The funeral procession was practically a parade. The five police cars the town used were putting on a display of red and blue. The two lead cars blasted their sirens, letting everyone know they were leading the empty hearse through town, giving Austin’s imaginary body one last ride. Brooklyn stared out the window, looking at the harbor. It was empty. There wasn’t a single boat out there. Every fisherman was somewhere in this line behind her, paying their respects to their lost friend.
The limo was full for this ride. All of Austin’s friends crammed in, suffocating Brooklyn. She needed space to breathe, and right now Mila’s mindless chatter about auditions, directors, and movie roles filled the close space, while Jason jockeyed for a spot to interject about school. He was following his dreams of becoming a doctor, something Brooklyn wished she had done. Graham sat across from her, his long legs stretched out, his ankle touching hers. He, too, stared out the window. Beside him, his brother, Grady, was passed out cold. This had become his life, drinking until he could no longer function, no matter the time of day. Brooklyn wondered when someone was going to say something to him. Was it going to be before or after Graham returned to California? Even though they were twins, they were vastly different. Graham was successful, working in Silicon Valley, while Grady stayed behind to open a business with Austin. The Chamberwoods Fishing Company had brought in decent money since its inception. But the future of the company was in limbo, as far as Brooklyn could tell. Grady wasn’t in any shape to tie his own shoes, let alone run a business.
As soon as the car pulled to a stop, the doors opened. Ushers from the funeral home helped Brooklyn, Monroe, and Mila out of the car. Jason and Graham followed, leaving Grady in the back seat to sleep off his intoxication. Before Brooklyn could take a step, Bowie was in front of her. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he wasn’t in the car with them. He should’ve been, but then she thought that maybe he was with Carly, playing the dutiful best friend.
Bowie told the others that they would be right behind them, and when Brooklyn sidestepped to get around him, he shuffled as well. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”
Brooklyn said nothing.
“We need to talk about what happened.”
She studied the ground and sighed. “Austin died. There isn’t anything to talk about.”
Bowie stepped closer and placed his hand on her hip. The touch electrified her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to push his hand away. “I’m not talking about Austin. I’m talking about us and what happened.”
“Nothing happened.” Those were the words she had been telling herself repeatedly. She figured she would start to believe them sooner or later.
“You know that’s not true, Brooklyn. We can’t let the guilt eat us up. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Didn’t they? It sure felt wrong.
“I have to go,” she said, stepping away from him. She didn’t walk to Austin’s gravesite or go sit by his mother. She walked down the road toward town, and never looked back.
SIXTEEN
Over the next few days, Bowie did everything he could to avoid Brooklyn. When he needed to ask her questions about her designs, he sent his assistant foreman, Jarrett, to get the answers. When lunch rolled around, he scanned the area for any sign of her before he sat down. The person he couldn’t avoid was her daughter. She was everywhere, and Luke was with her from the second Bowie put his truck into park. Brystol waited for them to arrive each morning, always with a large piece of driftwood in her hand, and every time, Bowie relinquished all rights to his dog. He reached down, almost absentmindedly, to pet Luke, only to remind himself that he was likely on the beach or snuggled up on the floor of Carly’s home watching television with Brystol. A few nights ago, he had attempted to rest his head against Luke, much like he had seen Brystol do, only to have Luke growl and move away from him. “Traitor,” Bowie had mumbled. His dog had fallen in love with Brystol, much like Bowie had fallen in love with Brooklyn. The Hewett women were going to be the demise of the Holmes men.
Despite knowing Luke was safe, Bowie peered over the fence. There were quite a few people on the beach, most likely tourists. The renovation project was on track, something he prided himself on, especially with Brooklyn nitpicking how slow things started off. His crew had completed the lobby earlier this morning, and Simone was already behind the desk, typing away on the computer. It was only a matter of time before life returned to the Driftwood Inn.