Chapter 36
Beau’s words play on a loop when I climb into my Uber a few moments later, leaving him in the backyard of his empty house.
I didn’t—couldn’t—look at him as I left.
Because I wanted to scream at him and comfort him and collapse into his chest. And I didn’t trust any of my instincts.
So I said I needed time—time to process everything that’s happened since Dad died.
The dull ache in my heart becomes a sharp stab on each inhale when I arrive at the airport. So I keep my breathing shallow.
I wake to a replay of his words as the wheels touch down in San Diego. The words chant at me like an angry chorus as I pull up at my family home, which doesn’t look like my home at all.
Dad painted the house dove gray when we moved in.
But decades of salt air and sunlight transformed it to moss green, so it was the first upgrade that Ronald and his team completed before the house went on the market.
Now, it stands proud—starched and pressed and dressed in stark white and black trim.
The pathway is clean, revealing crimson brick, lined with a verdant row of infant hedges leading to the newly painted porch.
I’ve been gone three weeks, and the home I knew for thirty years is gone.
It is wiped of all memories and ready to contain someone else’s joys, tears, deceptions, and confessions.
I have two days to remove the boxes stashed in the attic, sign paperwork, and say goodbye forever.
But I can’t obsess over that tonight. I have barely enough strength to fall into my old bed, which is staged with fresh bedding that no longer smells of home. Gone is the lingering scent of coffee and tea tree oil—the essence of Dad.
The next two days are a blur of signatures, walk-throughs, and a mad scramble to load the rest of Dad’s stuff into my car. I don’t have the fortitude to filter through the filth and feelings. I’ll have to do that once I get it home.
I don’t hear from Beau. Not the first day. Not the next. And I don’t want to. Not really. Because I don’t want to feel , well ... anything.
I need time. I’m too raw to make a good decision right now.
But somehow, I’m still heartbroken by every call that’s not from him.
I don’t know whether I’m an idiot for walking away or an idiot for thinking he could love me in the first place.
After all the lies and rejection that have marred my life, my trust meter is broken.
As I’m loading a box into my passenger seat, Lani appears on my right.
She doesn’t say anything before she pulls me into a hug, swaying on the concrete in the unrelenting glare of the sun.
It’s the first time I’ve let myself tear up since I walked away from Beau, since I caught him in my peripheral vision hunched over the railing of his deck with his head bowed.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us,” she says, and I wonder what she means—how much she knows—until she asks, “When does the house close?”
“Two days,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “But I’m heading back to LA tomorrow.”
She clutches my hands. “You always have a home here with us, you know. If you miss your hometown or Hawaiian food.”
“Thanks,” I whisper through the knot in my throat. But do I still have a home here? Did I cut this last tether, too?
“I’m so glad you and Beau have each other again, especially now.” She wipes a strand of hair away from my face. “I always knew you’d find your way back to each other. Two peas, you two.”
Beau is the first thought in the morning and the last image filtering through my haze as I fight for sleep. But still, the mention of him sends shivers along the surface of my skin and sinks a sour bomb in my gut.
“More like oil and water.”
She laughs. “And sometimes bleach and ammonia. But always a pair.”
“I don’t know. I think we may have combusted for the last time.”
She pats my arm. “Not possible.” Her kind eyes crinkle at the corners, and she winks. It’s as if she knows. Maybe not everything. But suspects—something? Because Lani always knows.
“I know that boy can be a bit hard to read. Sometimes too serious and guarded. But he has a soft spot a mile wide for you. You know why he was here so long after the funeral, don’t you?”
I shake my head. I assumed it had to do with helping his parents, or hiding from Bianca, or working on his book. I remember how often I’d rush into the house those early weeks after Dad died, trying to avoid him.
She tilts her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips.
“He postponed his interviews and stayed to make sure you were okay. Even after you ran from him at the hospital and the funeral. Even when you ignored every knock on your door. I told him you needed a bit of time. That you don’t like to face your feelings head-on, but he kept going over.
Every day until he finally had to storm in.
He stayed in town because he couldn’t leave without making sure you were taken care of. ”
When I stumble back inside, I have a hard time catching my breath. Beau made me think Lani was the instigator, that Beau came over on her orders—that our clumsy reconciliation was reluctant on his part.
I grab my phone and click over to messages, pressing play on the familiar recording: “ Ophelia, love, it’s your dear old dad, checking in ... ” I press my ear closer. “ Well, I love you. Call me. No matter how late. ”
Then I replay the message that follows, one I haven’t listened to since the day Dad died.
“ Ophelia, this is Beau. Beau Augustin. I’ve called a few times.
But it occurs to me you don’t have this number and might not answer unknown numbers.
I’m visiting my parents—your dad was here watching the Padres game with us.
And ... Phe. ” There’s silence on the line for a moment.
“ Your dad is being taken to UC San Diego Medical Center. I’m sorry to have to leave this message, but you need to come home. Now. ”
I had run to my car before I’d listened to Beau’s full message. The sky was cerulean and the clouds fluffy and cute—the kind of perfect weather no one had any right to enjoy on the day my dad left this earth.
But because Beau called, and kept calling, I made it in time to hold Dad’s hand as he took his last breath. I made it in time to tell him I loved him back.