🔹 Part 10 – When the Tide Comes In
The first winter storm came early that year.
Wind swept in from the Pacific, tearing through the dunes like an old argument with the land. Waves crashed harder, higher. The sky turned the color of steel.
Charlie and Beacon walked the beach anyway.
Not far. Just to the bench.
Scout’s bench.
Charlie wore his old Coast Guard parka. The hood flapped behind him like a broken sail. Beacon trotted ahead, ears flattened, tail high — no longer a clumsy pup, but a young dog with rhythm and muscle in his stride.
Charlie reached the bench and sat.
Beacon curled beneath it without command.
It was the same spot Scout had laid every morning. The same wind. The same salt. But the weight in Charlie’s chest had shifted.
Grief had settled, not vanished. Like sand after the storm — changed, but still home.
Charlie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the Coast Guard whistle.
He hadn’t used it in months.
He turned it over in his hand. The brass was worn smooth. Time had softened the edges, but the sound still lived inside.
He raised it to his lips.
Not a command.
Just a memory.
Two short bursts.
Beacon’s ears perked.
He stood. Trotted to Charlie’s side. Sat tall and still, just like he’d been taught.
Charlie smiled.
“Well,” he whispered. “Looks like you were listening after all.”
The next morning, Charlie rose before dawn.
He packed a thermos. A small tin of sardines. An extra towel. A notebook filled with half-finished letters.
He left the front porch light on.
The town would later say they saw him walking the beach just as the sun broke through the clouds. A figure in blue. A golden dog beside him. Moving slow, but steady.
They’d say he looked lighter.
Like something had finally settled right.
The following week, a boy found Charlie’s notebook tucked beneath the bench at Scout’s Watch.
Inside the front page, written in firm block letters:
If you’re reading this, tell someone you love them. Or better yet, show them. Walk beside them. Listen when they bark at seagulls. Time moves fast — but not faster than a good dog’s heart.
– Charlie Brennan, Coast Guard (Ret.)
Beacon stayed.
The town took turns feeding him, walking him, brushing the sand from his ears.
No one claimed him.
No one had to.
He belonged to the shore now — just like Scout had.
And every morning, just as the tide reached its peak, you could see him trotting the edge of the waves.
Watching.
Waiting.
Listening.
Like someone had once taught him what it means… to keep the coast safe.