“How about you sleep in my bed tonight,” Cameron said.
“Okay,” Ronan said, a flood of relief washing over him. Cameron would be able to protect him from the bad dreams. His older brother could do anything.
“You want to bring your book?” Cam asked. He handed it to Ronan. “Your fish book. You really like this book, don’t you?”
“Mom gave it to me,” Ronan said.
“You like fish? Maybe we could go fishing sometime.”
Ronan frowned. He never wanted to go near the ocean again. “I don’t like fish that way,” he said. “I don’t want to go near the black water. It might suck me up and pull me down to the bottom.”
“You don’t have to be scared of that,” Cam said.
But that was one point that Ronan refused to give to his older brother. He was never, ever going to go on the ocean again. “I like my aquarium fish,” Ronan ventured.
“You don’t have any aquarium fish,” Cameron said.
“I know. But I used to like them. They helped me sleep.”
“Well, maybe we could ask Grandda if we could go get you some new fish. Would that make you feel better?”
In truth, the only thing that could make Ronan feel better was if his mother was there to tuck him in and his father was there to kiss him goodnight.
Maybe his older brothers could do without that. Cameron was twelve and the twins, Kieran and Dermot were nine, almost ten. Maybe when you got older, hugs and kisses weren’t important. But it wasn’t a baby thing, was it, to want hugs and kisses?
Ronan reached out and grabbed his brother’s hand as they walked out of Ronan’s room and into the hall. He needed to be braver. That’s what older boys were expected to do. It was time to grow up.
1
THE SUN ROSE as the bus rolled across the state line from New Hampshire into Maine. After four days on the road, crossing the country accompanied by complete strangers, eating at roadside diners and truck stops and sleeping in fits and starts, Ronan was ready to reach his destination.
The sunrise had become an important event for him, something he looked forward to when there was little else to mark the passing time. But now that they’d reached the Atlantic coast, he saw a completely different sunrise, a blaze of color over the blue ocean.
Like Seattle, the passing landscape was dominated by the sea and Ronan felt a hint of familiarity in such a strange, new place. The villages along the route were populated with white clapboard buildings and red brick churches, towering hardwood trees and tidy town squares, and harbors filled with bobbing sailboats.
“Thanks, Grandda,” he murmured to himself. He couldn’t imagine that his brothers’ destinations in New Mexico, Kentucky and Wisconsin came close to the natural beauty he was seeing here.
The bus ride really hadn’t been that bad. As a kid, he’d spent a lot of time alone, riding his bike around the neighborhood or mastering tricks on his skateboard. As he grew older, he’d hiked and climbed and camped, he’d taught himself to ski and snowboard, but always alone, finding comfort in the quiet of a silent mountaintop or a lush forest.
His fondness for solitude had made him a bit of a black sheep in a family of brothers who were impossibly close. Ronan had just never found a proper place for himself. His oldest brother, Cameron, was the responsible one, charged with holding their fractured family together. Dermot was the charmer and Kieran the quiet one. Ronan was the outsider.
It didn’t help that Ronan was the only one of the four Quinn boys who harbored an unshakable fear of the water. It had been difficult when every Quinn family activity revolved around boats and sailing. Cam, Dermot and Kieran spent their free time on the water, while Ronan had been forced to find solitary activities on land.
Ronan knew his fear of water had everything to do with what had happened to his parents. He didn’t remember many details about that time when the world went black and everyone was sad. Yet, to this day, he remembered the nightmares of cold water and high waves, endless depths and interminable storms, and a deep and utter feeling of loss.
The mother who had comforted him, the father he’d adored, were suddenly gone, and no one had ever really explained to him how that could have happened. He was the one who held hope the longest, certain that one day, his parents would walk in the door and life would get back to normal.
Ronan didn’t mind that he was labeled the odd little brother. It was his place in the family hierarchy and it was comfortable amidst brothers who seemed to thrive on competition. He didn’t mind that making friends didn’t come easily to him. Or that he was twenty-six and drifted between women the same way he drifted between jobs at the yachtworks.
He didn’t want to make plans, he avoided commitment. No one could know what the future held so he didn’t think about the future. He lived his days, and his nights, one at a time.
But last week, his grandfather had asked them all to imagine a different life, to put aside the responsibilities they’d taken on as kids and to follow their dreams. To his surprise, the further he got from Seattle and his life there, the more his past began to fade in his mind.
The only dream he’d ever had as a child was more of a fantasy, one where his parents magically reappeared in their lives. Maybe it was time to start making a plan for himself, to focus on a goal and make it come true. Without his family around, he was no longer the black sheep. He was simply Ronan Quinn, a clean slate, a fresh start.
When the bus driver finally called “Sibleyville,” Ronan jumped to his feet. He was about to walk into a different life for the next six weeks. A month and a half was what his grandfather had required for this challenge and starting now, Ronan would have to find a job and a place to sleep.
The bus pulled up in front of a drug store and the driver opened the door. “Sibleyville. Anyone for Sibleyville?”
Ronan walked down the aisle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said to the driver as he stepped onto the sidewalk.
If there was a picture next to the definition of quaint in the dictionary, this was it, Ronan thought to himself. A neon Rexall Drug sign hung over his head and a variety of merchandise was displayed behind the gleaming plate glass windows on either side of the entrance. The bus pulled away behind him and Ronan turned and watched it disappear down the street.
He drew a deep breath and the salt-tinged sea air filled Ronan’s lungs. It was a different smell from home, he mused. Familiar, but different. Small town life was bound to be a change for him. He enjoyed having all the conveniences that a big city provided. But then, people were supposed to be friendlier in places like this. And for a guy who usually depended on himself, Ronan might need the kindness of a few strangers right now.
He walked inside the drug store and immediately noticed the lunch counter along one wall. He still had a little cash left in his pocket so he decided to take a seat and have something to drink while he got his bearings.
An elderly man stepped behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”
“Chocolate malt,” he said.
“Made with vanilla ice cream or chocolate?”
The man’s New England accent was thick, the words flattened out until Ronan could barely understand. “Vanilla,” Ronan said.
He grabbed a menu from the rack in front of him and perused the prices. They served soda fountain treats and sandwiches for lunch, but he’d have to find another spot for breakfast and dinner. “I’m looking for a place to stay,” Ronan said. “Something cheap. Can you suggest anything?”
“Well, it’s still high season around here, but there are a few boarding houses in town that you could try. Mrs. Morey has a