That’s when I hooked up with Mack. Started doing what I’m doing now. The rest, as they say, is history.
I pull open the door to Beach Bar. Not too crowded, not too quiet. Grab a seat at the bar and proceed to drink myself into a stupor. As is customary on the anniversary of my brother’s death.
three
GENEVIEVE
I wake with a start.But not sure why as I open my eyes. My alarm didn’t go off, there’s no sunlight shining through the black-out shades in our bedroom, and I’m alone in our bed so Harrison’s flopping around was also not the culprit.
His side of the bed remains relatively untouched.
Figures he’d sulk all night and sleep in another room. I hate it when he gets in these moods.
I take my time stretching before getting out of bed and am surprised to see it’s almost eight o’clock in the morning. My alarm must not have been set, which would explain why it didn’t go off and I’m waking an hour later than usual. I’m also surprised that Harrison didn’t wake me up.
Or bring me coffee.
The top of my nightstand remains bare where a mug usually sits.
Even when he’s mad at me, Harrison will bring me a cup of coffee first thing and leave it on my nightstand. I have a small mug heater that keeps it warm until I wake up. Not that I sleep that late, mind you, just that Harrison gets up that early. That should have happened almost two hours ago, by now.
Luckily, I don’t have anything planned for this morning that I’ve missed. But I think Harrison has a phone appointment with his attorney, Grant, later. I put on a robe and make my way to the kitchen. Two things I must have before I can start my day. Coffee and a shower.
Huh.
No coffee made in the kitchen either. Harrison must either be really pissed, or he’s sleeping in. His office door is still shut, my guess is he’s probably in there licking his wounds. He takes our discussions about Ty so personally.
I grab a K-cup and make myself a mug the new-fangled way. Harrison hates it and prefers the taste of a pot that’s been brewed, but I think it’s great for something quick. He says the sound of the maker spitting coffee into the carafe is meditative for him.
The Keurig beeps that it’s finished. In roughly one-tenth of the time a whole pot would have taken, I note with satisfaction. I’m tempted to knock on his office door as I head back to my bathroom to take a shower but decide to let him sleep a while longer, just in case. There’s nothing crankier than a pouting Harrison who didn’t get enough sleep.
* * *
ONE HOUR LATER
I head to the backyard leisurely strolling through the gardens to get to the pool. Stopping to admire the sparkling blue water in the morning sunlight.
Something’s not right.
It takes a moment for my brain to catch up with what I’m seeing.
Harrison is floating face down in the endless pool.
Is he still swimming?
“Harrison?” I call out to him.
He’s not moving.
It takes another moment for my brain to digest that.
Along with the slightest tinge of pink surrounding the back of his head.
Is that blood?
“Oh my god, Harrison!”
My coffee cup falls to the ground, the hot brew splashing my skin as it goes, the mug shatters into hundreds of pieces. I move forward, barely feeling the nicks of the ceramic or the burn of the liquid as I jump into action. Jumping into the pool, I make my way toward him, grabbing hold around his chest, and pulling him toward the edge. I’m not strong enough to push him up and out.
