People marked their spots in the sand with blankets and coolers, most too close to the surf and not paying attention to the tide. Colorful umbrellas spread out along the beach, giving the khaki-colored space a rainbow-like feel. Kites flew in the air, kids screamed in delight, and dogs chased after toys and birds.
Bowie scanned the area for Brystol and Luke. He should’ve known they’d be in the area in front of the inn. From his vantage point, it seemed like Brystol stayed in view of the massive windows. He peered over his shoulder and thought he could see the outline of Carly, but he wasn’t sure. It was clear to him that Carly had always been fully aware of Brystol’s existence. But what he couldn’t understand was why the rest of them weren’t.
Luke sat in the sand staring into a space shielded by a white-and-blue umbrella with the name of the inn written on it. It was one of the guest umbrellas, a luxury offered to those staying here. There had been many summers when Bowie and Austin would wake early and make sure the beach chaises were set out and poles of the umbrellas pushed deep into the sand. Summers used to be different here until Austin died. He took a bit of the town and everyone living in it with him the night he drowned.
Luke’s tail wagged back and forth, creating his own version of a sand angel. The sight brought a smile to Bowie’s face. His dog was happy. His dog had a companion who could pay her undivided attention to him. Maybe he needed a friend, another pup to chase around. The idea of getting another dog wasn’t high on Bowie’s priority list, though. His divorce, however, was, and he was thankful that he had finally remembered to drop the papers off this morning. Also, it seemed like a good thing to avoid Brooklyn, who happened to be climbing the stairs.
With one last look, he surmised that Luke was in the best possible hands and went back to the picnic table to eat lunch. Simone had prepared spaghetti and salad for the workers, and each of the guys helped himself heartily.
All around him, the guys chatted about everything except work. Bowie picked up bits and pieces, mostly that they were excited for the weekend. One was heading to Anacortes to see a woman he’d started dating. Another had his kids this weekend, so they were going to chill at home. A few mentioned they were going fishing, while others reminded everyone at the table that the Austin Woods Memorial was coming up. Bowie hadn’t forgotten, even though he tried every year. The town refused to let it go, and people who hadn’t even known Austin came out to celebrate him. The weekend was nothing more than an excuse to have a street party. Only his true friends honored him the way he would’ve wanted, on the beach with a bonfire and a case of beer.
At first, the mayor had used Austin’s death as a teaching tool. He had updated out-of-date laws and mandated that even if there was a blip of a storm on the radar, the port and docks closed to ships planning on leaving. There hadn’t been an accident since, and the mayor was proud of himself. He used that little statistic every time he ran for reelection. The truth of the matter was, no one was stupid enough to take their boats out when it was raining after what had happened.
Bowie dreaded the anniversary of Austin’s death. It would be him, Monroe, and Graham, sitting around and telling each other the same old stories. Mila would show if her schedule wasn’t too busy, and Grady . . . he’d be around. Last year, he came but sat at the edge of the surf, letting the waves wash over him. He hadn’t been right in the head since Austin’s accident, despite the many attempts by his friends to help him.
Every town had a drunk, and Grady was theirs. Most people ignored him, crossed the street when they saw him coming, and acted like they didn’t know him. Graham took care of his brother, while Monroe tried to help him get into a program—which had been a lost cause. Grady didn’t want help—he wanted to forget, and he was drinking his way to salvation. Honestly, Bowie was surprised he was still around. He had long thought Grady would’ve passed away by now, and there were times when he’d go a few days, even a week, without seeing him downtown or sitting along the beach and assume that prophecy had been fulfilled. But Grady always showed up when friends started looking, never with an answer that could satisfy their curiosity of where he disappeared to.
Only the people of Cape Harbor knew about Grady’s problem. He wasn’t a bum. He didn’t panhandle on the street corner. His parents made sure he had a roof over his head. His mother still did his laundry, his brother made sure he always had a place to drink, and he kept to himself. Some say the Chamberlains enabled Grady’s problem, but those close to the family saw it otherwise. Only they knew what Grady had been through. They were simply taking care of their own, which was more than Bowie could say he had done for Austin’s mom.