Chapter 3 – Rosie
ROSIE
Running into Beck the first night I’m back in Golden Harbor was not part of my plan.
I had hoped it wouldn’t happen until the memorial.
But here he is. Sitting on the beach next to his surfboard near Dottie’s cottage, watching the waves crash in the dark with nothing more than the light from the moon and stars to guide him.
When he stands and turns, the sight of him steals my breath. He’s not the young man I remember. At thirty years old, his shoulders are broader. He’s let his facial hair grow out and his dark brown hair is damp and in waves. And when he says “Hey, Rosie,” my knees nearly buckle.
“What are you doing here?” My words come out accusative without intention. It’s not like I own the beach.
As he shuffles toward me, closing the distance between us, his bare chest and sculpted abs slice into view.
His arms are out of his wetsuit, and it’s bunched around his waist, showing off his defined biceps.
His eyes are darker than I remember, the light from the moon shining in the brown.
“I should ask you the same thing,” he growls back.
I don’t like the insinuation in his tone. Pinching my brows tight, I tilt my chin. “Seriously? That’s a stupid question. I came for Dottie’s memorial,” I snap. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come?”
“Hell, Rosie. I don’t know.” He hunches his shoulders. “This is the first I’ve seen you back in Golden Harbor in seven years.”
Almost seven. But who’s counting?
“Dottie meant everything to me. You know that.” I glare, crossing my arms tight.
“Everything? Ha,” he barks, throwing back his head dramatically. “Yeah? Then where’ve you been all these years?”
I stomp toward him and stop when he’s only a few feet from me. His chiseled pecs only distract me from my irritation momentarily. “I called Dottie every week.”
“Okay. And what about after her stroke? Where were you then?” He’s close enough now I can see his brown eyes widen with challenge.
“I couldn’t come. I had responsibilities. She knew that.”
“Whatever,” he mutters, shrugging his broad shoulders again as he walks back toward his surfboard. “What do I care. But sounds like excuses to me.”
“What do you know about responsibilities?” I bite out with his back facing me.
He does a one-eighty, his expression stricken with indignation, but just as quickly as it came on, it fades just as fast. “Welp, I’d like to say this has been fun.
Let’s do it again in seven years for the next memorial, shall we?
” He plucks his surfboard from the sand and stalks past me toward the pathway.
I watch him for a moment, partially paralyzed because of his behavior and partially working up the courage. “Beck?” I call after him.
He stops but doesn’t turn around, instead he glances over his shoulder to gaze at me.
“Why haven’t you signed the divorce papers yet?” The question comes out past the rising lump in my throat.
But he doesn’t speak. Instead, he smirks, and anger builds inside my chest like an expanding bubble ready to pop. “It costs a fortune each time my lawyer sends them to you,” I argue.
With an arched brow, he says, “Something tells me you can afford it.”
I don’t get sucked into playing this game by disagreeing with him. “That’s not the point.”
He approaches me again with purpose, the sand kicking up behind him, and narrows his eyes. “Fine. Why now?”
Releasing an uneasy sigh, I follow it by muttering, “It’s been almost seven years. If not now, then when?”
His chestnut-brown eyes are dark as they skate over my face. “Nah, try again.”
I pinch my lips together. “What?”
“Tell me the real reason.”
I hesitate at first. I’ve never wanted to hurt Beck. He was my favorite person once. But the truth is, we hurt each other. Neither of us left the relationship unscathed. But the even bigger truth is that we ended before I ever left Golden Harbor.
“I’ve met someone,” I say softly.
He struggles to look at me and it damn near kills me. His head drops to his chest like a bobber in the water. For a moment, I regret saying the words out loud. But then Beck does what he always does when he’s hurt but doesn’t want to feel it. He deflects.
“Well, congratulations. All your dreams have come true. You’re welcome, by the way.” He makes an exaggerated show, like he’s bowing. Whipping around, he takes off down the pathway again, his surfboard clutched underneath his arm.
But I don’t let him off the hook that easily.
I hurry to catch up to him, my heart pounding fast and hard in my chest. Because that’s what Beck does to me.
He gets my emotions racing at a hundred miles an hour.
He makes me angry. He makes me want to fight.
There’s no one who pushes my buttons more than him.
“Are you kidding? You expect me to thank you?”
“I don’t expect you to, but if you wanted to, it wouldn’t hurt,” he mutters.
“Ha!” I blurt out in amusement. “It’s no thanks to you.
You know I worked my ass off in cosmetology school, between the pain and flare days and ER visits.
It took me a year longer than everyone else to finish.
Then I pinched and saved and started my own business.
I moved to an entirely different state and had to start my life over. Alone.”
“Hey!” He spins around and points a finger in my face. “That was your choice, honey. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“How could I? It was the last thing you said to me after I left.” Intense emotion rises inside of me and tears burn in the corners of my eyes.
“Good. Just so we’re clear.” He reaches what I assume is his truck. A shiny, newer Chevrolet. He’s upgraded since his old lifted four-door with meaty tires.
“Crystal.” I glare at his back. “As long as you remember that you’re the one who wouldn’t leave this place. You’re the one who couldn’t sacrifice…I don’t even know what…this”—I gesture in the air—“to come with me.”
He wrestles his surfboard back on its rack. “Don’t talk to me about sacrifices. I had to stay and take care of Milo. You know that.”
The reminder of his little brother softens my heart some. Since I’ve had Charlie, I’ve changed. Maybe all those years ago I would’ve been different had I known what it was like to take care of someone, to have someone rely on you.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
“But you know what?” he says, like we’re still in the middle of having a conversation when I’ve already checked out. “I think what it comes down to is why wasn’t this place enough?” He throws up his arms. “Why wasn’t I enough?”
We stare at one another, and the affliction shining in his eyes makes my heart feel as if it’s about to crack inside my chest. I didn’t expect Beck to be holding all of this in so many years later. Honestly, I expected him to have moved on by now. Or maybe I just hoped.
“It wasn’t about you,” I whisper past the agony swelling in my throat.
He shakes his head and presses his lips together. “No, maybe not. But it should’ve been about us. We were married. Are married,” he corrects, swinging open his truck door.
“Just sign the papers. Please,” I beg. “I don’t have a fight left in me.”
“I’ll think about it.” He slides in behind the steering wheel.
“I’m going to marry him.” My voice is quiet, but I know he hears me before he slams the truck door closed. “Ugh,” I groan, and spin toward the back door of the cottage, not waiting for him to even drive away before I slip inside.
Locking the door behind me, I hurry down the hallway where the walls are filled with photos of memories and tiptoe up the stairs and into the spare bedroom where Charlie is sleeping.
She didn’t rest at all on the flight or the Uber ride to Golden Harbor.
Now, she’s snoring lightly, her small hands rested underneath her cheek on the pillow.
I tug the blanket up to her chin and brush her dark, strawberry-blonde locks from her face before pressing a light kiss to her cheek.
Pulling the door behind me, I leave it open a crack so the hallway light can still shine into her room.
It took her almost a month to finally sleep in her own room after we moved into Weston’s apartment.
It wasn’t until I bought her a night light.
Even though we’re only here for a week, I make a mental note to pick one up when I go to town.
Downstairs, I pour myself a glass of wine and sit on the navy-blue sofa with my phone. My eyes take a trip around the room, absorbing all the things that are new and all the things that are the same.
Grandma Dottie was a good cook. The three years I lived here with her during high school, I never missed a meal. Some nights she let me pick what we would have. And sometimes she’d let me help in the kitchen. It’s thanks to her I even know how to cook at all.
My own mother never taught me. Her career had been more important than her family. Same thing with my father. It’s the reason I came to live with Dottie. I wasn’t a bad kid; the reality was my parents just didn’t have the time or patience to parent me. Especially since I was sick a lot.
My parents went to work overseas for the entire summer before I started high school and instead of forcing me to go with them, they let me come to Dottie’s. After a week here, I never wanted to go home. And I didn’t.
I take a sip of wine and tuck my legs underneath me.
A memory of Beck assaults my brain. Him and I making out on this very sofa.
It’s as if I can still feel his strong arm wrapped around my waist, his soft lips pressed against mine, and his hot breath near my ear as he whispered promises about our future.
Empty promises.
I shake my head and send a reply to West’s earlier text.
Here safe and sound
All settled for the night at Dottie’s
West
Good. I’m glad. It’s late. I’ll check in with you tomorrow
Love you. Give Charlotte a kiss for me
I will. Love you too
I text Stella next.
Thanks again for everything. Especially the wine!
Stella
I thought you might need it
You have no idea
Stella
You okay?
Beck was here
Stella
Wait. What? At Dottie’s?
He was at the beach
Stella
How’d that go?
Exactly how you’d imagine
0 out of 10
Do not recommend
Stella
I’m sorry
Tonight was nothing compared to how the memorial is gonna go
Maybe I shouldn’t have brought Charlie with me
Stella
You gotta rip the Band-Aid off at some point, sweetie
Yeah I know
Stella arranges for Charlie to come to her place and stay with her two-year-old son, Max, and his grandma so I can go out with her and her husband, Jack. In her words: “the quiet before the storm will do you some good.”
I don’t argue. A night out with two of my oldest friends is exactly what I need. Jack ran around in our same friend group until he and Stella finally admitted their feelings for one another after graduation and got married a few years after.
Stella is fun, optimistic, and soft when it comes to this world. Everyone needs a friend like her. I only wish she and I didn’t live so far apart.
Charlie and I have a rideshare driver drop us off at Stella’s, who assures me Jack won’t be drinking more than a beer or two and will take both Charlie and me back to Dottie’s tonight.
Their yard is small, but the landscaping is immaculate with topiaries in large gray planters on both sides of the front door.
Charlie lets me hold her hand as we walk up the steps and onto Stella’s porch. But after I knock and Jack opens the door, she lets go. She puts on a brave smile even as she twirls the string from her hoodie around her finger.
“Hey, Rosie.” Jack joins me on the porch and wraps me up in a hug. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has. Too long.” In Jack’s embrace, warmth washes over me. It’s another reminder that Golden Harbor wasn’t just Dottie’s home. It was mine too.
“Sorry I missed you last night when you came by. I got caught up at the office.” He steps aside, waving an arm for me and Charlie to enter their house.
“No apology needed. I’m way too familiar with that.”
“I heard your boyfriend is quite the big shot in Seattle, huh?” There’s teasing in his tone.
I waggle my fingers in front of his face to show off my engagement ring. “Fiancé.”
“Wow.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is this news?”
I breathe out a laugh. “For you, yes. But don’t worry. The secret is already out.”
“Yeah? For Stella, or Beck too?” He purses his lips and shifts his footing from side to side uncomfortably.
“This is Charlotte.” I clutch Charlie’s shoulders, using her as a scapegoat to block his question.
Jack smiles and bends. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”
She extends her small hand to shake Jack’s like she’s a grownup and it throws him for a second. West and his manners have been rubbing off on Charlie.
Max zooms down the hallway toward us and runs right into Jack’s arms. He’s a perfect combination of both parents. Jack’s black hair and Stella’s big smile. I try not to think about which of Charlie’s features resemble Beck. The truth is, there’re too many to count.
“Hey, Rosie,” Stella calls, rushing down the hall after Max. “Jack’s mom is already here, ready to go?”
“More than ready.”