Chapter Text
Midsummer, some western Washington harbor town, 1987
Even though it had been just over a week since the courthouse, Peter Duquesne hadn't really felt his nerves calm down yet. Not really. Issues of living in a small town - everyone knows everyone's business.
Everyone knows who got married at 18. Everyone had their thoughts about who knocked who up, and thus, got married at 18. Everyone was nosy enough to be surprised when apparently that hadn't been the case, once no baby showed up a tight 9 months later.
Everyone knows who didn't stay together past 21 - who were citing irreconcilable differences at the courthouse before both of them could even legally drink.
So on a warm summer night, 21-year-old Pete Duquesne half considered not bothering to go to the local bar and grille spot by the port, which basically served as part town hall, part gateway to the wider world. Any time of day, you could find any mix of locals and lonely sailors passing their time in the orangey-lamplit-dim interior, talking local gossip, and gossip and tales from far away.
But it was his last day living in this small town, before he swapped it for another. Mahone Bay was two states south - a similar tiny, close-knit harbor town, just south of Monterey, California. Fishermen and tourists and families, a lot like home. Just without all the too-close people. Sometimes you need a fresh start.
Melissa was already in Nevada with her new man by now. She hadn't even lasted a week from the courthouse.
The sunset-glow from the western bay oddly matched the dim lighting inside, but still made the patrons nearest to the door squint as he opened it. There wasn't quite a record-scratch silence - after all, it wasn't like he'd cheated on or hit her or anything, and what with her running off before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, it wasn't like he'd fallen out of favor with the community - but enough people paused to look up at who was coming in.
Pete held his head up as he purposefully headed to a familiar spot at the bar and sat down, then waited for the murmur and sound-clutter to resume. He stared at a blemish in the old, sea-worn wood - maybe a cigarette burn, or a blunder of a steak-knife past - only looking up when the owner/bartender came up to him.
Brandy was a sturdy-built, tough woman of her mid 60s or so, and had worked her way up over the years from a barmaid to eventually 'inheriting' the whole place when the previous perpetual-bachelor of a proprietor had passed on. Her tan, sun-known skin and waist-length, straight black hair held onto a sort of fine, dignified beauty even into her venerable years. Young as he was, Pete still knew that over the decades, she'd turned down more than a few ex-sailors, looking to settle down once they were too old or injured for the sea.
But Brandy had always held some sort of mysterious relationship to the ocean herself; that said, as the local bartender, she was a wise and practiced listener moreso than a talker. Years and years of professional service, serving whiskey and wine and selections from the pub-kitchen, a somewhat-stoic pillar of the community.
"....how's it going kid?" she asked, her voice husky and low for a woman, a subtle sailor's gruffness that still held a gentle kindness. Brandy knew everyone's business probably better than even the nosiest other townspeople.
"Well. Got my train ticket." Pete patted his shirtfront pocket. "Leave tomorrow mornin.'"
Brandy nodded sagely. "Good for you. Lots to see out there."
For a moment, Pete had a bit of a curious thought - what did Brandy know about 'lots to see out there?' But he wouldn't say such an unkind thing to her.
"Usual?" she asked, turning to the back counter to retrieve her notebook. "Crabcake and fries?"
Pete smiled slowly, still looking down. Crabcake and fries. "Yes please. For the last time." He started to fish out his wallet, when Brandy gently placed her firm hand on his, stopping him in his tracks.
"On the house." Her thin, strong mouth slowly smiled, somewhere between comforting and sad. "Sorry it didn't work out with 'Lissa."
Pete just shrugged. "Thanks Brandy."
"It's good you're gettin' a fresh start."
Peter looked back up at her, nodding slowly. She held his hand there for a moment, then dutifully jotted down the order like she had dozens of times before. The locket that he'd never seen her without glinted in the dim bar light, swinging slightly on the braided chain as she turned on her heel and strode back to hand it off in the kitchen.
"I've gotta see to this lot." She gestured to the bar in general. "Call me if you need anythin,' 'K?"
Pete nodded again, smiling. "Thanks Brandy."