Chapter 16
Wes returned home at ten o’clock that evening to find Tommy Gasbarro at the kitchen table with a bottle of beer. Tommy’s lips were in a thin line. Wes wavered in the doorway and blinked at him, unable to fully admit that he hadn’t recognized Tommy when he’d first walked in. He’d thought there was an intruder casually drinking beer at the kitchen table. He reminded himself to smile.
“Hey, Tommy. This is a surprise.”
Tommy was Beatrice’s only real family on the island. Tommy was married to Lola. He was also related to Stan Ellis—a fact that Wes tried to blot out of his mind. Why could he forget everything else but this?
Tommy sipped his beer. “Beatrice is asleep.”
Wes nodded and sat at the table. He avoided drinking like the plague, as it made his already foggy mind even grayer, but right now, Tommy’s beer looked perfect: golden and crisp and so calming. It had been one heck of a day.
“Did you get any of Beatrice’s phone calls?” Tommy asked.
Wes was stricken. He touched the pocket where he normally kept his phone but found only his keys. Perhaps he’d left his phone at the Sunrise Cove in all the chaos.
“I guess I didn’t,” Wes said, knocking his forehead with his knuckles. “Did she need something?”
“She had a doctor’s appointment at four thirty,” Tommy said. “She mentioned reminding you about it this morning. You were supposed to take her.”
Wes felt the words like a javelin through his chest. He coughed and removed his ledger from his bag. On today’s date, he’d written: “BEATRICE DOCTOR @ 4:30!” It had gone out of his head like clouds buzzing across the sky and out of sight.
Wes rubbed his temples so hard that he saw spots. “I should have been here.” He couldn’t even remember what kind of doctor it was. Gynecologist? Heart? Although Wes’s health was worse by a thousand degrees, Beatrice had her own situations to deal with. She’d stuck by Wes tirelessly, helping him arrange his life so that his dementia didn’t unravel it too quickly. She’d even chased him while he’d sleepwalked and ensured he didn’t leap in the sound.
What kind of partner was he?
Tommy cleared his throat. “I know today was chaotic up at the Cove,” he said. “Lola just called and explained everything.”
“It’s no excuse for missing this,” Wes said.
Tommy palmed the back of his neck and gave Wes a look that made Wes feel one hundred years older than he was. The look seemed to ask: are you sure you’re up to the task of marrying her? Are you sure you can be trusted?
Wes could have died of embarrassment and sorrow on the spot. He wanted to tell Tommy that nobody told you what it’s really like to get old. How debilitating it is. How embarrassing it is to forget. But he knew there was no reaching through the years that separated them to explain himself. Tommy would always see Wes as a very old and sick man until he, too, was a very old and sick man. By then, Wes would be gone.
Tommy drained his beer and rinsed it in the sink. “She has new medication on the counter. Make sure she takes it in the morning, please.”
Wes wrote in his ledger: “Beatrice - new medication - take it!” He clicked the end of his pen nervously. He wanted Tommy to leave.
Tommy paused at the counter. “They closed up the Cove, then?”
“For now,” Wes said. It felt like there was a brick on his chest. “But Susan and Amanda are on the case. I can’t imagine we’ll be closed down for long.”
Tommy sucked in his cheeks. “I thought that secret room was a blessing. It feels more like a curse, doesn’t it?”
Wes didn’t know what to say. Tommy approached from the side and tapped his shoulder before passing through the foyer and saying, “Good night.” From the kitchen table, Wes could hear the screech of Tommy’s tires. He couldn’t remember having seen his truck when he’d gotten home. Maybe he’d parked around the side.
Wes padded gently down the hallway and peered through the shadows at Beatrice’s sleeping form. She looked so gentle and beautiful with her white hair spilled across the pillow. Wes wanted to burrow against her and cry into her shoulder. He wanted to pray to God to make them both young and healthy. He imagined what kind of child they might have had. Maybe a boy—someone similar to Sam. A family man who would have held the weight of the Sunrise Cove with tenderness and love.
Wes hardly slept that night. He stared through the darkness, listening to Beatrice breathing and imagining a world in which the Sunrise Cove Inn didn’t exist. He’d sensed this possibility in the heaviness of Sam’s language. “I just don’t know what we’re going to do,” he’d muttered.
The Sunrise Cove had been Wes’s life, which meant he was one of the only people in the world who understood how essential the first few weeks of spring and summer were to the yearly revenue. Anna had said those weeks were like “free falling.” She’d sang the Tom Petty song continually, her eyes manic. “We made it,” she’d always said when the revenue had balanced out again. “We live to open the Sunrise Cove doors another day.”
Wes got up early to make Beatrice an enormous breakfast. He cracked eggs, stirred pancakes, set out fresh fruit, and made heart-healthy sausages in the skillet. He brewed coffee and turned on the radio, where a weatherman said today would be in the high sixties. “Another gorgeous day in the East.” The radio DJ played all the hits from the sixties, seventies, and eighties. Wes bounced around, energized, and reminded himself, over and over again, that Dr. Hamilton would soon allow him to start on the brand-new dementia medication. Maybe soon, he would be free.
“What’s all this?” Beatrice smiled sweetly and walked over to wrap her arms around him.
Wes’s heart banged. “I wanted to treat you,” he said, hugging her. “I’m just so sorry I missed your appointment yesterday.”
Beatrice’s smile didn’t fade. She swatted her hand around and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Don’t think about it for a second. I know all about the Sunrise Cove. You must be heartbroken.”
Wes flinched. “Don’t let me off the hook. I should have been here.”
Beatrice went onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and lips. “I hope Tommy didn’t give you a hard time. You know how he can be.”
“He’s right.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes.
“You need to take your new medication!” Wes cried a little too loudly. He reached for the package and passed it to her.
Beatrice took the package. She probably hadn’t forgotten but just hadn’t gotten to it yet. “Thank you for remembering. That’s very sweet.”
Wes smiled and filled her plate with eggs, pancakes, and sausage, then ordered her to sit down. He’d read the package and knew she needed to take the medicine with food.
He wanted to be a good husband to her. He wanted to be there for the good days, the bad days, and the boring days. He wanted to remember every detail for as long as he could.
And a part of that, for now, was faking how well he was doing. “Fake it till you make it” had become his internal mantra. Their wedding day was fast approaching. He planned to enjoy—and remember—every second.