Free The Things We Knew by Catherine West Page B

for the impact of seeing her again after so many years. He wondered if she felt the same . . . wondered if she remembered that night so long ago, when they’d walked the beach and talked—and he’d kissed her. He couldn’t believe he’d done it at the time. Sometimes he still didn’t.
    Nick flopped onto his stomach, wishing for a couple more hours sleep, but he was wide-awake. He’d wanted to tell Lynette how he really felt that night. That he’d never thought of her like a kid sister the way the others did. But he’d lost his nerve. Then life got in the way.
    And now? Now wasn’t exactly the ideal time to rip the lid off any of his unresolved feelings. They both had more issues to deal with than the characters on those smarmy reality shows Mindy liked to watch.
    Mindy . . . Nick groaned into his pillow and made a mental note to figure that one out ASAP.
    Too quickly, his mind drifted back to the Carlisles. Something was definitely wrong with Drake. Alzheimer’s was his best guess. Nick was no doctor, but he knew one thing for sure—in his befuddled mind, the man had come here that night looking for his wife.
    Nick knew why.
    He got up with the sun, slammed around the kitchen, and put together a quick breakfast. The overly toasted bagel didn’t go down easily. After a couple of bites, he opted for just coffee.
    Nick sat with his head in his hands, jackhammers drilling into his brain. For the thousandth time, he cursed the day his father had called requesting—no, demanding—his presence back here on Nantucket. He should have refused. Packed up his stuff and run as far as he could in the opposite direction. But he’d given in, for a good reason. Except now he was stuck, left to deal with a not-so-forgotten past and all its monsters.
    His smartphone beeped with new messages. Nick scanned them and shook his head. Mindy Vanguard did not take no for an answer. He’d have to call her back eventually. If he didn’t, she’d show up on his doorstep.
    The early-morning sun rays shone through the bay window of the kitchen. He put his plate in the dishwasher and went upstairs to change.
    Nick went for a swim, then jogged along the not-yet-crowded beach and let the sea air penetrate his lungs and purify his thoughts. He slowed his pace when he passed the steps that led to Wyldewood. The house still seemed grand, but the gray shingles were shaded with moss, more than a few missing. The roof looked in need of repair. A tattered flag hung limp from the rusted metal pole, white paint peeling off.
    With all of them gone, and Lynnie managing the old man and working as well, it was no wonder the house was so rundown.
    Back home, he showered, dressed, and made two phone calls. One to placate Mindy, the other, he hoped, to placate himself.
    He pushed up the garage door and hopped into the old two-seater Jeep TJ he’d been driving since the day he was legal. He didn’t drive her much anymore, but today the mood hit. She looked good, not a speck of dust on the shiny black paint. The engine came to life at once. Nick had Clyde, their groundskeeper, to thank for that. If his father knew the Jeep was still in working condition, he might have had it carted away. Dad didn’t like to be reminded of Nick’s rebellious youth.
    He put the top down, pushed on his shades, and cranked the volume of the radio as he turned onto Polpis. Gray’s latest Top 40 hit accosted him, and he pressed harder on the gas pedal. Everyone on Nantucket seemed to think Gray Carlisle was the next John Mayer.
    Nick drummed on the wheel and listened to the gravelly voice belt out an unfamiliar tune. Something about pain, heartache, and addiction. Typical. Write what you know, Gray.
    He whizzed by the dunes and watched kids race toward the water. The wind tugged at his hair and shook off sleep as he wound along the coastal road, through town, past Brant Point Lighthouse off in the distance.
    He slowed to overtake a couple on pedal bikes. The sun warmed his skin