The wind chimes sang a gentle melody against the breeze sweeping up the rocky bluff surrounding Pete’s bay-side cottage in Eastham. He inhaled the damp sea air. The fishy, salty smell brought back fond memories. Joey trotted beside him down the sandy path that snaked through the grass toward his cottage, and Pete smiled as he remembered the fun he and his siblings had growing up at the Cape. It seemed like just yesterday when he and his younger brothers, Hunter, Matt, and Grayson, were running around like wild banshees on the beaches, their baby sister, Sky, toddling along behind them. Their hair was always too long, their clothing sandy and wet around their bare, calloused feet. Looking back, he wondered if they drove their mother crazy, but Bea Lacroux would never admit to any such thing. She adored her children, and her husband, until she took her very last breath.
Pete pulled open the screen door and waited for Joey to go inside before shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the kitchen table. He washed his hands, then grabbed a can of soup from the cabinet, pulled the tab, and emptied it into a bowl. He set it on the floor for Joey.
“Beef stew. Enjoy, girl.” He opened another can, poured it into a bowl, and heated it in the microwave. He ate standing up, his hip leaning against the counter. Pete had learned to cook from his mother, and he was a good cook, but he rarely took the time to cook a real meal for himself, much less enjoy one. When his siblings visited, which hadn’t been often over the past two years, he’d cook for them, but when it was just him, a can of soup was fine. He thought about Jenna at the Beachcomber with that jerk construction worker and pictured the guy eyeing her across a dimly lit table. Jerk. He tossed the can in the trash and threw his bowl and spoon in the empty sink.
Thinking of Jenna brought his mind back to his sister, which always brought his thoughts back to his father. He snagged the business card for Tatum Rehabilitation Center from beneath a magnet on the refrigerator and ran his thumb over it. He flipped it over and eyed the handwritten emergency number on the back and remembered asking the counselor if there was ever a time that getting someone into rehab wasn’t an emergency. He placed the card back beneath the magnet on the refrigerator and pulled out his phone to call Sky.
Sky was twenty-four years old, and she’d been the closest to their mother. After their mother died, Sky fell apart. She was only twenty-two at the time and on the cusp of a promising career with an art museum in New York. Sky had stopped calling Pete and their brothers, and after not hearing from her for almost a week, Pete had put his life on hold and gone to New York.
“Hey, big brother. What’s up?” Sky always answered the phone the same way, and it made Pete smile. When he’d gone to New York, she was so depressed that he’d had to drag her out of bed each day. He’d stayed by her side as she cried, yelled, screamed, laughed, and worked through every emotion known to man—and finally, after ten days or so, she came out on the other side of the grief that had consumed her. She later quit the job at the museum. Too confining. Pete was still waiting for her to find a career she loved.
“Hi, sis. How’s life?”
“Life’s good. I’ve been drawing a lot, painting, and oh, I almost forgot to tell you, my band started playing these impromptu concerts at the park. Total fun.”
Pete laughed. “Sounds like you’re having a good time. How about work?”
Sky sighed. Pete pictured her tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’m still working at the co-op.”
The co-op. Not exactly the career he hoped she’d find. She was a bright and talented artist. “Enjoying it?”
“Come on, Pete, lighten up. Yes, I’m enjoying it. I know you want me to find my niche, and I will. Someday.”
“I know you will. Do you need anything? Are you okay financially?”
“Yes, Pete. I’m fine. More importantly, how are you and Dad? I’m trying to clear my schedule so I can visit soon. I’ve tried to call Dad the last few nights, but he never answers his phone.”
Pete grimaced. He’d spent two years protecting Sky from finding out about their father’s drinking—convincing her to stay with him when she visited instead of with their father and intervening when she was planning a surprise visit.
“We’re both fine, but Dad’s pretty busy these days with the store. He’s been going to bed early.” He hated lying to her, but he worried that his father’s drinking might send her spiraling back into the dark place she’d found after their mother died. “Maybe you should wait a few more weeks to come visit.” The need to get his father help took a leap on his priority list.
Sky sighed. “Okay. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, Sky. If you need anything, call me.”
“I always do.” She called him when she was missing their mother, or when a guy she was dating pissed her off—and it was all Pete could do not to drive to New York and kick the tar out of the guy.
A few minutes after they ended the call, the clock chimed, drawing his attention to where it hung on the wall beside the refrigerator. He’d managed to avoid thinking of Jenna and Jerko’s date while he was talking to Sky. Or at least to admit to myself that I was thinking of them. Now, as the seconds ticked by with annoyingly loud precision and Joey rested her chin between her paws with a loud sigh, adrenaline flooded Pete’s veins. How would Jenna protect herself if he tried something? What if he got her drunk and she was too out of it to defend herself? She had no idea what she was getting into with that guy. How could she? He was a stranger. Didn’t she learn anything in kindergarten?
He dug his keys from the pocket of his jeans and stared down at Joey. “I’ll just make sure she’s okay, girl. That’s it. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Promise.”
By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the Beachcomber, Pete had thought up all sorts of unsavory situations in his mind. No matter how they began, each ended with Jenna wrapping her arms around Pete’s neck, gushing with appreciation.
The Beachcomber was built at the top of a dune overlooking the ocean. Pete listened to the music coming from the deck at the back of the restaurant, which he knew was lit up with colorful plastic lights. Bands played nightly during the summer, and tonight the music was loud and the tune was surprisingly less beachy and more reminiscent of the seventies, soulful and deep.
Pete drew his shoulders back as he headed around to the other side of the restaurant. A gusty, cool breeze swept across the dunes, rustling the tall grass. He heard Jenna’s laugh before he caught sight of the wide smile that lit up her whole face. Jenna had a loud laugh that some might say sounded like a cackle. They’d be right. It did, and he could single it out anywhere—in a crowded bar, over a band, on a crowded beach—it was a laugh that always drew a smile from Pete, except tonight. His insides churned at the idea of her laughing with that construction worker instead of him. He ran his hand through his hair and looked away, realizing that he hadn’t even bothered to clean up after working on the boat for hours.
“Hey, babe. You coming in? I’d love a dance.” A stacked brunette ran her finger down his chest.
Summer chicks. Summer on the Cape brought horny women and loose men. Although even in the desolate winter months, there was never a shortage of women interested in Pete. He raked his eyes down the brunette’s body. He should have gotten aroused just thinking about that body against his, but the only body he wanted against him was Jenna’s. Jenna’s laugh pulled his attention across the deck.
“No, sorry. I’ll have to pass.” He circled the deck, moving toward the sound of Jenna’s voice.