Page 7 of The Choices I've Made
“By you, no doubt.”
“Damn straight,” he said, giving my designer jeans and tailored button down a once over. “You might be all high society now with your fancy degrees and impressive salary, but you’re still the same kid from way back who yelled at me for poking the jellyfish along the shore.”
“What can I say?” I laughed. “I was a tenderhearted son of a bitch.”
“That, you were.” He smiled. “That, you were.”
Another awkward silence fell around us like fog along the tide. One that reminded me of how long it’d truly been. Here I was, sitting across from the man I’d once counted as family, a friend I would have gone to hell and back for, but now, I didn’t know a damn thing about him.
“So, what have you been up to?” I asked, feeling the distance between us growing.
He looked away for a moment before answering, “Oh, you know, a little of this and that. Business is good. Mom would love to see you. We’ve got a few new boats now.”
I nodded, not surprised in the least by his response. Dean had always intended to work for the family business. Since we were kids, it was all he’d talked about. The Sutherland Fishing Company was big on the island, and when your name happened to be Sutherland…well, that was what you did.
Fishing.
His whole life had been planned out for him, and he’d never even thought to dispute it. It was just how life ran around here.
That was why I’d left.
Although I wasn’t a Sutherland, my life had been just as planned until I chose a different path.
“Listen, I’d better get going,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “The ferry is about to push off, and I’ve been gone most of the day, grabbing supplies and whatnot.”
I looked out at the dock, watching the ferry return from the other side. Passengers began loading by the carload in neat, straight lines. The waitress dropped off my food, and still, I sat there, staring out at the vessel that would bring me home.
It’s not home, I reminded myself.
“Would have thought a big-ass Sutherland like yourself would have his own means of transportation by now.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes, I like to ride the ferry and zone out, you know? Driving the boat requires all sorts of thinking, and every once in a while, it’s nice to just not.”
I nodded. “Yeah, man, I do.”
He still seemed hesitant, and I caught him gazing at that ferry with a worried look in his eyes. It dawned on me just then.
“Oh, come on, Dean,” I finally said with a smile. “Don’t tell me you still believe in that old superstition about the last ferry of the day.”
He laughed. “It was your wackadoodle neighbor who told me about it. Scared the piss right out of my six-year-old body. I’ve never been able to step foot on that last boat after hearing her tell those scary stories late at night.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know as well as I do that Terri has a few loose screws, and there isn’t anything she loves more than messing with young boys, especially when she catches them in her garden. Nothing bad has ever happened to the last ferry of the night. You and I know that.”
“Then, how do you explain the crazy experience we had that one night during junior year?”
“You mean, when Molly dared me to crawl under the car and grab your ankles when she was telling you that fucking lame-ass ghost story?”
His eyes widened in shock. “You assholes! I nearly peed my pants that night.”
I laughed. “Pretty sure you actually did. I think I had to talk you out of jumping off the boat several times.”
He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Those were the good old days,” he said, turning his attention toward the window.
I followed. I didn’t say anything in return.
“Okay,” he finally said, his eyes finding mine. “I’ll grab the last ferry with you. But only because we need to catch up. Things are different now.”
I nodded, letting him believe that. But how could anything be different in a place where nothing changed?
