None of us are.
Don’t believe everything the tabloids say about celebrities. Eighty-nine percent of the time, they’re spewing false allegations.
If this was a segment of VH1’s, Where Are They Now?, I would give you a tour of Luna Harbor. This is a quaint town near the base of the Olympic Mountains. We’re a scenic, two-hour drive west from Seattle.
Why are we here?
We’re pretending to live a simple life.
At least, that’s what I am doing. Manelik, the drummer of the band, is here helping his family. His grandfather is sick and along with his siblings, he’s taking care of the businesses they own in this town. Beacon is still recovering from the accident that almost killed him. Plus, he’s helping Mane’s family too. Sanford, the bassist, is living his best life working in the town’s tattoo parlor.
The only one of the five amigos who isn’t in Luna Harbor is Byron Langdon, our manager and financial planner. He visits often but never stays for more than a week at a time—small towns give him indigestion.
Last February, we opened a combination coffee shop and bar called Too Far From a Bar. I’m a barista during the day and a bartender at night. Some weekends we play music—did I mention the place is a music venue too?
I can’t say I’m living my ‘best’ life, but I do enjoy myself.
Those days when I’m bored, I play pranks on my friends.
Today is a good day to change the main water hoses in the house. The hot water is now cold, and well…this is a great day to head to Seattle while they deal with the plumbing issues. I grin as I shove the wrench inside my toolbox, and I hide it under the laundry room sink, behind the cleaning supplies.
They’re never going to find them there.
I text Efren, Manelik’s older brother. He’s good with tools and fixes everything—mostly engines. If there’s anyone who can save them, it’s him. I’m hoping that he’ll stay away for a few hours.
Fisher: I fidgeted with the main house’s plumbing. Please ignore them if they ask for help.
Efren: I don’t know what you did, but I wish you’d waited for me. It’s fun when they beg. I’m in New York, if that helps.
Fisher: Even better. No one will be here to save them.
Efren: And people swear Luna Harbor is boring. You make things…interesting.
Fisher: I try. What are you doing in New York?
Efren: Henry and Sofia Aldridge are helping me with the renovations of the Inn. I should be home next week with the blueprints and a new plan.
Fisher: Joy, I can’t wait.
Efren: No need to be sarcastic.
Fisher: Let’s chat later. I’m driving to Seattle.
Efren: You’re leaving them with their plumbing issue?
Fisher: Of course. That’s what’s going to make this prank epic.
I stop by the coffee shop before leaving town and run into Dr. Westbrook.
“Just the man I was looking for,” he says.
“Me?”
He nods. “I decided to sell my part of the practice. I contacted Allen’s granddaughter.”
“Allen?”
“Allen Brennan was my business partner. He died a couple of years ago, leaving half of the practice to Nathalie.”
“Do you need help selling the practice?”
“You might want to take that up with her. She’s moving to Luna Harbor while she decides what to do.”
“Is she a doctor?
He chuckles. “Of course. She’s a Columbia graduate. Her mother mentioned something about a cardiac fellowship. I didn’t pay much attention when we spoke over the phone. Like the others in her family, she has healing hands.”
I wish we had this conversation with the rest of the Cantú family and my friends. We’re trying to revive this town, but it feels like we’re in a remake of The Money Pit. While we fix one thing, the next begins to crumble. This place can’t function without a doctor.
“How long will she stay in town?”
“She might decide to stay. If not…Who knows? A year…I told her to take her time. She’s going to live in the apartment above the practice.”
I point at the ceiling. “That apartment—”
“I know, it doesn't have any furniture,” he interrupts me with that assuring voice that I’m sure works on his patients when he has bad news.
His tone doesn’t help me. That place has two bedrooms, a living room, and no kitchen or bathroom. We set it up just in case any of us decided to stay overnight with company, if you get my drift.
“I told her the landlord is great at taking care of things. You’ll be able to furnish it before she’s here, won't you?” he says with a chummy smile.
The old people in this town think we’re here to serve them. I blame Diego Cantú. When he visited during the holidays, he said, “If you need anything, ask my grandchildren or their friends. They’ll make everything happen.”
I swear it’s like Mr. Cantú left us to babysit the town.
“Well—”
“She’ll be here this week. I know you’re good at getting things done within days.”
“If you could give us her number…” So we can tell her that she needs to find another place to live.
“I’ll send it to you with some instructions.” He pats my shoulder. “You’re a good kid. I knew I could count on you. I already told her that if she needs anything to come to you.”
“We’ll look into it, don’t worry,” I say, making a mental note to call Lang about the issue. Is it even an issue?
“Good.” He turns around and walks away.
Should I stop him and ask for more details? Nah, it’ll be just fine.
Chapter Three
Nathalie
I’m doing it.
Was I drunk when I made this decision? I wouldn’t call it drunk. More like…okay, I was super drunk. However, the next day I did exactly what I promised myself I’d do—which I only remember because I left myself a very slurry recording with precise instructions.
First, I quit my job.
Then, I sublease my apartment with furniture included. That’s the beauty of living in a city where housing is in high demand. People will pay a lot to sublease a two-bedroom apartment—even more when they don’t have to buy or move furniture. Packing my belongings doesn’t take long.
Since I have to be thrifty with my savings, I rent a U-Haul instead of hiring a moving company and flying to Washington State. It takes me a week to drive from New York to Seattle. A normal person would’ve spent only four days on the road: but nope, not me.
Admission time…As a New Yorker, I don’t have much driving experience. When I was driving through Chicago someone yelled, “Get off the road, you bitch!”
Rude.
I wanted to give him the finger, but I was too afraid to release the wheel.
Once I’m on the ferry that’s taking me from Seattle to Bainbridge Island, I call Amber.
She’s the first one I’m telling about my move to the other side of the country.
So what if I only told my boss I was leaving? It’s no big deal.
“I got fired,” I singsong when she answers.