Chapter 6
Cal
“You heading over to see your mom today?” Jonah asks as he sits at the helm, like the ocean personally appointed him guardian of the Atlantic Ocean.
I glance at him. “Yeah, this afternoon.”
Jonah grunts in response, which is typical because he’s a man of few words.
The boat rocks beneath me, gentle and familiar.
There’s something soothing about being out at sea, the wind and sun on us.
Now I know why Jonah prefers it to land.
At sixty years old, permanently grumpy, he’s somehow still revered by all of the people in Coconut Beach.
In a way, he’s like my mom, Carly, who keeps to herself. They love their solitude.
We fish in silence for a while. Jonah pretends he doesn’t like my company, but I know he looks forward to our weekly time out on the boat. We catch up on bar stuff and spend most of the time just sitting together, watching our lines. I think he prefers the company of silence.
I cast again and wait. The sun warms my shoulders. It’s not as hot today, and the breeze is perfect. I reach for my water bottle, open it, and take a swig. I stare out at the water that’s calm and endless. Coconut Beach is paradise.
Jonah clears his throat. “You bring her books this week?”
“Every Tuesday,” I say with a nod.
The mobile bookstore is parked by the marina this week. She likes anything romance right now. And anything with a strong heroine who kicks ass. It’s getting harder to pick out books for her. I never know what she’ll like.
Jonah grunts. “You’re a good kid.”
I don’t say anything because compliments from Jonah are rare, but they mean something.
He squints at the horizon. “You just going to stay here forever? Be a bartender and take care of your mom?”
I scoff. “I manage that bar, too. Did you forget that, old man?”
He rubs his beard like he’s deciding whether to argue with me or not. “Didn’t forget. I just think you’re built for more, kid. Once upon a time, you were going places.”
I bristle at his words. “I’m thirty, Jonah. I’m not a kid.”
“You’re still a kid,” he says with a stare that tells me not to argue. “And you spent all those years in school. Not using any of that tending bar.”
That one sticks. I don’t say anything because it’s pointless to try and defend my actions. It is what it is. I made my choices, and I don’t regret them.
I have a life here, and it’s a good one. I fish with Jonah, check in on my mom, and run the bar. And I surf. I stay busy. And lonely. But we won’t talk about that last part. I stay busy enough to beat that part.
After we dock, I swing by the bookstore before heading home. Mia, one of the owners of Salty Pages, waves, a million bangle bracelets clanging together, as I walk up, a big smile on her face.
She’s an attractive woman—blonde hair, big brown eyes, dimples—but not my type. She wears a lot of jewelry, and I do mean a lot. Necklaces, bangles, rings. It must take her a good half hour to get it all put on each day.
“Hey, Mia,” I call as I climb up and peruse some of the books.
“Hey, Cal, how are you doing?” she says as she tucks a few books onto a shelf. Her boho dress swishes as she moves.
“I’m good. Just getting books for my mom.”
I scan the rows of books, quickly getting overwhelmed by the endless titles. There are tons with cartoon covers that seem interesting, but there are so many, they blur together. She’ll be disappointed if I accidentally buy something she already has.
“I heard your aunt had a new release today,” she says with a grin. “We nearly sold out of all the copies.”
I nod. “She did. She already sent my mom a copy. And Donna is coming to visit at the end of the summer.”
My aunt Donna has been writing romance novels for over thirty years.
She lives in Wisteria Cove, Massachusetts, and has a beach bungalow here in Coconut Beach that her family and their friends use.
My cousin Finn and his new wife, Rowan, came to stay here recently, and we had a lot of fun.
I keep their house in order while they’re away.
“It would be awesome if she could swing by and sign the books that we carry of hers,” Mia not-so-subtly suggests.
I skim my gaze over a book that has a dude with eight-pack abs on the front cover. Yeah, not buying her that. I pick up a gold and black book that alludes that it might be about dragons. Now that I could buy for her.
“I’m sure she will,” I say as I blow out a breath. “Mia, I have no idea what to pick for my mom. Is this one good?”
“Well,” she says as she eyes the book in my hand, a patient smile on her face.
“She already has that one. You bought it a few weeks ago.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder making all her bangles clatter loudly.
“I already put back two paperbacks and one hardcover that I think she’d like. She doesn’t already own those.”
I sigh with relief. “Thanks. I never remember what she has or know what she’ll like.”
“It’s no problem. These are good ones, I promise.”
I’m grateful for Mia’s help.
“Thanks, I trust you. You know your books. I just wish she could come pick them out herself,” I say with a wistful smile.
She taps a pen to her lip, brown eyes glittering eagerly, and says, “What if we brought the truck to her sometime?”
The image of the book store rolling up to Mom makes my chest ache. I think she would enjoy that.
I soften. “You would do that?”
“For my top reader of Coconut Beach? Sure I would,” Mia says as she flips the screen for me to tap my card.
“That would be great. Let me talk to her about it first, though,” I tell her. Sometimes she’s not up for going out in the yard, and I don’t want Mia to go to the trouble for nothing.
“Let me know. See you next week, Cal.” She waves, her millions of bracelets clanging their goodbye to me as well.
I make the short walk to my truck and stop by the Oceanside Market on the way home.
I go through the list, get everything for my mom, and load it up.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I pass a car that has “just married” written in shoe polish on the back window.
Cans tied to yarn clatter against the pavement as it drives by.
Naturally, marriage makes me think about Silvie, the mysterious runaway bride from last night.
I can’t help but wonder how she’s doing today.
Each time my mind tried to drift to her throughout the day, I’d busy myself with something else.
I’m still curious about her story. I wonder if I’ll ever know it.
Once at my mom’s, I find her in her usual chair by the window. Same spot she’s claimed for years. She looks up when I come in, eyes bright when she sees me.
“Hey.” She beams at me.
“Hi, Mom.” I return her smile as I set the bags down and lean in for a hug.
She squeezes me tightly and says, “It’s good to see you, honey.”
“I got everything you asked for.”
She pulls back and smiles at me like I hung the moon. “Thank you. You did well, kid.”
“What is up with you and Jonah calling me kid today?” I roll my eyes. “Like I told him, I’m thirty.”
She laughs softly. “You’ll always be my kid.”
I pick the grocery bags back up and take them to the kitchen. Once on the counter, I line them up the way she likes. Everything in Mom’s house is neat, orderly, and well taken care of. If a complete stranger were to come over, they’d never know the mental warfare she goes through.
Mom sits in her chair by the window, sunlight catching in her hair. It’s gone more silver than brown these days, but she still twists it back with the same clip she’s had for as long as I can remember.
“You got the good apples?” She asks, eyes twinkling with love and happiness.
“The good apples,” I say. “The ones that bruise if you look at them wrong.”
She nods, satisfied. “Those are the ones I like.”
I pull the paper bag from the bookstore out last. She straightens the second she sees it.
“Books?” she asks, already smiling.
“Three,” I say. “Two romances and a thriller. Mia says she thinks you’ll like them.”
Her eyes light up. That alone makes the whole trip worth it.
I hand them over, and she holds the bag like it’s something fragile and important. She pulls the first one out, flips it over, and reads the back.
“Oh,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting this one.”
I owe Mia big. She never lets me fail.
“Mia says she can bring the truck here for you to buy from if you want,” I say gently. “What do you think? Could be fun.”
We both know there’s nothing “fun” about her agoraphobia.
Mom looks at me wistfully over the top of the book. “I don’t know. You know I don’t like to leave the yard. It’s just…hard.” She trails off and shudders.
I nod, not pushing her. I’ve learned that if I push her to do something, it’s almost always a no.
But, if I lay something out and let her think about it, sometimes she surprises me and agrees.
I’m hoping this will be one of those times.
We’ve come a long way since the beginning when this all first started.
There were times I’d get a little frustrated with her, but we’ve found how to maneuver through it. That’s what family does for each other.
I finish putting things away and lean against the counter, watching her as she inspects the book selection. She opens the second book, nods her approval, but then pauses when she sees the third.
“A woman who restores old houses,” she reads. “With secrets.”
I smirk. “Probably has a hot contractor dude in that one.”
She hums, pleased, and sets it on top of the stack like it’s been promoted to her next read.
“Did you eat?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
She clicks her tongue. “Sit. I’ll make you something.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I sit at the small table anyway. She moves slowly but steadily, pulling out the soup she made earlier and heating it on the stove. She always cooks like she has all the time in the world. Soup in the middle of summer isn’t my thing, but I love my time with my mom. I’ll eat whatever she makes me.