the nominated taster. I swirl it around, smelling it before I take a sip. “It’s perfect, thanks.”
She smiles and fills Jill’s glass, then Tommy’s before hesitating by the empty glass in front of Abigail, who looks at her mom with pleading eyes.
“Not a chance,” Jill says.
The waitress nods, skipping Abigail’s glass before filling mine. She leaves the bottle in a bucket of ice on a tall stand between my chair and Tommy’s.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Abigail says. “You let me have a drink at—” Jill gives Abigail a conversation-stopping look and it actually works. I’m going to have to get Jill to teach me how to do that.
“We’re trying to show them I’m not a terrible mother, remember?” Jill says.
“That’s enough of that talk,” Tommy says. “Now if I may, I’d like to make a toast, and I’d like my goddaughter to join us. Just a sip?”
Abigail sits a little higher in her chair, smiling at her mom as she slowly inches her empty wineglass toward Tommy.
“Just a sip,” Jill concedes.
Tommy takes the bottle and pours a few fingers of wine in Abigail’s glass, which she holds delicately with both hands. Tommy looks around the table slowly, like he’s taking inventory of each of us before lifting his glass.
“Now that we’re all here together, well, most of us,” he says, noting the absence of CeCe and Beau, “I want to say a few words.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, preparing myself to hold it together. I may be the writer of the family, but Tommy is the master of the spoken word.
He clears his throat and Jill and I make eye contact. I can tell she’s bracing herself as well, not wanting to break down in front of her daughter and a roomful of strangers.
“Here’s to cheating, lying, stealing, and drinking,” Tommy says, catching us all off guard.
“Tommy.” I look over at Abigail and then back to him.
“It’s okay,” he says, before continuing. “‘If you’re going to cheat, cheat death.’” He turns slightly in his chair to face Jill. “‘If you’re going to lie, lie for a friend.’” He turns back toward me, his eyes locking onto mine. “‘If you’re going to steal, steal a heart.’” His gaze drifts over to Abigail, who meets his stare. “‘If you’re going to drink, drink with me.’”
He lifts his glass a little higher and brings his hand toward the center of the table, where we clink our glasses against his.
“Cheers,” we say together.
I watch Jill watching Abigail as she takes a sip, and I suddenly wish CeCe were here.
“You thought I was going to get all sentimental, didn’t you?” Tommy starts laughing, the kind of laugh that starts low and soft but builds into a deep, gut-wrenching, body-shaking sound.
His laugh has always been contagious, and Abigail is the first one to join in. She’s even more beautiful when she lets herself relax. Jill’s the next one down, and I finally succumb—unable to resist the circle of people I hold
so dear, all laughing as though everything is right with the world.
Of course fate takes that moment to remind us that, no, things aren’t all right.
The transition from laughter to coughing is so subtle and seamless that it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. But Tommy’s coughing again. It’s deep and it’s raw and it breaks my heart.
I put my hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. I don’t know if it helps him at all, but it makes me feel better than sitting there doing nothing. I look over at Abigail, who has gone pale, her eyes wide and frightened. Jill looks like she’s holding her breath, waiting for the moment to pass. I notice Brit standing in the middle of the dining room, staring as if she forgot her manners.
Tommy coughs again, a little quieter this time. I hate that I’m starting to recognize the pattern of these attacks, but it seems like this one is coming to an end. It leaves him breathless, and I let him steady himself before handing him a glass of water.
He thanks me with his eyes as he takes a small sip.
“Why the long faces?” Tommy asks, his voice sounding scratchy. “I know that’s the punch line of a pretty good joke, I just can’t remember the first part. Something about a horse?”
He looks around the table, but none of us is ready to laugh.
“It’s okay,” I tell Jill and Abigail. “He’s okay.”
Tommy takes another sip of water to buy more time, and I know that if I really want to help him feel better, I’ll get things as back to normal as they can be.
“So, Abigail,” I say, trying to make my voice as bright as I can. “Your mom tells me you’ve become quite the artist.”
“I’m not very good,” Abigail says. “But I draw a lot.”
“She’s being humble,” Jill says. “The ones she lets me see are fantastic. She has a whole collection of people she’s drawn while they sit in the café.”
“Would you draw me sometime?” Tommy asks.
Abigail smiles shyly and nods.
“You’re lucky,” Jill says. “She won’t draw me.”
“You’ve never asked.” Abigail defiantly takes another sip of her wine and I smile, thankful to see my daughter isn’t the only one who can deliver a punch with just a few words.
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