Ask Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #4)

Chapter 10

Kaleb

I know we’re not dating, but it feels like dating.

On Tuesday we drive with Maxine to Sam’s wildlife center, where we help build nest boxes for next spring’s babies.

On Friday it’s dinner at Trillium, waves lashing at moonbeams on the shoreline below. I hold hands with Brooke like a big, sappy dork, and I love every second of it.

Later that week, it’s a pypo board session on the beach by Spencer’s Rock. The Pacific’s icy this time of year, but I borrow some drysuits from the dive store near Jake’s Bait Shop. By the end of the lesson, Brooke’s laughing so hard she falls in the sand, dragging me down beside her.

“Oh my God.” She wipes a thread of seaweed off her cheek. “I haven’t had that much fun since—” She gives it some thought. “Never.”

“Yeah?” God, she’s beautiful.

“Yep.” Her grin is contagious as she touches my chest. “I have officially never had that much fun.”

Dipping my chin, I kiss the tips of her fingers “Better than last night?”

“Hmmm…” She pretends to consider it, so I do the same. Can’t say I mind reliving what we did with the rest of that honey from lunch a few weeks ago.

“You’re right,” she declares. “Last night beats pypo boarding, but barely.”

“Good to know.”

“I’d like to amend chapter twelve.”

“Yeah?” My heart ticks up, though I try to stay cool. “The one about romantic entanglements in the first year after life upheaval?”

“Yeah, that.” She sits up and starts wringing saltwater from her hair. “Maybe I’ll change it to ‘casual sex is okay.’” Grinning, she lets her hands drop to the sand. “But only with a partner who’s sexy and sensitive and?—”

“Hot,” I agree, sliding a hand up her thigh. “Works for me.”

And it does. Am I feeling some feelings I didn’t expect?

Sure. Who wouldn’t?

And am I staying so busy with Brooke that I haven’t had time to meet with my mom?

That’s true as well, but I’d rather not dwell. After that pypo board date, I came up with a plan. It’s where I’m driving us right now. On a date that’s not really a date. More like a plan that I think could help Brooke in the long run.

But it might hurt her, too, which I’m hoping won’t happen. It’s hard to say how this all might unfold.

“Where did you say we’re going?”

“I didn’t.” Gripping the wheel, I’m having second thoughts.

She flips down the visor and frowns at her reflection. “Hopefully somewhere they won’t notice the love bite behind my ear.”

I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. “No one but me will notice the hickey.”

“Not an answer to my question.”

“Nope.” I haven’t given her a clue beyond the tip to dress warmly. “Thanks for trusting me enough to roll with it.”

“Hmph.” She shifts in her seat and peers out the window. “I mean, it’s possible you’re driving me out to some lonely country road to leave me.” Her gaze stays fixed on the spot where the ocean slaps the rocky shore. “At least the rain stopped.” She frowns out the window of my Bronco. “Never mind, there it goes again.”

My hands grip the wheel even tighter. Any second now, she’ll notice which way we’re headed. I’ve deliberately taken back roads this far, but they’re about to run out.

Time to be straight with her. “In two more blocks, we’ll pop out on Highway 101.”

Her head whips around with alarm in her eyes. “We’re going south ?”

“West at the moment, but yeah.” I flick the turn signal and glance at her face. She’s lost some color in the last ten seconds. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” She says it while gripping the armrest. She’s gone back to watching the rain out the window, so I can’t read her face as I turn south onto 101. “We’re really doing this.”

I reach over and cover her hand with mine. “We can turn around at any point.” I feel bad. She might’ve expected something romantic, or at least something fun. “Just say the word and we head right back to Cherry Blossom Lake. I won’t force you to do this if you don’t want to.”

There’s fear in her eyes, but also trust. “Are we going there ?”

“Cape Obliot?” I slide my eyes back to the road. “Yes.”

The shush of our rain-slick tires drowns the extra-loud silence. Brooke takes a shuddery breath. “I think I can do it.” There’s an audible click as she swallows. “As long as you’re with me.”

“I’m right here.” Squeezing her hand, I let go and fix both my palms on the wheel. “Tell me if you change your mind. Doesn’t matter if we’re ten feet from the turnout. Say the word and we’ll leave.”

“Thank you.” She pulls in another shaky breath. “I trust you, Kaleb.”

I’m sensing the need for a subject change. “How’s the book coming?” Crap. Bad switch. She hasn’t mentioned the book lately. “Sorry. Another sore subject?”

“Actually, it’s going great.” There’s a smile in her voice. “It’s like the floodgates opened last week, and I suddenly felt like writing again.”

“Was it Sunday evening?”

As she catches my meaning, she chuckles. “It turns out oral sex on a tire swing is key to unlocking writer’s block.”

“Make sure you put that in a book.”

“I really should.” We splash through an extra-deep puddle and she flinches beside me. “I cranked out nearly four thousand words that evening. Six thousand the next day. If I keep this pace, I’ll have a draft for my agent by the end of the month.”

“That’s great.” I’m trying to hide the flat note in my voice. “Then what?”

“A lot of editing. My first drafts are always a mess.” She crosses her legs and picks at the sole of her waterproof boot. “I’m guessing they’ll fast-track publication. Maybe send me on tour promoting How’s That Working for You in the meantime. We’re still riding a fresh wave of sales on that title.”

Something tickles my stomach as I round a bend in the road. We’re a mile from Cape Obliot, the point of this trip. Brooke’s plans shouldn’t bother me. I’ve known from the start we had an end date.

That’s a comfort. A relief. A happy bonus of our arrangement.

“Is the road slick?”

“No.” The asphalt’s wet, but nothing unusual. “Just curvy.”

“You’re gripping the wheel kinda tight.”

I look and my knuckles are white. “Sorry.” Easing my hold, I maneuver the next curve. The sign for Cape Obliot rolls into view, and Brooke sucks in a breath.

Her hand feels icy when I reach for it. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Her breathing sounds forced. “I think so.”

I drag the pad of my thumb over her knuckles, then do it again when I feel her relax. “Better?”

“Oddly enough, yes.” She pauses. “Anyone ever tell you you’re really good at that?”

“Knuckle massage?”

“Putting people at ease. Soothing someone who’s losing their shit.”

My mother’s words bounce through my head.

“You were always my best Mr. Fixit.”

Is that what I’m doing right now?

The road turns sharply, and I tap the brake. “Here we go.”

Brooke jolts in her seat. “Already?”

“There’s the pullout right there.” I point to the jagged rock wall just ahead on the right. There’s a shallow patch of asphalt cleaved off the road by a thin white line.

The spot where Grace died.

I feel Brooke tense as I hit the turn signal. “If you squint up ahead, you’ll see signs for the lighthouse turnoff.” It’s faint through the fog, but the big white tower looms tall on its pine-fringed knoll. It’s two miles away, but the way the road curves means you sometimes see it on a clear day.

This isn’t one.

Teasing the brake, I ease us onto the shoulder.

“Wow.” Her fingers grip the armrest. “That came up fast.”

I don’t respond, but she’s right. This blind curve throws off plenty of drivers. It’s part of what I want her to see. What I need her to know about the spot where Grace died.

“I’m going to park, okay?”

“Okay.” She doesn’t sound okay.

“Brooke?” I glance over and see she’s gone pale. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” She releases the armrest and takes a few breaths. “I want to.”

I’m not sure if she’s convincing me or herself, but I let it go. Let her sit for a moment, absorbing the view through polka dot raindrops. An angry gray ocean claws at the rocks. Green kelp swirls like mermaid hair as a gull divebombs a wave. He comes up with a shiver, slick with saltwater and sleek feathers. The rain slows to a spatter, then stops.

Brooke still doesn’t speak. I switch off the engine and she turns to face me, brown eyes pooling anxiously.

“This is really it.” She folds her arms, curling her hands like they’re cold. “This is the place.”

“Yeah.” I set the brake and put a hand on her knee. “Is it what you expected?”

“I’m not sure.” She sits there breathing, getting her bearings. There’s resolve in her eyes, and something else. Emotion I can’t quite read.

“I want to get out.”

“Okay.” It’s what I hoped for. Why I brought Brooke here today.

Please say this wasn’t a mistake.

“Do you want to be alone,” I ask softly, “or would you like me to come?”

“Please come.” There’s a thin thread of fear in her voice. “I need you, Kaleb.”

“Then I’m with you all the way.” I unhook my seatbelt and wait while she does the same. Catching the door handle, Brooke peers out the window.

She frowns. “It’s a tight squeeze.”

I know without looking there’s less than a foot between the passenger door and the rock wall that holds back the ocean. “Think you can get out?”

I already know she can’t.

“I don’t think so.” Still frowning, she cracks open her door. “Not without hitting your door on the rocks.” She pulls the door closed as a fierce gust of wind tries to grab it. “Maybe I should get out on your side.”

“Let me help.” I push open my door and slide out onto slick pavement. Bracing the door with my back, I hold out a hand. “Easy does it.”

“Oh.” She crawls over the console and winces. “Not much room over there, either.”

“Nope.” I help her over the seat as a car whizzes past. He lays on the horn and Brooke winces again.

“Why is this pullout so narrow?”

It’s one thing I hoped she might notice. “Not much room for a shoulder on a road wedged between cliffs and the ocean.” Shielding Brooke with my body, I point to the craggy rock hillside across the road. “Road crews probably did the best they could.”

As her boots touch the pavement, she shivers. “Can I look around?”

“Of course.” I want her to see what her sister saw. The narrow shoulder, the cramped space from here to the road. Brooke steps away from the Bronco, bracing herself as she walks to the ledge overlooking the ocean. I’m close by, ready to spring if she slips. “Watch your step.”

“What? Oh.” She peers down at the puddle she’s stepped in. More like a lake, really. “That’s deep.” She edges back, looking for bare asphalt. There’s not much to be found. “Is there a shallow spot?”

I point to a patch of pavement on her right. “Maybe there.” The water’s only an inch or so deep, which still isn’t great. “If you hop to that high spot over there?—”

“Got it.”

It’s an awkward game of hopscotch. Is she seeing what I see? How tough it would be to change a tire here. I watch her face, wondering if she’s retracing Grace’s steps in her mind.

“Good thing the rain stopped.” It sounds lame when I say it out loud. But the sky’s clearing up, leaving pinprick stars to spatter the sky.

Brooke reaches the wall and rests a hand on the rocks. Another gust billows the sleeve of her coat. “This wind is something else.”

“Not much protection out here.” I cover the distance between us in a few strides as she watches the churning gray waves. When a shiver rolls through her, I open my coat. “Here.” I pull her inside so she’s close to my chest. “Better?”

“Yes.” She stares at the sea, at the bright slice of moon on the water. Waves tumble in, then retreat. Brooke’s hair slaps my face, a fishing net caught by the wind.

I don’t brush it back. I stand steady and still, holding her tight as she takes it all in.

After several long minutes, Brooke scrapes her hair back. She tips up her chin to look back at me. “You wanted me to see this, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

She’s quiet again, processing. “Puddles would have been bigger on a stormy night.”

“Yes.” It fills most of the shoulder in heavy rain. “Darker, too.”

“So dark.” She shivers again and I tighten my arms around her. “The moon isn’t much help.”

“Not on a cloudy night.”

She doesn’t respond, not right away. I can feel her mind working, her thoughts bouncing off the walls of her mind.

Then she turns in my arms and her eyes meet mine. “You wanted me to see that my sister did the best she could,” she says. “That it wasn’t her fault.”

“Or yours.”

“Okay.” Brooke draws a shuddery breath. “Okay, but that still doesn’t mean she couldn’t have stayed in the car and waited for help. If I hadn’t pushed her to learn how to do it herself?—”

“Brooke. Sweetheart.” I turn us slowly so we face the road. Wet asphalt sparks in the lights I’ve left low. “We’ve been here fifteen minutes. How many cars have gone by?”

“I—” She shifts in my arms, hair brushing my face again. “—I haven’t counted.”

I have. “One. Only one car has gone past this spot. And it’s five on a Friday.”

Between tourists and locals heading home after work, most roads would be busy. But not this stretch. Definitely not on a stormy night.

“Could she have driven to town on a flat?” She’s not giving up, which I admire. “How far could she get on the rim?”

“The brakes wouldn’t work right, for starters.” How much does she want to hear? “Getting traction on wet pavement can be tough, even with all four tires. Unbalanced the way she’d have been with a flat?—”

“She wouldn’t have gotten far.”

“Correct.” Even if she’d tried—if she’d made it a few miles—that wouldn’t have solved much. “We’re six miles from Cherry Blossom Lake. Much farther from Florence. If she’d skipped the spare and tried to drive on a flat, she’d have wrecked the rotors. The suspension, too.” I don’t want to keep going, but she needs to hear this. “There isn’t much open in a small coastal town in December. Not after five.”

“Okay, I get it.” Her shoulders slump just a little. “Her hands were tied.”

Not an encouraging thought. But Brooke needs to hear all of it.

Especially this. “Look at your phone.”

“My phone?” She turns in my arms, a questioning look in her eyes. “Why?”

I drag mine from my pocket. “Check your signal.”

She stares at my screen, then drags her phone out of her coat. “No signal.”

“Same.” I hold up my phone so she sees for herself. There’s zero service out here. “No one gets a signal in this spot.”

“But—she called from the lighthouse.”

“That’s how it works out here. You might have service two miles down the road, but it doesn’t mean much if you can’t get there.” With the cliffs and the ocean, there’s no way to walk it.

Brooke chews on her lip, watching her screen like the bars might appear. Like this might all make sense. When she speaks, her voice sounds faint and small. “She couldn’t call for help.”

“Or search online for the closest town.”

Whether or not Brooke knew this already, seeing it firsthand hits differently. A person can’t grasp how desolate this place is until they’ve stood in this spot. Until the beat of the waves syncs up with the beat of your heart, and you feel how alone you are.

“Maybe that doesn’t make it better,” I say. “Maybe it’s worse, thinking she was all by herself out here. But Brooke—your sister did the best she could in a terrible situation. There’s nothing you could have done to change how things unfolded that night.”

Swiping a tear, she tucks the phone in her pocket. “She must have been so scared.” Her breath judders out in a sob. “I would have been so scared.”

“You might have.” I wouldn’t blame her. “But Grace had the tools to give herself a fighting chance. To believe she might get herself to safety. That hope, Brooke—you gave her that.”

“For all the good that did.” She chokes on a sob, swiping her eyes again. “No, you’re right. I get it, I do.”

And then she starts crying for real. Huge, wracking sobs as the weight of her sags in my arms. Salty tears soak through my shirt, but I don’t let her go. Stroking her hair, I wait ’til the fight goes out of her.

Then I turn us around, facing us both toward the sea. We stare in silence, watching the water where it curls cold fingers through thick ropes of kelp. A syrupy trickle of starlight drips down on the sea.

It’s peaceful out here. Serene in a way.

“Does it help?” I ask softly. “Knowing she did her best with the hand she was dealt?”

Hearing my words, it sounds like it wouldn’t.

“A little.” Brooke shifts in my arms, but stays facing the sea. “All this time, I thought I’d steered her wrong. That if I’d coached her to be a damsel in distress, she’d still be alive.”

“I never met your sister,” I say slowly. “But I don’t get the sense she’d be happy as a damsel.”

“No.” She leans back against me, shoulder blades bumping my ribs. Each time she breathes, some tension seeps out of her shoulders. “Grace would have loved this view.”

I hope she stopped to look at it. That she stared at the sea before getting to work on her tire. “Do you remember the last words you said to each other?”

“Yes.” Brooke tips her head to look at me. “I said ‘I love you,’ and Grace said, ‘I love you more.’ We bickered like that back and forth for a while and—” Her voice cracks. “I thought maybe that caused it. If I’d let her go sooner, if she’d just hit the road a few seconds before…”

But seeing it now, she knows better. I don’t have to hear it to know what she’s thinking.

“I’m glad,” she says finally. “That the last thing she heard was how much her big sister loved her.”

“I’m glad, too.”

Brooke takes a shuddery breath. “That’s the lesson, I guess. Don’t wind up regretting conversations you never had with people you love.”

I don’t reply, letting those words sink through the meat of my brain. Five minutes pass. Then ten. It’s starting to drizzle, but we stand in the rain getting soaked to the bone. She shivers again, but I don’t make a move toward the car. She needs this.

Maybe we both do.

When her chin tips up this time, the moon spills silvery streaks on her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I fish in my pocket for a clean hankie. “I should have given you this earlier.”

“Thanks.” She swipes at her face, then blows her nose. “I mean it, Kaleb. I don’t know why I put off coming here.”

I do. “Denial’s powerful. The urge to believe what you want to believe, when facing the truth might feel worse.”

“But it didn’t.” She swipes her eyes again. “It feels better, and you knew it would. And I’m grateful. Really grateful.”

Her arms go around me, and I hold her tight, resting my chin on her head. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Not really.” She lets out a breath on a sigh. “You put a lot of thought into this, and I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need.” There really isn’t. “We could go to the lighthouse, if you want. If you’d like to see that?—”

“Eventually.” She draws back to look in my eyes. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

I know how that goes.

“Understood.” Sometimes you chew grief one bite at a time. She’s been given a great heaping bowl of it. It’ll take time to spoon it all up at her own pace. I’ll rub her back while she does it.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I say. “Just say the word and I’ll take you to Kneef’s Lighthouse.”

“Thank you.”

The drizzle stops, but we stand laced in each other’s arms a little longer. A car rolls past, then slows. I wave him past, nodding to say we’re okay.

But that isn’t true.

The truth is, I’m not okay.

The truth is, I’m in love with Brooke Braham.

Now what?

The following week, I knock on my sister’s front door. There’s a shout from inside, then a thump as the door flies open.

Lucy launches herself at my chest and I stagger back, hugging my obnoxious sister. “You’re late,” she says into the front of my shirt.

“Good to see you, too.” And good thing I set down my salsa first.

“I got worried.” Lucy releases her bear hug to slug me in the arm. “Erika told Hayley she heard Frank Bundy on the scanner talking about an armed robbery at Pacific Federal.”

“And you thought that impacted me how?” The whole family banks at Cherry Blossom Credit Union.

“You could have been running an errand for Brooke.” She makes a face. “Also, the gun turned out to be a squirt gun, and it might’ve been Harry Hartman having a dementia moment.”

I’m not sure I followed all that, but it’s fine. I’m distracted tonight, running late since I failed to talk Brooke into coming.

“I’m on a roll.” She’d looked up from her laptop, biting her lip. “Will you hate me if I stay and keep writing?”

“Of course not.” I could never hate her.

“Tell everyone hi,” she said. “Especially your mom.”

That’s the other reason I’m late. Can’t say I’m eager to see Mom.

Lucy peers past me and frowns. “You didn’t bring Brooke or Ribsy?” She cranes her neck like I might’ve left them in the car. “Is she coming separately?”

“Brooke’s working on her book, and Ribsy’s hard at work warming her feet.” No shocker there. My dog enjoys days in a lakefront mansion, eating gourmet biscuits hand-fed to her by a famous advice columnist. Rough life.

“Brooke sends her regards,” I tell Lucy.

“At least you brought your world-famous salsa.” She bends to pick up the bowl, and I grab the chips. “We’ve been waiting.”

“Sorry. The guy with the apps should show up on time.”

“I’m just glad you made it.”

“The salsa?”

“ You , asshole.” She tucks down a corner of cling wrap that’s loose. “We’re a small crowd tonight. Jake’s out chasing Dungeness crab, and Cal’s working late at the bar. Cass and Zoe came without them.”

Like he’s been summoned for roll call, Mason lopes over, looking cheerful. He points at his twin and asks, “Is it time?—”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

Lucy huffs. “Yes, dumbass.”

“But I smelled?—”

“Mason.”

“Fine.” He grins like a dick, so whatever that was must’ve been about food and not family crisis.

“Try this.” He thrusts an unlabeled can at me. Probably beer, or maybe piss in a pop top. “Tell me what you think.”

“What is it?” I spin the can in my hand, but nope—no label at all.

“It’s one of my new non-alcoholic beers. I’m thinking of calling it Sober Saison. Too boring?”

“Seems fine to me.” I take the bright silver can wrapped in a koozie that reads Feeling Nauti in a red and white life ring. A switch from Mason’s usual Big One’s koozies. “Where’d you get this?”

“The koozie? Mom brought it.” He motions for me to speed up my taste test, so I take a sip. “She got it in a gift shop in Gold Beach.”

My throat pinches tight, so I force down a big gulp of booze-free beer. Not what I’m craving, but it’s better than nothing.

Mason eyes me as I lower the can. “Well?”

“Mom’s here?” That’s not what he’s asking. “The beer’s good.”

Lucy shoots me a quizzical look. “I told you Mom was coming.” She tips her head toward the living room. “Harper’s showing her how to make flowers on her sneakers with fabric paint.”

“Sounds…cozy.” I try another sip of beer. I’m not sure what face I’m making, but Mason doesn’t like it.

“You good, dude?” He points at the can in my hand. “I thought I nailed it this time.”

“It’s great.” I clear my throat and chug half the can. Good thing it’s not real beer. “Thought Mom might no-show again.”

“Of course not.” Lucy’s brow furrows. “What gives? You’ve seen her a couple times now. This won’t be a first.”

“Nope, you’re right.” I finish the beer and consider asking for another. Maybe to go. “Need me to take a look at the dishwasher?”

“It’s fixed.” My sister’s so pleased. “Peter found a repairman who came all the way from Salem.”

That must’ve cost a fortune. “I’d have done it for free.”

“I know you would.” Lucy’s not rolling her eyes, but just barely. “This way, you won’t have to.”

There’s no reason to feel butthurt and I’m not. Much. “Want help with dinner?”

“Just ten more minutes on the enchiladas.” She trades a look with Mason, some telepathic twin thing that’s annoying. “Oh! And we’re still waiting on Noah.”

“He just texted.” Mason shows Lucy his phone as we troop toward the living room. “His plane’s delayed, and he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

Lucy snatches his phone and starts scrolling. “Why did he text you and not me?”

“Because I’m nicer. And better looking. And…”

Their banter blurs in my brain as we enter the living room, and I start to scan faces. There’s Zoe and Cass by the window, chatting with Peter. His sister’s with Max, on some special date-night they’ve planned all week. Parker sits next to Hazel, holding his hands apart in the universal sign for big fish . Hazel politely feigns interest in steelhead.

My gaze twitches left, and there she is. My mother, sprawled on the floor beside Harper. She’s watching me, waiting. Gauging my reaction.

“Hi, honey.” With a timid wave, she gets to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Yep.” I offer a stiff-armed embrace, since everyone’s watching. In this huggy family, I can’t rightly offer a handshake. “Brooke says hi.”

“Really?” Her joy tickles my guilt bone.

“She’d have come, but she’s busy with her book.”

“That’s exciting.” Mom brushes the hair back off her face. “What a treat, having a celebrity in town.”

“Yep.”

“Does she need to head home soon?”

“Home?” I don’t grasp right away what that means. “Oh—California, you mean?”

Mom looks wistful. “She must miss her family a lot.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sympathy stirs in my chest. For all my anger, I know Mom missed us. “She’s headed there soon for some work stuff. Just a quick trip. She’ll be back in a few days.”

“That’s sweet.” She fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater. “Will you be joining her?”

“Oh, I—” Hadn’t even thought of it. “Probably not.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re not much of a city guy.”

I’m not sure how to respond. “Yeah.”

I wander away, finding a seat at the table. There’s a yellow sweatshirt draped on the chair next to Lucy’s big fern. Mom loves yellow, so this must be her spot. I head for the opposite end, grabbing a seat next to Hazel.

My cousin looks up from the phone Parker’s holding. “Have you already seen Calliope?”

“Is that a fish?”

“No, dumbass.” Parker hands me his phone. “Callie’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” I should probably know that. Did I mention I’m distracted? I peer at the screen, pleased for my brother. “She’s pretty.” Calliope has bright purple streaks in her hair and a smile that glows when she’s posed next to Parker. “You look good together.”

“Thanks.”

Hazel’s watching my face. “Are you all right?”

Why does everyone keep asking me that? “I’m great.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t look convinced.

“Great pics.” I scroll to the last image in the album, one of Parker and his girl on a boat. “When do we meet her?”

“Hopefully before our wedding.” Parker grins. “I mean, I’ve gotta propose first.”

“Of course she’ll say yes.” Mom sets down a pitcher of ice water. “How could she not?”

Ignoring her, I hand Parker his phone. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks.” He takes a swig of his soda. “Met her family last month. They’re in Ketchikan.”

“You like them?”

“Yeah, they’re great.” He must read concern in my eyes. “They know I’m trans and they’re cool. She’s got an aunt who transitioned. Oh! They’ve got the coolest old Third-Gen Coyote—hang on, lemme find the pic.”

As he scrolls through his phone for a shot of the classic Bronco, my mother takes the empty chair on my left. I tense without looking, commanding my jaw to unclench.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly.

“Sure.” I’m forced to look at her with an equally forced smile. “Isn’t that the chair with the broken spindle?” Maybe she’ll pick another seat. “I’ve been meaning to fix it.”

“ I fixed it,” Lucy shouts from the kitchen. “Harper helped. I bought a whole set of woodworking tools after July’s Lagers and Learning.”

Great. I notice Mom squinting and nod to the lamp on her right. “Is that too bright?”

“I can move, Kaleb.” She speaks low enough to keep this just between us, but Hazel flinches at the edge of my vision. “If you don’t want me sitting here?—”

“It’s great.” I need to shut up. “Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

The chatter around us dies down as Lucy swoops in with a baking dish. “Okay, everyone—serve yourself.” She sets down enchiladas as Peter comes out with a huge bowl of salad.

Harper brings up the rear with two baskets of chips. “I put the salsa in three bowls.” She points out the blue crockery staggered strategically along the length of the table. “That way, everyone can reach.”

“Good thinking, kiddo.” Mom takes a chip and dips it in the closest bowl. As she pops it in her mouth, her eyes widen. “Did you make this, Kaleb?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s fantastic.” She takes another chip as the others start filling their plates. “You always did love your cilantro.”

“Yep.” I clear my throat, conscious I’m being a dick. “Grew the tomatoes myself.”

“Your patio’s big enough?”

Mason looks up from heaping food on his place. “I didn’t know you’d been to Kaleb’s place.”

“I haven’t.” Mom glances away. “But I know he lives above the garage without a yard, so I assumed?—”

“Yum!” Harper unwittingly throws a lifeline to Grandma. “These veggie enchiladas are the bomb.”

“Harper Ann.” Lucy sighs. “Thank you. But you’re supposed to wait until everyone’s had a chance to fill their plate.”

“Yeah, Harps.” Parker busts out his best pain-in-the-ass youngest kid grin. “Have some fucking manners.”

My sister rolls her eyes. “Parker?—”

“Cursing makes me steal from 7-11.” Harper grins at her uncle. “Candy cigarettes and all the sugary stuff Mom won’t let me have.”

Lucy hands Mason the chips. “As much as you guys love baiting her, maybe you’d like to meet with her teacher next week to explain why she described her PE class square dancing lesson as ‘fucking pointless.’”

“It is fucking pointless,” Mason says. “They still teach square dancing?”

The conversation flows from there. At some point I must chime in, since Parker ribs me about losing my favorite fly on the Little Nestucca. Lucy asks Hazel about visiting her dad, and our cousin tenses before delivering a terse report on prison visiting hours.

At least I’m not the only one feeling twitchy.

“Who wants dessert?” Mason gets up and goes to the kitchen. “I made a huge-ass flan—plenty for everyone.”

Lucy looks at Harper. “Mason?—”

“I’ve never heard someone say ‘ass’ before.” Harper gets up to help him as Mom hides a laugh in her napkin. “I’d repeat it in square dancing class, except hearing bad words makes me skip school.”

“I should go.” I stand up quick and start gathering plates. “I need to take Ribsy for a run.”

Lucy blinks in surprise. “I thought she’s with Brooke.”

“Brooke’s writing, not running.” I take a pile of plates to the sink and start rinsing. “If Ribsy doesn’t get her beach time, she turns into a pumpkin.”

Mom gets up and stacks more plates. “Good timing. I need to meet with my sponsor at Fresh Catch by eight. Could I get a ride, Kaleb?”

Shit. There’s no way to say no with everyone watching. “Sure.”

“Great.” Mom brings the plates to the kitchen and opens the dishwasher. “You rinse, I’ll load.”

“I—”

“Leave it, you two.” Lucy gives Harper a look. “ Someone’s on dish duty this week for making a sculpture of a jackass in art class and naming it after the principal.”

“It’s me. I’m someone.” Harper carries a load of dishes to the kitchen. “It’s a really cool donkey. Anatomically correct and everything.”

“Harper—”

“I’ll grab my coat.” Mom looks at me as she hesitates. “Are you ready to go now?”

Do I have any choice? “Sure.” As my niece takes my place at the sink, I move through the dining room saying goodbyes. Mason grills me for feedback on his booze-free beer, and Parker grills me to set a date for our annual fall camping trip.

By the time we walk out the door, it’s ten minutes ‘til eight. “Need to text your sponsor you’ll be a few minutes late?” I open the passenger door of my Bronco so she can climb in. “I can make it to Fresh Catch by five after.”

“I don’t have a meeting with my sponsor.” She steps into the cab and pulls the door shut behind her.

“Seriously?” I stand in the driveway, annoyed and confused.

By the time I get in, I’m just pissed.

“Lying about meeting your sponsor now?” I fire up the Bronco, revving the engine a little too hard. I don’t even look as I back out of the drive. “What’s next—lying about being sober?”

Mom’s stoic beside me. “We need to talk, Kaleb.”

No, we don’t.

Except…hell, maybe she’s right.

“Don’t wind up regretting conversations you never had with people you love.”

Brooke’s right.

My mother is right. I’ve put this off long enough.

I dart a look to the passenger seat. “Are you actually going to tell the truth?”

Mom doesn’t reply. Not right away, not with words. Instead, she slips a hand in her pocket. With my eyes on the road, I hear something clink in my cupholder.

I look down to see a nubby blue stone tumbling among my loose change and an old gum wrapper.

I swallow the dry, ragged rock in my throat. “What’s that?”

“Lapis lazuli,” she says softly. “For truth-telling.”

I say nothing to that. With my heart beating fast, I drive east and then south. The road dead-ends on Driftwood Drive, but I turn at the barricade and bump down a gravel road. Heading uphill, I spot the bright yellow sign that reads “private property.” I drive right past.

Mom doesn’t say anything.

It’s her property, after all.

“How many acres did you get when Owen went to prison?” It’s an educated guess, and she doesn’t correct me.

“Whatever he didn’t develop.” She hesitates. “Not the parcels that went to you kids.”

“So…at least a hundred acres.” Pops and Grams ran a Christmas tree farm that stayed in our family for eons until Uncle Owen got greedy. “Worth a lot of money.”

Mom sits in silence, watching me drive. “It’s held in a trust for you kids.” She shifts in the passenger seat. “I can’t touch it, Kaleb. If you’re worried I’ll fall off the wagon and sell it.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what?” Her voice turns sharp, but still satiny soft. How does she do that? “What are you worried about?”

“So many things.” I keep my eyes on the trees, threading my way through the shaggy green sentinels.

“Like?”

“ Things .”

“Name one.”

“The price of Clouser Minnows at the bait shop.” I’m behaving like a petulant child. “Whether the Seahawks have a shot at the playoffs this year.”

My mother snaps. “Cut the crap, Kaleb! Tell me what’s got you so afraid to face me.”

I snap, too. “Fine!” I smack the wheel with the heel of my hand, and she jumps. “You want to know what I’m afraid of? I’m fucking terrified they’ll find out!”

There, I said it. I fucking said it.

And now I can’t stop. It’s like the floodgates burst open and I’m driving through rain, shouting at my mother like a teenage menace.

“Do you have any idea what that did to me?” I demand. “Having to keep your fucking secret. For years—fucking years , Mom—I couldn’t have an honest conversation with Jake or Lucy or?—”

“I’m sorry, Kaleb!” Her voice chokes with tears as I slam on the brake and skid to a stop by the spruce.

My tree, the one where my tire swing hangs. I stare at it now, trying to get my breathing under control. I can’t look at my mom.

She gathers herself, shoving both hands between her knees as I yank the e-brake. “I—I wasn’t even sure what you knew.”

“Everything. I knew fucking everything .”

I suck in more breath to calm myself down. It’s not working at all, so screw breathing.

“Seriously, Mom?” Twisting the keys, I switch off the engine. I still can’t look at her. “You think I didn’t spend every fucking day looking for your clues?”

“I—”

“Stop.” I reach across her and jerk open the glove box. The baggie flops out with a rattle, heavy with secrets I’ve kept for too long. It falls to the floor of the passenger seat and Mom pulls her toes out of the way.

She stares at the Ziploc like a dead animal dropped at her feet. Her mouth forms the word, “oh,” but no sound comes out.

“Is that all of them?” I snap. “I might’ve missed one or two.”

Mom bends to pick up the baggie of rocks. She rolls it around in her hands, wordless as she studies it.

I don’t need to look. I’ve memorized every stone.

There’s the jet-black round one I found on my car. That was the first one. It appeared on the lip of my windshield two months after Owen told us Mom died. Onyx, Mom’s favorite stone. It represents grounding, protection, grief.

It might’ve been coincidence. Like a cardinal or fucking pennies from heaven people claim to see when they’ve lost loved ones.

At the time, it gave me peace.

Then the signs kept coming.

A smooth oval of pink calcite in my toolbox. The stone for gentle acceptance, according to the book I used to pore over with Mom. I dug it from storage and looked up each rock that appeared.

There was the luminous wedge of moonstone at the base of Spencer’s Rock. The spot where I’d rest each morning on beach runs. No way a stone like that would appear naturally there. Moonstone, for coping with cycles of change, in a week I’d struggled with grief.

On my thirty-fifth birthday, there was a shimmering wedge of smoky quartz—meant for shifting negative energy into positive. That one I found on my bathroom counter.

There’s the flame-hued hunk of carnelian I found on the porch by my boot, the same day the flyer appeared. The message that put me on the path to buying the garage.

I cried like a goddamn baby when I read the description. When I understood what that stone meant.

“Carnelian is the stone for new starts. For finding work you love and the energy to excel and prosper with a fresh beginning.”

“My God.” Mom stares at the baggie of stones. Her fingertip touches each one. “You found all of them. Every last one.”

She’s forgetting the jasper she left in my tow truck last month. The one Brooke found there the first day we met. Like that even matters.

Snatching the bag, I roll it around until I find it. The shiny gold nugget that erased all my doubts. That filled me with hope and dread in equal measure.

There it is, wedged next to a tiger’s eye and a sunshiny slab of citrine. “Fool’s gold,” I snap, and Mom flinches.

She flinches again when I drop the bag on the console between us. Her eyes fix on that stone. The one that convinced me I wasn’t crazy.

“Fucking fool’s gold, Mom.” Shaking my head, I stare at the tire swing. A gust of wind sends it rocking. “You left it on my goddamn kitchen counter on the anniversary of your death.”

She’s quiet so long that I turn back to face her. A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t speak as her hands clench into fists.

“Yes.” She’s so quiet I almost don’t hear her.

But it’s enough. Something flames hot and angry inside me. I knew, but I didn’t know . Not for sure.

And now I can’t un-know it. There’s no going back.

“You were in Gold Beach that whole time.”

“No.” Mom wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not the whole time.”

“Elaborate.” It’s about goddamn time I got answers. “Start at the beginning.”

She looks lost for a moment. Like she’s not quite sure which beginning I mean. “From the overdose,” I demand, forcing myself to speak softly. To stop acting like an angry ogre. “The last overdose.” Fuck, I don’t even know if it was her last. “The one before you—” I can’t say it. “Before Owen told us you’d?—”

“Died.” She draws in a breath. “I did, you know. Clinically deceased. Not breathing, no heartbeat. That’s what the medics said later.”

I know this already. In silence I sit, waiting for the rest.

Mom swallows and speaks again. “I left the hospital against doctor’s orders.” She touches the stones, tracing their shapes through the baggie. “I went back to the streets. It was all I knew by then.”

“You knew us . We would have fucking helped you.” Not like before, when we were all kids. By then, we’d mostly grown up. “We’re your family .”

She winces, then nods. “I was so lost by then, Kaleb. When Owen explained how much I was hurting you—all of you—I just—” She presses her lips together.

“Keep going.”

Mom draws a steadying breath. “I couldn’t stay in Eugene. You’d have found me there, eventually. One way or another.”

Not alive.

With a ragged breath, she continues. “I went to Portland. I was sick. So sick, Kaleb. Addiction gets its claws in you and it doesn’t let go. You can’t let your guard down, not ever. Not when you’re in recovery. And I won’t, I swear on my life, Kaleb?—”

“Mom.” I see in her eyes she’s gone frantic. That she desperately needs me to believe her. “What happened in Portland?”

Her eyes drop to the bag in her lap. “By then, you kids already thought I was gone. I had nothing to lose.”

So she knew what Owen told us. That her children believed she was dead. I was never quite sure about that part. “What was rock bottom for you?”

“Another OD. Big shock, right?” A laugh rattles out of her, mirthless and brittle. “Then I met this caseworker. Carla Gomez? She knew things about mental health. How people like me self-medicate.”

“You’d heard that before.” Hell, I heard it on visits to rehab to see her. “What made it click that time?”

“Carla lost all three of her children.” Mom closes her eyes. “Two from overdoses. One in a shooting when a drug deal went bad. It struck something in me. This horrible sense of missing your lives. My kids were still out there, alive. Making something of yourselves. Even if I couldn’t know you, I thought maybe—” Her voice trembles, then breaks. “Maybe if I lived, I could do something to make your lives better.”

You could have come home.

I know I can’t say it.

But Mom reads the words in my eyes. “I couldn’t come back here, Kaleb.” She swipes at her eyes. “It was too late by then.”

A wave of pity rolls through me. “Here.” I hand her my hankie. A clean one, just like I gave Brooke. “Keep it.”

“Thank you.” Mom blows her nose, then dabs at her eyes with the opposite corner. “I couldn’t come back to Cherry Blossom Lake. Not once I’d promised my brother.”

“Why? Did you sign some legally binding agreement?” Like Uncle Owen would put it in writing. “Did he bribe you to play dead?”

“No.” She looks down at her lap, touching the baggie again. “He didn’t have to. I made a promise. A promise I thought was best for you kids. And at that point, all I had left was my word.”

“Okay.” I do understand that.

“You were all flourishing by then, and I thought if I stayed away—” She shakes her head slowly. “That round of rehab stuck. I saw how much I’d hurt you kids. How my sickness hurt all of you. How I’d brought nothing but pain to your lives through three decades of addiction. Once I got strong, I knew I couldn’t risk hurting you again.”

“Gee, thanks.” There’s that fury, burning its way up my chest. “So you agreed to stay gone for good.”

“Yes.” Her fingers curl around a wedge of selenite.

I remember those hands, stroking my hair when I’d had a nightmare. “My sweet Mr. Fixit,” she’d soothe . “Go back to sleep.”

And I did. I always fucking did.

Dragging my eyes off her hands, I stare out the window. A swift blast of wind sets the tire swing in motion. I remember the round, green nugget I found there, the day I came here with Brooke.

Adventurine, for forgiveness.

Even then, Mom was still playing her games.

“All this talk of not coming back,” I say softly. “But you did. You came back again and again.”

“Yes.” She releases a breath she must’ve been holding. “I did.”

“Not just to leave me those rocks.” I still don’t know how she pulled it off. “That was you, working some kind of legal magic to get Lucy’s ex to give her the house. And Mason’s brewery—you had something to do with that tax refund he got the week Old Man Lipman put his place up for lease.”

It sounds nuts when I say it. Like an addict in recovery hacked the IRS. Worked some sort of legal magic for my sister.

“There was money in a trust.” Mom draws a breath. “I had Owen set it up when we made our deal. I made sure I couldn’t touch it—not for myself.”

“For us.” A few of the pieces click together. “And you left the flyer on my door. The one that led me to buy the garage.”

She nods without speaking, her eyes on the baggie of rocks.

But my mind’s off and running, processing each of those “miracles.” The photo she stashed in our grandfather’s basement. The image that proved Pops never wanted Owen to develop the land. I found it with Mason, in a trunk we’d searched dozens of times.

He held up the photo, shaking his head in wonder. “Maybe we have a guardian angel,” he said softly. “Mom’s looking out for us.”

And she was.

Just not from the grave.

“Why?” The question creaks out like it’s ripped from my throat.

“I wanted to help you kids?—”

“Not that.” I’ve moved past all the miracles now. “Why did you leave me the rocks? Why did you leave me the clues?”

Why did you leave me hangs thick in the air, but I shove it aside. “You didn’t leave fucking rocks for Lucy or Noah or—or anyone else.” Her wince just confirms what I’ve known all along. “And you sure as fuck didn’t clue them in you were hiding in Gold Beach that whole time.”

I wait for her to argue. To tell me I’m wrong about that.

“It started innocently.” She looks out the passenger window, her breath making fog on the glass. “We always had our inside jokes, you and me. Our little secrets. It seemed wrong to leave you wondering. You were always my little man. My Mr. Fixit.”

I tighten my grip on the wheel. “Do you have any idea what that felt like?” I’m doing my best not to yell. “To know our mother was alive and well just three hours up the coast and not say a word to my siblings?”

Mom bites her lip. “I wasn’t sure you knew.”

“I knew.” How could I not? “Even without all the clues, I saw you.”

She jumps in her seat like I’ve struck her. “When?”

“The day you planted that picture.” I spotted her in the mist, ducking through the doorway of my grandparents’ old house. Later that day, Mason and I searched the basement. “I watched you walk away.”

Mom stares dumbstruck for a minute.

“I—I didn’t know.” She tightens her grip on the baggie. “I was so careful. I only came back when I learned what Owen was doing. How he’d stolen the land. I’d agreed to stay gone, but that was too much. I never thought my own brother would do that.”

“And I never thought my mom would fake her own death,” I snap. “But here we are.”

“Here we are.” She sounds so helpless I nearly cave.

“I almost went after you,” I whisper. “That morning?”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.” Because I didn’t want my worst fears confirmed.

Because I didn’t want to hug her, to feel my mother’s arms around me. And to have her walk away again.

I’m gritting my teeth now. “You forced me to lie to them.”

Mom looks down at her lap. “You could have told them.”

“No, Mom.” Does she really not get this? “I couldn’t.” I see from her face that she doesn’t understand. “Imagine us sitting down to family dinner. We’re passing enchiladas, laughing at Harper’s jokes.”

She starts to smile, but my next words wipe it off her face.

“Can you imagine,” I snap, “if I’d stood up and said, ‘Hey, guys, guess what! Mom’s not dead, and she’s sending me secret messages. Only me! Sorry you thought she loved us the same, but it turns out she picked me to carry the burden. Surprise! Could someone please pass the chips?’”

Part of me wants her to argue. Maybe she left clues for Mason, for Jake, for Parker or Noah or?—

“You were always my favorite.”

“Jesus.” I don’t know what to do with that. “A good mother’s not supposed to have favorites.”

A strangled laugh slips out of her. “Was there some point you thought I was a good mother?”

“Yes.” My hands ball into fists. “I fucking did.”

“That’s why,” she says softly. “Why I couldn’t leave you hanging. You always believed in me.”

“We all loved you.”

“But it was different with you. My second-born baby.” She wipes at her face with the hankie. “I was never any good at it. Being a mom? Your father wanted a big family, and I wanted to please him.” She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “With Jake, I knew right away. I wasn’t a normal mother. Postpartum depression, but it was more. All my mental illness came roaring in at once. And the twins, my God—I wasn’t prepared for Lucy and Mason, and then Noah so soon after. And Parker’s struggles with gender and then O—” She stops and bites her lip. “It was all too much.”

The pain in her voice undoes me. Maybe that’s why I do it. I reach for her hand, covering it with my own. “You had moments of being a great mother.”

“Not enough.” Her hand trembles under mine. “I wasn’t enough.”

I know I should argue, but she’s right. All those years where she’d disappear, off on a drug-fueled binge. It’s the reason Pops and Grams raised the Spencer-King kids most of the time.

“It always felt different with you, my second-born kid.” She shakes her head slowly, eyes fixed on the tree. “I bonded more with you than the others.”

An ache in my chest spreads out through my limbs. I didn’t expect this to hurt so much. “Tell me this,” I say softly. “Did you think I’d come find you? Is that why you left all those rocks?”

“I don’t know.” She’s crying again, blowing her nose as she sobs. “I wanted that connection with you. With all of you, but especially my sweet Mr.—”

“Don’t say it.” If she calls me Mr. Fixit again, I’ll scream.

Mom looks down in her lap. “I was selfish and wrong, and I’d go back and do it all differently now. I’d do everything differently, Kaleb.” She shudders and sniffs and pulls her knees to her chest. “Especially with you. I’m sorry, okay?”

There it is. The apology I’ve wanted. The complete explanation. What I’ve wanted to hear, more or less.

Why don’t I feel any better?

“I won’t keep the secret anymore.” The second I say it, I know that’s why. I won’t have closure while I hide this from my siblings. “I won’t keep lying to the others.”

“Okay.” I expect her to argue but she only nods. “Okay.”

Did she hear me? “I’m telling them,” I say. “Jake and Lucy and Mason and—and all of them.” Why isn’t she fighting me? “It’s killed me keeping it from them, and I won’t do it anymore. I won’t pretend I didn’t know.”

“I understand.” She hugs her knees tighter. “Do you want me to tell them?”

“No.” It’s better coming from me. “But I want you to answer them honestly when they ask questions.”

“I can do that.” She gives me a brave little smile. “I’ve had a lot of practice with the ‘making amends’ part of recovery.”

“Yeah.” I have to give her credit there. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry for what you went through.”

“Thank you.” Mom presses her lips together. “Really?”

“Really what?”

“You forgive me?”

“I—yes.” Have I not said that already? “Maybe I’ll always be angry. But I feel bad for you, too. So much of this was outside your control.”

Mom looks down at her knees. “That didn’t make it easier on you kids.”

“No. But holding onto the anger isn’t doing me any favors.”

“I don’t imagine it does.” She hugs her knees tighter, rocking a little in her seat. “I’ve read Brooke’s last book maybe twenty times. There’s this part in chapter eighteen that I memorized. Do you know it?”

“I’m not sure.” Hearing Brooke’s name feels strange in this space. Like saying a prayer on the porch of a drug den. “Tell me what it says.”

“She wrote, ‘No matter how badly you mess up, try making amends. It may not fix things, but it soothes something inside your own soul.’” She pauses to swipe at her eyes. “I always had hope we could fix things between us.” Mom hesitates, then lets go of her knees, releasing her feet to the floor. “Do you think we could start over?”

If she’d asked me last month, I’d have laughed like a fool. Never, not ever, did I think I’d be willing to start fresh with my mother. That I’d give her a shot at breaking my heart all over again.

But here in my rig, with its steamed-up windows, and my tire swing rocking in the rain, a thin thread of hope twists around my heart. It’s faint and it’s feathery, but it’s there.

“Yes,” I say softly, feeling the pinch in my chest let go. “I’d like to try.”