Chapter 5 #3
She believed him. That was the thing about Tom—he meant it, every time. He would have walked the dog and done the dishes and shown up, again and again, because that was who he was.
They turned onto Landis Avenue, past shops still crowded with browsers, the restaurants starting to fill.
Tom talked about handing over the company, the transition plan, the timeline he was imagining.
Retiring didn't mean doing nothing, he said.
He had plans. Maybe consulting work, part-time, just enough to stay sharp.
Maybe finally learning to surf—a joke, sort of, but also not.
Meredith listened. Asked questions in the right places. Tried to imagine the life he was describing.
"We could travel," Tom said. "Actually travel. Not just long weekends, but real trips. Europe, maybe. That river cruise your mom always talked about."
"My mom wanted to do a river cruise because it meant she didn't have to walk anywhere."
"So we skip the cruise and actually see things. Paris, Rome, Barcelona. Wherever you want."
It sounded nice—everything she'd always said she wanted. And yet.
"I need some time to adjust," Meredith said. "It's not a no. It's—a lot is changing."
"Sophie leaving." Tom nodded. "I know."
The Crabby Catch came into view, its blue awning glowing in the evening light. Through the windows, Meredith could see the dinner crowd starting to fill in—couples at the bar, families at the tables near the front.
Sophie was behind the host podium when they walked in. She looked up from the iPad, saw them, and immediately said, "No."
"We just wanted to say hi," Tom said, all innocence.
"You came to embarrass me. Mom, tell him you came to embarrass me."
"We came to see where you work." Meredith looked around, taking in the nautical décor, the polished wood floors, the bar in the back. "It's nice."
"It's a restaurant. It's exactly what you expected." Sophie's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to sit? Because if you're going to sit, I have to treat you like customers, and that's weird."
"We'll eat at the bar," Meredith said. "We won't even look at you."
"You're looking at me right now."
"After this moment. No more looking."
Sophie rolled her eyes in the theatrical way only a seventeen-year-old could. But there was a grin hiding underneath it, Meredith could tell.
They took seats at the bar, and a woman with short brown hair and reading glasses perched on her head came over with menus. Diane, the manager Sophie had mentioned. She introduced herself briskly, seemed to know exactly who they were, and brought them waters and a bread basket without being asked.
"Your daughter's a natural," Diane said. "First week and she's already handling the rush better than kids who've been here since May."
"She's always been organized," Tom said. "Gets it from her mother."
Meredith caught Sophie glancing over from the host podium, checking to make sure they weren't causing a scene. An older couple walked in—pink-shouldered, in no rush—and Sophie greeted them, grabbed menus, led them to a corner booth with an ocean view.
Ethan came out of the kitchen, carrying a plastic bin of dishes.
He looked different than he had at the house—more focused, more present, the perpetual scowl replaced with concentration.
He moved between tables efficiently, clearing plates, wiping surfaces, stacking things like someone who'd already learned the routine.
"Ethan's working here too?" Tom asked.
"He just started. Same time as Sophie."
"Good for him." Tom watched Ethan work for a moment. "He seems like he's got a lot going on."
"His dad's getting remarried. To someone not much older than Sophie."
Tom whistled low. "That'll do it."
A server came through from the patio—college-aged, relaxed, tan in a way that suggested he'd grown up spending summers here.
He stopped at the host podium, leaning against it to say something to Sophie.
She laughed—really laughed, not the polite version Meredith knew so well—and then she reached up and touched his arm.
Brief, almost nothing. Her fingertips against his forearm, a gesture so small it might have meant nothing.
Except Meredith saw Sophie's whole posture change. How she angled toward him, her smile softer than it had been a moment ago. The server—Jake, she'd heard Diane call him—looked at Sophie like she'd said something brilliant instead of whatever small joke had passed between them.
Sophie's phone buzzed on the podium. She glanced at it, and Meredith watched her daughter's face shift—the softness disappearing, replaced by an expression more careful. More composed. She typed a quick reply without picking it up.
Trevor. It had to be Trevor.
And the way Sophie had glanced at her phone was nothing like how she'd looked at Jake.
Meredith's stomach dropped.
"Don't," Tom said quietly.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're thinking. Don't."
"I wasn't thinking anything."
"You were thinking about getting involved. About warning her, or guiding her, or whatever it is you do when you think one of your people is about to make a mistake." Tom set down his glass. "She's seventeen. Let her make her own choices."
"Even if they're bad ones?"
"Especially then." He met her eyes. "She'll figure it out."
Meredith looked at her daughter across the restaurant. Sophie was helping another family now, menus in hand, smile professional but genuine. She handled the job like she handled everything—competently, carefully, with just enough personality to make people like her.
She was going to be fine. College in the fall, a whole future ahead of her, a life that would take her further and further from the girl who'd built sandcastles on this beach and cried over jellyfish stings.
But Trevor was at home, waiting. Texting. Planning for a future Sophie might already be drifting away from.
"I'm not ready," Meredith said. She meant Sophie leaving. She meant all of it.
Tom reached over and took her hand. "Nobody is. That's not the point."
They finished dinner and left cash on the bar. Sophie waved to them on the way out—a real wave, not the dismissive flick she'd given when they arrived. Ethan nodded from across the room, barely looking up from his work.
At the door, Meredith glanced back one more time. Jake had returned to the patio, but Sophie was watching him go—a second, maybe two, long enough for Meredith to catch it before her daughter refocused on the podium and her phone and the text she still hadn't answered.