Page 64 of For Better or Hearse
Ash shoves a hand through her wild cloud of hair and groans. “Don’t say it.”
Augustus cackles, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially. “Another day.”
Ash inhales. “Another day.”
After a chartered ride, they spend the morning hiking Bird Park Trail. Nathaniel leads the pack, walking ahead with Augustus, keeping his distance. It’s just as well. It’s best if she avoids the man’s nearness and smug glances and salty sea scent. She will hang at the back of the family like the weird little barnacle she is.
After the hike, they head to Hapuna Beach. At a reserved spot, they find lounge chairs, shaded picnic tables and box lunches waiting. The half-mile stretch of white sand is crowded with people. A tiki hut sells shave ice, spam sandwiches and cold drinks.
The Whitford family drifts. Claire to shop, Don back to the hotel to work, Delaney and Tate on their phones.
Ash groans. It’s like herding cats. But Augustus wears a content expression as he takes a seat in a lounge chair to work on his memoirs.
Ash helps get him comfortable. Water. Pens at the ready. A big fucking umbrella.
Maybe this is what he wants. To watch. To enjoy. To just be. Sometimes clients prefer that. But it makes Ash ache. If only the Whitfords knew how lucky they were. If only Augustus’s family would behave likefamilyduring this one last trip.
Augustus holds his notepad out and away from him, wearing a thoughtful frown.
“How are you feeling?” Ash asks.
“You know already.” He squints at his handwriting.
Ash hovers near him, heart throbbing, biting her lower lip. His doctor mentioned his vision and his focus could change because of his cancer.
She reaches for the pen. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” Augustus says. “I may be slow, but steady wins the race.” His tone is light but resigned.
Ash chews her lip.
Augustus tips his head back and tuts. “Go on.” He lifts a hand to shoo her away. “Go be Ash.”
She has to physically make herself move to leave. She can’t fix everything. No matter how much she wants to.
At the picnic table, Ash sets her beach bag down. She’s just taken a seat when a shrill beeping pierces the air. With a whip-quick hand, she silences her CGM alarm. Damn the downward spiral of her blood sugar. She digs around in the melty cooler,searching for a Coke. Then stops herself when movement near the shave ice stand catches her attention. If she needs sugar, she’s going to sugar this right.
In line, Ash waits, thankful she’s already lathered on the sunscreen. She shivers as the breeze kicks up. Surveys the ocean. Water’s one sport she enjoys. Lounging on beaches in California with Tessie. Paddleboarding or surfing, it’s all a source of calm, of home, for her. She’ll have a shave ice and let her blood sugar come up to normal, then go for a swim.
“Tell me a truth, Ash,” a velvety voice says in her ear.
She smiles, then remembers who it is, and lets it morph into a groan. “Your murder. On the beach with a harpoon.”
Nathaniel laughs. A bright sound that has her heart pumping double-time. Sharp and electrifying. His laugh makes her want to drink it down.
Mouth curving upward, he leans in. “Your favorite flavor. Something disgusting, I’m sure.”
She bats him away and rolls her shoulders back. “No doubt yours is bitter and paranoid.” A shrug. “Guess we’ll never know, because you dislike anything fun or delicious.”
Shamelessly, her traitorous eyes flick to him. Nathaniel unbuttoning and rolling the cuffs of his linen shirt is the near equivalent of aBaywatchbeach run. In the sunlight, his hair is a dark caramel. The scruff on his jawline competes with his full lower lip for sexiest feature of the year.
“Didn’t hear you stomping back there, Bigfoot.” His smile is smug, blue eyes triumphant.
“Sandals are adequate, even if they were too expensive.” She stares into the sun, sacrificing her retinas so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with Nathaniel. She’ll never let on how much she loves them. How they’re so perfectly her. How her feet have been cool and comfortable all day.
“Since you seem hellbent on killing yourself, I thought I’d upgrade your footwear.” He looks down at her feet. “They suit you.”
“I’ll still never stop wearing the boots.”