Chapter25
The day of the festival, the sun broke through the clouds as if it were singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Bryan stood at the edge of the harbor, watching the water settle into calm after the storm’s fury, leaving behind clear skies and the sharp, clean scent of salt air.Festival banners that had survived the wind snapped cheerfully in the breeze.Volunteers moved through the downtown area, sweeping up any remaining debris and setting up vendor tables with the kind of easy cooperation that came from generations of weathering Gulf storms together.
They’d done it.Despite everything, the Starlight Harbor Festival would open on time.
Pride and relief surged through him, along with a connection that had roots in his grandfather’s stories and his father’s steady hands teaching him to tie proper knots on theMary Catherine’sdeck.
“Coffee’s ready at the booth if you want some.”His mother appeared at his elbow, already dressed in her festival volunteer shirt.She looked tired but satisfied, the way she always did after a long night at The Sandpiper during tourist season.
“Thanks, Mom.I’ll grab some in a minute.”
“You should eat something too.It’s going to be a long day.”
“I will.”
His mother didn’t move.Bryan knew that stance, the particular quality of her silence when she had something to say and was waiting for the right moment to say it.
“What?”he asked.
“Nothing.Just watching my son pretend he’s not scanning the crowd for a certain marketing executive.”
Heat crept up his neck.“I’m checking the setup.Making sure everything’s in place.”
“Uh huh.”His mother’s smile was gentle.“She’s over by the main stage.Been there since dawn, organizing the sound check.”
Bryan didn’t ask how his mother knew who he was looking for.His mother had always possessed an uncanny ability to read her children, a talent that had been both comforting and deeply inconvenient throughout his life.
“I need to check the vendor permits,” he said.
“Bryan.”
Something in her tone made him stop.His mother reached up and straightened his collar, a gesture so familiar it made his throat ache.
“You know you should tell her,” she said quietly.
“Tell her what?”
“How you feel about her.”
The words hung in the salt air between them.He looked away, toward the festival grounds where early arrivals were already claiming spots along the parade route.A group of kids chased each other around the gazebo while their parents set up folding chairs.Captain Roy sat on his usual bench, surveying the harbor with the satisfied expression of someone who’d seen seventy festivals and expected to see seventy more.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” Bryan said.“She’s got a life in Chicago.A career.That guy showed up yesterday and offered her everything she’s worked for.”
“And she didn’t leave with him.”
“Not yet.”
“Bryan Lucas, I didn’t raise you to be a coward.”
The sharpness in her voice made him turn.His mother’s eyes were fierce, the same look she’d worn when she’d told him at fifteen that he was going to apologize to the Harrison boy for that ridiculous fight, and again at twenty-three when she’d insisted he was capable of running The Sandpiper after his father’s stroke.
“I’m not being a coward,” he said.“I’m being realistic.She’s got a corner office waiting for her.Everything she’s worked years to achieve.What am I supposed to do, ask her to give that up for a struggling restaurant and a fishing boat that barely makes expenses?”
“You’re supposed to tell her the truth and let her make her own choice.”
“I already know what choice she’ll make.”
