His life, like others around him, changed in an instant. It was one phone call about his brother and a childhood friend. Austin Woods was one of Graham’s closest friends. He grew up with the twins, along with Bowie Holmes and Jason Randolph; the five of them seemed inseparable. Austin was destined to be a fisherman. It was in his blood. Grady loved being on the open sea as well, and it only made sense for them to open a business together after they graduated from high school. From what Grady had told Graham, the Chamberwoods Fishing Company did well. They were thriving, at least until one fateful night when Austin took their boat out in the middle of a storm. It rained a lot along the coast of Washington, especially in the northern portion, but there had been a record rainfall that year, and the waterline had risen to new levels. Most everyone was smart enough to keep their boats docked during a storm—even Austin knew the risks. Still, he went out and took Grady with him.
Graham would never forget the way his father screamed into the receiver with his mother crying in the background—not only for her son, but for Austin as well. It was heart wrenching, and it made him nauseous. He never knew what true fear felt like until he was on the road, driving north. Swallowing had become difficult, his breathing labored. Graham’s hands ached from the death grip he had on the steering wheel, and his back screamed out in pain from the cramped quarters of his small car. Any other day, he would’ve been happy to have Rennie by his side, but not because of these circumstances.
The trip from Palo Alto back home took eighteen hours between traffic and stops to fill up, eat, and use the bathroom. They took turns driving, worrying about their friends, and sitting in silence because they ran out of things to talk about. The history between the two of them was palpable. They had an unmistakable attraction to each other and gravitated toward one another when they’d end up someplace together, which had also caused problems in Graham’s relationship with his girlfriend at the time, even though he had never been unfaithful. When neither he nor Rennie had a significant other, they were often together but never could quite break out of the friends-with-benefits zone.
When they arrived in Cape Harbor, they went to work. He down to the docks to aid the search party for Austin, and she to Brooklyn to comfort her best friend. Graham couldn’t quite remember when Rennie had gone back to California; he could only recall how much he missed her. He would make one more trip to Palo Alto, but only to quit his job on the spot and move his stuff out of the house he shared. The drive back had taken him half a week. He was going back to his hometown to help his twin and put his life on hold. He wouldn’t hear from Rennie again until the day she walked into his bar just a few months ago. Since then, whenever he had too much time on his hands, he thought about her. Everyone around him was happy for Bowie and Brooklyn, who had found their way back to each other after fifteen years. Their relationship was anything but a fairy-tale romance. For most of his life, Bowie had been in love with Brooklyn, who had been in love with Austin and Bowie. Years later, Carly Woods, Austin’s mother, enticed Brooklyn to return to Cape Harbor to renovate the inn she owned. Brooklyn returned with her fourteen-year-old daughter in tow, throwing everyone around them for a loop. Everyone, including Brooklyn, had believed Austin to be Brystol’s father, but Carly had known otherwise and had kept the child’s paternity a secret, until she made a deathbed confession. Not that it mattered. Bowie had a second chance with Brooklyn, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.
Graham wondered when his own moment of happiness would come. Sure, he could pursue any of the women in town, but none of them intrigued him as much as Renee Wallace. From the day he met her, many years ago, she’d always understood him. Unfortunately, time and distance forced them apart. For a moment, when Rennie returned, he thought they could reconnect. They did, but only as friends. She was happy, in a committed relationship, living in the city and doing what she loved, and he was a bartender with nothing on the horizon. He had nothing to offer her and was certain she knew this.
Still, when Rennie sent a text to their “CH Bitches” group chat, his hope spiked. She was on her way to the inn, coming for Thanksgiving. Graham looked at his phone and typed, Is Theo joining you? His finger hovered over the arrow that would send the question. Should he send it? He thought on it until the door to the Whale Spout opened, and a family walked in. He quickly erased his words, pocketed his phone, and sighed. The holidays meant more time at his parents’, a place he’d rather not be. His mother would fuss over Grady, and his father would pretend his sons had perfect lives. The Chamberlains had mastered the art of brushing problems under the rug, and because it was the holidays, Graham was expected to play his part as the dutiful son and brother.
Graham tended to his customers, picking up on bits and pieces of their conversations. They were traveling north and took a wrong turn, ending up in Cape Harbor. They asked him if he knew of a place to stay. He told them about the Driftwood Inn and volunteered to send a message to the owners to let them know a family would be up after dinner. He retrieved his phone and looked at the group chat again. Someday, he would tell Rennie how he felt. But until then, he’d keep his feelings hidden.
THREE
With Thanksgiving being the next day, the last place Renee wanted to be was in a partners’ meeting, listening to some kiss-ass financial guy tell the staff of lawyers how to do their jobs. The bottom line: there wasn’t a single attorney who went into a case trying to lose, yet the man standing at the front of the conference room, with his pin-striped double-breasted suit neatly pressed and his jacket buttoned, had the gall to inform her and her colleagues how much the firm would earn if they were to come away with victories. She was being harsh but with good reason; she was ready for a minivacation, and she counted down the minutes until the office officially closed for the holiday. Not to mention, she handled divorce, not civil or criminal cases. Her fee was set by the firm and paid for by clients. As much as she wanted to leave at noon, she would wait until the lunch rush in the city died down before driving north to Cape Harbor. Now that Brooklyn and her daughter, Brystol, were so close by, Rennie wanted to spend as much time with them as she could.
Finally, the money guy closed his binder, and Renee did the same, only for the CEO, Lex Davey, to stand, button his suit jacket, and walk to the front of the room. He presented a rundown of cases he would like to see closed by the end of the year, and she had three of them. She thought about each one, mentally questioning if it were possible, and concluded that two could settle out of court, but the third was contentious. She represented an author who separated from her husband over a year ago, and he refused to sign the divorce decree until he was guaranteed a portion of his wife’s royalties, citing he was part of the creative process and had provided content for every book written while dating and throughout the marriage. He was even laying claim to novels written during the separation. Renee tried to get the couple to come to a peaceful resolution, but the husband refused and had since hired his own attorney. Still, she had hoped the four of them could come to an agreement, and when talks broke down, she knew court seemed increasingly likely. A hearing date had yet to be set, but Renee was ready. As far as she was concerned, it was her client who had created the content, put in countless hours of typing, stressed over queries with agents and subsequently acquisition editors, marketed herself on social media and in the public, and worried about sales, all while raising their family and maintaining her health. What had the client’s husband done? Told a few coworkers to read his wife’s book? To Renee, that did not constitute enough to take a percentage of earnings, past or future.