Page 26 of Our Long Days
I spread out on a towel, the sun warming my back, my Kindle cradled in one hand and a smoothie in the other.
Hidden behind long reeds and steep dunes are the pink sands of Piper Beach. Unless you’re out at sea or high up on the bluffs, the secluded spot is a mystery to out of towners. Tourists flock to the larger beaches on the other side of Acadia National Park, leaving us this sliver of land.
With June around the corner, New England summer is finally here. My skin is delightfully sun-kissed, slathered in coconut sunscreen. I’m in a pair of denim cut-offs, my raggedy Rolling Stones T-shirt off to the side, leaving me in a bright yellow bikini top. I’ve been out here for a couple hours, andafter a much-needed break from doom-scrolling, I take my phone off Do Not Disturb.
Mom: Don’t forget about the dress fitting.
Mom: Why is your phone off?
Mom: Did you forget?
Jo: Hey, did you want a ride?
Quinn: We’re outside. Are you home?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Sand explodes around me as I scramble off my towel. Snatching my belongings, I sprint across the beach, phone tucked between my shoulder, the ringing tone loud like my guilt.
“Where’ve you been?” Patrick answers curtly.
That “tiny” detail I couldn’t pinpoint wasn’t so tiny. It was big.
“I know, I know,” I cry. “I’m at the beach. Can you come and get me, please?”
The sigh he releases magnifies my shame. “I’m on my way.”
Ten minutes later, my dad’s beat up blue Chevy pulls up along the boardwalk. Wearing my biggest smile and apologizing profusely, I climb in. Patrick shakes his head, and before he can start his rant, I say, “Save the lecture. Just for today.”
He puts the truck in drive. “How did you forget? We literally discussed itlastnight.”
“I don’t know, okay? Can we change the subject?” I dust the sand off my legs.
The conifers whizz by as we meander the winding roads on the short drive to Jacob’s Bluff, the neighboring town. It’s bigger than Sutton Bay and has more amenities—like the bridal boutique I was due at two minutes ago.
Patrick drums his fingers on the steering wheel, casting me a glance. “Do I need to remind you about dinner tomorrow?”
Pain needles its way into my heart, sharp and deep. The backs of my eyes burn. “Seriously, Pat? You think I’d forget Dad’s anniversary?”
“Shit, Flo. I didn’t mean it like that.” Regret laces his features.
I might have forgotten the bridesmaid dress fitting, but the day we lost Dad is a nightmare I’ll never forget. None of us will. It’s cruel of him to suggest otherwise.
Needing something to do with my hands, I twist my fingers together, only to find them bare.My rings.I frantically search the footwell, and then remember where I last saw them. On my towel.
The faded silver jewelry was nothing sentimental, only a comfort. Their absence, along with my brother’s patronizing words, leaves me completely exposed.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noting my quick intake of breath.
“Everything,” I whisper.
“Florence.” Patrick’s voice filters through the roaring in my ears.
We pull up outside the small boutique, but I don’t make a move to get out.
Out of all my brothers, Patrick’s the most like our dad: warm, paternal, and always looking out for everyone. He would never intentionally hurt me, but his words cut deep. Everything recently feels bone deep, strike after strike.
“You know you can talk to me,” he says softly.
