After All (Cape Harbor #1)(62)

Her eyes closed, and she thought of Skip and Austin, out on their boat, reeling in their catch for the day. She had always been so proud of her men, more so of Austin for starting a successful fishing company at such a young age. Not that she had expected anything less from him. He had always known what he wanted and had never had any qualms about going after his dreams. Brooklyn even being one of them.

He had confided in his mother about his relationship with Brooklyn. He had worried about Bowie and wondered if he was a better man for Brooklyn. Austin trusted that Bowie knew he’d never do anything to jeopardize their friendship. Brooklyn and Bowie were close, best friends, and that sometimes bothered Austin. Carly always reassured her son that Brooklyn loved him. She could see it in her eyes, and Bowie’s too. Austin wasn’t so sure. Brooklyn had dreams. She wanted to move, to head south and go to school, something Austin had promised her. He wanted to stay but couldn’t find the words to tell her, mostly because he thought she’d leave him. Leave him for her best friend, because as sure as he was of their love for him, Austin told her that Bowie likely loved Brooklyn more.

After witnessing the closeness of Bowie and Brooklyn, Carly would agree with her son. Austin had tried hard to be a good man to Brooklyn but had had trouble prioritizing his life. When she should’ve come first, fishing did. He was no different than his father. They both had hooked the woman of their dreams and then set them aside while they continued their chosen paths.

She thought more of Skip and the last time she saw him. She had been busy in the kitchen, the inn was full of guests, the dining room had tables full of people, and her cook had called out sick. Skip was leaving, heading out to sea. He had told her the night before it would take them a while to get where they were going. She remembered telling him to pack his warmer clothes because it was cold up north and she didn’t want him catching a cold. A cold would turn into pneumonia, and they were far too busy to deal with something like that.

Before he left, he had wanted to speak to her, but she couldn’t leave the kitchen, or maybe it was that she hadn’t wanted to. Her business, much like Skip’s, was important to her. Her reputation in the community was stellar, and she didn’t want a mishap to tarnish that.

He begged, and she brushed him off, offering him her cheek for a quick peck and asking him what day he was due back. “After the catch,” he told her. That meant once their onboard freezer had filled, they would come back. He said he would radio later and walked out of the kitchen.

If Carly had known that was the last time she would see her husband, she would’ve driven him to the dock and walked him to his boat. She would’ve kissed him longingly and told him how much she loved him. She had put her job in front of her husband. Just as he had put his in front of his wife, and Austin had done the same to Brooklyn.

That night, Carly and Austin had sat in Skip’s fishing shack and waited for the radio to come to life. Skip was hard to hear, but they were able to make out that he was in the Strait of Georgia. As with every new place they visited, Austin marked it on the map. Austin wished his father good luck, and Carly told him she’d watch for the pink sail to come into the harbor. They signed off for the last time.

That summer the Strait of Georgia was experiencing unseasonably warm weather, often resulting in the occasional lightning storm. Boreas, the ship Skip Woods captained, had been hit, knocking out its entire electrical system. The crew was prepared to wait for the Coast Guard or a passing vessel. They just had to be patient. While they waited, the crew worked to repair the electricity, and Skip started Morse code. Hour after hour he flashed a light toward land, three quick flickers, followed by three longer flashes and three quick flickers.

When Carly and the other wives hadn’t heard from their husbands, they came together and hired a crew to go out and look for them. With no last-known coordinates, the search took longer than expected. It was weeks before the ship returned to port, being towed by another. They radioed ahead; the Boreas was coming home with one lost soul on board. No one knew who had died. As the ships came in, the wives held hands, waiting for their husbands to disembark.

Carly knew, though; she felt it deep in her bones. If Skip were alive, the pink sail would’ve been raised and blowing in the wind. Her fears had been confirmed when the Boreas crew offered their condolences. It was Skip’s best friend who told her that Skip had a heart attack, and there was nothing they could do for him.

Skip Woods had died on their third day stranded at sea. One of the crew had fired the flare gun and startled Skip. The incident sent his heart into tachycardia, and he couldn’t recover. That was the coroner’s official report.

Carly refused to believe her husband had a bad heart. He was a fit man who watched what he ate and exercised regularly. He was a social drinker and never did drugs. The coroner had to be wrong. She had his body sent to Seattle because she felt the medical staff in the big city were more knowledgeable. When the report also came back that her husband had suffered from high cholesterol and blood pressure, she was left with no other option than to believe his time had come.

“Nonnie, are you still awake?”

Carly opened her eyes at the sound of her granddaughter’s voice. She smiled into the darkness and pulled the comforter back to invite Brystol to sit next to her. “Are you coming to say good night?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said as she snuggled into her grandma’s side. “What are you doing?”