When we broke apart, he seemed reluctant to let go. Eventually, he let his hands fall to his sides, shoving them in the pockets of his jeans. He was sporting a long-sleeved gray shirt with several worn holes in the front and some sort of logo on his chest that was too faded for me to make out.
We ate at one of the small outdoor diners with Lady laying patiently at my feet. Somehow we managed to keep all conversation off Michael, the missing heirloom, and all the stress of the last week. Instead, we reverted to the comfort of Ask Five while we ate. By the end of the meal, we were trying to out-do each other by seeing who could ask the most ridiculous questions.
“When was the last time,” Beckett gasped through his laughter, “you spit a drink out through your nose from laughing so hard?”
I had to think about it, but then remembered something Amelia had done at the last Fourth of July barbecue, just before she left with Michael. “About a year ago. When was the last time you walked into a wall?” As kids, we’d lost count how many times Beckett would get distracted and not notice where he was going, resulting in some sort of bruise or bump on his forehead. Twice he had small black marks on his face in his school photos.
“Two days ago, texting you. When was the last time you crashed from a sugar high?”
I rolled my eyes and tossed a napkin at him, making him laugh. “Not recently.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
***
As we walked along the beach after dinner, Beckett stayed close to my side while dutifully tossing the ball for an eager Lady. My mind had been like a broken record, replaying Amelia’s comment over and over since the night before. I had to know if he’d seen the pages I’d drawn for him.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
“I think it is your turn,” he teased.
I took a deep breath for courage. “Do you still have our comic book?”
He stopped and turned to me with furrowed brows. “No. I thought you took it.”
“What? No, I left it for you! With Blakely!”
Beckett’s expression softened. “If you did, I never saw it.”
Pain ripped through me. All this time, I thought our comic might still be safe with Beckett somewhere, but it wasn’t.The Adventures of Detective Beach and Psychic Eagle Eyewas lost. Probably forever.
I couldn’t hold back the tears. “I really thought you had it,” I said.
“Oh, Ry. No, I never saw it again after you left. Tracy gave us a box of some of your things, but that wasn’t in there, I always thought you had it. That’s how I knew you left Blakely behind though.”
I dropped my gaze, wiping my tears. “I drew more,” I confessed. “While you were gone. I was going to show you, but…”
Beckett folded his arms around me, releasing a shuddering breath. At least I wasn’t the only one grieving the loss of something so meaningful.
I clung to him until my arms grew tired, not caring that my tears would stain his shirt. I’d long ago forgiven my grandfather, because without him I wouldn’t have my business, my studio, or the gorgeous loft that overlooked the ocean. More importantly, I wouldn’t have known the overwhelming support and pride a grandfather has for his grandson, or what a terrific man he really was. I was one of the few to really know how deep his kindness and love could go, he so rarely let others see that side of himself. It was a gift I’d cherish forever. Still, if he hadn’t taken me, or at least let me stay in touch, I would have had the chance to tell Beckett what hereallymeant to me. How he was so much more than just my best friend. He was my everything. I would have told him how at only fifteen, I already knew he’d claimed my heart in a way no one else ever would.
And no one else had since.
“We lost so much, didn’t we?” I finally whispered.
He put a hand to the back of my head and still didn’t let go. I barely heard his reply over the muffle of his shirt and the roar of the ocean.
“We did, but now we have so much to look forward to.”
We turned and continued down the beach at a slower pace. “What happened to them?” I asked. “Tracy and Harold, I mean.”
Beckett looked down, with a sad look on his face. “Harold died of pneumonia the winter after you left.”
My heart sank, recalling how often our foster father suffered from a deep cough. His weak lungs must have caught up with him.
“And Tracy?”
“She moved the following spring. Their house and that property was just too much for her to handle on her own.”
