The High Tide Club

“And then?” Brooke prompted.

“I couldn’t get you to sleep or nurse. I was a miserable failure. And I wasn’t used to failing at anything. I’d always been good at everything when I was working.”

“So what did you do?”

Marie reached over and stroked Brooke’s hair, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. “I did what you should have done. I finally called my mother and told her I needed help.”

“That’s when she moved down to Savannah to live with us?”

“Yes. She literally saved my life. Yours too.”

“God. It must be an inherited trait. Remember? I had to quit nursing Henry after two months because he wasn’t latching on. And he didn’t sleep the whole night until he was almost two,” Brooke said, shuddering at the memory.

“You should have told me,” Marie scolded. “Why wouldn’t you call me up and tell me what you were going through?”

“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “I guess I thought it would be like surrendering. Admitting that I couldn’t take care of my own child.”

“You can’t do it all alone, honey,” Marie said softly. “Nobody can. Not even you.”

“I see that now,” Brooke said. She stretched out on the sofa and put her head in her mother’s lap. “I don’t know if it’s the wine or just having you here, but all of a sudden, I sort of feel okay. I think maybe it’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m glad,” Marie said. “You’ve changed, you know, since you moved down here.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. One thing that I think is good is that you’re not as driven as you used to be when you were working in Savannah. You used to scare me, you were so focused. Work, running, work. I used to wish you’d slow down and have some fun.”

“And the bad?” Brooke was almost afraid to ask.

“Oh, Brooke.” Marie sighed. “Your self-esteem is so low. What happened to my golden girl? The triumphant soccer player, the kid who went to summer camp by herself at the age of six and never looked back or acted homesick? It hurts me to see you being so hard on yourself.”

Brooke felt a tear slide down her cheek. She swallowed hard and tried to find the words.

“I screwed up. Royally. Let you guys down. Left poor Harris standing at the altar. Left Dad holding the bag for that hideously expensive wedding. Quit my job, ran away from home, and if that’s not enough, I got myself knocked up. Had a kid out of wedlock. I’m like some big, stupid sitcom. Only nobody’s laughing.”

Marie pushed Brooke off her lap and prodded her back into a sitting position. “Look at me, Brooke Marie. Tell me the truth. Do you regret not marrying Harris?”

“No,” Brooke said quickly. “Just the way I handled everything.”

“Do you regret having Henry?”

“Never! He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“That’s what I thought,” Marie said. “So you made some mistakes. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Maybe,” Brooke said, still unconvinced. “But you can’t pretend you were thrilled that I got pregnant the way I did.”

“The baby was definitely a surprise,” Marie admitted. “I wasn’t even aware you were seeing somebody. And you still haven’t told me anything about Henry’s father. All I know is that you say he’s not in your life anymore. That’s the part that’s really hard for me. I know you, Brooke. I know you don’t have casual relationships. So this man … this mystery man. He’s still Henry’s father. Our boy has his DNA. And I’m only human. I can’t help but wonder about him. Why aren’t you together? Did he hurt you that badly? Are you still in love with him? Is he a good man?”

Brooke looked into her mother’s dark blue eyes and saw only love and acceptance. She felt herself exhale slowly. Holding the secret of Pete, she realized, was exhausting. And senseless. And selfish.

“His name is Pete. Pete Haynes,” she began. “Henry has his smile. And his big feet. And yes, he’s a very good man. I think you’d like him. And I know he’d love you.”

The words came tumbling out, like a dammed-up torrent of story and emotion.

She told her mother how she’d met Pete during her summer job in DC. Her harmless secret summer fling. How she’d run into him at the barbecue restaurant in Savannah, at a lunch meeting with her wedding florist, for God’s sake!

“Seeing Pete, after all that time,” Brooke said. “I can’t even describe how I felt. It was terrifying. I was already having these nagging midnight doubts about me and Harris. If we were really right for each other. And then to run into Pete—two weeks before my wedding! It was like seeing a ghost, Mom. I hadn’t thought about this guy in years. At the end of that summer, I came home and moved in with Harris and started law school. Mentally, I put Pete Haynes in a shoe box, taped it up, and shoved it in the back of my closet. But that day, at freaking Johnny Harris Barbecue, the tape came off. And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop thinking about Pete.”

“I wish you’d told me,” Marie said quietly.

“I couldn’t tell you, because I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was having anxiety nightmares. Panic attacks. I got some Xanax from a girlfriend at work, but the Xanax just made me feel stoned. It didn’t get Pete out of my head.”

“So when you ran away, the night of your bachelorette party?” Marie asked.

“I got in the car and started driving. That day at Johnny Harris, Pete told me he was staying on Cumberland, working on some project for the National Park Service. I didn’t have a plan. Not really. I told myself I was going to Loblolly just to hang out and give myself time to think. But that was a lie. I wasn’t running away from Harris. I was running to Pete.”

Brooke found her half-empty glass of wine and drained it.

“Of course, when I threw myself at him on Cumberland, he turned me down flat. Told me he didn’t want to be my rebound boy.”

At some point, Brooke got her phone and showed Marie the last photo she’d taken of Pete before he’d left for Alaska. It had been taken while they were kayaking on the river. He was bearded and bare-chested, laughing, the late-day sun making a halo around his shaggy, unkempt hair.

Marie peered down at the phone, enlarged the image, then tapped the photo with her index finger. “The freckles. That’s where they came from. I’ve always wondered.”

“It’s uncanny,” Brooke said. “Henry has the exact same number of freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheeks as his father. I know, because I counted them. While Pete was asleep. The morning after…” She blushed. “The morning after Henry was conceived.”

Marie didn’t seem shocked. “When did things change between you? I mean, you just told me he rejected you when you showed up on Cumberland Island after you called off the wedding.”

“We mutually agreed that we should take things slowly. The old ‘let’s just be friends’ kind of deal. I realized I wasn’t in any kind of shape to start a new relationship, I was trying to get my law practice up and running, and Pete’s a naturally cautious person. We were seeing each other casually, at least at first.”