“There’s money in trusts for us,” Mara said. “He set them up a long time ago. I don’t know how much, or if he touched any of it to pay legal fees or whatever. So it may be nothing. But it may be enough to make a difference in your life. If you want it, that is.”
I let my face fall into my hands. Trusts. Protected and put aside for his children. How thoughtful of him. Meanwhile, he’d been destroying young women’s lives.
“Grady, I know what you’re thinking.”
“What’s that?” Because I was a little fuzzy on that myself. “Enlighten me.”
“That it’s blood money, and you don’t want anything to do with it,” Mara said.
“Yeah, okay. I guess thatiswhat I’m thinking.” I almost smiled.
“But isn’t it time to come home? Start your real life again?”
“This is my real life,” I said.
“Renting surfboards to tourists and living in a shack is not your real life. I understand you had to leave and reconcile everything that happened. I do. I get it. But it’s been years now. Come back to L.A. You can stay with Hank and me. Look for ahouse. Hank has connections in the industry. He could help you find a new career. Or go back to the old one.”
I got up from the couch, taking my phone with me to stand by the window that looked out to the ocean. When I’d found Willet Cove and the surf shack for sale, it had seemed like destiny. I didn’t own the land, just the buildings and the right to stay. Abeach leaseis what the realtor had called it. The beach itself belonged to the city. I owned only the dwellings. An arrangement that suited me just fine. Life was simple for me here. Other than my complicated feelings about Esme.
“Grady, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” The rain from earlier had turned to a drizzle.
“Aren’t you lonely?” Mara asked. “Isn’t it time to settle down with a nice woman? I have a few friends I could introduce you to.”
“I’m fine.”
“At least come down for the meeting with the lawyer,” Mara said. “I don’t know for sure, but it could be a significant inheritance.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You say that, but let’s wait until we know more,” Mara said.
An image of Esme came to mind, all dressed up for her date last night. With a doctor. A grown-up. Not a surfing instructor who had run away from his life. Was there a part of me that wanted to go back to the person I was? For Esme and the kids? And, if so, what did it mean about my character if I accepted my father’s parting gift? Was I a hypocrite? After pretending to reject the trappings of wealth and a normal existence?
“Yes, I’ll come down,” I said. “And we can talk through it all.”
“Great. Can you be here tomorrow? I can pick you up from the airport.”
“I think that works. I’ll get online and look at plane tickets.” I turned away from the window, wandering over to the kitchenthat was barely more than a corner, with open shelves, a chipped kettle and two mismatched mugs hanging from hooks.
“I’ll text you once I book a flight,” I said.
“Great. Love you.”
“Love you too. Say hi to Hank and the kids.”
We hung up, and I stood there for a moment, phone still in my hand, my gaze drifting around the room. My father would have been appalled to see how I lived now. He’d have said I lived in nothing more than a shack, and he would have been right.
The ceiling was low and paneled in honey-colored wood, beams exposed and darkened by age, the grain softened and silvered where salt air had worked its way in over the years. For furniture, I’d merely kept what the previous owner had left in the house. A worn gray sofa sagged comfortably in the middle of the room, layered with sun-faded pillows and a throw that smelled of salt and clean laundry. A rough, wooden coffee table, scarred, sanded smooth in places, held a stack of books, a half-empty mug, and a bowl that usually caught keys and loose change. My first surfboard was mounted along the ceiling beams, its paint chipped and dulled, more history than decoration. Another leaned near the door, still dusted with sand.
It was certainly a contrast to my condo in Los Angeles—all glass and steel and clean lines, perched above Santa Monica with a view that was meant to impress. Everything there had been chosen for me, styled and staged, a place that had screamed successful young talent agent. I’d thought image was so important. And it had been in my old life where one had to play whatever part they’d cast you in or die trying.
After the truth had come out and my entire world crumbled, I couldn’t bear to stay in the condo. Every surface, piece of furniture, the spectacular views reminded me of my father and what he’d done. Thus, I’d traded it all in for this and neverlooked back. But now, decisions had to be made. The past addressed.
I was about to make myself a piece of toast when I heard a knock at the front door. I peeked out the window to see Esme standing on my weathered, sun-bleached porch. She had her arms folded tight across her chest, weight shifted to one hip, gaze fixed on the ocean. And her foot was tapping, as if she were impatiently waiting for something to happen.
I opened the door. She whipped around to look at me, lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes. “Hey.”
