“I couldn’t figure out when that picture was taken. Now I remember. We rode our bikes to the beach that day.”
“Sure did, and it made your little sister very happy.” His father turned his attention to the paintings, motioning to the one of the little boy sitting on the steps with the transparent figure embracing him. “These are incredible, son.”
“I’m not nearly as talented as you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re more talented than I could ever be. You captured exactly what I was feeling back then. I wanted to protect you from the world, but…” His father’s expression turned regretful. “Well, you know.”
Grant put a hand on his shoulder. “You protected me, Dad, even when I was a little shit.”
“Was?” Wells joked as he and Fitz joined them by the pictures. “I’m just kidding, Grant. These are incredible. You painted them?”
“Yeah.”
“Powerful stuff,” Wells said.
Fitz nodded in agreement. “You’re seriously talented, Grant.”
Grant’s eyes locked with his father’s. “I come by that talent honestly.”
He showed them the studio, and they marveled at more of his paintings, joked about the picture of him and Jules, and looked a bit sorrowfully at the pictures of Grant and his Darkbird buddies.
“Are you still in touch with them?” his father asked. “You were doing some consulting, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. Titus calls every now and then.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you have that connection.” The sincerity in his father’s voice was palpable.
The sounds of vehicle doors closing and guys hollering drew their attention. “That must be Jock and the guys,” Grant said, and they headed outside.
Grant was shocked to see several trucks parked at the bottom of the driveway, one towing a Bobcat on a trailer. Roddy and his son Rowan climbed out of Roddy’s truck, and Brant and his brother Jamison stepped out of Brant’s truck. Mr. Steele, Jock, Archer, and Levi were right behind them, along with Tara’s brothers, Robert and Carey Osten.
“Hey, man.” Rowan, a big, shaggy-haired hippie, waved as they grabbed tools out of the back of the truck. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Right back at you, Rowan.” Grant hadn’t seen Rowan, Jamison, or Carey in a few years. None of them lived on the island. He looked at his father and said, “What’re they all doing here?”
His father shrugged. “I mentioned to Roddy that we were helping you clean the place up. I guess he figured they’d help since everyone’s in town for the holiday.”
Levi hollered, “Tara told her brothers what we were doing. I figured all hands on deck, right?”
“Great!” Grant said incredulously, and Jules’s voice whispered through his mind. You’ve lived on the island for more than half your life, and we may not be a brotherhood, but we all care about you.
As the guys carried wood, siding, and tools up the hill, talking and laughing, bumping fists with his brothers, and clapping him on the back, Grant realized he hadn’t left his Darkbird brotherhood behind. They’d always be with him, the same way he’d never left these friends behind. These men he’d grown up with, gotten into trouble with, and had given a hard time to, and the fathers who had raised them, were his original brotherhood.
And here they were, proving that their bonds of friendship could withstand anything.
They worked straight through the afternoon, talking and joking, stopping only for a brief lunch. They devoured most of the food Jules had bought. The guys gave Grant and Jock a hard time about being the only two of their group who were coupled off, and he and Jock told them they were missing out. There were no pitying looks or dancing around the topic of his leg as he caught up with the buddies he hadn’t seen for a while. He shared his plans for the foundation, and when Rowan had asked about Grant’s final mission, Grant didn’t hold back or feel swallowed up by resentment. He told him about the misery and fears he’d faced, the emotional and physical changes he’d gone through, and how Jules had helped him find a path to healing the past and moving forward.
It was like old times, only better. He and his friends were men now, with real issues to contend with and accomplishments to be proud of.
As the others drove away, Grant stood at the top of the driveway, which was now covered in gravel, thanks to his father’s connections with the local quarry owners, waving and looking forward to seeing them all at the flotilla in a few hours. He turned to look at the bungalow, which looked like a whole new place. Not only did they clear the brush and the monstrous plants that had been overtaking the back of the house, but they also fixed the decking, trim, and siding and replaced the screens.
Grant turned at the sound of a vehicle approaching and saw Jules, wide-eyed as she turned into the new driveway. She parked and flew out of the Jeep and into his arms.
“Holy cow! Is this the right place? It looks brand-new.”
It looked new, but just as he was the same guy he’d always been and people saw him differently because of the weathered and beaten-down layers he’d recently shed, this was the same old bungalow, only better.
Grant draped an arm over her shoulder and said, “Silver Island solidarity at its best.”
“How did the earplug work?”
“It was a little hard to get used to, but it helped. I’m definitely using it tonight.” He started walking around the bungalow. “Guess what we found out back?”
“More cats?”
“God, no.” He laughed. “A little sourwood tree.”
She turned her beautiful face up to him, eyes glittering with wonder. “But how?”
He kissed her sweet lips, and as he led her out back, he said, “I don’t know, Pix. Some might say the universe is giving us a sign.”
PRACTICALLY THE WHOLE island turned out to watch the parade of boats light up the night sky for the holiday flotilla. There was standing room only on the docks, sidewalks, and surrounding lawns of Rock Harbor Marina, which was decked out with white lights. Mayor Osten stood at a podium on the dock waving to the boaters from beneath the ISLAND OF LIGHTS HOLIDAY FLOTILLA banner, rippling in the wind, and colorful lights burst from the darkness along the coastline from homes, shops, and restaurants.
Jules loved this time of year, when family and friends bundled up and came together to celebrate island traditions, and they couldn’t have asked for a more perfect evening. Excitement hung in the crisp winter air, mixing with the din of people oohing and aahing as boats decorated to the nines coasted by the marina, and holiday music played over the loudspeakers. They’d been there since before dark, hanging out with their brothers and sisters and their friends, save for Fitz and Archer, who were on the boats with their parents.
Jules stood on a hill with Grant’s sisters and Leni, Jock, Daphne, and Hadley, admiring the passing boats. Grant had gone with Wells and Levi down to the docks about half an hour ago. Jules looked in that direction, but the crowd was too thick for her to see him. She spotted Sutton a good distance away. She was still on the phone with her boss, pacing, with a pinched expression on her face.
“Shoulders, Daddy Dock.” Hadley’s arms shot straight up in the air. She was adorable in her new shark-printed hat and matching mittens her Unca Awcher had given her, holding her special stuffed owl.