“I’m Bowie, an old friend of your mom’s.”
“And my dad’s,” Brystol said proudly. “Nonnie talks about you all the time. She’s even shown me some of the houses you’ve built, and she’s told me stories about how you and my dad would do crazy things that would more often than not end up in one of you going to the hospital. Like the time my dad convinced you to jump off the garage into the swimming pool and you broke your arm.” Brystol laughed. “Nonnie tells me all the time that I should be like her boys. Anyway, I was wondering if I can take Luke for a walk after I come back from the store. We’ll only go to the beach.” Brystol spoke a mile a minute while Brooklyn kept her eyes on Bowie.
“He would like that, but if he starts bugging you, let me know.”
Brystol laughed. It was a genuine laugh and tugged at Brooklyn’s heart. She needed to make a change, and fast. Brystol deserved better.
“Thanks, I will. Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, be good and don’t buy a ton of sugary crap.” The words likely fell on deaf ears. Not that Simone would allow it, but Brooklyn felt better giving some motherly structure.
“It’s pretty shitty finding out that Austin has a daughter this way.”
Brooklyn sighed. This was a conversation that she hadn’t wanted to have, but Carly had put her in this position. She’d thought, with the girl being here every summer, people would’ve figured it out, and Brooklyn wouldn’t look like she was hiding her daughter. She wasn’t. She was just hiding herself.
“That wasn’t my intent.”
“What was? To hide her the entire time you’re here? To make sure none of his friends know her?” Bowie began to stand but gripped the side of the counter to steady himself. She tried not to pay attention to him, but his presence made her think about how life had turned out in Cape Harbor for Carly and made her feel even worse because she had left. Bowie opened his mouth to say something but closed it again and quickly retook his seat. He was angry; that much she could see by his expression. For as long as she could remember, Bowie had worn his heart on his sleeve. He’d always been there when she needed a shoulder to cry on, offering advice and comfort. She somewhat understood why he was upset, but honestly, it wasn’t like she was going to broadcast that she’d gotten knocked up. It was her issue to deal with, not anyone else’s. Besides, she hadn’t wanted to feel guilted into staying in Cape Harbor.
She stared at him, unwilling to answer. He was making something out of nothing. If he and the rest of Austin’s friends hadn’t visited Carly on their own, would they really have come around if they’d known Austin’s daughter was here? “I think you’re looking for a fight, Bowie, and I’m not going to play into it.”
He shook his head before tapping his fist on the countertop. “What happened to you?”
Brooklyn put the knife down on the countertop and took a step back. “I think you should go back to work.”
“No, I think we should talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“We have everything to talk about. You walked out on me, on us.”
“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t. In fact, I don’t know anything.” Bowie stood between the wall and counter, cutting off an easy escape route. In this moment, she hated this kitchen and wished it were open concept so she could escape and run to her room.
“You used to tell me everything, confide in me, and now you can’t even stomach being in the same room with me.”
“I think you know why,” she said quietly.
“Talk to me, Brooklyn.”
She shook her head and looked him square in the eyes. “I don’t have anything to say.”
“You may not have anything to say, but I do. You may have chosen to shut everyone out and disappear, but we didn’t deserve it. We took you in when you were new. We made you one of us, and you bailed when shit got tough.”
“There was nothing left for me here. He told me that he didn’t love me and then went and died. How do you think that made me feel, especially after we . . .” Brooklyn stopped speaking. She closed her eyes and pulled the brim of her hat down farther. “Just go.”
“Just tell me why you left. You at least owe me that.”
She shook her head. “I did—there was nothing left for me here. Austin was dead. My parents were back in Seattle. There was nothing.”
Bowie stood and came toward her until she backed up against the counter. They were face to face; rather, she stared at his chest. Her head rose slowly, until their eyes met. She looked at him, really took him in. With age, fine lines showed in his creased forehead. His eyes glistened, but also his nostrils flared. Was he sad or angry? Did he feel like she did? Hurt, upset, tormented, and confused?