Chapter 23
I’m nearly backto the yacht with a clean bill of health for my internal organs, a painkiller prescription for my swollen nose, and advice to ice my bruised ribs several times a day, when the texts come through from Sully.
I hit the play button on the car’s screen, listening to the robotic voice relay her message?—
Hey, I know this is a big favor to ask, but is there any way you would reconsider pressing charges against my dad? I know he absolutely deserves to be punished for what he’s done, but I think he has been.
He’s really upset, Weaver, and really sorry. He used his one call to leave a message for me, promising that he was going to get sober.
That’s the first time he’s ever done that.
It’s a big deal. And I think he means it.
If I can get him into a bed at a rehab in the next twenty-four hours, before the withdrawal gets too bad, this might be the chance I’ve been waiting for my entire life. Maybe he’s finally hit rock bottom and is ready to make a real change. If so, I…I might get my dad back, the one I remember from when I was little.
But there’s no chance of that happening if he stays in jail waiting to be arraigned or for bail to be set or whatever happens when you’re facing assault charges.
She sighs and I brace myself for the rest of the message.
I can see your face right now in my head. I bet your jaw is all clenched and the muscle is bunched up into a ball under your skin.
I reach up, touching the muscle.
It is indeed a tight ball beneath my stubble.
And you’re right to have doubts. I have doubts, too. But I also believe in helping people when they ask for it. This is the first time he’s actually asked. I don’t want to let him down, and you did say you would be supportive of helping pay for treatment for a relative more than rent or food or whatever, so…
Maybe you can see how this makes sense? If so, I would be so grateful. And if not, I understand. It would hurt, but…I would.
Hurt.
She said the magic word.
I can’t hurt her. That’s why I stood there, doing my best to deflect Leon’s beating without fighting back. If you’d asked me ahead of time, I would have sworn I’d never do such a thing.
But in the moment, with Sully on the floor watching it all go down…
I couldn’t hurt her father, even though he absolutely deserved it, because I couldn’t risk hurting her.
And I won’t risk hurting her now. She’s been through enough. If I can spare her even a little bit of pain, I’ll do it, even though I don’t think Leon’s going to change. He’s too far gone, too set in his ways. It takes one hell of a person to turn their life around in their fifties, and Leon isn’t one hell of anything.
Except for one hell of a violent pain in my ass…
Turning onto Main Street, I intend to text Sully back as soon as I swing into my parking spot at the edge of the marina’s lot.
But there’s someone in my reserved spot—a familiar red Jeep that signals the presence of the last person I want to deal with after the day I’ve had.
It’s Mark, probably here to whine about how unfair his life is, yet again.
But as I park in a free community space a few spots down and slam out of the car, I realize that it’s still Saturday, not Sunday. Mark knows I planned on being out of town until Sunday afternoon.
Or, he should. I told Laura, in case she needed me for some reason, and Mark and Laura have always been close. He wants to be like his father, but he depends on his mother to keep his life running smoothly.
But maybe Laura neglected to tell him that I wouldn’t be here today. She is genuinely grieving, maybe the only person truly sad my brother is no longer above ground.
I brace for another uncomfortable conversation, promising myself I’ll get rid of Mark as quickly as possible so I can turn my attention to the things that really matter—namely, Sully. I need to text her back about her father, contact the police station to withdraw the charges against Leon, and set a few other things in motion that will hopefully make her life easier. Her shoulder is going to take time to heal. Neither she nor her grandfather—even if he makes it through surgery—are going to be up to lobstering for a while.
I’m thinking of people I know in town who might have extra hands to spare on their boat when I pass the ice cream shack and stop dead.
Mark isn’t waiting for me on the dock. No, the gangplank I know I stowed before I left town is down and the yacht is filled with twenty-something kids drinking beer and…pouring it all over the deck.
There are four of them that I can see—two boys and two girls. Mark isn’t topside, but I’m sure he’s around somewhere. I recognize at least one member of his lobstering crew, and I’m pretty sure he used to date the skinny blond humming to herself as she pulls stuffing from the ripped cushions of the deck furniture. Meanwhile, the large boy with the buzz cut, who works with Mark, has his pocketknife out, carving something in the deck railing.
I watch, my blood simmering toward a boil, as a guy with bright red hair and a sunburned nose take a final swig of his beer before hurling the bottle against the already cracked window of the cockpit.
He snorts with laughter before shouting, “We’re going to need more beer, Mark.”
The girl next to him, a pale thing in a yellow sweatshirt with greasy brown pigtails emerging from her orange sock hat giggles and hugs him around the waist. “And music. Something fun. It’s too quiet out here.”
“That’s because I told you we have to be quiet,” Mark says, emerging from below deck with another member of his lobstering team, our cousin, Barry, behind him. “So, keep it down, will you? We don’t want anyone to hear us and come over to see what’s up.”
“That won’t matter,” I say flatly, causing all their heads to swivel my way. Most of them have the sense to look shocked and guilty, but the red-haired kid only smirks and opens another beer.
I smile, imagining how much I’m going to enjoy calling the authorities on him, in particular.
Looks like I’ll get to press charges today, after all.
I point to the telephone pole near the edge of the water, still smiling as I say, “I had cameras installed. Everything you’ve done has been recorded. All I have to do is contact the sheriff’s department with the footage.”
Greasy Pigtails curses, her already pale face now marble white as she lifts her hands in the air. “I didn’t do nothing, sir. I promise. I’m just here with my boyfriend.”
“Then maybe you’ll only be charged as an accessory to aggravated criminal mischief,” I say, ambling closer to the boat, my hands sliding into my pockets. “That’s the charge for damages over two thousand dollars. You’ve easily racked up that much from what I can see aboveboard. And who knows what you’ve done down below.” Mark’s face blanches, confirming my suspicion that he didn’t confine his petty destruction to the deck.
“I looked it up after someone vandalized my car not once, but twice in the past week,” I continue, cocking my head. “Are any of you familiar with the penalty for aggravated criminal mischief?”
“Uncle Weaver, please, I?—”
“Quiet, Mark, a grown-up is talking,” I say, still grinning as I glance from face to stunned, increasingly worried face. “No? None of you? Well, no worries. If convicted, it’s up to five years in prison and five thousand dollars in fines. Five years.” I chuckle. “That’s a long time. And I don’t think the prosecutor will have any problem getting a conviction with video evidence and all of you caught in the act, do you?”
“Please,” the blonde begs, her voice wavering like she’s about to cry. “My dad will kill me. Like, maybe for real. He kicked my brother out of the house when he was only seventeen for selling marijuana and that’s not even really a crime anymore. I’m so sorry, Mr. Tripp. I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.”
Ignoring her, I scan the rest of the group. Red doesn’t look so smug now. He looks angry.
Good, let him get angry. I don’t mind making another enemy.
I already have plenty in this town.
“So,” I say, motioning toward the parking lot, “I suggest you all hurry home and start shopping for lawyers. Good luck and thank you for stopping by.”
“We can clean it all up,” the blonde sputters, her arms shaking visibly as she motions toward the ruined deck furniture. “I can sew these and I can get beer out of anything. I was in a sorority in college.”
“Yeah, we’ll clean it up,” Greasy Pigtails says, ignoring her boyfriend when he nudges her in the side with his elbow. “We will,” she doubles down. “I work at the daycare, Mr. Tripp. If I get in trouble with the cops, even just for being here while bad things happened, they’ll fire me. I need that job, sir. Please, it’s the only thing I could find where they’d let me bring my son to work with me.”
A son, another innocent child, caught up in adult drama. It should make a difference, but maybe I’ve exhausted my empathy for the day.
Or maybe I’m just sick of this place.
Sick of its petty drama and sad grudges and the way this fucking town does its best to drag us all down to our own personal rock bottoms.
I certainly won’t be sticking around to watch my family reach theirs…
And that’s it. I’ve suddenly had it.
I’m done.
Done with Sea Breeze and done with facilitating the Tripps’ continued dominance of the fishing trade here. Done with coddling my nephew and done with trying to be the bigger man.
I’d rather burn it all to the ground than be trapped in this cage for another second.
“Then I suggest you find a way to pay for a good lawyer,” I tell the girl, not feeling the slightest twinge of conscience when her face falls. If she were mother of the year, she wouldn’t be trespassing or destroying property, and she wouldn’t be dating the red-headed piece of shit who’s currently glaring at me like he’d like to start something.
Let him try.
I won’t be pulling any punches this time, and I’ve had enough medication that I would feel no pain as I pounded his scrawny ass into a wad of pulp on the pier.
“As for you…” I shift my gaze to my nephew. “I suggest you start looking for another job. As of Monday morning, you no longer work on a Tripp lobster boat.”
Mark’s mouth falls open so wide that one of the seagulls reeling overhead could pop its entire mouth inside to clean the back of his gums.
He sucks in air, gasping like a landed fish as he shakes his head. “No. No, Weaver, please. You can’t do that.”
“I can do whatever I want,” I snap. “I inherited control of the fleet. Which means it’s mine to staff, mine to organize, and mine to sell off if I so choose. And I so choose.” I stand taller, feeling a weight being lifted from my shoulders as I mentally run through next steps.
My more innocent family members will be punished along with the bad eggs if I do a mass sell-off of the fleet, but I can eliminate their suffering easily enough with a cash settlement from the sale and what’s left of Rodger’s estate. I don’t need or want my brother’s money. I’ll happily divide it among the people who deserve help, put them on the path to independence, and let the spoiled brats like Mark figure out the future on their own.
He’s due for some suffering in his charmed life. It’s past time he dealt with the consequences for his bad behavior.
Mark’s face is red now, and getting redder by the minute. “You won’t really sell, you can’t,” he says as his band of losers makes their way down the gangplank and scurries past me.
The blonde isn’t the only one in tears now. The big guy with the buzz cut and Tripp Lobster sweatshirt also has shining eyes and shame oozing from his every pore.
My conscience tries to rise from the cold depths where I’ve shoved it, but I remind myself that I was busting my ass at business school at this boy’s age, not vandalizing property, and ignore it. Besides, if this is the first infraction for any of them, they shouldn’t be punished too harshly. Likely, they’ll get off with a fine and a stern warning not to trespass or destroy property again.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Mark continues, his arm sweeping out to encompass the rest of the docks behind me. “This is what our family has worked generations for. You wouldn’t tear that all down for nothing.”
“That legacy means nothing to me. It never did.” I meet Mark’s cold gaze with a colder one. If he’s looking for a “who can be a bigger bastard” fight, I’m going to win. I always do. “As I see it, selling is best for everyone involved—a fresh start for our family and the town. And I walk away without any ties to a place, or people, I can no longer stomach.”
“You can’t do this,” Mark says, sweat beading on his forehead. “We won’t let you. Mom’s already hired a lawyer to contest the will. We’ll prove Dad wasn’t in his right mind when he wrote it, and get it reversed. Then, everything will be mine, and you’ll be fucking sorry you treated me this way.”
I huff out a soft laugh, eyes narrowing to slits as Red passes by, Greasy Pigtails sobbing beside him.
He pauses in front of me before shuffling on and, for a moment, he looks vaguely familiar. But then, everyone in this town does. I probably know his mom or uncle or sister. He probably has family ties going back nearly as far as ours do. Sea Breeze isn’t a place that lets people fly off to chase their dreams. It’s hungrier than that. It will hold you here and suck you dry if you let it.
I won’t let it pull me back in, and I won’t let it have Sully. Not if I can do anything to prevent it.
Which gives me an idea…
When Red steps off the dock, tugged along by his less confrontational girlfriend, I shift my attention back to my nephew. “Rodger set up the trust several years ago. There were no signs of his being in mental decline at that time or at any time after. You don’t have a case.” I pause. “You do, however, have one chance to get back in my good graces and earn a share of the profits once I’ve sold the fleet. If you decide this life is still what you want, it should be enough for you to start your own lobstering operation. If not, you can move on and start over somewhere else, somewhere you’ll be forced to stand on your own two feet instead of on the shoulders of the crooked men who came before you.”
Mark crosses his arms tight over his chest, his cheeks still bright red with anger. But I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. My nephew is spoiled and entitled, but he isn’t stupid. He knows I’m right about the strength of his case and he knows I rarely change my mind once it’s made up.
He clears his throat, swallows, and finally asks, “What do you want me to do? Beg?”
I shake my head. “No, I have no interest in debasing you further than you’ve already debased yourself. I want you to track down and hire an excellent three-man replacement crew for Gertrude Sullivan’s boat for the rest of the season. Her grandfather is in the hospital after a heart attack. They don’t know if he’s going to make it, but if he does, he won’t be able to work for a very long time, if ever. And Gertrude was injured today and will also be unable to work for at least a month, maybe more.”
Mark’s expression softens. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“She’s fine and that’s irrelevant. Can you take care of that? If you can, and if you manage to have a trustworthy crew in place by Monday, you’ll be on my list of family members slated to receive a portion of your father’s estate.”
His brow furrows again. “Yeah, I can do it. But we’ll have to pay them well to make up for them leaving their own operations.”
“Pay them whatever they want,” I say. “I’ll cover the salaries. I just want it done. And make sure they’re able to stay on through the end of December or whenever the haul starts tapering off for the season.”
“Okay.” Mark squeezes his arms tighter as he nods toward the entrance to the living quarters. “Do you want me to clean this up first? Before I leave?”
“No,’ I say. “The Sullivan boat is a higher priority. You can hire one of the housekeeping services in town to take care of this tomorrow morning, assuming the authorities are finished with their documentation of the scene by then. I’ll let you know, and I’ll stay somewhere else tonight.” I turn to go, but glance back at my pink-cheeked nephew. “You can pay for the cleaning service. Pay them well, and add a tip for the deep cleaning they’ll need to do on the deck and whatever else you tried to ruin. If I hear you’ve short-changed them, our deal is null and void. From here on out, you will be on your best behavior with everyone in town, do I make myself clear?”
His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Yes. Though I’m not sure why you care.”
I arch a brow. “Why I care about what?”
“About the Sullivans or the housekeeping crew or anyone else in town. You hate Sea Breeze. You always have. We all know it.”
I ponder his words for a beat. “Yes, I do. But maybe I would hate it less if my family wasn’t such a big part of the problem.”
“Don’t you think you’re part of the problem, too?” he asks. “Especially if you press charges against my friends? They were only doing what I asked them to do. They never would have stepped foot on this boat without me.”
“And the car?” I ask, curious. “Did you ask them to vandalize my vehicle, too?”
He has the grace to look ashamed of himself as he drops his gaze to the water between us. “I was just…so angry. It was all so unfair.”
“Was it? Or was it just not what you wanted?” Before he can answer, I add, “Either way, the consequences of your actions aren’t my problem. They’re something you’ll have to live with and make amends for. You could start with apologizing to your friends and offering to pay for their legal representation as well as you own.”
His eyes widen again. “My own? But I thought?—”
“You thought wrong.” He pulls in a breath, but before he can speak, I turn away. I stride swiftly toward my car, ignoring the—“Weaver, please!”—shouted at my back as I go.
“By Monday morning,” I call over my shoulder. “Have the Sullivan situation taken care of or you won’t see a penny, Mark.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. It seems my nephew has finally realized that the time for begging and bargaining has passed. We’ve entered the last chance, “actions speak louder than words” phase of our relationship.
I honestly hope he’ll do the right thing and take care of his friends, but that isn’t my primary concern. Taking care of Sully and getting out of this town—preferably with her in a seat beside me on the plane—are all that matters to me now.
As soon as I’m back in my car, out of the cold sea wind, I send her a voice memo, “I got your message. I’ll call to have the charges against your father reversed now. And if you want to give me the names of the rehabs you’ve vetted, I can call to reserve a space for Leon and arrange to have him transported straight from the jail to the facility. I hope the fact that you’re advocating for him means that you’ve been discharged with a clean bill of health. I’m fine. Nothing but some bruises and swelling. I was given a painkiller and sent on my way. Please let me know how you are as soon as possible.” I sigh. “I hope the surgery is going well for your grandfather. I’m going to get a hotel room close to the hospital. When you’re ready for a break, let me know, and I can arrange for a car to take you there, as well. I want you to have a safe place to rest, while still being close to your family.” I hesitate for a beat before adding, “They’re lucky to have you. I hope they know that. Talk soon. I love you.”
I do. I love this woman. I adore her, worship her, would slaughter hordes of barbarians for her.
But can I save her from the grips of a dysfunctional family system?
I don’t know.
I would like to think so, but I’m old enough to know that in the end, we all have to save ourselves. Friends, therapists and lovers can help us out along the way, but we have to do the hard work on our own. We have to want to become a better, more functional person. We have to believe we deserve to see our dreams come true.
I don’t know if Sully’s there yet. I have no doubt she will be someday, but that day might not be any day soon, and I can’t wait for her to come around to seeing how much she matters. It would kill me, to watch her family use and abuse and take her for granted, sucking up her youth and vitality like vampires who feel entitled to her blood because they share the same DNA.
I set my cell in the cupholder, hoping to hear from her, but I’m not really surprised when I emerge from the sheriff’s station ninety minutes later to find no messages on my phone.
I check into a hotel across the highway from the hospital, but come six o’clock, when I order dinner delivered, there’s still no response from Sully. I consider messaging her again, but decide the ball is in her court.
I want her to choose me more than I want to get on the next plane to New York, but I don’t want to bully her into it. I want her here with me because it’s where she wants to be, because she doesn’t want to think about a future without me in it.
I certainly can’t imagine one without her…
Or, I can, I guess, but it isn’t pretty.
That bleak return to my old lonely life—made even lonelier now that I know how incredible it feels to love one amazing woman—plays out behind my closed eyes as I try to sleep.
Call me, Sully. Just call, text, something, I beg, willing her to hear my mental plea across the highway and pick up her phone.
But she doesn’t and eventually, I fall asleep, haunted by dreams of watching Sully guiding a lobster boat out to sea, never to return.