In exchange for finding a renter for the cottage, Jeffrey had thrown Bridget a bone: first-time buyers in the market for a starter home.
The only thing better was if he’d tossed her a potential buyer for Mimi’s house, but of course those kinds of people were few and far between, and she’d had little interest since she’d listed it last month. Still, it only took one person, and in twenty-four hours Bridget would know if she had a bite. If this lead didn’t pan out, the house would likely sit on the market all winter; she’d have to relist it in the spring. It wouldn’t be such a problem if the cost of upkeep didn’t directly clash with the cost of the retirement home.
Still, deep down she clung to the dream of holding onto her childhood home a little longer. Having one last Christmas in the front living room. The fire crackling while everyone took turns playing carols on the piano, Emma helping Mimi bake cookies for Santa in the big, white kitchen.
Not an option, she reminded herself firmly, as she pulled off Gull Lane and onto a gravel road that bordered the north side of town. The couple was meeting her at a cozy, three-bedroom Cape that had just come on the market last week, its former owners headed for the eternal sunshine of Florida. When it first popped up on the MLS, Bridget had pored over the photos, imagining herself living in it, knowing it was a big step up from her current situation but still just slightly out of reach. The kitchen was small, but renovated, with a cute little eating nook nestled beside a bay window. She could almost picture Emma doing her homework there while Bridget made dinner, or setting up a swing set in the tree-filled backyard, before Emma grew too old for that sort of play.
Of course, like so many of the homes she had toured for professional reasons, living in one was a long shot for a divorced, single mom. And it had been a long shot back when she was married, too. Sure, they’d been comfortable, living in a rental home that she’d tried to make her own. It was more spacious than her current apartment, and more expensive too, but it still wasn’t her own, and Ryan didn’t understand that need. The money she’d saved from her part-time college job had gone toward Ryan’s restaurant, as had all her earnings at the hotel in town, where she’d worked as an assistant manager for a few years. It was an “investment,” he claimed, in “their” future. But Bridget had her doubts. And as much as she had hoped to be proven wrong, she never was. Any profit the restaurant turned went back into the business, and all of Bridget’s hopes and dreams got put on the back burner.
Well, no more. She was working hard, building back her savings, even if two steps forward always felt like three steps back lately.
The listing was at the end of the road, tucked neatly between two maple trees whose leaves were just started to turn orange. A young couple (well, everyone felt young compared to her lately) was standing on the front step. Holding hands, God help her.
Bridget eyed her naked ring finger, a habit she couldn’t kick even after nearly eight years, and gave herself a quick pep talk, which rarely worked, but it was better than nothing.
It is better to be alone and broke than miserable and comfortable.
Sometimes, like when she saw just how sweet this house was, she questioned that philosophy. After all, Ryan hadn’t been that bad, had he?
Strike that. Yes, he had been that bad. And worse.
With a brighter smile than she felt, she climbed out of her car and crossed the brick-paved path to greet her new clients. They parted hands long enough to shake hers.
“New to Oyster Bay?” She’d lived in this town all her life and thought she knew everyone by now.
“We wanted a fresh start,” the wife explained.
Didn’t everyone? Problem was, it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. When she and Ryan had split up, she told herself it was for the best. That she’d be better off on her own. She imagined a sweet, simple house for her and Emma. Chatty meals at the dinner table. Carefree weekends without all the fighting and arguing that her married life had given her.
So much for that. She worked every weekend she could; if a client wanted to see a house, she had to be available. And as for dinners, by the time she walked in her front door it was all she could do to heat up something from the frozen section so she’d still have time to look over Emma’s homework and get her ready for the next school day.
“We’re both from small towns, and we like small towns, but…”
Bridget nodded. “I understand. A new place for a new phase.” She would have liked that herself. Instead she had the joy of sharing Oyster Bay with her ex. “Oyster Bay is a wonderful community,” she said as she punched the code into the lock box on the front door. “The beaches are some of the best in the state, and the town center is very vibrant. I’m happy to recommend some good restaurants, if you’d like.”
“We had lunch at Dunley’s,” the husband said.
At the mention of Ryan’s establishment, Bridget could only hope her expression remained neutral. “Well,” she managed, pushing open the door. “Let’s have a look.”
She stood in the front entranceway, imagining what it would be like to kick off her shoes, hang her bag on the hook, and go into the kitchen for a cup of tea. In the eight years since she’d joined Bayside Realty, first in the front office and later, when Emma was school-age, as a real estate agent, she’d walked through dozens of homes, from budget-friendly seasonal rentals in need of a complete rehab to beachfront estates, but this was the first time she’d experienced a feeling of…longing. She’d saved up a lot over the years, pinching and scrimping, and if she had one more year, or one big sale, something like this could maybe be hers. Maybe.
She cleared the thought, forced her eyes away from the arched doorway that led into the living room, and to the listing sheet she held in her hand. “This is a three bedroom, two bath.”
“Is the basement finished?” the wife cut in. She pursed her lips as she looked at the adjoining dining room from the hallway where they stood.
“No,” Bridget said, sensing the couple’s disappointment. “But we can check the ceiling clearance. Older homes like this were built differently than newer construction.”
She led them through the living room, gazing wistfully at the brick-framed fireplace with the wide mantle, and back through the hall to the kitchen, which was at least double the size of her apartment’s offering, and certainly filled with more charm.
Judging from their silence, the couple didn’t seem nearly as impressed as she was.
“Should we go upstairs?” she asked, leading them back into the hallway.
“Actually, I think we’ve seen enough,” said the husband. “We’re looking for something more modern.”
The wife nodded. “Clean lines.”
From her experience, clean lines was code for boring and sterile. Everything a home shouldn’t be.
“Okay,” she said, trying not to show her disapproval. Every sale counted, and this one could go toward that summer camp Emma was already hoping to attend next year. “I’ll go back to the office and see what I can find.” It was all part of the process, and they were still in the early stages. The clients told her everything they didn’t like; it helped her narrow down the field. Eventually they found something that fit. But sometimes that took months.
She reached for the door handle, smiling a little when she saw a swing hanging from the sturdy branches of the nearest tree. They’d had one just like that growing up; the sisters always raced to see who could get to it first, Abby’s braids flying out from behind her as she scrambled down the steps. Margo was fastest, and always stood back and let Abby go first anyway. They’d carved their names into the bottom of the seat one year, crudely etching the wood with their initials, marking what was theirs, what was special.
A sad smile pulled at her mouth. Maybe this was why she’d fallen so hard for this house. It reminded her of Mimi’s house.
It reminded her of home.
***
After leaving Serenity Hills by the emergency exit (honestly, if bumping into Eddie again didn’t classify as an emergency, she wasn’t sure what did), Margo spent the rest of the day unpacking the random belongings she had stuffed into her suitcases in her equally harried escape from her marital home. With the items laid out on the fluffy white duvet cover, there was no denying her mental state was questionable, at best. Six pairs of underwear, an extra pair of jeans that she hadn’t squeezed into since last fall (too much French onion soup at Froggy’s, it would seem), a handful of mismatched socks, four bras, a stack of sweaters, and two sets of pajamas. No shoes other than the ballet flats she’d been wearing when she’d watched Ash stick his tongue down Candace’s throat. She was surprised to notice that she’d packed all of her toiletries, minus a razor. But really, was there any point in shaving her legs anymore?
She sat down on the bed, considering that perk.
She’d remembered her glasses, at least, and an extra pair of contact lenses. The book that had been on her bedside table for the last three weeks. And her phone charger. She’d had the sense to bring that.
Not that her husband had bothered to call.
Telling. About as telling as carrying on behind her back.
When she was finished unpacking, she drove into town, bought laundry detergent and a bottle of wine for dinner with her sisters. Then she went back to the cottage to eat ice cream in front of the television, and tried not to think that nearly forty-eight hours had transpired since she’d left home and she was still no closer than she was when she’d left to figuring out what she was going to do next.
By the time five thirty rolled around, she had scraped the ice-cream container clean, opened another, and cleared out a bag of tortilla chips as she caught up on daytime soaps and the evening news. No missing person alerts. No heartbroken husbands pleading for the safe return of his beloved spouse.
With her stomach aching from too much junk food, Margo changed into a fresh sweater that didn’t bear the spill of melted ice cream, brushed her hair into a new ponytail, and slipped back into her ballet flats. An unforgiving chill was swirling off the ocean, making her shiver as she ran to the car that was parked in the driveway. She hadn’t needed a coat in Charleston at this time of year, but the weather was different in Maine. Heck, everything was different in Maine. If she stuck around much longer, she’d have to buy a coat. Have to buy a few things, actually. Or, she could just drive home, back to her sunny new construction brick Colonial on Peach Leaf Circle, where she had a walk-in closet full of everything she would ever need.
Except a husband who loved her.
She forced her attention to the road, trying not to think about other matters right now. It would only bring her down, and she didn’t want to feel down anymore. Bridget lived in an apartment near the center of town, and walking distance from Oyster Bay’s shops and restaurants that lined Main Street, including the gastro pub owned and operated by Ryan Dunley, Bridget’s ex and Emma’s father. Margo had only been there once, when she and Ash had visited for Mom and Dad’s funeral. The food had been delicious, but then, after a week of mourning and barely stopping for food, anything would have probably tasted good. Ryan had refilled their bowls with warm chowder, until they couldn’t take anymore, and spicy cornbread that topped anything she’d been served down south. But that was the beginning of the end for Ryan and Bridget—the tension between them was tangible, the bickering intense, the difficult circumstances only adding to deep-rooted problems that never did get solved.
Six months later, Bridget left him. And now, out of loyalty, Margo could never go back to Dunley’s for more of that cornbread. She wished she’d thought to ask for the recipe when she had the chance. She could just imagine how that would have gone over with Nadine Reynolds last Thanksgiving, when, by some twisted misunderstanding, they’d both brought cornbread to Grandmother Reynolds’s house and Nadine had decided to go around the table and ask each guest whose dish they preferred.
Out of loyalty, perhaps, Ash had voted for his mother.
Loyalty. Is that what had kept her sisters from mentioning that Eddie was back in town? Or was it loyalty to Ash? Probably not. Sure, her sisters hadn’t disliked Ash, not openly at least, but they’d never really warmed to him either. And it had been clear by their own romantic choices that he was far from the type they would choose.
No, Ash, being preppy and clean cut and a bit type A, was hardly their style. But then, she hadn’t been his in the end, had she?
She parked the car in front of the apartment complex and walked into the courtyard clutching a bottle of wine by the neck and scolding herself to get it together before she knocked on the door. Tonight wasn’t the time to burden her sisters with her marital issues, especially with Emma around. Tonight was about reconnecting and having fun, and God knew she deserved a bit of that.
She walked along the path, scanning the numbers on the doors, feeling like a bit of a heel that she didn’t remember exactly where her sister’s unit was, and that she had only been here a handful of times at best. She craned her neck, trying to remember if it was unit 1D or 1F, and feeling too ashamed to text and ask, when a door behind her slammed.
She turned, hoping to ask a neighbor to point her in the right direction, but the words stopped on her tongue when she saw Eddie standing in front of her.
“We meet again.” His mouth curved into a smile.
Margo decided not to mention Serenity Hills, or the way she’d run off on him—something she’d love nothing more than to do again, right now. “I’m visiting my sister,” she said lamely.
She stared at him, properly this time, because there was no avoiding it. The courtyard was empty and they were standing eye to eye, face to face, and God, it was nearly killing her. He’d aged since the last time she’d seen him, his features hardening, laugh lines creasing the corner of his eyes, and damn it if he wasn’t more handsome than he’d been all those years ago, when he was just a boy really. She looked at his mouth, finding it nearly impossible to think she’d once kissed it, and up into his eyes, deep set and dark and just a little haunted, not much different than he’d looked that last time she’d seen him, when he kissed her forehead and whispered into her ear and lingered on her for so long she thought he might just change his mind and stay. But he couldn’t stay. That part wasn’t up to him. But choosing not to return was—and that was something she’d had to learn to accept.
“She’s two doors down and one across. One G.”
Ah, 1G. So she was way off. “I knew that.”
He didn’t look convinced, but said nothing to the contrary.
“So you live here.” Alone? She waited to see if he volunteered any information, but he just shrugged.
“It suits me, and I didn’t want to impose on my aunt or uncle.”
She nodded, still trying to understand what he was doing here at all. “What brought you back to town?”
His jaw seemed to tense at this. “Extenuating circumstances.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? He had a job, an apartment; his life, by all appearances, seemed settled. She’d just seen Lori, who had given no hint at trouble with the family.
She thought of Eddie’s visit at Serenity Hills, and quickly dismissed it. He was probably following up some police business, not that she could see how anyone in that facility could cause much trouble…Well, other than Pudgie.
She opened her mouth to speak, not sure what there was to even say, even though there were so many burning questions. But Eddie jutted his chin to the street. “I should go,” he said abruptly, stepping back. He gestured to the wine in her hands. “Have a nice dinner.”
That was all he had to say to her? After all this time, this was it? He wanted to pretend like nothing had happened? That he had just decided to come back to town, now, not then, because of extenuating circumstances?
He wasn’t her friend anymore, she realized with a pang. Once they had told each other everything, and now he was being decidedly vague.
Margo stood there, watching him walk to his car, the ache in her chest returning as she tried to wrap her head around what had just happened, and then, before she could bother to read any more into it, she turned and went off in search of Bridget’s apartment.
Eddie was trouble. He was then. He was now.
Really, she had enough trouble of her own these days. The last thing she needed was to add Eddie to the mix.
***
Emma greeted her at the door, wearing a purple iridescent princess dress, a pink plastic tiara, and a smile that boasted two missing teeth. At first glance, Margo could see that she was taller and thinner than the last time she’d visited, and the realization filled her with shame. “Auntie Margo! Look at my Halloween costume! Do you like it?” She gave a dramatic twirl, and all at once, Margo felt better.
“A fairy princess?” she guessed.
Emma stared at her. “Just a princess, silly. See? No wings?”
Ah. Of course. “Well, come here and give me a hug, princess.” She swooped into give her only niece a squeeze and then reached into her handbag to pull out the bag of chocolates she’d bought for her at the store. “You have to ask your mother first,” she said, knowing how Bridget could be about things like sugar and teeth and other rules like bedtime and schedules.
“Have to ask me what?” Bridget asked, coming into the hall with Abby bouncing at her heels.
At the sight of her younger sister, Margo felt her spirit lift. “Abby!” She laughed as Abby bounded into her arms. Even at the age of twenty-eight, she was still a child at heart, and Margo half envied her for it.
Bridget surveyed them both with narrowed eyes. She didn’t have the same patience when it came to Abby. “Come into the kitchen. I have wine and snacks while the lasagna’s cooking. And Emma, no chocolate until dessert, please.”
Emma gave a groan and Margo gave her a wink. “Hold my hand and lead the way,” she said, even though the apartment was small, and the kitchen was nearly within arm’s reach.
Emma deposited her bag of candy on the counter and immediately became engrossed in a coloring book at the round pedestal table that was set for four. Margo handed over the bottle of wine she’d brought with her and said, “You failed to mention that Eddie was your neighbor.”
Bridget’s face flushed with guilt. “I thought of saying something, but then I wasn’t sure you’d still care.”
Abby’s green eyes were wide when Margo turned to her, brow arched. “Honestly, I didn’t think you still cared about Eddie. You’ve been married for like…forever.”
Forever. It was true. Twelve years in total had been spent with Ash, while only three short years were spent with Eddie. So why did it feel like the only person she’d ever truly been herself with was the one who knew her the shortest?
“I don’t still care about Eddie,” Margo said with more insistence than she felt. “But a head’s up might have been nice. I just bumped into him, with no preparation.” Now, that part wasn’t entirely true. She did know he was in town. But that knowledge was supposed to help her avoid him, not find him.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t forefront in my mind.” Bridget uncorked the bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. “Besides, I barely see him around. Our schedules don’t match up.”
“When did he move back?” Margo asked, hoping her tone passed for casual. She leaned against the counter and inspected a nail, but she was holding her breath, eager for information.
“It was the spring, I think.” Bridget shrugged.
Margo nodded. She was burning to know more. Was he married? Kids? But what did it matter? The mystery of Eddie Boyd was solved. Closure was mostly had. She knew now how he’d turned out. Where he’d ended up. Right back in Oyster Bay.
“He’s a police officer, you know,” Abby offered, seemingly pleased by this fact.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Margo said. “Rather ironic, isn’t it?”
“Oh, are any of us really the same people we were at eighteen?” Bridget said.
“You aren’t,” Abby said, taking a sip of wine. “When you were eighteen you were still fun.”
Margo laughed, but Bridget seemed far from amused. “Well, one of us has to be responsible around here. Between a kid, Mimi, and a job, I don’t have the luxury of being fun.”
“Whoa, it was just a joke,” Abby said, frowning.
“Well, it’s a lot to handle when I have no one to share the load.” Bridget sighed and slid two glasses of wine across the breakfast bar. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…a lot sometimes. Lately I’ve been so tired I’ve started to wonder if I never should have left Ryan.”
“Are you serious?” Margo was alarmed. Her heart was starting to race and her hand trembled as she reached for her wine glass. During their short-lived marriage, Ryan was notorious for staying out until early hours of the morning under the guise of working on payroll, when Bridget suspected he was having beers with the staff—a young crowd that was far more fun than a pregnant wife with swollen ankles. Dunley’s had been a thorn in their relationship from the beginning, both financially and personally; Bridget liked to joke a little bitterly that he should have named it “The Other Woman.” And when it became apparent over time that nothing was ever going to change, she’d given him an ultimatum. It hadn’t resulted in the outcome she’d hoped for. Like Eddie, Ryan was far from husband material.
Ash, Ash was husband material. Or so she’d thought.
“No, I’m not serious,” Bridget sighed. “I’m just worn out is all.”
“Ryan should help out more with the childcare,” Abby said, lowering her voice so Emma wouldn’t hear.
Bridget cocked an eyebrow. “His idea of helping out is taking Emma out for pizza and ice cream and then bringing her back all sugared up because he has to get to the restaurant. Or he’ll bring her along. Let her sit at the bar and chat with whoever’s tending.” She shook her head and took a long drink of wine. “Sometimes I don’t know what was worse: being married to him or divorced from him. At least when I was with him, there was someone to help pay the bills.”
Margo took a long sip of wine, trying to curb the panic that quickened her pulse when she thought about everything that a divorce from Ash entailed. Sure, she still had access to their credit cards for now, and she had some savings from her business in their joint account. She’d get half the value of the house. But she’d need to find work and soon.
She set the glass down with a shaking hand. Was she really doing this? Making plans, uprooting her life?
She brought the glass to her lips again. What other choice did she have?
“I should have known Ryan was trouble. After all, we dated for how many years before he finally popped the question?” Bridget shook her head. “Should have gone for Jeffrey McDowell back when he asked me out. Instead he took Patricia, and look at them now!”
“But they’re your best friends,” Abby pointed out.
Bridget gave a sad smile. “I know. It’s just easy to think of how things might have been…” She looked at Margo. “See, you don’t have to worry about that, Margo. You’re lucky. Eddie was bad news and he spared you, and then you ended up with the nice guy, living in a big house without a care in the world.”
Without a care in the world. If Bridget only knew. Margo glanced at the table, where Emma was coloring a picture of a unicorn. Not the time to open the floodgates, and really, she didn’t want to go there anyway. Not tonight.
“Ash didn’t want to join you on the trip?” Abby asked.
“Oh…” And here it was. She hadn’t even lied yet, and already her cheeks were getting warm and her eyes were flitting from one sister to the other. “He had business to take care of.” She managed not to snort.
The answer seemed to suffice her youngest sister. Abby shrugged and reached for a cracker. “It’s more fun without him anyway!”
“Abby!” Bridget cried, but for the first time in days, Margo burst out laughing.
“See?” Abby grinned. “If Ash were here, we’d all have to talk about boring pleasantries like our jobs—”
“Speaking of,” Bridget cut in. “How’s yours going? Still working part-time at the doctor’s office?”
Abby dodged the question, as Margo suspected she would, by topping off her wine and saying, “I’m more interested in yours. Have you found a buyer for the house yet?”
The air seemed to leave the room and all smiles drooped. “I’m working on it,” Bridget said tightly.
Margo couldn’t hold back her feelings any longer. “Isn’t there something you can do to hold on to it?”
“Did you visit Mimi today?” Bridget inquired pertly.
Margo frowned. “I did. It was…” Depressing, upsetting, eye-opening. There were so many feelings she had over the visit that she couldn’t settle on just one.
“Surely now you understand. She’s not capable of living on her own, much less taking care of such a big place!”
“Yes, but that’s our home, too. Not just Mimi’s.”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “So what? You’re going to buy it?”
“Obviously not.” She was about to say that she already had a house in South Carolina, and then stopped herself.
“I have someone coming to look at it tomorrow afternoon. We won’t have another lead like this for a while. I could use some help making it shine before the showing.”
Margo knew this was more of a request than an invitation. And with her background in staging and design, she couldn’t exactly refuse. “What time?”
Bridget smiled. “Nine o’clock work for you? I’ll come right from school drop-off.”
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Margo grumped, reached for a cracker, even though she had started to lose her appetite.
Bridget sighed. “Look. It’s not what any of us want. But it’s reality.”
Truer words were never spoken. “I’m just sad to let it go, is all,” she said, thinking of all the memories they’d made there. “Do you remember the time we hid in the attic and Mom couldn’t find us and eventually called the police?”
Bridget burst out laughing. “I’d forgotten all about that!”
“I don’t remember,” Abby said, pouting.
“You were only two. We had to bribe you with candy to keep you quiet.” Bridget laughed again.
“We paid for it, though. When Dad found out he grounded us for a week. Not you, Abby, of course,” Margo added.
“He secretly thought it was funny, though,” Bridget said. “I remember hearing him and Mom laughing downstairs after they’d ordered us to our rooms with no dinner.”
At the mention of their parents, the room fell quiet, and all their smiles seemed to fade to something more wistful.
Finally, Abby broke the silence with a mischievous grin. “Enough about the house. Now can we please talk about the new guy I’m seeing?”
“Don’t tell me you’re still dating that homeless guy!” Bridget said.
“He’s not homeless!” Abby cried. She glanced at Margo. “Chase lives in his van. And it’s only temporary.”
Bridget cocked an eyebrow. “Homeless.”
Margo was fascinated. “Where does he shower?”
Abby inspected her nails. “Oh, down at the beach house.”
Margo laughed. “Then he is homeless.”
Bridget pursed her lips. “Yep.”
“He’s not—” But now Abby was laughing too. “But he’s so cute! And he plays the guitar. He’s in a band,” she said dreamily.
Bridget grabbed two potholders from a drawer and opened the oven. “Abby, he dumpster dives,” she said flatly, and Margo almost choked on her wine.
“Only for the good stuff! You know The Lantern and the hotel throw out their catch every day! Whatever didn’t sell. Out it goes!”
Bridget caught Margo’s eyes and sputtered loudly, nearing dropping the lasagna dish in her hand as she erupted into laughter.
“What’s so funny? What’s so funny?” Emma asked, looking up from her coloring book.
“Oh, honey. It’s just sister talk,” Margo said, and for the first time in days felt something in her heart other than sadness. Sister talk. She’d gone too long without it.
By the time Margo left, her ribs ached from laughing so hard and she’d cried off most of her mascara. She glanced around the courtyard for any sign of Eddie and hurried to unlock her car. Leaning her head back against the seat, she sighed with content.
Abby was right. The night had been more fun without Ash. And what did that say?