After All (Cape Harbor #1)(89)
In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Cape Harbor Fisherman’s Fund.
THIRTY-THREE
Bowie pulled his razor slowly against his skin, slicing off a couple days’ worth of stubble even though he knew Brooklyn enjoyed the feel against her skin. Their lovemaking had been interrupted by their daughter asking where her mother was. After the call, they both lay there, laughing. It wasn’t the first time a call had torn them apart. His free hand gripped the side of the counter as his shoulders hunched forward and he replayed yesterday in his mind. Happy, elated feelings mixed with sorrow and tears. It was hard to put into words what he felt. Hot water rushed over the razor, cleaning it off. Repeat and rinse, until very little shaving cream remained on his face. He shut the water off and stood upright, studying himself in the mirror. His eyes were puffy, the result of the tears he had shed as Carly died and from a lack of sleep. The hours prior had been hard. Sleep was nonexistent while everyone kept vigil in Carly’s room. Until now, he had never witnessed someone dying, and though she had looked at peace, he had wondered if she really was. He had known the morphine kept most of the pain at bay, but as he had taken his turns staying with her, he had seen her face grimace and her eyes flutter and was curious to know if she was aware, if she was in pain, or if those were involuntary muscle spasms. She had continued to have moments of lucidity, which he would be eternally grateful for. Carly had told Brystol she loved her many times before she had taken her final breath, which to him meant everything, considering what he and Brooklyn were about to tell her. Many times, he had wanted to leave the room, but he couldn’t leave Brooklyn and Brystol, so he had stayed and held on to Brooklyn when she would take a break from sitting by Carly.
Today was a day of mourning. Construction on the inn had ceased until after the funeral, and while Brooklyn and Simone needed to make final arrangements for Carly, Bowie planned to take his daughter fishing. He and Brooklyn felt that with everyone out of the house, the last thing they wanted was for Brystol to be by herself. Fishing probably wasn’t ideal, but it seemed like a fitting tribute to the Woodses. Aside from the Driftwood Inn, that was what they were known for, and Bowie figured Carly would want this.
Bowie took one last look in the mirror, inhaled deeply, and squared his shoulders before he turned off the light in the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, only to turn around, flick the light back on, and look at himself again. Another inhale. “You’re a dad now,” he said to the man staring back at him. “You have a daughter.”
“You have a daughter.”
“A child.”
“A teenager.”
Those were the words Bowie had said to himself, silently and aloud, since Brooklyn had told him. As much as he wanted to hate her, scream at her, tell her she was the worst person in the world for keeping his child from him, he couldn’t. Even thinking those words made his stomach turn. Brooklyn might have left him, their friends, and their town behind, but she wasn’t vindictive. She wasn’t some evil woman who set out to hurt the people she loved.
When he had seen Brooklyn sitting in the ocean with the waves washing over her, he had thought for sure she was trying to do the unthinkable, and for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. On the outside, she had an amazing life, but since her return to Cape Harbor, Bowie could tell she fought demons. There had been so many times when he wanted to lock her in one of the rooms so they could hash out their issues. Mostly, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to bring back all the memories that had faded over time. He wanted her to feel the love they had shared but had never been able to tell anyone about. He wanted her in any way she’d allow him in her life. Mostly, he just wanted to be in her presence because when she was near, he felt alive. He saw life the way he had dreamed many years before.
Bowie smiled brightly at his reflection. Parenthood looked damn good on him—at least he thought so. He was about to face the biggest test of his life, and he was scared shitless. What if Brystol didn’t like him? What if she thought he was the biggest goober and wanted nothing to do with him? Simple, he thought—he’d bring Luke. Brystol . . . his daughter, adored his dog, and if Bowie had to stoop to using his dog to win her over, he was going to do it.
He left the bathroom again with a newfound confidence and a bit of pep in his step. Without a doubt, he was going to make the best of his outing with Brystol. They were going to spend the day getting to know each other, hopefully bond, and not dwell on the loss of Carly. The latter was going to be a tough mountain to climb, though. He was confident he could keep Brystol’s mind occupied on the task at hand, fishing.
Before he left, he picked up the teddy bear he had bought for her. He found it in the hospital gift store and knew he had to get it for her. Next to the bear, a black box sat on the counter. Years ago, his mother had given him a necklace to give to Rachel, but it had never felt right, and he had kept it hidden in his dresser drawer. The necklace had been in his family for many generations, and now that he had a daughter, he felt he’d been right in keeping it until now. He wanted Brystol to have something from his family. When he gave it to her, he wanted her to know she was loved and had a family waiting for her. Bowie wasn’t usually an emotional guy, but when he had left Brooklyn the night he had found out he was a father, he’d lost it. Everything he’d held in for years since Austin’s death—Brooklyn disappearing, Rachel wanting a different life, and subsequently finding out about Brystol—had hit him so hard he couldn’t hold back the tears. He opened the velvet box and ran his thumb over the heart-shaped charm with a pearl in the middle of it. As far as he could remember, his great-great-grandfather had had this made after finding the pearl in an oyster. Someday soon, he would give it to Brystol, making her a Holmes.