Page 16 of Broken Hearts

“Please remember, Sage, these people, your father’s friends, are grieving his loss. He was part of their family, and even if you weren’t part of it, he is your father. He’s still your family too. You need to make every attempt you can to help these people lessen the loss and understand who your father was.”

Her words sting because she’s right, but I still don’t want to hear it.

I swallow hard, wanting to come back with something snarky and mean, but I shut my mouth, reminding myself that I’m an adult. This is the first time I’m dealing with something like this. Most people lose a grandparent or a great-aunt before their parents. Even a pet dying prepares you. I didn’t even have a fish growing up.

“Do you get what I’m saying?” my mom now asks, and I nod even though she can’t see me. “Sage, it’s really hard, I get that, but you need to try. Your dad was a complicated yet simple man, but he was kind and giving and caring and funny. It’s why I fell for him when we met.”

“He taught you to surf, Mom. It’s not like he saved your life.”

“Sage, cut the snark, I’m trying here,” she bites out. “He loved the island and its people. He started his business there because he knew the area needed it. It’s why he wouldn’t leave. He saw the bigger picture. He saw his future there, and the future of that little town. He knew you were in good hands with me. He tried, please understand that. He did what he could.”

I let out a ragged sigh, my heart hurting so badly with each word she says. It aches for my loss. It aches for how right she is. It aches for all the people who are missing him. It aches for this empty house.

“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my palms over my sandpaper-feeling eyes. “I’m just having a really hard time.”

“I know you are, and that’s why you need to try to connect with your father’s friends. It will help,” my mom tells me, and again I find myself nodding. “There has to be someone there who isn’t salty about you being there.”

“There is. Alana works for my dad.” The words catch in my throat, realizing I keep talking as if he’s still alive, as if the store is still his. “I told you about her. She’s the one who contacted me. She’s really nice, but the guy who seems to run things here is a total dick, Mom.”

She lets out a chuckle and it bothers me. Of course, she finds humor in something that I’m suffering through. She’s always so chill about everything, laughing about someone being a jerk to me is her way of saying I probably deserve it.

“One piece of advice, Sage,” she says, and I roll my eyes, waiting for her words of wisdom. “Don’t fall for him and end up pregnant.”

“Oh my god, Mom. That’s never going to happen. He hates me, and I’m sure he has a girlfriend. All hot and tanned surfer type with a killer body.”

Again, she’s laughing. “You just described your father twenty-three years ago. They’re hard to resist, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Goodbye, Mom,” I say, annoyance blanketing my words even though I find myself smiling at her ridiculous comment.

“Bye, Sage. Remember, they’re all grieving too. Love you.”

“Love you.”

As I end our call, I fall back against the couch, looking around the house. It’s truly a beautiful place, and I walk over to open the slider that leads to the deck overlooking the ocean. Letting in the warm night air, I catch the smell of the ocean mixed with the blueberry surf wax, and it takes me back to the last time I was here.

I can picture my dad standing in the old, outdated kitchen, a smile on his face, happy that I was there. It had these rustic dark wood cabinets but with this unique flair to them. I loved the banana tree in the yard, picking them and eating them without even going inside. And the hibiscus flowers that grew everywhere around the outside of the house. It felt like a different world back then.

It still feels like a different world.

I swipe at the tears running down my cheeks. I wish I would have enjoyed my time here more back then. I wish I would have visited again. I wish I would have tried harder. It’s all a moot point now, though.

A gust of wind blows in through the open sliders, sending the papers flying off the kitchen table. I walk over to pick them up, shuffling them into a pile, but as I do, I’m hit with a strange thought.

Sitting down, I begin to look through all the brochures and paperwork that my father’s friend Pat left. Still confused by it all. I was confused when the guy said he wanted to talk to me about my dad, when in reality, he wanted to talk about the land The Pipe Dream sits on.

This guy wants me to sell it to him now that I’m the owner of it all. He told me my dad was in talks to sell it to him and retire. The amount of money is more than I would have expected, and I can see why my dad might have given in to the offer.

But this is where it gets confusing.

I don’t think my dad would have sold The Pipe Dream. It was literally a pipe dream—something unattainable. But he did it. He created this amazing business in this small town, and like my mom reminded me, this little village needs it. Why would he give it up now? He spent the last thirty years building it from nothing.

And he also recently renovated the apartment. He planned to be here forever, or at least that’s what it looks like.

I thumb through it all, seeing the offer letter. It’s the kind of money that could set me up for the rest of my life, and while I get that my father may not have been interested, I might be.

It is my decision now. I have a life to begin. I’ll be graduating from college soon, and to have this kind of money, I could buy a house, a new car, I could travel. Hell, I could do all these things and more. I could set aside college funds for my future children. It would make my life so much easier, not that my life is hard to begin with, but anyone who says money doesn’t help, it does.

I look at the proposed plan for the land, going back and forth on how much it could help this little community.

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