“I don’t suppose I can ask you to work for me? To take an internship?”
Merrick chuckled. His dad had groomed him to be a businessman since Merrick was old enough to spell economics. “I’ve never had my life figured out, Dad.” He’d said it. Why had he been so afraid to admit this before?
“I knew what I wanted, even at your age.”
Merrick winced. Here comes the insult.
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t,” Hiroshi added. “I wonder if things would have turned out differently with your mom away from all the pressure that comes with my position.”
Once again, these were words Merrick never thought he’d hear his father say.
Hiro donned his glasses. Loosened his tie. “You’ll figure things out, Son. Give yourself some time.” He opened another drawer, pulled out a set of keys. “I’d like you to start by driving up here to have lunch with me once a week.” He set the keys on the desk. “You are responsible to pay your own insurance and fill your own gas. The car is a loan. Maybe you’ll want to visit some college campuses. While public transportation isn’t a bad thing, builds character, this will give you a little more freedom to explore your options. Use it wisely.”
Merrick relaxed his taut fists. “I will.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish up.” Hiro smiled, a look that was foreign but also familiar. It brought back memories of the day at the lighthouse all those years ago.
And Merrick found himself smiling in return.
As he grabbed his new keys and headed toward the office door, ten pounds lifted from his shoulders. He stopped at the threshold. “Dad?”
“Son?”
“I have a project I’m working on. Someone I need to track down. I’m wondering if you could help me.”
“Do you have a name? An address? An email?”
“Not exactly.”
Hiro glanced once at the stack of files on his desk before he shoved it aside and waved Merrick back inside. “Have a seat. Tell me who you’re looking for and I’ll see what I can do.”
Merrick closed the door and pulled up a chair. He scanned his memories, flipping them on their heads. His dad wasn’t perfect, but the man was here. He cared.
As Merrick explained in detail about Brooke and her story and her older sister and the nameless man who had broken the young woman’s heart, his spirits lifted. His father nodded and listened, jotting down notes on a legal pad, then firing up the desktop computer and opening his vast database of contacts.
All this time, Merrick had seen himself as the hero his sister needed. As the son who could bring his mother home. As the one person who could get through to Brooke and fulfill every promise he’d made.
It was only now he wondered if the hero had been his father all along.
Forty-Six
Brooke
I choose a seat at the same booth inside the tea shop where Merrick took me for our first date. To return more than a year later is cathartic. A therapy of its own. Something Jake said in a phone call recently stirs my thoughts.
“Visiting physical places that house both positive memories and negative ones can be part of the healing process, Brooke. Seeing the negative from a new and distanced perspective is freeing. Realizing the things that once hurt you no longer hold that power? There’s nothing sweeter.”
I glance around, taking in the same smells and sounds that surrounded us that day. We’d talked and laughed. Then we argued. I ran off. Afraid. Pushing him away when all I wanted to do was fold into his arms.
I miss him. I miss him so much my soul aches.
Still, I know I’m not quite ready to go back there yet. Back to him. This is one step in a thousand I have to take moving forward. Save the best for last, right?
The waitress takes my order—scones with cream and marmalade and a pot of Miracle Mermaid Tea. My heart sinks an inch. Part of me hoped to see Elizabeth again.
I guess not everything can remain the same.
When the waitress who is not Elizabeth retrieves my menu and heads to the kitchen, I remove my laptop from my bag and set it on the table. While my weekdays are filled with classes and assignments and navigating the massive and overwhelming campus that is UC Berkeley, the weekends are mine.
Until finals, anyway.
A glance at my phone shows it’s just before one in the afternoon. I don’t need to meet Mee-Maw at the assisted living facility for dinner until four, which gives me a few good hours to punch out some words. While I prefer handwritten prose—so personal and romantic and artistic—using the computer has helped speed up the writing process by a million and one percent.
With renewed determination, I lift the laptop screen, log in, and pull up the saved doc.
One Year Ago—September
Coral stared, unblinking, at her untouched bowl of butternut soup.
She stirred and stirred until nothing but cold orange mush remained. Why had her grandmother made this? The onset of a new season had barely begun and already autumn foliage decked the cottage. Every meal they ate looked like pumpkin guts.
“Here.” Her grandmother offered the basket of fresh rolls. Hawaiian sweet. Coral’s favorite.
“No, thanks.”
“How are you liking your senior classes?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“And your counseling sessions with Miss Brandes? How are those going after the break?”
Coral pushed away from the table and took her bowl to the sink. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“Don’t worry about the dishes, dear. I’ll get them.”
She didn’t argue. Her grandmother lacked the energy to wash, but so did Coral. She slept eight to twelve hours easy every night. How was she still this tired? “I guess this is good night then.”
“Sit down, please.” Her grandmother gestured toward the sofa. “This will take a minute. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
Coral’s bed called to her. The state of sleep held her nightmares, but it was also the only time any sense of freedom surfaced. “I’m tired, Mee-Maw.”
“I understand. I’ll be quick.”
Conceding but groaning, she dragged her feet to the small living room and sank between the cushions, hugging a throw pillow to her chest.
“I’m getting old.” Her grandmother took the love seat across from her. “The cold weather is bad on my joints.” She massaged her weathered hands. The visible blue and purple veins looked like tiny tentacles, spreading and reaching beneath her skin.
Coral stared past her grandmother to the open window beyond. A warm breeze fluttered the curtains. “It’s seventy-two degrees outside.”
“Yes, now it is. But winter will be here before we know it. Without you here, I won’t be able to walk up and down the steep stairs. The cottage is no place for me anymore.”
What was she getting at? Was she sending Coral home? There was a time she’d wanted that. But now? Now that would be worse than anything. She couldn’t go back there. She wouldn’t.
It wasn’t home anymore.
“I’ll move into an assisted living facility at the first of the year. Miss Brandes has offered to drive you to Fathoms Ranch herself.” The old woman slid a brochure across the coffee table between them.