Page 35 of The Seascape Between Us

Guilt gripped my insides and gave them a twist. I hadn’t come back to The Square after my father’s husband passed away, and while my father had worked hard at coming up with excuses to keep me from visiting before Sean died, I still didn’t feel good about not coming back to pay my respects, whether my father wanted me here or not.

I’d liked Sean well enough when I met him. He’d been a quiet, thoughtful man, kind and patient. The complete opposite of my father. When I came to stay here, seventeen years ago, he’d givenme a wide berth. Maybe he thought I’d blamed him for how my parents’ marriage turned out.

While I was never sure how my father had wound up leaving my mother and ending up with Sean, whether he’d been gay all along and married my mother because of pressure from his own family or whether he’d been attracted to women and men, whatever the reason, Sean didn’t need to worry that I blamed him for my parents’ divorce. Gay, straight, or somewhere in between, my father leaving my mother had been inevitable. I couldn’t remember a time when they could stand to be around each other.

There was so much I didn’t know about my father. When he’d been alive, we hadn’t had the kind of relationship—any kind of relationship—where he would speak openly about who he was, and god knew, I wouldn’t have gotten any insight from my mother. She refused to speak to me about him. Though, to be fair, she’d refused to speak to me about anything since her parents had left all their money to me when they’d passed away fifteen years ago. But that was a whole other family drama.

When it came to Oliver Mackenzie, I didn’t know him any better than anyone else. The college professor. The town councilman. The activist. The shitty father. Maybe Ididknow him a little better than other people, after all.

Of course, I could know more about the man… if I wanted to. I just wasn’t sure that I wanted to. When Finn had come here to clean out this house right after my father had died last year, he’d boxed up my father’s personal effects and stored them in the attic—no matter how many times I told him to throw them out.

Finn had baggage with his own father, who had left him and his mother when he had been a toddler and never came back. He’d been concerned that if he threw away my father’s things, I might regret it one day. The thing was, I knew who my father was—at least, as a father. He was distant, exacting, and generallydisapproving. My father as a man, I had no idea who he was, and while careening toward my forties like I was speeding downhill in a car with no brakes, I just wasn’t interested in knowing at this point in my life.

He was who he was, and nothing Finn had stashed upstairs would change that. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I didn’t at least leave the impression that I had looked at what was in the boxes Finn had stored in the attic, I had a feeling he’d ship them to my place in Portland once this house sold.

And of course, there was the letter Finn mentioned that one of the college students renting this place found. I should probably have a look at that. Maybe my father had left me some secret fortune besides a bunch of properties I didn't want.

Better to deal with my dysfunctional relationship with father rather than analyze what had happened between me and Daniel earlier and what it meant.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, followed the hallway past the two bedrooms to a closed door at the end. After opening it, I flicked on the light. A bare bulb mounted above the base of a narrow set of stairs cast more shadows than light. Forgotten cobwebs drifted high in the corners, adding to the less than charming horror movie-esque atmosphere.

Inside the attic, the air was thick and hot after an afternoon under the glare of the late spring sun and smelled of old dust and dry wood. Between the setting sun and the thick layer of grime coating the small windows at either end of the room, darkness pressed in and I could barely see my own hand in front of me.

There had to be another light around here somewhere. I dug out my phone from my pocket and switched on the flashlight app, swinging the dull beam around the room. A long string hung from another bare light bulb mounted to an overhead beam.

I gave it a yank and a dull yellow light lit up the low, sloped ceiling, rough wood floorboards and cardboard boxes stacked against the far wall.

I didn’t move for a long moment. The sight of my father’s life reduced to a dozen or so cardboard boxes, forgotten and unwanted in an attic, felt like a punch in the stomach, stealing my breath. God, was this reallyallthat was left of him, with no one who even wanted it?

I gave myself a mental shake. After all, I was being morbid. I just needed to get this done, and then I could leave this attic and never think of my father’s things again.

After crossing to the small space where his boxes were stacked, I stood looking at them. Someone, Finn presumably, had stuck an envelope addressed to me in my father’s neat print to the top of one of these boxes with packing tape. I smirked to myself. He clearly didn’t want me to miss it.

With a sigh, I peeled the envelope off a box before tearing it open. My heart rate kicked up in my chest, and sweat dripped down my spine. I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, opened them again and slid out the folded letter.

Greyson,

I’ve tried writing this letter so many times and given up. The things I have to say to you are difficult to admit. I am ashamed of the things I’ve done, but I owe you an apology and an explanation, at the very least.

I could feel my eyebrows lift doubtfully. In all the years I’d known my father, I'd never once heard him apologize to anyone for anything. Technically, he still hadn’t. He’d only acknowledged he owed me one. He’d yet to write that he was sorry for anything.

I hope you understand I wanted so much for you—everything for you. You were so intelligent, but so young. I was terrified that you would make a decision that might cost you all theopportunities you had waiting. I hope as you read on that you understand the things I did were because I was afraid for you.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that your mother and I never loved each other the way we should have. I knew firsthand what it was like to find myself trapped in a marriage, a life I didn’t want.

Your mother was so angry when I left. I thought keeping my distance would make things easier for you, less tumultuous. I know now that was wrong, and I should have made more effort to see you.

My eyes rolled as I snorted but kept reading.

The summer you asked to stay with Sean and me, I’d been thrilled. I’d seen it as a chance to start over and rebuild the relationship I’d let wither, and I believe we had started to make inroads at reconnecting.

Did he ever not sound like a professor lecturing his students?

Then you met Daniel.

When you first started seeing him, I’d been apprehensive, but I kept my thoughts to myself. I convinced myself that it was a summer fling, nothing more. At the end of summer, you would go back to school and forget all about him. But even before you told me you were considering transferring to Bayside, I’d known I was wrong. Things with you and Daniel grew serious so quickly.

I hated the idea of you risking your future for a boy who would never leave Saltwater Cove, let alone do something with his life. I hated the idea of you setting aside everything you had worked so hard for, everything you could do or be to stay with him and waste your life in his decaying hotel.

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