Did you ask me if you could leave Charlie with Piper before I met her?
West
I don’t want to fight with you
Then stop texting me
West
Regardless what happens between us, I still expect to have a relationship with Charlie
I’m about to go into a meeting I’ll call you later
Please don’t
I slam my phone down on top of the picnic table. The lady who brought out my food meets my gaze and raises a quizzical brow. I force a smile despite the tears swimming in my eyes and glance down at my basket of food that moments ago looked like the best thing I would experience today. Now, my stomach recoils at the sight.
Swiping the bottle off the table, I retrieve a few pain pills from my purse and chug the water, having difficulty swallowing them down. Anger sears my skin, and I blink long and hard to fight the impending tears. Who does he think he is? Charlie ismydaughter. I could’ve argued that point with him, but I had been letting him help with some of the parental things.
My phone rings but I quickly silence it. Letting the both of us cool off and get our heads on straight before we communicate again is probably a good idea.
I eat the rest of my fries, wash them down with my water, and then chuck it all into the trash before I follow the sidewalk back to where Dottie’s car is parked. Once I’m safely back inside and buckled in, I burst into tears.
It takes parking and scoping out three beaches before I pick the one that feels perfect. I have to silence the voices telling me that Dottie might not agree. That she might complain about something or everything about the beach I’ve chosen.
But what does it matter? I’m half tempted to keep her ashes and bring them back home with me to Seattle. She won’t know if I spread them or not.
Or maybe she will. Maybe Dottie’s looking down on me from heaven right now. And maybe she’s giving me those disapproving drawn-on eyebrows and faulting me for not choosing to stay in Golden Harbor. For not choosing to find a way to piece my family together.
Honestly, I’d give anything to have her here with me right now, telling me what to do.
24
BECK
Dad comes out of his apartment and shuffles down the stairs slow. Signs of both his age and years of addiction are showing, but I try to shrug it off. He’s got his fishing gear in one hand and a small cooler in the other. My shoulders stiffen, the anxiety swirling over what he’s got in that cooler. Even though, by now, I know it’s not booze—tell that to my nerves.
He swings open the back passenger door of my truck and sets the small cooler inside. “Hey, son. How’s it going?”
“Morning. Whatcha got there?” I grunt, gesturing my chin at the cooler.
“Water. Gatorade. Electrolytes?” he says the last thing in question.
The intense strain across my shoulders eases. “Good thinking.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. This rebuilding trust and a relationship between us is still new. After decades of damage, it’s not going to happen overnight. We both know that.
“Help me with the fish cooler, will ya? It’s sitting just inside the bar. Already filled it with ice.” He tosses his fishing gear in the bed, and I hop out and meet him at the bar’s entrance.
After he unlocks the door, I follow him inside. The Thirsty Turtle looks different when it’s dark and not filled with people. Dad gave it a new name when he took over ownership—still not sure where he got the name, but it sounds like one of those name generator outcomes—yet he left the ’70s lighting and original brown wood paneling on the walls. We each grab an end of the cooler and take it out to my truck, shoving it in the bed along with our fishing gear.
After I climb back inside and Dad hops in, I offer him a coffee. “Grabbed your favorite.”
“Oooo nice, thanks, kid.” He accepts the paper cup and takes a sip, a wide smile spreading underneath his thick, graying mustache. “Did you tell Jenny hello from me?”
“Sure did.” I snicker.
“Good, that’s good, kid.”
