Page 12 of Return to Rosewood Beach

“I get up at six a.m.”

“So do we, usually. Well, I do.”

“I can absolutely recommend Hazel’s breakfasts,” Alexis said, smiling. “They’re truly amazing.”

Hazel flushed at the compliment, and Julia’s heart warmed, seeing the camaraderie that was already returning between all of the siblings. They didn’t feel like strangers to her in the slightest, and she felt a pleasant rush of relief.

In another few minutes, their breakfast burritos arrived, along with sides of extra hash browns and sausages. They ate hungrily for a while, everyone commenting on how good the food was. After a while, Hazel said softly, “I think we should share memories of Dad.”

Alexis set down her coffee cup, looking almost wistful. “I agree. Who’s got a favorite story of Dad?”

“Tell you what, I’ve got something that can help spark people’s memories,” Dean said, setting his phone down on the table. He began to tap at the screen. “I’ve got all kinds of scanned photographs here in a digital folder. I’m working on making a slideshow video for the funeral. We can all look at the pictures together, and you can help me decide which ones to put in the slideshow.”

They all bent their heads down, looking at the pictures on Dean’s phone as he scrolled through them one by one.

“Oh, I love that one.” Alexis covered her mouth with her hand, laughing. “Do you remember that? There was that terrible thunderstorm, and none of us had any idea where Dad was. He finally came back, covered in mud, and all we could get out of him was, ‘I tripped.’”

“We thought it was the funniest thing.” Julia chuckled, remembering how silly their father had looked, covered from head to toe in mud. “We kept teasing him about being the gingerbread man.”

“Oh, and look at this one!” Hazel leaned in closer to the screen, grinning over a picture of their father holding a massive trout in his hands. “That was the day I got so sad about him killing that fish so we could all eat it that he let it go. I think I was five or something.”

“That sounds about right.” Vivian laughed a little, although tears were glistening in her eyes. “I remember him saying, ‘All we really need is the picture, as evidence.’”

The five of them continued to look through the old photographs, laughing and crying over them. They helped Dean choose which ones to use for the slideshow, and he scribbled down notes in a little notebook that Hazel lent him.

By the time everyone had finished eating, they’d reached the end of the pictures. Everyone was smiling a little, remembering their past with Frank fondly, except for Alexis. She looked paleand worn out, as if the grief had hit her harder than everyone else.

“What else needs to be done?” Julia asked. “I can help with more of the funeral arrangements, and I can help you sort through Dad’s things, Mom.”

She swallowed, knowing what a difficult task that would be for any of them, but especially for her mother.

“Oh, thank you for offering, sweetheart, but I know you’ll need to get back to your job soon.” Vivian smiled at her, her eyes still moist from crying over the pictures. “I know how busy it keeps you. I’m sure it’s been hard for you to get away at all.”

Julia’s heart twisted, but she decided not to share the truth with her mother just yet. “No, really, I’d like to help. What can I do?”

“Well, I do need some help sorting through the pub’s finances. Your father always took care of that, and I’ve never had a great head for numbers. I’m dreading it a little bit, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

Julia nodded without hesitation. She was great at math; it was something she’d always had a quick eye for and enjoyed doing. “Absolutely. You got it, Mom.”

Reluctantly, they all started to get up, piling their plates and silverware together. Hazel and Dean picked up the dishes and started bringing them toward the kitchen together. Since they’d all grown up around the pub, they were used to helping out with the bussing.

Julia noticed Alexis hanging back slightly, looking as though she was in danger of starting to cry again. Julia felt concern for her sister, seeing how emotional she was. She knew that their dad’s passing had hit them all hard, but Alexis seemed particularly fragile. She couldn’t help wondering if something else was wrong.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Vivian slowly buttoned the front buttons of her sweater, standing in the center of her kitchen and staring into space. It was Saturday evening after dinner, and she was home alone.

Will I ever get used to this?She thought, looking around her cozy, tidy kitchen.Being alone in the house like this?

Frank had been a quiet man, and he’d often been gone at night, going out with friends or working late hours at the pub. But his presence had always seemed to be in the house with her, even when he wasn’t home. She had never felt alone in their house, even after all of the kids had moved out, because if he wasn’t there, she always knew he was coming back soon.

She took a deep breath as she finished buttoning her sweater. She contemplated getting a dog, or some other kind of pet, to help keep her from feeling too lonely. She smiled quietly, reminding herself that the kids were there with her. She could handle the days ahead with them at her side.

She wasn’t looking forward to the task ahead of her, but she squared her shoulders and made her way to Frank’s little home office, which was located just past the stairs. The room was small, little more than a glorified closet, but it had been packed full of papers. Frank had seemed to have everything looselyorganized, but what had probably made sense in his mind was a puzzle to her. She’d already spent hours combing through the papers, making sure Julia would have everything she needed in order to put the finances of the pub in order.

She put her hands on her hips as she looked down at the desk. She only had one more drawer left to organize and clean out, and she told herself firmly that she could do it. It wasn’t the cleaning that bothered her, but she seemed to feel the weight of Frank’s passing so much more when she was sitting there combing through all of the papers that he’d arranged. He was never going to arrange them again, and she couldn’t help being sad that she was pulling apart something he’d made.

She pulled open the last drawer and tugged out a thick stack of papers. Most of them were tucked into paper folders, but many of them were stacked loosely, or even crumbled. She set the stack of papers down on the desk in front of her, and then sat down in Frank’s creaky old chair.

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