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flat on the next lounger down. A baseball cap covered his face. He removed the hat from his face and sat up. “You’re all too fucking loud .”
    I nearly shit a doghouse. The man wore dark aviator sunglasses, but I was sure I was looking at the drunken stranger from the beach last night. What the fuck is he doing here? As he fell back down onto his lounger, resting an arm across his forehead, I had a moment of panic. Did I bring this fucker home last night and not remember? But that was impossible. That I definitely would have remembered.
    “Beck, this is my friend Olsen,” Laurie said.
    Remaining prostrate, the man on the lounger lifted his arm in a weak wave, but didn’t look my way.
    “Beck is my brother,” Laurie said. “And he’s an asshole.”
    “ Enough , Laurie.” He sat up and threw his baseball cap at her. “Jesus Christ.”
    Yep. I knew that voice. And those lips. Son of a bitch.
    He’s Laurie’s brother .
    I shifted nervously in my chair, unsure if he hadn’t recognized me or just hadn’t really looked at me yet. I had sunglasses on too, but come on. How many people looked like me? I decided to bite the bullet and address him, get it over with, because the anxiety of not knowing was making me sweat more than the hot sun.
    “Nice to...meet you, Beck,” I said.
    He glanced my way, forehead creasing in a frown. “Same here.” His gaze shifted then to the crowd of tennis ladies around the nearby table when their argument suddenly increased in volume. “Hey!” he shouted.
    Laurie’s eyes widened. “Beck!” she whispered. “Don’t.”
    The women’s chatter ceased, and they all looked Beck’s way.
    “Yeah, I’m talking to you,” he said. “Real Fishwives of Cape Cod. Can you keep it down please? Some of us are trying to relax , here.”
    The women gave him a group death stare, then returned to their conversation, albeit more quietly.
    “Oh my God.” Laurie buried her face in her hands for a moment, then looked at her brother, who gave her that giant grin I’d experienced last night. “You’re so embarrassing! You can’t start yelling at people just because you’re hungover. It’s not their fault you can’t handle your liquor.”
    Beck shrugged. “What? I was polite about it. And what the hell are you looking at?” he snapped at the hipster with the notebook, whose focus was now on Beck. “Turn around, Dostoyevsky, nothing to see here.”
    The kid flipped Beck the bird, then went back to his scribbling.
    Beck cackled, and slapped Laurie playfully on the thigh.
    “Not funny,” she said through a smirk. “Be normal, please?”
    “I don’t feel well,” he whined, and stretched back on the lounger, covering his face with his arm.
    Laurie turned to me. “My brother got drunk last night.”
    I gave her a tight smile. “You don’t say.”
    “I still think you should try a Bloody Mary,” Kamal said to Beck, who simply groaned and waved him off.
    Laurie nodded at me. “Yeah. Isn’t he a treat today? I haven’t seen him in months and he does this. He’s a total asswipe.”
    Her words were harsh but her expression soft. Maybe softer than I’d ever seen on Laurie. One thing was certain. She loved her brother, and was happy he was here, regardless of his hindered state.
    I glanced Beck’s way, but he hadn’t moved. He was so still he looked almost as dead as he had the night before. And the question still burned. Did he not recognize me? Did he not remember me? Was he being discreet?
    “When did he get here?” I asked softly.
    “Last night,” she said. “Didn’t let me know he was here. Didn’t return my texts. Just got shitfaced by himself.”
    Suddenly Beck bolted upright again. “Oh, I got your text, honey. That if I got to town I should meet you at a gay bar. Thanks, but no thanks.” He snatched his cap and fell back again, covering his face.
    “You still should have let me know you were here,” she said. “Olsen, you want a drink?”
    Though I never drank