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After passing Augustus his lunch, Ash snags a fry. Pops it into her mouth. Muses as she chews. “I think…if you honor some of your dreams, try to fix some of your mistakes before it’s too late, it’ll put you and your family in a better place.”
“I missed my daughter’s birthdays growing up. Every one. I don’t think I’ve been there for a single one since she was two.”
It’s clear in the tone of his voice. How something so small still stings so very much.
“She must have been upset.”
“She was.”
Ash perks up, ideas churning in her head. “What if…on the last night of the trip, you had a birthday party for her? Not just a birthday party, but the birthday party of all birthdays. It’s like an apology, but with cake.”
Augustus’s pale-blue eyes spark with excitement. He hoots a laugh. “You know, my dear, I think that’s your best idea yet.”
“So you plan it, and if you need it, I’ll help.”
He arches a brow. “That’s not in your job description.”
She scoffs. “It’s not, but I’ll still help. I am a master at all the random things. Not to mention, I love a good party.”
“It’s a beautiful idea, Ash.”
“What else?” she asks as she covertly takes a second to inject herself with insulin. “We’re writing your memoirs.” It’s what the two of them have been doing on their brief rests in the hotel room. “We’re in your resorts. What else do you want?”
“I want my family to be prepared.”
A rock lodges itself in Ash’s throat. The thought of Augustus dying is a punch to the solar plexus. He hired her early in the process, so she’s here for the long run. Still, some part of her hopes. Hopes that with the chemo, there will be a miracle.
“I want my oldest grandson, who gets a month off at a time, to come home. I want him to stop running halfway across the world to escape the past.”
Ash smothers a smile. “You’re meddling, Augustus.”
A harrumph. “I’m an old man. I deserve to meddle.” He sighs and adjusts his hat.
Ash frowns up at the umbrella. The sun’s beginning to edge out the shade it provides. “He’s in LA.” She dusts sandwich crumbs from her fingertips. “That’s hardly halfway across the country.”
“Soon, he’ll be far away from us all,” Augustus says, lowering his head. “He applied for a position on a North Sea oil rig.”
Ash swallows hard. Her thoughts, her eyes, drift to Nathaniel. Strange emotions slice through her chest. Emotions like concern and worry and panic.
It sounds dangerous, but he’s a doctor. He’d take care ofhimself, right? Put others first, that’s their creed. It makes sense that Nathaniel Whitford would risk sinking to the bottom of the ocean for a career change. He’s an idiot.
“Maybe those are his dreams,” Ash muses, tearing her focus away from Nathaniel.
“Perhaps.” Augustus offers her a small smile. “What about you? What are your dreams?”
Ash blinks. “This isn’t about me.”
“Yes, but I want to know about you,” he says, laying a hand on her wrist.
Silence ripples as Ash considers it. Why the hell not? She needs a voice of reason. Why not Augustus?
“I did a bad thing,” Ash admits. She peers toward the lip of the beach. Nathaniel rising out of the ocean like a great scowling Poseidon, biceps tight as he carries his surfboard to land. “To your grandson.”
Augustus follows her line of sight. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, maybe he needs to hear you say that.” His tone is mild, but there’s a fair hint of scolding in it. Or maybe it’s smugness.
Ash scoffs, narrows her eyes. “Using my words against me is unfair.” Then she sighs.
“I thought the wrong thing. I did the wrong thing. I fucked up.”
