Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
PRESENT DAY
Madeline
The next morning, I drink my coffee on the back deck to the sound of seagulls squawking overhead and Garrett’s sander whirring away next door. The scent of sawdust drifts over and I breathe it in like it’s an expensive cologne.
I glance over at Garrett’s workshop just as he’s hanging up his tools.
He swipes a hand down the front of his T-shirt, which, like the one last night, is covered in sawdust. And before I know what’s happening, he grabs the hem, pulls it over his head, and is standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of Carhartt workpants riding low on his hips.
He catches me watching and gives me a wave and a cocky grin.
My mouth goes dry. I’ve seen him shirtless before, the day he pulled me out of the ocean, but I was too distracted to truly appreciate the perfection carved by a life of surfing and manual labor.
He turns to reach for a clean T-shirt, and I’m treated to the view of the hard muscles stretching across his back and tattooed biceps flexing as he tugs it over his abdomen.
When I meet him in the driveway, he swings open the passenger-side door of his Jeep for me to climb in. I give him the address of my old beach house when he slides into the seat next to me.
“It’s amazing the things you have rattling around in your brain,” I muse.
“I haven’t been to my childhood home in over a decade, and I can still remember the address.
” I rub my sweaty palms on my dress, suddenly nervous.
What if it’s not there anymore? What if it is?
Will the new owners have taken down the rickety porch swing or painted the bright blue siding the dull cream color that seems to be the fashion around here lately?
Will it hurt to see a part of my life that’s gone forever?
I feel a warm pressure on my wrist and look down to find Garrett’s hand resting there. “Whatever we find, I’ll be here with you.” I take a deep breath in, and his calm presence reassures me.
Ten minutes later, Garrett slows the Jeep at a familiar cross street and brakes at the stop sign. “The address you gave me is just ahead. Are you ready?”
Whatever we find, I’ll be here with you.
I nod, and he slowly accelerates into the intersection.
My gaze slides from one side of the street to the other as I try to take in everything at once.
The house on the corner looks brand new, one of those modern three-story builds with a rooftop deck.
When I lived here, an older couple, the Williamses, owned the 1950s cottage that stood on the lot.
While I hate the sight of the monstrous beach house that’s now in its place, I don’t feel the sadness I expected.
That old cottage needed a lot of work, and it probably became too much for the older couple to handle.
Still, I’m happy to see the next house, a two-story Cape Cod with mint-green shutters, is just as I remember it.
A young couple lived there a decade ago, and I used to babysit their toddlers.
Instead of sand toys and strollers, I spot surfboards and bikes leaning against the side of the house.
I imagine those toddlers are entering high school now .
We coast past the Cape Cod, and the next house comes into view.
I’d recognize it anywhere. My childhood home.
I take a deep breath, and Garrett slips his hand into mine as I study the structure in front of me.
The house has recently been painted, but in a royal blue shade that’s similar to the color when I lived there.
The new owners kept the porch swing, although that looks like it was painted, too.
There are fresh flowers in pots and a couple of bikes leaning against the side of the house.
I release a breath. “It looks like a family might live there.”
Garrett nods. “Those are kids’ bikes.”
I take in the New Jersey plates on the car in the driveway. “You don’t think it’s another rental for tourists, do you?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
He gives me a slanted smile. “I asked Ian to poke in the real estate records. I hope you don’t mind. He said they’ve been living there for about eight years. You have to register rentals on the island. This is listed as a primary residence.”
I turn to study him. “So, you knew it would still be here?”
“I didn’t want it to come as a shock to you if it wasn’t.”
My heart flips in my chest. How is it that over and over, he continues to look out for me? “Thank you for doing that.”
He hitches his chin at the house. “How do you feel, seeing it?”
I remember the rough-hewn steps under my feet, the slam of the screen door as I ran in and out, the sound of my mom’s voice calling to me to be home in time for dinner. “I had a happy childhood here. I hope these kids will, too.” I gaze at the house for another minute and then I’m ready to go.
Garrett turns the car back onto Harbor Boulevard, and I spend the drive south looking for landmarks out the window, making note of the businesses that have changed over the years.
I spot a clothing store with lightweight linen dresses in the window and a couple of new restaurants with outdoor seating that I want to check out.
And then a familiar pink sign comes into view.
I press a hand to Garrett’s arm. “Selina’s bakery is still there. They have the best sandwiches. Have you been?”
Garrett shakes his head. “I’ve heard it’s good.”
“Pull over. You gave up your lunch break for me. The least I can do is buy you a sandwich. Do you have time?”
“Sure.”
The line stretches out the door but moves quickly. We’re almost to the front when I hear a woman’s voice call my name.
“Madeline Sullivan, is that you?”
I look up to find a familiar figure crossing the bakery in a pair of khaki shorts, a chambray button-down shirt, and sensible leather sandals. Her hair is grayer, and more lines crisscross her face, but otherwise, she looks exactly the same.
“Mrs. Friedman!” My favorite high school English teacher. She reaches out to give me a hug.
“Oh my goodness, how long has it been?” she asks, taking me by the shoulders to look me over.
“About ten years.” During that first fall in Maple Ridge, Adam had encouraged me to reach out to her, and we’d exchanged emails and book recommendations. But once he died, I lost touch with just about everyone.
I introduce her to Garrett, and they shake hands before she turns back to me. “What are you doing in town?”
“I’m here for the summer. I’m actually an English teacher now, so I get my summers off.”
She beams at me. “Of course you are. That’s wonderful. Your students are so lucky.”
“I hope I’m half as good of a teacher as you,” I say. “Are you still at Sandy Harbor High?”
“Retired this past year,” she says. “I miss it, but it gives me more time with my grandkids. And I still read a lot of course—thanks to my book club.” She presses a hand to my wrist. “If you’re here all summer, you should join us. We meet every other Tuesday.”
We exchange numbers, and she heads out with her bag of baked goods.
Garrett and I place our orders and carry our sandwiches outside.
The picnic tables in front of the bakery are full, but Garrett knows a good spot to eat, so we get back in the Jeep.
Five minutes later, he steers the car down a road that dead-ends at a short wall of rocks with a view of the ocean beyond.
He backs into a spot and hops out, rounding the car to open the trunk.
A flash of my first date with Adam comes back to me, the two of us sitting in the trunk of his Bronco, with him telling me about his parents dying, and me talking about leaving Sandy Harbor. But Garrett grabs two beach chairs and closes the tailgate, and the old memories drift away.
We slip off our shoes and set up the chairs in the sand.
The breeze blows in from the ocean, and Garrett tugs off his hoodie and slides it around my shoulders.
I breathe in the now-familiar scent of sawdust and sea air, gazing out at the water where a group of surfers paddle out to a break at the end of the island. “Tell me what you love about surfing.”
Garrett watches a surfer hop to his feet and ride into shore. “The waves are wild and unpredictable, but there’s a satisfaction in conquering them. You never know what they’ll throw at you, but surfing gives you the confidence that you can handle it.”
I’ve spent the last decade allowing myself to be pushed along by the current and tossed onto the shore.
I want to take charge of my life. To feel the sun on my face and the sand beneath my feet.
To join Mrs. Friedman’s book club and become friends with Chloe and the other locals.
To stop swimming in circles in my little apartment pool and conquer the ocean.
“Will you teach me how to surf?” I expect to feel a wave of nerves as the words come out of my mouth.
The last time I braved the water, I found myself floundering and nearly going under.
But that already feels like a lifetime ago.
I was a strong swimmer once, and I’m finally rediscovering that girl who used to dive in headfirst.
“You never learned when you lived here?” Garrett asks.
“No, I always planned to but… when you’re young, you feel like you have all the time in the world. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be back at the beach for ten years.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“I’m free tomorrow. I can’t wait.”
His mouth curves into a wide grin, one that’s become more and more familiar to me, but not because I see it as Adam’s anymore.
It hits me that when I study Garrett’s features, it’s not to find similarities to Adam’s anymore, but because I want to memorize every line and shadow on the face of the man I’m increasingly drawn to.
When he makes me laugh, I’m not always comparing it to the way Adam made me laugh.
I came to Sandy Harbor believing Garrett was secretly my childhood love, but every day that I spend here, my thoughts of Adam start to fade like a photo left in the sun, and the man next door comes into focus.
The time I spend with Garrett isn’t tinged with suspicion but anticipation and hope.
Am I finally ready to let Adam go and to take a chance that Garrett is exactly who he says he is? I came here to find the truth, not to find love. But is it possible I may just find both?