Page 56 of All the Ways You Save Me
The next morning, I drink my coffee on the back deck to the sound of seagulls squawking overhead and Garrett’s sander whirring away next door. The scent of sawdust drifts over and I breathe it in like it’s an expensive cologne.
I glance over at Garrett’s workshop just as he’s hanging up his tools. He swipes a hand down the front of his T-shirt, which, like the one last night, is covered in sawdust. And before I know what’s happening, he grabs the hem, pulls it over his head, and is standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of Carhartt workpants riding low on his hips.
He catches me watching and gives me a wave and a cocky grin. My mouth goes dry. I’ve seen him shirtless before, the day he pulled me out of the ocean, but I was too distracted to truly appreciate the perfection carved by a life of surfing and manual labor. He turns to reach for a clean T-shirt, and I’m treated to the view of the hard muscles stretching across his back and tattooed biceps flexing as he tugs it over his abdomen.
When I meet him in the driveway, he swings open thepassenger-side door of his Jeep for me to climb in. I give him the address of my old beach house when he slides into the seat next to me.
“It’s amazing the things you have rattling around in your brain,” I muse. “I haven’t been to my childhood home in over a decade, and I can still remember the address.” I rub my sweaty palms on my dress, suddenly nervous. What if it’s not there anymore? What if it is? Will the new owners have taken down the rickety porch swing or painted the bright blue siding the dull cream color that seems to be the fashion around here lately? Will it hurt to see a part of my life that’s gone forever?
I feel a warm pressure on my wrist and look down to find Garrett’s hand resting there. “Whatever we find, I’ll be here with you.” I take a deep breath in, and his calm presence reassures me.
Ten minutes later, Garrett slows the Jeep at a familiar cross street and brakes at the stop sign. “The address you gave me is just ahead. Are you ready?”
Whatever we find, I’ll be here with you.
I nod, and he slowly accelerates into the intersection. My gaze slides from one side of the street to the other as I try to take in everything at once. The house on the corner looks brand new, one of those modern three-story builds with a rooftop deck. When I lived here, an older couple, the Williamses, owned the 1950s cottage that stood on the lot. While I hate the sight of the monstrous beach house that’s now in its place, I don’t feel the sadness I expected. That old cottage needed a lot of work, and it probably became too much for the older couple to handle. Still, I’m happy to see the next house, a two-story Cape Cod with mint-green shutters, is just as I remember it. A young couple lived there a decade ago, and I used to babysit their toddlers. Instead of sand toys and strollers, I spot surfboards and bikes leaning against the side of the house. I imagine those toddlers are entering high school now.
We coast past the Cape Cod, and the next house comes into view. I’d recognize it anywhere.My childhood home.I take a deep breath, and Garrett slips his hand into mine as I study the structure in front of me. The house has recently been painted, but in a royal blue shade that’s similar to the color when I lived there. The new owners kept the porch swing, although that looks like it was painted, too. There are fresh flowers in pots and a couple of bikes leaning against the side of the house.
I release a breath. “It looks like a family might live there.”
Garrett nods. “Those are kids’ bikes.”
I take in the New Jersey plates on the car in the driveway. “You don’t think it’s another rental for tourists, do you?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
He gives me a slanted smile. “I asked Ian to poke in the real estate records. I hope you don’t mind. He said they’ve been living there for about eight years. You have to register rentals on the island. This is listed as a primary residence.”
I turn to study him. “So, you knew it would still be here?”
“I didn’t want it to come as a shock to you if it wasn’t.”
My heart flips in my chest. How is it that over and over, he continues to look out for me? “Thank you for doing that.”
He hitches his chin at the house. “How do you feel, seeing it?”
I remember the rough-hewn steps under my feet, the slam of the screen door as I ran in and out, the sound of my mom’s voice calling to me to be home in time for dinner. “I had a happy childhood here. I hope these kids will, too.” I gaze at the house for another minute and then I’m ready to go.
Garrett turns the car back onto Harbor Boulevard, and I spend the drive south looking for landmarks out the window, making note of the businesses that have changed over the years. I spot a clothing store with lightweight linen dresses in the window and a couple of new restaurants with outdoor seatingthat I want to check out. And then a familiar pink sign comes into view.
I press a hand to Garrett’s arm. “Selina’s bakery is still there. They have the best sandwiches. Have you been?”
Garrett shakes his head. “I’ve heard it’s good.”
“Pull over. You gave up your lunch break for me. The least I can do is buy you a sandwich. Do you have time?”
“Sure.”
The line stretches out the door but moves quickly. We’re almost to the front when I hear a woman’s voice call my name.
“Madeline Sullivan, is that you?”
I look up to find a familiar figure crossing the bakery in a pair of khaki shorts, a chambray button-down shirt, and sensible leather sandals. Her hair is grayer, and more lines crisscross her face, but otherwise, she looks exactly the same.
“Mrs. Friedman!” My favorite high school English teacher. She reaches out to give me a hug.
