2
Brook
Do you ever wonder what it would be like to see the world? I sit here looking at the waves and I’m filled with equal parts hope and dread. On good days, I can imagine all the places I’ve seen pictures of and remember that these waves may have started there. Other times, it feels like I’m sitting at the end of the earth, and no matter how badly I want to get away, the waves will always be there, pushing me back to the shore. -S
The weeks leadingup to Memorial Day were the calm before the storm. Except the inn where I worked twisted and turned in chaos created by Hurricane James. Not a literal hurricane, but one created by its namesake, James Montgomery, and his frenetic nature.
“Have the new linens arrived? Where is the art for room seven? When will the new tables for the dining room be delivered?” James’s rapid-fire questions made my head spin. He’d taken over the inn from his parents two years ago and used the off-season to give the business a complete facelift. Unfortunately, the man had champagne taste and a beer budget, which meant everything was running behind schedule. I glanced at the checklist on the clipboard that might as well have been glued to my hand at this point.
“Yes. In the storage room. And Thursday morning.”
“Good, good. We’re booked solid after next weekend, and everything needs to be pristine,” he reminded me as if we hadn’t had this exact conversation every morning for the past month.
“And it will be, James. By the time we open the doors for the grand opening, I assure you everything will be in order.”
“That’s why I keep you around.” James chuckled as though he’d just made a witty joke. I scowled because I knew at least half the reason he kept me on board was because I didn’t demand the pay I was worth. I’d started working at the Bird Island Inn while James was off trying to find himself, hiking through Europe while his parents struggled to keep the business running without hiring any additional staff. It wouldn’t have been daunting for a younger couple, but they were both pushing seventy at the time and quickly realized even a dozen rooms was a handful if you were too damn cheap to hire help.
Enter me, an ambitious sixteen-year-old willing to do just about anything to earn some spending money. Like James, I’d originally planned to get off the island someday, but here I was, a dozen years later, still waiting for that day to come.
I stayed in Sunset Beach because it was where my grandfather lived, where he would eventually die, and I refused to let his final days be lived alone. And being the cantankerous ass he’d always been, his final days had dragged on for well over a decade at this point. At the rate he was going, he’d outlive us all.
But I couldn’t complain too much. The job was interesting, at least during the tourist season, and James wasn’t always this much of a pain in my ass. I couldn’t really blame him for being so high-strung; he’d literally put everything he had into this renovation. If the inn didn’t start turning a profit, he’d have nothing.
“How is room six looking? I want that room finished first.” His words were clipped as he tapped out a message on his phone. He’d been doing that a lot lately, and always wore the same scowl when his eyes were glued to the screen.
This was news to me. I checked my clipboard again, cringing when I noticed how much still needed to be done in there.
James must have noticed because he was quick with his demands. “I don’t care what it takes, Brook, get it done. It needs to be polished by Saturday morning.”
“Yes, sir.” I opened my mouth to ask why, but James wasn’t a fan of anyone questioning his whims. For all I knew, he wanted to bask in the glow of his brilliance and had decided the seaside room nearest the beach was the perfect setting.
“Oh, before I forget, my nephew is coming to visit. I’d appreciate if you could show him around. He and his father are considering a move this direction, but I have a feeling it’ll be my nephew calling the shots. If he doesn’t agree, my brother will stay wherever his son is.”
Lovely.As if the renovation wasn’t enough of a pain in my ass, now I got to add tour guide to a pretentious shit too. It might not have been a fair judgment, but if he was coming down here to be convinced and he was expected to override whatever his father wanted to do, it seemed likely I was going to be dealing with a spoiled little rich kid.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, earning me a smug grin from the boss. God, I was starting to hate this job.
“Good. Now, tell the contractors to stop whatever they’re doing if you need them to help prepare six. I want it perfect by the time Dane gets here.”
Oh yeah, this guy was definitely going to be a pain in my ass.
* * *
Saturday morning,I woke before the sun, hoping to get a run in before heading to work. On my way back from the jetty, I’d stop by the mailbox to see if any of the notebooks needed to be replaced yet. I felt like a voyeur, but reading the thoughts of anonymous visitors had long ago become an addiction. Every day I’d stop by and read, snap pictures of notes that didn’t seem overly personal, and post them to the inn’s social media accounts.
We were the closest business to the fabled Kindred Spirits Mailbox, and after it’d been featured on the news, it became an out-of-the-way tourist destination. Some people turned back, unwilling to walk two miles down the beach just to see a decrepit mailbox filled with random notes, but most people were eager to make the trek, hoping to feel a connection to people they’d never met and likely never would. During the summer it wasn’t uncommon for a notebook to be filled almost daily.
My phone pinged with a text message as I got out of the car. It was James, asking for the fifth time if everything was set for his nephew’s arrival. I assured him, yet again, that it was ready for the pages of a magazine, tossed my phone on the passenger seat, and walked away. This was my time of the day, and no one was going to disrupt it.
Waves crashing along the shore and gulls flying overhead were the soundtrack to my morning run. Sometimes, I carried an old iPod with playlists to help me keep pace, but today, I just wanted to chill, find my place in the world, and relax before grand-opening week. I met one person walking back toward the parking lot, nodded, and kept jogging. When I glanced over my shoulder, I noticed that he was watching me. Probably knew where I was headed, since there was nothing this far out other than the mailbox, and worried I’d know it was he who left whatever the newest note happened to be. I understood the anxiety and made sure not to open the notebook on top of the stack.
Instead I pulled out one of the older notebooks. The edges of the cover had softened in the hands of writers and readers. The pages curled slightly, but the paper hadn’t yellowed at all yet. I flipped to a random page and read the words left by a stranger. From the jerky stops and starts of letters, I guessed the person was older or perhaps their health was failing. I did this often—closing my eyes, trying to imagine the writers sitting on the wooden bench at the top of the dune as they composed their notes to the universe.
My dearest Hazel,
It’s been three years today since you left this world, and not a day passes when I don’t wish you were still here. You’d be so proud of Martin’s boy. He will be graduating college come spring and marrying shortly after. And his bride is a lovely girl. She loves being in the kitchen almost as much as you…
The letter went on for three pages, Hazel’s widower recounting everything she’d missed since she passed. There were areas where the ink had been smeared by tears—his or a reader’s, I couldn’t be sure. The letter was signed with anS. Nothing more. WhoeverSwas, I could tell he’d been a lucky man to have a love like Hazel in his life. It was the type of love I dreamed of but would never find as long as I allowed myself to be chained to Sunset Beach. The only gay men I knew were married, and the ones I met were passing through. This wasn’t a town alive with gay culture.
