Grady inhaled harshly, almost as if he fought back tears or even rage. “I miss him, too, but he’s long gone, Graham. He’s buried out at sea with Austin.”
Those words haunted Graham. Ever since Grady spoke them, Graham had been at a loss for how to get through to him. To get him the help he needed even though he didn’t want it. Some nights were worse than others. Graham had a lot of anger and resentment toward Grady and even Austin. If they had made better decisions, his life would be different. It would be where he wanted it to be. When nights like this existed, nothing worked. Graham would simply avoid crawling into bed and would opt for the sofa or the chaise on his patio, although he found he never really slept when he was out there. He loved the ocean, but it haunted him as well.
The foghorn sounded again, and Graham groaned. He had hoped the weather would clear for Thanksgiving, that maybe the rain would stop, and the sun would come out . . . anything Mother Nature could do to help improve the day he dreaded already. He glanced toward his sliding glass door. Long black curtains hung, blocking any light from seeping into his room. Beyond those doors was a deck facing the water, with two chairs and a small table. It was where he went to think and relax. Where he often sat in the early hours of the morning, watching the ships leave port, and where, when he had a rare night off from the bar, he’d watch the sunset.
Living on a houseboat had its challenges but also had many perks. Friends came to visit but rarely stayed. His place was small, tiny by most people’s accounts, yet perfect for him. Space was an issue, and he barely fit himself. If his shoes had a bit too much lift, he’d brush his head on the low-lying ceiling. He had to duck under doorways and slouched when he had to do the dishes. The bathroom wasn’t big enough to do much in either. Graham had to replace the showerhead with one that came with a detachable hand shower, and when it was time to shave, his arm brushed against the wall. His bedroom wasn’t anything to write home about, either, with his bed taking up most of the space. His bedroom was by far the biggest space, occupying the full length of the house. When he bought the houseboat, there had been two bedrooms. He and Bowie removed the wall between them to give Graham more space. He had a small closet, a little storage, and still washed his clothes at his parents’. Still, he wouldn’t give up the houseboat for anything. He loved living on the water and felt at peace there. The quiet, serene moments were worth the hassle of missing modern-day amenities.
Graham threw his covers back and sat up slowly. His head already throbbed, and he would bet money the pain was only going to get worse as the day went on. He rotated until his bare feet touched the hardwood floor, and his toes wiggled, which made him laugh. Before him, the black-covered sliding glass door called to him. As much as he wanted to confirm the doom and gloom, the foghorn warned him that coffee and aspirin were more important. Still, he stood and made his way the few steps from his bed to the door and pushed the curtains aside, sighing. He longed for summer, when the sun lingered high in the sky and cast an orange-yellow-red-and-pink glow over everything. When he could look out from his room and have to squint, and he could feel the heat penetrating through the glass. He had months until those days would return, and until then, he would have to cope with the winter blues.
Graham placed his bare feet onto the planks of his narrow stairway. Brooklyn called it a floating staircase, held together by suspension cables to give off the illusion of a bigger houseboat. The perfect concept for tight, confined spaces.
He made his way to the kitchen, flipped a switch to turn on his water pump, and waited. Outside, the single mom who lived across the dock from him appeared. Shari and her two boys, Bryce and Brayden, moved to Cape Harbor a few years ago from somewhere on the East Coast. Other than saying hi when Graham saw his neighbor, he didn’t know much about her. For the most part, they kept to themselves. The day Shari and her boys moved in, the youngest boy decided to see if he knew how to swim. He jumped off the dock before anyone had any inkling he was even thinking of doing so. Graham reacted instantly and dove in after him. Now, every time he was outside, Brayden teetered on the edge to get a reaction out of Graham. One of these days, he was going to pretend to push him in to tease him.
Shari glanced toward Graham’s houseboat and waved. He returned the gesture and pulled up on the handle to turn on the water. It spurted a few times before gushing a slow but full stream out of the faucet. He filled the reservoir of his single-serve coffee dispenser. Another gift for his birthday; however, this one was from Brystol. She had asked him to take her shopping so she could buy something for her parents, and when she saw him fiddling with the coffee maker, Brystol told her dad she wanted to give it to Graham. In the time since Brooklyn returned to town with her teenage daughter, Graham had adopted the role of doting uncle and appreciated the gift. The only downfall—he had to fill the canister each time he needed a refill. Still, it was better than using instant coffee or the old percolator pot his father kept stored in the garage with all their camping gear.
With his reusable pod filled with coffee grounds and the button pressed to start brewing, Graham went back upstairs to grab his phone. Notifications of emails, sports reports, and text messages from his mother filled his screen. He cleared them away and put on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt before heading back downstairs. The one hard lesson Graham learned early on about living on a houseboat was to always use the handrails. Often, a gust of wind would blow against the house, or a powerful wave would crash into the bay, rocking his house back and forth. One knock to the head was one too many for his liking.
Downstairs, his coffee maker spurted out the last drops of freshly brewed coffee, which he carried out onto his deck. It was cold—the wind blew slightly—but it was the quietness that grabbed his attention. The ocean was calm, barely any movement, and the seagulls that usually hung around the pier didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. Graham reached into the small aluminum garbage can he kept on the deck and scooped a handful of salmon pellets into his hand. He let them go slowly, watching each bunch hit the water. The plunk, plunk, plunk echoed, yet no fish rose to the top. He finally opened his hand and released the rest, expecting to see hungry fish clamoring to swallow every piece, but nothing. Migration had happened. The salmon had gone back to the rivers for the winter.
He drank his coffee as he looked out over the horizon. He shivered from the cold and opened his phone to look at the weather app. It was going to be in the midforties and had dropped to the low thirties overnight. It seemed colder, for some reason, and Graham deduced it was because his subconscious was looking for an excuse to stay home.
After another cup of coffee, he finally texted his mother back, confirmed he would be there for dinner and that no, he wasn’t bringing a date. There wasn’t anyone in town who caught his eye, and the person he would like to be with was in a committed relationship. He still struggled with his feelings toward Rennie. There were times when he wished he had pursued her back when they were in California and times when he was glad he hadn’t. Graham had a lot of baggage in the form of his brother and wouldn’t wish the burden of caring for an alcoholic on anyone. As much as he wanted to put off the holidays, they were upon him.
Graham finished his coffee, washed his mug, and changed the light bulb in the bathroom. He showered quickly, dressed nicely in a cobalt-blue button-down and a pair of relaxed-fit jeans—a far cry from the look he had when tending the bar—and made his way over to his parents’, which took him about ten minutes. When he walked in, the smell of roasting turkey made his stomach growl.