Free The Seacrest by Aaron Lazar

hard.”
    I hugged her sideways. “I can’t imagine losing a family member,” I said. “I’ve never been to a funeral.”
    “It’s awful. You have to act civil to everyone, even people you don’t like. And then there’s the whole food thing. You have to put out food for all the vultures who come to the service, even if they didn’t like or know the person who died. They drink and eat and hang around your house for hours, laughing and drinking and sometimes just whispering when they see you noticing them having too much fun.”
    “Sounds horrible.”
    We walked in the cold surf, automatically heading for our cove.
    “Finn?”
    I stopped to face her in the moonlight. “Yes?”
    “You’re my salvation, you know. I can escape it all when I’m with you. You make me forget…”
    I hugged her close, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear. “I’m glad. I feel the same way. I’m whole when I’m with you.”
    She clung to me then, and began to cry. After a long time, my feet felt cold and she shivered. Wiping her tears, she raised her eyes to mine. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. I really hated her, Finn. She was terrible to me. Awful. She was so despicable; I’d go to bed in tears most nights. But I can’t stop crying about it.”
    I hugged her and shushed her and walked her up to the cove. “I know. Shh. It’s okay. It’s just normal to feel this way when someone dies.” I had no idea if I was right, but it sounded good.
    I realized with certainty as she looked at me through the silvery moonlight that tonight would not be the night we joined together. It wouldn’t be right. It would be taking advantage.
    And I also realized that in no uncertain terms, this was the girl I wanted to share my life with. Forever.
    Me and Sassy. Together forever.
    I took her hand and led her back to the jetty. In spite of my good intentions, I didn’t think I could restrain myself on a blanket in the sand next to the most beautiful girl in the world.
     

Chapter 17
    July 14 th , 2013
    11:00 A.M.
     
    A ce went inside first.
    When I unlocked the big front door with trembling fingers, my loyal dog—who’d never been here in his life—pushed through the door, walked to the hearth in the great room, circled on the braided rug, and promptly lay down.
    Libby sidled close behind me with a nervous whisper. “Look at Ace. He’s making himself right at home.”
    Somehow, this simple action by my beloved dog made all the difference. If Ace didn’t sense spirits lingering, sadness permeating the wooden floors and wallpapered walls, if he didn’t hesitate to plop down in front of the fireplace, why should I?
    I walked toward him, taking in the furniture and photos on the mantle.
    How was it possible? Jax had recreated everything from our childhood, including a lookalike couch, tables, chairs, and even the pictures on the walls. He must’ve scoured antique stores for years to find these pieces. And the couch? How could he have found the exact fabric? The same design as the 1970s version my mother lovingly protected with plastic until I was twenty-two years old?
    I suppose he could have commissioned the work, found an upholsterer and searched data banks of fabric. Apparently he had the money for it.
    But to Jax’s credit—as spooky as it was—he’d done it.
    I was home.
    “Oh, look!” Libby pointed to the photos on the mantle. There I was, in a huge framed print. I stood smiling with a trophy, standing in front of my baseball team who crowded me with long-lost smiles on their faces.
    My brother kept pictures of me in his home? Prominently displayed on the mantle?
    To the right stood a photo of my grandfather, sitting atop his houseboat in ragged cutoffs with a drink in his hands, his skin all sun-creased and weather-wise. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but I knew they penetrated the camera lens with truth-seeking ferocity. A fishing rod rested in a holder by his side, and the Atlantic Ocean glistened in the