Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Considering I’ve been subsisting on restaurant takeout and frozen dinners, this is like a king’s feast,” Micah replies, loading a slab of ribs on his plate.
I puff out my chest. “Admit it, I fed you well.”
His cheeks darken, likely remembering the frequent use of my parents’ kitchen as I cooked dinner for all of us. My mom would make some of our favorite meals, but I enjoyed being an amateur chef. It helped me make the decision to open a kitchen in my bar, with a limited menu of favorites.
“Which reminds me.” Micah wipes the barbecue sauce from his fingers. “You’re still hosting fish fries?”
“Yup, during the spring festival.”
He stares off thoughtfully. “Where do you get your supplies nowadays?”
“From the fish market over in Shark Bay Harbor.”
“You travel that far?”
I hitch a shoulder. “No other options unless I catch it myself.”
“Why don’t you get it from Sleepy Slip?” Normally, there’s an open-air market on the weekends, where you can purchase fresh catch.
“Just haven’t, ever since…” I let the sentence hang between us.
Ever since you left. Or maybe ever since they banished you.
His eyes are wide and searching as we stare at each other. As if he thought it would be business as usual once he was gone instead of my whole world being flipped on its head. My hand lifts to rub the ache in my chest.
As if to save us from ourselves, June says, “So tell us about this audition.”
“What audition?” Aunt Dina asks.
Micah dips his head, never really enjoying being the center of attention. Go figure.
“It’s a small part in Cold Blade.”
“No way,” Uncle Chuck enthuses. “We love that show.”
“What are your lines?” June asks.
I expect Micah to shrink in on himself as if hoping for a hole to open in the ground. Instead, he squares his shoulders and says in a low, smoky voice, “No way anyone thought a murder would happen here. Not in this town. It’s normally a quiet, orderly place to live. People leave their doors unlocked, for Christ’s sake.”
June and Aunt Dina clap, and Aaron whoops it up. I feel something like pride set up camp in my chest. “It’s like you’re good at this acting thing or something.”
June gives me a sad smile because it’s true, which means he belongs somewhere other than here, and I need to finally accept that.
His eyes soften as his cheeks flush. “Guess I’m all right.”
After answering a couple more questions about Hollywood, the subject switches to the surfing competition Cain ranked in, setting him up for the semifinals.
“That’s freaking amazing,” Micah says, and Cain beams. And as if trying to soak up all the updates he can get while still in town, Micah asks, “Frank, how is the service station?”
“He wouldn’t know. He’s been gone,” Jack teases Frank.
Jack is still temporarily involved in the business until all the paperwork is squared away. But also, I suspect, because it’s hard to let go of something my parents built, even if he trusts Frank to take good care of it.
“Where to?” Micah asks.
Frank looks sheepish. “A car show in San Jose.”
Micah looks confused. “San Jose?”
“His friend Rocco invited him,” I add.
“Rocco is my business partner,” Aaron explains.
“They go alllll the time,” Jack jokes in an exaggerated tone.
“Okay, enough.” Frank points his fork at his best friend. “You can mock me, but the shows do keep me up to date on newer—or older—models that might find their way into my garage.”
“Uh-huh, up to date,” Jack deadpans, and Frank tosses a rib bone at him.
“What am I missing?” Micah whispers, amused.
“Nothing really, just their usual ribbing.”
His gaze meets mine. “Glad to see some things remain the same.”
18
MICAH
Are we really doing this? It’s early morning, and we’ve traded yawns, but as we get on the highway, it feels as natural as it always did. Foreign too, though, because we’re driving toward the life I’ve created away from John and Aqua Vista.
“We need some tunes,” John declares. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a road trip.”
I fiddle with the buttons, navigating to the closest radio broadcast, which is some pop song, and when he starts singing, I join in, off-key.
He pretends he has a microphone, and we laugh as we continue hamming it up for the whole song. It definitely lightens the tension between us, as well as the mood regarding the end result this trip might bring—our divorce.
As we drive by stunning ocean views, I think about how connected we all were as kids. “Remember that time we took our paddleboards out and Cain broke away from June and came running toward the water, begging to take him with us?”
“Uh-huh. That was only the beginning of his obsession with the water and wanting to surf,” he muses.
“Does that mean we egged him on by convincing his parents he’d be safe with us?”