Her All Along Read online

  Ten minutes later, I parked at the marina and helped Grace out of her seat. The boardwalk was abandoned at this time of year, and the small dinner rush hadn’t started yet. Once we were away from the parking lot, I let her walk on her own and spotted Ethan and Lias outside our old bar that had closed after the summer.

  “Unka, unka, unka!” Grace yelled.

  She’d seen the two Quinns too.

  One day, I was going to have to teach her that all Quinns weren’t named Unka. Mary was Nana, Elise was Lee, Willow was Low, and the rest were Unka, even James.

  Ethan liked to think he was a hard-ass who didn’t care for kids, but he was sweet with Grace. “Hey, kiddo.” He squatted down and waited for her to reach him. “Look at you, running so fast.”

  I checked my phone to see if Darius had texted—or Pipsqueak, for that matter. But nothing.

  Fuck, how I missed her.

  The only way to get through was to distract myself and push her out of my mind. But to myself, I could admit that it fucking sucked not to speak to her every day. Or anywhere close to it. We were going on three weeks now without a call, and she wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving. I also knew she’d applied for a position at a famous chocolatier for the holidays, so if she got that job, I wouldn’t see her for Christmas either.

  I was officially jealous of my own daughter, who got to Skype with Pipsqueak twice a week when Mary watched Grace.

  To my surprise, the door to the bar opened, and Darius poked his head out. “What’re y’all standin’ out here for?”

  “What the hell?” Lias frowned.

  “You bought the bar?” I blurted out.

  “Unka, unka!” Grace clapped.

  Darius grinned at her. “You’re damn fucking right, I did. Come on in.”

  Holy hell, this had to mean he’d finally quit his old job.

  I picked up Grace on the way in, not too surprised to see the interior of the place torn down to its foundation.

  Then Darius proceeded to make our day by announcing he was opening a seafood restaurant here in the spring. He’d retired from his career as a private military contractor; he was out of the game. He’d never risk his life again. He had a ten-year plan.

  “Congratulations, my friend.” I shook his hand firmly and let Grace down again. But I held on to her hand for fear she’d drop to her knees and lick the floor or something.

  It happened.

  “Yeah, congrats, big brother.” Lias quirked a brow at the place and rubbed the back of his neck. “You hate people, though. And you’ve never worked in a restaurant before.”

  I smirked.

  “Thank fuck you said it so I didn’t have to.” Ethan sighed with relief. “At least it made sense for Ry to open a bar. He’s social.”

  “You shits have zero faith in me,” Darius scoffed. “I don’t see people. I see paying customers, and I sure as hell won’t be cooking the food.” He paused. “A restaurant is a perfect place to build a network. As a bartender, I’ll always have an ear to the ground, and as the owner, I’ll form partnerships with local fishing crews and food vendors. That’s worth more than gold. And in a location like this?” He whistled. “A good summer on this boardwalk can secure the following year financially.”

  He wasn’t wrong on that last point.

  He probably wasn’t wrong on the other points either, but I didn’t have a hard-on for the end of the world like he did.

  “You’ll do great,” I said, peering down at Grace. “Baby—why—no.” Jesus Christ. I picked her up again, and I brushed away the handful of dust she’d managed to swipe off the floor. “Why? Just why? Don’t I feed you enough?”

  “Dada, mow-ta-unka!” she replied seriously.

  I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but the Quinn brothers found her hilarious.

  I was hot, irritated, and exhausted by the time Grace had cried herself to sleep that night.

  Despite the cold weather, I stepped into my slippers and brought a beer and a pack of smokes out onto the patio. I grabbed one of the chair cushions from the little toolshed, then slumped down in a chair and lit up a smoke.

  I coughed slightly on the first drag.

  Darius had been on my mind all evening, and I couldn’t help but draw parallels between him and me. He’d dealt with disasters and horrific situations most of his adult life, and now he’d retired from it, yet…his mind was still there. Every decision he made for the rest of his life would be colored by his past. To him, the next disaster wasn’t a matter of if, just a matter of when. And he prepared for it. It was how he coped.

  Education had played a similar role for me. It’d been my one ticket to independence and freedom, sometimes to the point where I’d been obsessive about it. I’d worked day and night to unshackle myself from my mother’s grasp. As long as I’d had a place to sleep, a few packets of ramen, and a bottle of multivitamins, I’d been golden. It’d been all I needed while I studied. Every class had taken me further away from my childhood.

  But had it worked?

  I stuck to the shadows, even to this day. I lived on the fringes of other people’s lives. I was an honorary Quinn, but it wasn’t my family. Not really. I was…something…to Pipsqueak, except not really. She had my heart in a goddamn vise, but I was holding out hope for a future I wasn’t sure would materialize. She was where she was supposed to be. Starting her life, creating something, building herself up.

  I took a pull from the cigarette and exhaled.

  Was I done? Was this it? Had I accomplished everything I’d wanted to?

  I’d never traveled—ever. I’d attended college here in Washington, I’d visited Vancouver a few times, I’d been to Victoria… I had a passport, but I’d never gone farther than Portland—DC being the only exception, and we’d only been there for Jake’s funeral.

  Fuck.

  I rubbed at my chest as an unease quickly grew within me.

  This couldn’t be it.

  For the first time in my existence, everything was too safe. I’d gone too far while going absolutely nowhere at all. I’d gained my independence; I had a good job—a well-paid one, at that—I had a mortgage, and I had Grace, the light of my life. But in my quest to break free from the hell of my childhood, I’d only sheltered myself.

  My burning hatred was thankfully gone. I’d done most of my growing up in my adulthood when I’d had the opportunity to do so, which meant I’d grown up alongside the Quinns, and they had shown me everything I hadn’t known was real. Kindness, honesty, unconditional love. Most importantly, amazing women who’d helped me move past the betrayals of my mother and ex-wife.

  In short, the Quinns had made me a better man.

  But this somewhat decent man had to live too. I couldn’t merely exist.

  Christ, I hoped Finn was figuring all this out. I hoped he’d found a healthier way to cope.

  He’d been on my mind more lately, too. Pipsqueak not being around had given me way too much time to think.

  I’d thought about reaching out to him again, but I couldn’t bring myself. He’d moved on. He’d cut those ties.

  “Fuck it,” I muttered to myself. Enough thinking for one day. Time to go to bed.

  I made it through the holidays without Pipsqueak, thanks to Darius. Mary was always happy to watch Grace, so I spent most of my spare time with Darius at his restaurant-to-be. We’d fixed the walls—torn one down to open up the future dining area—and polished the old floors.

  By the end of January, we’d put the new bar into place.

  By the end of February, his new kitchen was installed.

  In March, he found thirty-four old wooden barrels on Craigslist and decided to build the tables for the restaurant himself.

  I was happy to help. Anything to keep that rattling box of restlessness and unease locked in the back of my mind.

  It kind of worked, but the closer we got to Darius’s opening day, the more I realized I’d just crash at the end. I was helping my best friend build something for himse
lf; this wasn’t for me. It would get me nowhere. Thus, it didn’t take care of my goddamn problem.

  On the flip side, it did inspire me. Or rather, push me, toward the point where I actually had to do something about my very early midlife crisis.

  The restaurant was turning out fucking beautiful. The dark floor gleamed in the sunlight that filtered through the windows, and the bar looked much better than it had under the previous owner. It was better-placed here too. On less busy nights, Darius had explained there wouldn’t be a hostess desk at the entrance, because the bar was just fifteen or so feet away from the doors, straight ahead. And it divided the establishment into two halves, one small to the left, where the bar service would be. Tables would stand a little closer to one another, with more chairs, and quick access to the bathrooms.

  The right side of the bar opened up to a larger area where the lunch and dinner guests would sit. The way to the kitchen was there too, along with Darius’s office and an accessible bathroom.

  He’d spent his funds wisely, and whatever he could do on his own, he did.

  Since he was turning thirty-nine next month, his folks had paid an interior decorator to stop by for two hours as a birthday present. She would give Darius the advice he needed to turn this into a proper fish camp, which he’d only protested a little. Because, to his credit, he’d come a long way with the tables alone. They were the type of rustic he was looking for. Only the tabletops would be new. And he’d bought old fishnets to hang from the ceiling. Still, a professional would probably give the place that final necessary touch for a restaurant with a boardwalk address.

  Deciding that my water break was over, I went back to work. While Darius polished the tabletops, I was in charge of pre-drilling the barrels for the only screwing I did these days.

  Speaking of… “Do you talk to Elise a lot?” I asked, sort of dreading the answer.

  While my daughter still enjoyed her two Skype calls a week with Pipsqueak, I had to settle for a couple texts a week and a phone call, if I was lucky, once a month.

  Darius snorted and wiped sweat off his forehead with his arm. “Last time I texted her, I asked if she’d forgotten my number. We talked on New Year’s.”

  Oh. Oh, okay. It was petulantly satisfying that, despite how infrequently I got to speak to her, it was still more than her own brother. Sometimes she just sent a little red emoji heart, and I felt ridiculous for how much that mattered.

  “I get weekly reports from Ry, though,” he said. “That helps. She’s just busy. She’s basically studying all hours of the day.”

  I hummed, equally happy to hear it and a bit worried, because I hoped she got some rest too.

  Twenty-Five

  “This isn’t going to end well for me, is it?” I leaned back against the headboard and eyed my sobbed-out girl. She’d screamed herself hoarse, and she’d refused to settle down to sleep. But there was one sanctuary. My bed. Watching cartoons in my bed and drinking ice-cold strawberry lemonade calmed her down instantly.

  Grace sniffled tearfully and drank from her sippy cup.

  I checked my alarm clock. Almost midnight.

  This couldn’t turn into a habit. I’d read enough baby books to know that once your child was in your bed, they were unlikely to want to leave. Problem was, I enjoyed having her close. We could cuddle, my eardrums could get some rest, and she’d fall asleep to the cartoons while I finished up work. Though, tonight I’d replaced paperwork from school with a book on domestic traveling. Top 100 sights in America.

  I’d seen two of them…because they were right here in Washington. Olympic National Park and the Space Needle. Go me.

  Could I count the Washington Monument? I’d seen it from afar at Jake’s funeral…

  I had a book about Barcelona on my nightstand too, but it would have to wait. It would be a costlier trip, and I’d rather go when Grace was old enough to remember.

  I lifted my gaze from the book when I caught Grace slowly turning her sippy cup upside down.

  “Grace Elise Becker,” I warned.

  Her wide-eyed stare snapped to mine, and she flipped the cup again and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute,” I told her.

  I had a sneaking suspicion that she was teething, though that wasn’t the extent of it. When her front teeth started poking up from her gums months ago, she’d run a low fever on and off for weeks, and she’d been irritable. This was more. This was a phase where she constantly tested the waters—and my limits. Add teething, perhaps her molars, and it made for one hellion of a girl.

  “Come lie down here with Daddy,” I suggested, patting the pillow next to mine. “We both need some sleep.”

  She mumbled a weak protest but handed me her sippy cup and lay down beside me.

  In return, I gave back her pacifier.

  As she quieted down and caught a few more sleepy glimpses of her cartoons, I wove my fingers through her hair and got back to reading.

  Halfway through a passage about the Everglades in Florida, I noticed I was straining my eyes. I was completely useless about remembering to wear the damn glasses I’d been prescribed. Most of the time, they collected dust on my desk in the other room, and I had no desire to get them now.

  Looked like I didn’t have to anyway, because my phone buzzed on the nightstand, and there was no stopping the smile when I saw Pipsqueak’s face lighting up the screen. She’d applied the photo to her contact in my list so that I wouldn’t “forget” her.

  I answered the call by saying, “Two calls in one week. I must be special.”

  She’d called a few days ago to check in and ask what I wanted for my birthday. I hadn’t been very helpful.

  “Oh good, you’re not asleep,” she replied with a grin in her voice. “I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday!”

  I chuckled and side-eyed the clock. Four minutes past midnight. “You’re sweet. Are you doing all right?”

  “Sort of.” Most of her humor had faded. “I called for a selfish reason too. I need some reassurance.”

  That made me worried. “From me? What can I do?”

  There was some rustling in the background; it sounded like she was in bed. “I’ve been offered an internship at a restaurant that would mean I’d only come home for two weeks in June. Then I’d have to fly back and work till the end of August.”

  Ah. So, instead of being home for nearly three months…

  I released a breath and peered down at Grace. She was asleep, finally.

  Two weeks of seeing Pipsqueak. June was around the corner. It was the end of May now. “I think I’m too happy about the fact that I’m actually seeing you soon that it’s difficult to say anything about when you leave,” I murmured. “It’s going to suck to see you off so soon, but it’s been almost a year, Pipsqueak. At this point, I’d make a deal with the devil for ten minutes.”

  She exhaled a laugh that made it sound like she was a little choked up. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. I miss you so much.”

  I took a deep breath. I’d needed to hear that too.

  “Why aren’t you here?” she whined softly.

  I closed the book on my lap and stared at the cover. The image of the Golden Gate Bridge had been what’d caught my eye in the first place.

  “I’m sorry,” she added. “I was kidding.”

  She hadn’t been. I knew she hadn’t been dead serious either, but I recognized a weak moment when I heard it over the phone, evidently. Because I’d been there myself. It was when I cursed California and wondered what the fuck was so special about that culinary institute in San Francisco.

  But what if…

  “Have dinner with me when you come home,” I requested quietly.

  “Of course.” Her response was so simple that I wasn’t sure she realized I wanted it to be a date. But it was okay. I’d make my intentions clear soon enough. “By the way, you’ll get a package delivered tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” I smiled.<
br />
  “Mm-hmm. Since you don’t like cake, I made you thirty-four pieces of the new and improved Mister Collection.”

  Thirty-four, Jesus. I was thirty-four years old. What was Pipsqueak even doing with me? She was so young and amazing. She could have virtually anyone.

  “They were already perfect, but I’m looking forward to trying them.” I set the book on my nightstand and flicked off the light. “It’s been too long since I had anything you made in my house.”

  She laughed softly. “I’m holding everything hostage so you’ll miss me more.”

  “Effective and brutal,” I chuckled. “There used to be a bread in the cupboard when you ran my kitchen. I looked for it in three grocery stores before Mary told me it’s a bread you bake yourself.”

  Pipsqueak found that funny. “The poppy seed bread?”

  “Yes.” I nearly groaned at the memory of it. It was fucking amazing. “You used a paper bag from the deli at the store to keep it in, so imagine my disappointment when I couldn’t find it.”

  She giggled. “I’ll make it for you as soon as I get home.”

  I smiled to myself and scooted down. As soon as my head landed on the pillow, I let out a sigh of contentment. “Can’t wait.”

  Only a few weeks to go.

  Downtown was, without a doubt, the most beautiful when everything was in bloom. One residential area after another was filled with apple trees and rose bushes, and it felt like the entire town’s spirit lifted in May and June. People came out of hibernation.

  The torrential rains of early spring had ended, and the heat waves of summer hadn’t hit yet.

  The weather was perfect for running with Grace. She squealed and gripped the bar across her seat in the stroller and went, “Voom, voom, Dada!”

  I chuckled, out of breath, and turned onto a new street. Another street of perfectly maintained front yards and nice Victorian houses. One older man was repainting his picket fence. A woman a couple houses down was busy spring-cleaning the shutters. The sound of birds and lawn mowers could be heard everywhere.