Page 12 of My Best Years
“Thousands of people live there, Birdie,” she assures me. “If he does live in Gulf Shores, it’s highly unlikely that you’ll see him again. But I bet he’s just there on vacation. It’s May, which is the start of beach season. That city is about to be flooded with tourists.”
Tourist season is the main reason I got this job. The hospital needs extra staff in the summer.
“I hope you’re right.”
I don’t think I could bear seeing him again without having a complete breakdown.
“Are you busy tonight?” she asks. “Around nine?”
“No, why?”
“Because I want to talk more about this when I’m not in a rush,” she answers. “I’m about to walk into class.”
I almost forgot that she has a night class on Sundays.
“Right,” I reply. “Yeah, I’ll be free whenever.”
“Perfect,” she adds. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
“Sounds good…And Winnie?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you please become a famous actress already so I don’t have to work anymore?” I say jokingly. “Then, I can just be your assistant and travel the world with you.”
She chuckles. We’ve always fantasized about that being the dream.
“That’s the plan, sis,” she quips. “I have to run. I’ll call you in a few hours. Everything is going to be okay, I promise. You’ve survived all these years without him. Don’t let him tear apart all of your progress now. I love you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I love you too.”
After we hang up, I shift my car into drive and head home.
I let a few more tears fall, wipe them away, and promise never to cry over Callum Pierce again.
SIX
Callum
Twelve Years Old
“Bye, Cal!”
“Bye, Birdie,” I smile back. “See you tomorrow.”
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and hop off the bus. Most days, I get nervous before I walk into my house. I never know what kind of mood my father will be in. But lately, he’s seemed to pay less attention to me—which is a good thing. A very good thing.
For the past month, I’ve been able to wear short-sleeved shirts to school, which makes me happy. My skin gets all itchy and red when my father makes me wear winter clothes when it's hot out.
I lift my eyes, staring up at the home I was born in, the nicest house on the block. All the kids at school think that I have it made since I live in a wealthy neighborhood with two-story houses, perfect lawns, and luxury vehicles lining the street. If they only knew that I call my homethehell house.
My father, Brady Pierce, is basically a celebrity in Myrtle Beach. Since his law firm is one of the best in South Carolina, he’s on all kinds of billboards and community council groups. He volunteers on the weekends and makes public appearances whenever he can. EverybodylovesBrady Pierce.
Except his own son.
When I was born, my parents were in their mid-forties and not expecting another child. They had my older brother, Grant, seventeen years before me. He was all they ever wanted—their golden boy.
When Grant graduated from high school, he went straight to college and eventually attended medical school at Johns Hopkins University. He’s an orthopedic doctor at twenty-nine years old, and my parents’ pride and joy. Grant lives in Maryland with his wife now, so we don’t see him much. Since I was only a year old when he went to college, we’ve never been close.