Chapter Twenty-One

Ian was whistling as he entered his house on Friday evening. Mr. Kim’s deck was coming along beautifully. If the weather held, he might even put in a few more hours on Saturday while Sadie was up in Seattle to see if he could finish the job ahead of schedule.

It had been a good day. A day when the sun was shining and every board he cut was perfect. He’d worked until Mr. Kim had reminded him that he needed to get going or he’d be late. His gig at the Tipsy Gull was one of the worst kept secrets in town, and Mr. Kim had been known to make the drive down to the next town over to catch the show from time to time.

Ian was still whistling as he walked into the kitchen where his mother was packing a cooler. “Hey.”

“You’re in a good mood,” she commented as he snagged a bottle of water from the fridge.

He shrugged. “Good week. You want a hand with that?”

“No, I’m almost done. Sadie’s packing her things upstairs then we’re going to hit the road.”

He leaned against the island. “Are you sure you want to drive back tonight? It’s a lot of driving for one day. You could always stay here tonight and I could drive you both up tomorrow.” He’d have to put off finishing Mr. Kim’s deck, but he could do that.

“And then what? My car would be stuck down here all week when you and Sadie drive back on Sunday? Besides, I left Edgar with a neighbor. Let’s stick to the original plan. I’d rather sleep in my own bed and Sadie’s too excited to wait until tomorrow anyway.”

“Thanks for doing this. I could have driven her up. Saved you the trip—”

“Nonsense. You have your gig.”

“I can skip one week.” He finished his water bottle, refilling it from the Brita as they’d started doing since Sadie had started worrying about their plastic footprint. “I’ve been thinking maybe I should cut back on the shows anyway. It was dead in there last week. People must be getting sick of seeing my face.”

She looked over at him, her eyebrows pulling down. “But you love the shows.”

“Yeah, and I could still do them from time to time, but, I don’t know, it’s not like I’m accomplishing anything by being there. It might have run its course.”

His mother stopped packing the cooler, studying him. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Sure. I’m not a kid anymore. I have different things to focus on.”

She let the words hang for a moment before nodding and turning back to the cooler. “How’s Maggie doing?” she asked, with a deceptively innocent note to her voice.

Ian grinned, shaking his head at his mother’s oh-so-subtle matchmaking efforts. “She’s good. You’ll be pleased to know she came over for dinner on…I guess it was Tuesday? It’s was nice. And I did the dump run yesterday when the weather cleared.”

“Nice?” she murmured, a speculative lilt in her voice.

“Maggie’s great,” he said. “She’s always been great. And she’s still leaving.” He headed toward the master. “I’m gonna grab a shower. You guys gonna still be here when I get out or should I head up and say goodbye now?”

“Now is probably better. I’m not sure I can restrain her when she’s ready to go.”

Ian chuckled, changing course toward the stairs. “Noted.”

“You’ll be up on Sunday to pick her up?”

“Bright and early,” he answered as he started up the stairs. “Or at least I’ll leave here early. Probably won’t get to you until ten or eleven.”

“She’ll probably sleep in anyway. Those games can go late.”

Ian nodded, reminding himself not to worry. This was a perfectly safe, perfectly normal thing for a growing girl to do. He’d talked to Lincoln’s parents and they actually seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing. They’d pick Sadie up at her grandma’s place in Bellevue and drop her back off again after the game. If Sadie was disappointed not to get a sleepover with her friend in Seattle, she was too excited about the game to care much.

She would be perfectly safe, he said to himself for the thousandth time. And this was only the first step of many toward watching her grow up and become more independent. He wanted her to be independent. He wanted her to feel strong and confident and know that she could do things on her own. But watching her actually do them might kill him.

It seemed like five seconds ago she’d been his baby. He’d blinked and she’d been going to her first day of school, racing toward the other kids and turning only to wave over her shoulder at him. He’d blinked again and she’d been a foot taller, begging for a cell phone and wheedling for sleepovers. Any second now she’d be dating and looking at colleges.

If someone ever invented a way to stop time and freeze a moment in place, they could make a fortune off parents who weren’t ready for their kids to grow up.

She hadn’t spent a night away from him in nine years and now she was off to Seattle for a weekend. Admittedly, she’d be staying at her grandma’s where he’d stayed with her at least a dozen times when they went up for the weekend a few times a year, but it still felt strange standing in her open doorway and watching her pack her bag to leave him.

“You look like you’re about ready to go.”

Sadie bounced up, a bulging duffle bag overflowing on her bed as if she was going backpacking through Europe for a month rather than to her grandmother’s for two nights. “I couldn’t decide which jersey to bring so I put in both the white Griffey one and the teal Felix one. Lincoln likes the current players, but Griffey is like the best and Felix isn’t even pitching tomorrow.”

“I think you should wear whichever one you like best.” He didn’t know why Sadie’s need for Lincoln’s approval in all things made him so nervous—they were just kids and he tried to tell himself it was harmless, but it still got under his skin.

He walked into the room that always seemed cluttered no matter how many times Sadie “cleaned” it. Low bookcases overflowed with books. Her hammock overflowed with stuffed animals. And her desk overflowed with a mishmash of papers so disorganized it was a miracle she always managed to turn in her homework on time. He hooked an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her in a side-hug. “Have fun with your grandma and with Lincoln and call me any time you want, for any reasons whatsoever.”

She tipped her head back, smiling innocently. “It’d be easier to call you if I had a cell phone of my own.”

“Nice try. You can use Grandma’s when you’re with her, and Lincoln’s mom promised you can use hers to call me any time you like.”

Sadie pulled a face. “I don’t know why I can’t have a phone.”

“Because your father is a troglodyte.” At her frown, he added, “Look it up.” He gave her one last squeeze, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, and trying not to choke up again. “Have fun. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she said, but her attention was focused on her duffle bag, the excitement radiating off her telling him that she’d already put him out of her head.

When he came back downstairs, his mother caught the expression on his face and smiled sympathetically. “This would be easier on you if you’d let her go to that camp last summer.”

“She was too young.”

“Eight is a perfectly normal age to start or they wouldn’t allow eight-year-olds in—and Sadie’s very confident, very social. You should be proud that you’ve raised her to be so independent.”

“I’ll be proud later. Right now I get to freak out.”

His mother smiled. “Fair enough. I’ll text you when we get home.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, retreating to the master bedroom and the shower that beckoned—so he wouldn’t have to watch his baby leave.

How did parents do this? How did they not panic? How did they get used to the silence that seemed to echo in the house when he got out of the shower and they were gone? A silence that seemed so different somehow, so much more ominous than the comfortable, easy quiet that happened when she was at school.

Empty. The house felt empty.

Ian scrubbed a hand down his face and went to grab his guitar case from the front closet. He’d be early if he left now, but the empty house was going to drive him crazy if he stayed. Better to be surrounded by the familiar noise at the Gull. Better to drown in music so he stopped worrying about Sadie for five seconds.

As if that was even possible.

* * * * *

Maggie headed through the dusk toward the Summer house. On the plus side, she’d stopped obsessing over Aunt Lolly’s legacy to her. On the negative, she had definitely started obsessing over Ian.

Ever since their conversation beside his truck the other day, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him and what he had said. It was good advice, picking the things that really meant something to her and holding everything else against that standard. When her grandmother passed, less than a month after her grandfather’s funeral, she’d gone back to El Paso for the funeral, using Bree as a decoy in LA so no one knew she’d even left town—but she’d had a shooting schedule to get back to, so she hadn’t stayed after the funeral. Mel had taken care of it, hiring an assistant to box everything up and put it into storage so Maggie could go through it later.

But she never had. It was still in a storage locker somewhere. She wasn’t even sure where. It had been easier to keep everything, but look at none of it. Because she’d missed them too much and she hadn’t had the time to spare for grief.

It had been three years now—maybe four—and she still hadn’t taken the time.

Maybe that was why she’d latched onto the idea of coming up here when she’d learned about Lolly’s death. Because on some level she had needed this, needed the chance to grieve not just for Lolly, but for her grandparents as well.

Though she still hadn’t cried. Shouldn’t she have cried?

Maybe Ian would have some advice on that as well.

She climbed the steps to his house with her flimsy excuse for dropping by clutched in her hands. She’d found Lolly’s old VHS copy of Beaches and brought it over, unsure whether it was a gag gift or a desperate attempt to resurrect the conversation they’d had the other day before he drove away. The conversation where she’d felt like possibility was sizzling just beneath the surface.

She hit the doorbell, squirming on the front porch as she waited, but when the door popped open it wasn’t Ian standing there but his mother. “Mrs. Summer!”

“Lori, hi, sweetheart. You just caught us. Sadie and I were headed up to Seattle when we realized she’d forgotten her glove and we had to swing back for it.”

Maggie closed her eyes for a second, kicking herself for not remembering “Right. The big game. Of course.”

“Were you looking for Ian? I think he’s already down at the Gull.”

“Oh, I just, um…” She tucked the tape against her side, hoping Mrs. Summer wouldn’t notice and ask about it.

“You two seem to be getting along,” Mrs. Summer said with an optimistic smile.

“Well.” Maggie felt the blush rising up her face. “He’s a great guy.”

“You must be missing your life in Hollywood.”

“Oh, you know, it’ll be there, when I get back…”

Footsteps pounded down the stairs behind Mrs. Summer and she heard Sadie shouting, “I got it, Grandma!”

Maggie took a step back. “I should let you get going.”

“The Tipsy Gull,” Mrs. Summer said. “That’s where Ian goes. You have a good night, hon!”

The door closed before Maggie could protest that she had no intention of following Ian on his night out. She hurried down the steps, her face flaming at Mrs. Summer’s matchmaking efforts.

She’d forgotten it was Friday night and that Ian apparently went out every Friday night to some bar called the Tipsy Gull. Doubtless out drinking and being a guy. Because men have needs and all that shit.

She had needs too, thank you very much. And yes, part of her had sort of thought that Ian might not go out carousing this weekend. That maybe he would rather stay in with her. That maybe they could spend another night by the fire or watching the sunset together or… something else.

But no. He was out at some bar called the Tipsy Gull. Probably surrounded by women, because Ian Summer was a catch any way you sliced it. Handsome and wry and kind. He was one of the good ones.

Which was why she really should steer clear. She was a relationship wrecking ball. Nothing good ever came of her getting involved with a guy and it was always her screwing it up. She was off men. Because she was a one woman emotional demolition team. Ian deserved better than to be sucked into her hot mess.

She was not going to go to the Tipsy Gull.

How would she even find it? There were probably a dozen bars called that. Nope. Not going. She was being mature. She was making good choices. She was staying away from men.

She was, damn it. No two ways about it.

Maggie Tate was not going to the Tipsy Gull.