Chapter 13
Brooke
W hat the hell just happened?
I mean, I know what happened, conceptually. I did a two-part podcast on avoidant tendencies. There’s a chapter in my third book about abandonment issues and their impact on protective coping mechanisms.
Kaleb Spencer-King has been through the wringer. He’s a man lashing out in pain.
That doesn’t make this suck any less.
I have a good hard cry for twenty minutes, then dig through the freezer for the H?agen Dazs. I don’t see it at first, and I sob even harder.
Grief’s not logical, okay?
Then my eyes spot the trademark maroon cardboard top, and I sigh with relief. Wiping my tears, I drag a fresh pint of vanilla from behind the ice-maker. “Thank you, Maxine,” I breathe.
“You’re welcome.”
I spin with the pint in my hand, and there she is. She smiles and then frowns when she catches a look at my face. “What happened?”
“Kaleb.” I peel off the top of the ice cream. “We split up.”
“No!” Max hands me a spoon and opens a cupboard. “Bowl?”
“No bowl.” It’s straight-from-the-carton time. “I guess it makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
Stabbing the spoon into the ice cream, I scoop up a big hurkin’ bite. “He’s running scared.” I let the ice cream melt on my tongue, blinking back tears as I put on my clinical hat. “Considering his history of parental abandonment and the resultant tendency to?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Max frowns. “Back up the truck.”
“What?” I focus on filling my spoon, on scooping the perfect bite.
“Let’s hit pause on diagnosing Kaleb for a second. How are you ?”
“Me?” I don’t honestly know.
“Focus on the feelings.” Max gives a tender half-smile. “Isn’t that what you always say?”
I choke on a laugh that’s not really a laugh. “I’m such an insufferable asshole.”
“You are not.” She boosts herself up on a barstool. “I happen to think you’re fantastic.”
“Well, apparently, Kaleb doesn’t.”
Not fantastic enough that he’s willing to work through the hurt and try the long-distance thing. Maybe give us a chance to talk over our options. The idea of being more than just casual.
My chest starts to ache, so I swallow more ice cream.
“Feelings,” Max urges, drumming her nails on the counter. “Come on. You’ve told me it helps to name them.”
“I’m numb,” I admit. “Confused. Sad. Hurt.” I stab the spoon in the carton again. “A little mad.”
“I’m writing this down.” Max grabs a pad off the counter. “It might be handy for the book.”
“Speaking of that—” I take another big bite, comforted by the cooling creaminess. “We’re being called back to LA.”
Max blinks. “We?”
“Preston Publishing loves the book. They want to fast-track it.” At least this is one bright spot in my week. “I’ve never seen a book come together like this. They’re sending a schedule for copy edits and galleys, plus preliminary details for audio recording. They’re having me narrate again, which means—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”
It's a little like guilt, but the tiniest smile tips her mouth at the corners. She’s fighting it hard, but not winning. “I’m sorry.”
“About the breakup? I’ll live.” I mean, mostly. My heart feels like someone slammed it in the cutlery drawer, then poured orange juice through the crack. “It’s a surprise, sure. An unpleasant one.” Unpleasant. What a joke of a word. That’s like calling a hysterectomy a boo-boo. “But I’ll move past it and it’ll all be okay.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Max sets down her pen and folds her hands on the counter. “I’m sorry about the split. I feel awful. I really like Kaleb, and I thought things would work out with you two.”
“Same.” My chest squeezes tight, and I force down more ice cream. “What are you sorry for?”
“Returning to LA.” Max lays her palms on the counter. “I’m not going.”
“What?” I fumble my spoon, snatching it before it falls. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not going,” she repeats, as her eyes brim with pity. “I’m sorry, Brooke. You’re a great boss and an amazing friend and I’ve loved working for you. I’ll give four weeks’ notice—more if you need it. And I’ll help you find a new assistant.” She slides off her barstool, coming around the counter to stand right in front of me. “But I’m staying in Oregon.”
“In Oregon,” I repeat. “Here?”
A hint of color fills her cheeks. “Haven Creek Farm and Wildlife Rescue, actually. Sam asked me to move in with her. I know it’s soon, but—” She shrugs a bit sheepishly. “When you know, you know.”
I study her face, the glow in her cheeks, the light in her eyes. “Congratulations.” I want to be mad, but she’s so damn happy. “You and Samantha make a beautiful couple. I wish you all the best.”
“God, Brooke.” She pulls me in for a hug, surprising us both. “I know you’re my boss, and you’re supposed to be mad, and having you be so decent just makes me feel bad.”
There’s a psychological puzzle that makes perfect sense. “I’ll be fine.”
Maxine pulls back to look into my eyes. “Do you remember the first words you said to me when you got the news about Grace?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I try to recall details of that day. “I don’t even remember where I was.”
Grief messes with memory. Also a chapter in one of my books.
“What did I say?”
“You said, ‘I’ll be fine.’ Same as you said it just now.” She looks at me with such deep-hearted sympathy that I have to look away. “I thought you were brave. I thought you were badass.”
I’m so far from badass that I almost laugh. “Why are you speaking in past tense?”
Maxine doesn’t answer. Just opens the freezer and pulls out a second pint of H?agen Dazs. Hers is chocolate peanut butter pretzel, and I’m hit by a weird wave of ice cream envy. “I admire you and respect you.” Max peels off the lid as I hand her a spoon. “But there’s something I’d rather be than brave.”
“What’s that?” I watch as she shoves the first bite in her mouth. “What would you rather be?”
“Fine with falling apart.” She lifts the spoon to her mouth. “Cushioned by people who catch me when I fall.”
Fuck.
“You’re right.”
“I know.” Max tilts her head. “Have you called your family?”
I scoff. “They don’t even know about Kaleb.”
She gives me a pointed look.
“Yeah, okay.” I can diagnose this one myself. “The most meaningful adult relationship I’ve had in—” I pause to give it some thought.
“Ever,” Max says. “I’ve known you most of my adult life, and I’ve never seen you like you’ve been with Kaleb. So happy and alive and?—”
“And guilty for being that way when Grace isn’t.” Shit. That’s it, isn’t it? Or part of it, anyway.
Maxine’s eyes fill. “I miss her, too, you know.”
I forget sometimes that Max also lost Grace. Theirs wasn’t a sister bond, not technically. But sisterhood comes in all forms.
I set down my carton and pull Max into my arms. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “For both of us.”
“I know. I’m sorry, too.”
We stand there hugging a long time. She cries on my shoulder and I cry on hers. I’m present. I’m mindful.
And I’m aware that I owe my parents a call. Maybe my brothers, too.
“I’ll phone them tonight,” I tell Max. “My family. We’ll talk about Grace.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “And I’ll tell them about Kaleb.”
“Good.” Max draws back, wiping her eyes. “Let people help you, Brooke. Not just the people you overpay guiltily to do it.”
God, she’s smart. “You might be a better shrink than I am.”
Max laughs and goes back to her barstool. “I’ll be sure to tell all the professors who watched me take six years for a fine arts degree.” She picks up her spoon and resumes ice cream therapy. “Do you know what today is?”
I’m not even sure I know what month this is. “Wednesday?”
“It’s the day Grace planned to release the new photo.” She stabs a piece of pretzel with her spoon. “The tenth anniversary of the day the gallery released that first image of Kneef’s Lighthouse.”
“No.” That can’t be right. “It feels like a hundred years have gone by.” I’m not sure if I mean since Grace died or since the photo debuted. “You’re sure?”
Maxine nods and takes another bite of ice cream. “I saw it in my calendar this mornin. Grace sent us all invites. She was planning ahead for a big celebration.”
“That sounds like her.” It also means Mom probably got it. I deleted all mine, not wanting the taunt from the grave. “I need to call my mother.”
“You do,” she says. “You know what else you need?”
“A lot of things.” One of them raced out the door like his ass was on fire. “What do you think I need?”
“A sob squad.”
“Say what?”
“A sob squad.” She points with her spoon like she’s leading a lecture. “Girlfriends you rally when you need a good cry. They’re not there to judge you or force you to process your grief out loud for the sake of some publisher’s coffers.”
I flinch at her words and look down at my pint. “I’m paid to have the answers. It’s my literal job?—”
“Says who?”
“Uh, my publisher? The American public? People who listen to my podcast and buy my books.” My shoulders feel suddenly heavy. “When you’re the person people count on to have all the answers, you don’t go crying on other people’s shoulders.”
“Bullshit.” Max points her spoon at my forehead. “Don’t you get tired of being the person everyone else comes to when they’re sad or confused? When they’re crying and not sure what to do next?”
“Yes,” I say fast, without thinking. “I mean no. Of course not. I’m honored to do the work I do.”
“Has it occurred to you,” Max says slowly, “that other people might like the chance to help the great Brooke Braham shoulder the emotional load?”
That has never, in my entire career, occurred to me. Not once.
“I—” My mouth hinges shut when I know I’m about to argue. She’s right. Max is fucking right.
“Sob squad, huh?” My voice sounds unbearably sad. Clearing my throat, I regard my assistant. “How would this work, exactly?”
Max smiles. “Let me make some calls.”
While Maxine rallies troops, I summon the courage to call my mother. Last week in LA, I chickened out. I meant to set up a family dinner, maybe include my brothers and their wives.
But in between meetings with Preston Publishing and the team that produces my podcast, I ran out of time. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The truth? I was too wracked with guilt to pick up the phone.
I don’t let that stop me today.
“Mom? It’s Brooke.”
“Sweetheart.” The lilt of her voice springs tears to my eyes. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear yours.” I take a deep breath, not wanting to dive right in. “Today was when Grace planned that gallery release.”
“I know, honey.” She’s got tears in her voice now. “I saw the reminder and I thought of you. It’s comforting, in a way, knowing you’re there. In the place where Grace spent her last moments.”
I’m nodding along, though this isn’t a video call. “I know what you mean. I’ve been feeling her here, if that makes sense.”
“It does.” There’s a rustle of tissue, like she’s wiping her eyes.
I take a deep breath and dive in. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. About you and Dad and selling the house?—”
“We’ve decided not to.” Mom says. “We’d been thinking there are too many memories here.” There’s a long pause where I find myself holding my breath. “But that’s exactly why we want to keep it.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “You feel good about that?”
“We do.”
“I’m glad.” That’s also a segue into what I want to say. “I’m so sorry I fell off the earth after Grace died.”
“You’re so busy, honey. We don’t expect you to be available to us all the time.”
“I know, but—” That’s not why I’ve kept my distance. “I worried you blamed me. I blamed myself . I was the last one to talk to her. And I bought her that car and I urged her to?—”
“Brooke Avery Braham, you stop that right now.” Her voice is satin-wrapped steel. “Nothing that happened was your fault. Absolutely nothing . Is that really what you’ve thought?”
I guess that’s not all. “I thought if I kept myself moving and busy—if I could help as many people as possible—maybe that would make up for how badly I failed my own sister.”
“You didn’t fail anyone. Oh, sweetheart—don’t you know how much your sister loved you? We all do, baby. And we’re so proud of you.”
Tears fill my eyes and I blink them away. “I haven’t been a good daughter to you. Or sister to David and Brady.”
“We’ve all done our best. We all handle grief in our own ways, at our own pace.” There’s a meaningful pause from my mom. “A very wise advice columnist told me that.”
I choke out a laugh that’s half sob. “She sounds like a pretentious ass.”
“She’s not. She’s caring and smart and kind to everyone except herself.”
“Oh, Mom.” This time, the tears really fall. I’ve cried more today than I have all year.
The reminder of why gets me sobbing again.
“What is it, baby?” Mom softens her voice. “Is this about Grace?”
“No,” I sniff, feeling raw and exposed. “That’s not all.” I draw a deep breath and begin from the start.
I tell her about Kaleb. About walks on the beach and a man who finds meaning in rocks. About clothing drives and programs empowering women. About a man who knows how to feel, but got his heart crushed while doing it.
“You love him,” Mom says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“I don’t know.” I wipe my eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”
She doesn’t respond right away. “He sounds like a man who needs a hug.” Before I can say he’s had plenty from me, she adds, “A mother’s hug. They’re different, you know.”
“I do.” And I miss my mother right now. “I’ll be back in town Friday. Can we have lunch?”
“I’d like that a lot. You’ll come by the house?”
“Yes, please.” Maybe together—not now, but soon—we can clear out Grace’s bedroom. Leaving that shrine to what our family lost might not be healthy for anyone.
“You really don’t blame me for what happened?”
“Of course not, Brooke. It’s because of you Grace found her wings.” Her voice is still thick with tears. “She flew so high and so happy as long as she could. It’s not anyone’s fault she landed too soon.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Brooke. So much.” She drags in a shuddery breath. “I can only imagine how hard it’s been, losing your sister. Your Aunt Barbara and I still talk every day.”
“I know.” My mom and her sister have been close their whole lives. “There’s really nothing like that bond.”
Mom gives a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know. The community you’ve built with your podcast and columns—maybe it’s close?”
“Maybe.” It’s not really the same as a sister who’s there for your best and worst moments. A sister who helps prop you up when you fall, or helps yank your head from your butt when it’s stuck.
I picture Maxine in the next room making her calls. I don’t even know who she’s phoning, but I can guess. Zoe and Cass. Maybe Lucy if she’s not mad on Kaleb’s behalf. Has he told his sister what happened?
There’s Hazel, of course, and Erika. Maybe Hayley from the lingerie store and?—
“Brooke? Are you still there?”
“Yes.” I squeeze the phone tighter and close my eyes. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
Drawing a breath, I squeeze the phone tight. “I need to go meet with my sisters.”
“Is that Max and Sam?” Zoe squints from the backseat of Lucy’s minivan. “Never mind. That’s two other stunningly beautiful lesbians in a black pickup.”
“Get your eyes checked.” Cassidy nudges her sister. “That’s two teenage boys in a navy-blue Subaru Brat.”
Zoe shrugs and offers her sister a Pixy Stick. Grace’s favorite road trip treat, which we’re eating today in her honor.
That’s not all we’re doing to commemorate Grace.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen it.” Cass cranes her neck to peer at me in the passenger seat. “As soon as I bought that photo of Kneef’s Lighthouse for the Judsons, Shirleen insisted I take her there. She wanted to see it firsthand.”
“It really is special in person.” Lucy steers us around a sharp corner. “It’s not hard to see why your sister loved it so much.”
I’ve had my own reasons for keeping my distance. “I guess it just felt like this sacred place. It meant so much to Grace.” I should dig a bit deeper into that grief. “Maybe,” I add, “I thought if I went there she’d really be gone.”
“That makes sense.” Lucy lifts a hand off the wheel and points through a thick soup of fog up ahead. “That’s it. Right between those two clouds.”
“Where?” Panic rolls through me.
It eases when Luce pats my arm. “Way out there. Watch when the fog breaks.”
Hazel calls out from the far back. “It’s starting to clear. Maybe we’ll get some blue sky.”
I squint through a thick burst of trees as we round the next corner, but I still can’t spot the big lighthouse. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
Zoe hands me a Pixy Stick. “Bad ideas sometimes produce the best results.”
“I know it’s hard.” Lucy takes another sharp turn like a pro. “We’ll be there with you for every step of it.”
I watch out the window as rainwater licks at the windshield. Off to the left, a big, soggy elk munches some wind-whipped grass. Cracking my window, I inhale the scent of ocean and pine.
My heart’s sore and achy from the breakup with Kaleb. There’s no getting around that. No magic salve—not even these magical women—to make this stop hurting.
But one tiny part of me knows this much: If I hadn’t met Kaleb, I’d never have found the strength to do this. To visit the spot my sister most loved and forgive myself for what happened. To connect with my family in a space of shared sadness and not guilt or remorse.
No matter what happens from here, I’m grateful to Kaleb for that. It’s a gift he can never take back.
“Almost there.” Lucy shoots me a look. “We won’t think less of you if you change your mind.” She’s gripping the wheel in both hands as we pass a sign for the upcoming turnoff. “We’ll be here for you, whatever you need.”
“I know.”
There are six of us stuffed in Lucy’s blue minivan. Hazel’s in back with Camille, who flew in to be here for this. She instantly bonded with the rest of the women, swapping book recs with Zoe and fashion tips with Hazel.
“I’ve seen Grace’s photos,” she said when she hugged me last night. “I’ve always wanted to see that lighthouse in person. To hold your hand when you see it the first time.”
In the minivan’s middle row, Zoe and Cassidy confer over something. “Should the Vulvarines have an official sob squad division,” Cass asks her sister, “or is this a separate entity?”
“Are you filing legal paperwork?” There’s a definite eye-roll in Zoe’s voice. “We haven’t even asked if Brooke wants to be a Vulvarine.”
“What is a Vulvarine?” I’m dimly aware of Lucy hitting her turn signal. If they’d planned to distract me, it’s working. “Why have I never heard of a Vulvarine?”
“We made it up,” Zoe says. “It’s our unofficial women’s support group for stuff like this. You’re a member if you want to be.”
“Sign me up.” Camille stretches over the seat to grab a fresh bag of Pixy Sticks. “I’m all for girl power.”
“May I join?” Hazel asks.
“Of course,” Zoe says, and I smile. “Our mom’s a founding member. Same with Lucy.”
“Card carrying,” she calls from the driver’s seat. “We should totally have cards.”
“I can make some,” Cassidy volunteers. “And I’m happy to head up the new sob squad division of the Vulvarines.”
Their banter eases the ache in my chest. I can almost pretend my heart isn’t squished like a bug. I tried calling Kaleb last night. It rang once and then went right to voicemail. Google confirmed that’s a sign someone’s blocked you, so I guess he did it for real.
I didn’t try texting. Maybe I don’t want to know.
“Give him space,” Max said when I told her. “Isn’t that what you’d advise someone calling in on your podcast?”
“Probably.” I’m for sure an insufferable ass. “How much space?”
“Would it help if we blocked him back?” Max took my phone with a look of deep sympathy. “Here. We’ll do it now, just to tamp down temptation. You can change it back if you need to.”
With a sinking heart, I knew she was right. Maybe Kaleb was, too, with his talk about making a clean break. If he’s hurting too much to be good to himself, how could he be good for me?
“There!” Lucy points as a thick wedge of clouds splits apart. “See it?”
“Oh.” I stare at Kneef’s Lighthouse, at the landmark that called to my sister. Her favorite place in the world.
Its red and white base twirls skyward for miles, or maybe it just looks that way. I stare as we enter the parking lot. We’re the only car here, and the sky’s mostly clear now. “Why isn’t the lighthouse lit up?”
“It’s not in use anymore.” Lucy eases us into a parking space. “They decommissioned it in the eighties.”
“I never knew that.” Maybe Grace told me at some point and I forgot. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here.”
Camille pipes up from the back. “We’ll lose our lighthouse virginity together,” she calls. “You’ve got this, Sparkle Tits.”
Her quip makes me laugh and gives me the courage to get out of the car. Almost. I just need a minute to compose myself.
Lucy surveys our crew in the rearview mirror. “Everyone got their rain jackets?”
“Yes, Mom.” Zoe wriggles hers on, whacking her sister with an arm. “Sorry.”
“Ow.” Rubbing her ribcage, Cassidy pulls on her jacket. “First rule of sob squad—no maiming other members.”
Hazel peers out the window at the giant spire. “My father used to bring me here as a girl.”
“Really?” Camille’s intrigued. I’ve filled her in on the basics of Owen Spencer. “For sightseeing or what?”
“He wanted to buy it.” There’s a faraway lilt in Hazel’s voice. “The state tried to sell it at one point. My father wanted to knock it down and develop the land.”
“You’re kidding.” Zoe’s outraged. “Why?”
Hazel’s left shoulder lifts in a self-conscious half shrug. “He’s a developer. That’s what he does. Did .” She looks out the window again, waiting her turn to get out. “I convinced him not to.”
I step out of the car to zip up my coat. The salt air tastes fresh as it tugs at my hair and the sleeves of my jacket. Slim rays of sunlight slip through the clouds, sparking like gems on wide puddles.
It was Lucy’s idea to come here. Once Maxine mentioned the photo release party, all of these women rallied to form a plan. I felt leery at first, but being here now feels right. Like this is what Grace would have wanted.
I step from the pavement onto wet sod, feeling the spongy earth where my sister last walked.
Maxine and Sam roll in beside us. We’re parked by a grass-covered berm, the tickly green blades bright with dew. There’s a thick thatch of flowers on top, their orangey-red blooms much too cheerful for dreary October.
Camille steps out of the car to join me. “This is good,” she says, slinging an arm around me. “Getting some closure on at least one heartache.” She’s deliberately not mentioning Kaleb.
Zoe’s not quite as tactful. “Taking your mind off him seems smart, too.”
“Agreed.” Cassidy zips up her coat. “When a man’s being stubborn and self-protective, the best thing to do is give him some space.”
Lucy nods her agreement. “Especially my idiot brother.”
I pretend to agree, but the truth?
I think we’re way beyond space. Kaleb’s not coming back and I’m trying my best to be okay with that. As I stare at the orangey-red flowers, I blink back some tears that aren’t just for my sister.
“Castilleja levisecta,” Zoe says, touching a bright green stem at the base of one bloom. “Indian paintbrush.”
“Leave it to a librarian to know,” Cass says with affection. “Do you want to get close to the lighthouse?”
“Not yet.” I need to take in all the details. To absorb things my sister touched and admired.
“Take your time.” Lucy squeezes my shoulder. “Take all the time you need.”
I do. I think about Grace and our childhood. About our little orange wagon and our road trip snacks. How we’d roll our eyes at our idiot brothers, convinced we were better than smelly old boys.
I think about independence, too. How Grace was so proud to fix her own car and take charge of her life. “I’m so fucking happy,” she told me that night on the phone. “Living my best life.”
She was sitting right here in her car when she said it. I’d almost forgotten that detail.
Erika’s truck rolls up beside us. She kills the engine and shoves open her door. “We stopped for treats.”
Hayley pops from the passenger seat, looking slightly less perky than she does in her lingerie store. “One for each of us.” She passes out pressed linen hankies, offering a small smile when she reaches me. “I heard your sister liked orange.”
“Thank you.” I blink back the tears as I study the soft tangerine square. “How did you know?”
She points to Maxine, who’s unloading stuff from Sam’s truck. My assistant came here prepared. Lucy pops open the back of her van and drags out a picnic basket. Zoe and Cass grab a cooler of drinks, while Erika works with Camille to set up a big blue canopy.
“Someone hand me that screwdriver?”
I peer into the toolbox. “Phillips head or standard?”
Erika hammers a stake in the ground. “Phillips. The one with the red handle.”
I hand it over, then brace the closest tent pole. “You guys didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
Cassidy sets down her end of the cooler. “Sure, we did.”
“You’re one of us,” Zoe says, smiling a little. “Sisters.”
My chest feels tight as Lucy steps up beside me. “You brought the picture?”
“Right here.” I pull out my phone, then scroll to the image Grace took. “This is it.”
The women peer over my shoulder. We stare at the pink and orange clouds, at the spiral of white climbing into the sky.
It’s the very last photo Grace captured.
There’s a trio of gulls near the top of the frame, and an icy gray wave fanning up like a flutter of fingers.
My sister’s talent sucks the breath from my lungs. “This was never released,” I tell them. “After she passed, we couldn’t bear to go through with it.”
It doesn’t make sense, but no one asks questions.
“It’s really beautiful.” Lucy squints toward the lighthouse. “I don’t think we’re far from where she took it. Maybe there by that bush that looks like a penis?”
“Where?” Cassidy frowns at the shrub. “That’s a really tall penis.”
Zoe cocks her head. “A little too slender for my taste.”
“No judgment,” Camille says. “Beautiful penises come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Amen,” Hazel agrees.
Hayley jams the last tent stake in the ground. “Were penises part of this plan?”
“No.” I push all thoughts of Kaleb from my mind. “This is a penis-free day.”
“Thank God,” Maxine says. “I don’t have much patience for dick.”
Sam laughs and high-fives her, as Erika mutters something I don’t quite catch. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” she says. “Boyfriend troubles. Today’s about you.”
“But—”
“No.” Erika catches my shoulders and turns me to face the lighthouse. “ You ,” she repeats, and I feel my whole body relax.
Hayley pulls plastic champagne flutes from a bag and starts setting them up on a folding table. “Should we open it now, or wait until after?”
“Now.” Champagne should come first. “Grace would insist.”
Zoe digs in the cooler and pulls out two bottles. “There’s some booze-free cider for anyone not imbibing.”
“I’ll imbibe.” I hand Lucy the cider she asks for, then take a champagne flute from Hayley. “Thank you for this.”
Hayley clinks her flute against mine. “We’ve got you, girl.”
She can’t know how much that means to me. As we trudge to the edge of the lighthouse, my girlfriends fall in beside me. Cassidy takes up the lead, pointing out rocks we could trip on. Zoe’s behind her, reciting a joke that makes everyone laugh. When Hazel catches me tucking my chilled hands in my armpits, she pulls out a pair of cashmere-lined driving gloves.
“They’re extra,” she says, and I smile.
“No shame in luxury.”
“No, I mean I brought two pairs.” She smiles a bit self-consciously. “You can keep them.”
“Thank you.” My eyes sting from kindness and the sharp whip of wind blowing off the gray ocean. I take three more steps and stop at the edge of a flat, heart-shaped rock. “Here.”
Zoe and Cassidy turn. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I point at the rock by my feet. “She’d have wanted to shoot from this spot.”
“It lines up.” Lucy peers at the pic on my phone. “She probably stood on this exact rock.”
Planting my boots in the center, I close my eyes. The breeze stirs my hair as I draw in a breath of sea brine and moss. It reminds me of Kaleb, of our hike to the tire swing. Of walks on the beach and sand sledding in windswept dunes.
Mostly, though, it reminds me of Grace.
My sister’s here with us. I understand now why she loved it here. Why this was her favorite spot in the world.
When I open my eyes, all nine women wait patiently. Should I give a toast?
“Has everyone heard the fable of the naval ship that wouldn’t change course?”
Zoe frowns. “This isn’t a setup for a seaman joke, right?”
A laugh bubbles through me, and it’s just what I need to keep going. “A Navy captain spots another ship approaching through the fog.” I’ve heard dozens of versions of this tale through the years. “He gets on his radio and says, ‘this is the S.S. Bigboat. We’re on a collision course. I recommend you divert ten degrees west.’”
The women all watch me, waiting to hear what I say. I take a sip of my drink because why the hell not? There’s no rule for toasts in a sob squad.
“A few seconds pass and he gets a reply from the other ship.” I pitch my voice low to sound like a sailor. “‘This is private first-class John Smith, and a collision looks imminent. I recommend you divert ten degrees north to avoid a collision.”
“Ugh.” Hayley makes a face. “I dated an officer. This is a pissing match, right?”
Erika grumbles agreement. “Navy guys and their egos.”
They’ve got the gist of the story, but not the full picture. “The captain of the S.S. Bigboat gets pissy at this point, being ordered to turn by a private. He hops on the radio and says, ‘Son, my ship’s a destroyer. I suggest you change course immediately.’”
“Burn.” Lucy sips from her flute.
Hazel’s beside me, rapt with attention. Even Zoe looks locked on the story.
“There’s a crackle of static on the radio and Private John Smith comes back.” I pitch my voice low one more time. “‘You might be a destroyer,’ he says, ‘but we’re a lighthouse. Your call.’”
A ripple of laughter rolls through the group and I smile. I look down at my glass with a sharp pang of sadness. So much of life means absorbing the impact of other people’s choices. My sister’s decision to travel, to change her own tire that night.
Kaleb’s decision to walk out my door.
The only thing I control is my own reaction. I can’t do a thing about anyone else.
“I love that.” Hazel’s soft voice floats on the crash of a wave. “How a shift in perception can put us in someone else’s shoes.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Lucy nods her approval. “I’d heard it before, but never thought about the life lesson. Just a funny story about male egos.”
“I thought that was the moral.” Zoe pulls up her hood, since it’s sprinkling again. “How getting too big for your britches can bite you in the ass.”
“Or a fable about situational awareness,” Erika offers. “How we’re all flying blind until we get curious about our surroundings.”
“It’s all of those things, I think.” I look at these women, these friends. My sisters by chance and not birth. My chest squeezes tight and I have to breathe deep to keep going.
“I think,” I continue, as Lucy puts an arm around me, “it’s also about knowing when to back down. When you need to let go and move on.”
Lucy sniffles. “We’re sure going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” So damn much. “I’ll come back to visit. I promise.”
Maybe not right away. I’m not sure I can bear to see Kaleb again so soon. It might’ve been him who taught me to live without Gracie, but I’m not fully sure how to let go of him . There’s a Kaleb-sized hole in my heart right now, and stitching it up will take time.
Time and a whole lot of distance.
I’ll miss this place, though. A piece of my heart will forever stay lodged in Cherry Blossom Lake.
“To sisters,” I say, lifting my glass. “The ones we’re related to by blood, and the ones we adopt by choice.”
“To sisters.” Hazel looks wistful as she lifts her glass. “And friends.”
“Hear hear.” Zoe clinks her glass to mine. “And to finding your way home.”
I look at the lighthouse, tears blurring my vision. “To finding your way home.”