He gulped. A job of this stature could help him over the financial burden he was experiencing. Not to mention, it would give him some much-needed clout. “What did you tell her?”
“That you’d be right over to discuss the details.”
He would. He would drop everything, assuming he had a full schedule, to work with Austin’s mother. But something was amiss. The inn had closed when Austin passed away, and this month marked the fifteenth anniversary of his death. So why now?
Bowie hung up after telling Marcia he would head over to the Driftwood Inn. When he pulled into the circular driveway, the same one where he’d learned to ride a skateboard, broken his arm, and parked cars during many of the town’s events, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been here since his friend died—not that he’d intended to stay away. He’d thought about visiting often, especially when he and his friends had gathered on the beach to remember Austin. However, as time had passed, he’d felt he couldn’t just show up on Carly’s doorstep. He had a lot of groveling to do, but didn’t know what he would say or how to even start because telling her he was sorry seemed like the wrong thing to say after being gone for so long.
THREE
Brooklyn stood on the front step of her new school, staring at the brick building, trying to psych herself up enough to walk the rest of the way. The bell had rung, and now she was late. Being as it was her first day, she wasn’t too worried that the school would call her mom or bother her father while he was busy saving the people of Cape Harbor.
By comparison to her former school, Cape Harbor High was small. Tiny even. Over the weekend, she and her dad had driven over here and walked around the campus. The whole time she wondered where the rest of the school was. Surely they had football, baseball, and softball fields. And the building . . . it was only one story. Where were the classrooms? Where was the gymnasium? Did they even have a basketball team?
It had been her parents’ intention to bring her here on Friday to meet with her teachers and to get a feel for the school, but with moving and the Labor Day holiday, time had slipped by them, and she faced the first day of school alone.
For the past year, her father had commuted between Seattle and his new office, not wanting to uproot Brooklyn from her life in Seattle. He had taken the job as the town’s pediatrician, which had soon turned into him becoming a primary care doctor for everyone. The hospital was nearly fifty miles away, and the town needed someone close.
At first, her dad was home on the weekends, arriving late on Friday nights and leaving after dinner on Sundays. After a few months, every weekend became every other weekend, and then slowly became once a month, if that. Sometimes, he’d come home and leave the next day. He suggested that Brooklyn and her mom travel north for the weekends, but Brooklyn was busy with basketball, softball, and whatever else she had going on, so only her mother would go when Brooklyn didn’t have a tournament or other obligations. It wasn’t until she found her mother crying softly one evening that she realized she was the source of her mother’s heartache. Her mom was lonely, and Brooklyn could change that. She hated the idea of moving away from her friends, from the life she was living in Seattle, but her heart hurt for her mom. She had given up everything to raise Brooklyn, tending to her every need, driving her to every event on their calendar. Her mother’s life revolved around Brooklyn. Maybe it was time for her to give back.
One weekend when her father could finally come home, Brooklyn proposed they move, never fully expecting her parents to take her up on the idea. At first, she could see the confusion on her mother’s face, but that confusion quickly turned into elation, and the following Monday, their house was on the market. She wasn’t, however, prepared for things to move so quickly, but they did.
She spent her last summer in Seattle with her team and friends. None of them had cars yet, but all promised they would visit, especially since Brooklyn was moving so close to the water. A few even said they would sail up with their parents for the tulip festival the following spring. The friends made plans, and Brooklyn would make sure they stuck.
Now she wished she were back in Seattle, walking arm in arm with her best friend, Renee—who went by Rennie—as they entered their school. Their freshman year had been rough. The seniors loved to haze, and the girls had become the butt end of one too many jokes. Sophomore year was better, but it would be their junior year where they made their mark, where they showed everyone that their group ruled the school.