She tried to shake her head. “Brystol.”
Brooklyn was shooting in the dark. She didn’t want to assume anything, but that was all she could do now. “Is the inn for Brystol?”
“Old . . .”
“When she’s older?”
“Mm. Paper . . .”
Brooklyn sighed in relief. “Where? In your desk?”
“Mm.” Carly’s eyes fluttered. Brooklyn waited, but the soft snore spoke volumes. Brooklyn checked the monitors and saw no change. Her breathing held steady, as did her heart rate. She was praying that Carly would become more lucid later. They needed to finish their conversation.
Brooklyn laid her head down on the bed and watched Carly sleep. She was thankful Austin wasn’t here to witness his mother dying. He wouldn’t have handled it very well. She was also thankful that Carly had tracked her down after she’d left. She had found Brooklyn at her parents’ house weeks after Austin’s funeral. She was the only one to come looking for her. That fact had never left Brooklyn’s mind. It was only Carly who came. No one else. They sat on the beach for a long time without talking, both looking out into the ocean, wondering where Austin was.
“My son loved you, and I love you. I think of you as my daughter.”
“I’m pregnant, Carly. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” What she had thought was the flu turned out to be anything but. She had stood for an hour in a pharmacy looking at the variety of pregnancy tests. She only needed to use one of the dozen she had bought to understand why she had been so sick.
Carly put her arm around Brooklyn and held her while they both cried. “Well, we’re going to raise this baby with all the love we can muster. Between your parents and me, this child will be rather spoiled, and you won’t be alone. You will never be alone. You know you can live with me, help me run the inn. I’ll take care of you, Brooklyn.”
“But I’m alone now, Carly. You’re leaving us,” she whispered. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but Carly had never let her down, and she couldn’t imagine their lives without her. When Brooklyn’s career had taken off, Carly had begged her to let Brystol live in Seattle or Cape Harbor; however, like most mothers, Brooklyn hadn’t wanted to be without her daughter. The compromise was that every summer, Brystol would split time between the grandparents. Brooklyn needed time to heal and grow. She wanted to find love again and felt she couldn’t do that under Carly’s thumb.
Sometime after the sun had risen, Brooklyn felt fingers brushing through her hair. She smiled at the sensation. She loved having her hair played with. As she opened her eyes, the day and night before came rushing back. She popped her head up and saw that Carly was awake. She looked ashen and tired. “Hi,” she said.
Carly tried to smile, but her lips barely moved. “You know now?” she asked, clear as day.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would’ve forced me to get treatment, and that’s not what I want.”
“I would’ve respected your wishes, but yes, I would’ve encouraged it.” Brooklyn sat up and reached for Carly’s hand. She wanted to hold it for as long as possible. “We need to talk about your wishes, and what you want to do with the inn.”
Carly swallowed and spoke softly. “It’s Brystol’s. My will is in my desk, in my room. I’m leaving everything to her with you as the executor of my estate.” She inhaled deeply, gasping slightly for air. “I want my ashes spread where the accident happened. The coordinates are in a file. You, Bowie, and Brystol will do it. Simone gets seasick, so she won’t go.”
“Brystol and I can manage.”
Carly moved her head back and forth slowly. “I know, Brooklyn. I’ve known all along.”
“Known what?” Brooklyn asked her, confused by her statement.
“Brystol . . . she’s Bowie’s.”
Brooklyn let out a ghastly sound, something like a laugh and choking mixed together. “I think the meds are playing with your mind, Carly—I’m going to go get the doctor.” She stood, but Carly held on as tightly as she could to Brooklyn’s hand. She could’ve easily pulled away, but something held her there.
“No. Sit.”
She did as Carly requested.
“I know, and I’m telling you it’s okay.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brooklyn told her. “You’re worrying me. Please let me get the doctor.”
“I’m not crazy,” Carly said. “Bowie is Brystol’s father. I’ve known it all along. But I didn’t care. I know my granddaughter doesn’t belong to my son.”
Brooklyn shook her head as tears started to fall. Not only was Carly dying, but she was making outrageous accusations that had repercussions for everyone. “You’re wrong, Carly.” She ripped her hand away from hers and left the room.