Margo gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, barely taking in the sights of Oyster Bay’s shops and restaurants as she approached the town center. Eddie Boyd. Her Eddie. Her first dance. First kiss. First heartbreak.
She never thought she’d see him again. With time, she hadn’t wanted to see him again. Still didn’t. But now she had. And she might again. And then what?
Her mouth felt dry. Nothing good would come from seeing Eddie again. She was a married woman. Well, technically. And he was… She frowned. Was Eddie married? Was that what had brought him back to Oyster Bay? She hadn’t checked his hand for a ring. She’d been too shell-shocked to process the fact that she was speaking to him at all, again, after all these years.
She didn’t like thinking back on that last summer together, when they spent the afternoons combing the beach, hand in hand, making all sorts of plans that would never happen. She was working as a babysitter that summer, her charges were two little hellions named Oscar and Camille Hodges, towheaded twins that seemed to love nothing more than to fight with each other or get a rise out of her, their mischief ranging from locking each other in various bedrooms and hiding the keys, to once, when Margo dared to turn her back to take a delivery at the door, Oscar cutting off Camille’s long golden braid. By the time their mother returned from the job she’d professed to taking “for her sanity,” Margo was exhausted, too tired to eat, much less go out with friends. But five minutes with Eddie was all it took to turn her day around. “I hope those two haven’t turned you off kids someday,” Eddie would joke, and Margo’s heart would swell with the possibility that loomed in their future. Endless days together, just the two of them, and then…
And then nothing. They were supposed to graduate high school, maybe go to Boston or New York, somewhere far from Oyster Bay where they could avoid the gossip and the prying eyes and the rumors that seemed to float around about Eddie’s past—the life he’d lived before he came to live with his aunt and uncle in this small town. Eddie hated the speculation, the feeling that all eyes were on him, and the wisecracks the kids would make in their quest for information. They’d get an apartment, nothing fancy, and get jobs while Margo went to art school at night. They’d spend weekends walking through their new town, making it their own, dreaming of all that was yet to come.
Instead, after a school yard fight the fall of senior year, Eddie had gone to juvie. And that, as they said, was that.
Only it didn’t end there, at least not for her. For six months after he’d left, she wrote letters, checking the box every day for a reply. She tried to call the facility he’d been sent to, only to be told each time that he was unavailable. She applied to colleges at her parents’ insistence, and when the full scholarship to Georgetown arrived, she knew she couldn’t turn it down. She left for DC a year after Eddie had left, and the first weekend in her new city, she’d borrowed her roommate’s car to drive to the detention center in New Jersey, only to be told that Eddie had aged out. Of course. He was eighteen after all. They couldn’t provide a new address, and his aunt and uncle back in Oyster Bay knew nothing of his whereabouts. Eddie Boyd was gone.
And now, all these years later, he was back.
She rolled to a stop at the intersection of Gull and Main, watching impassively as people she didn’t recognize crossed the street. It was September, and it was Wednesday, meaning these were locals, not tourists. She should know them. At least some of them.
But there was only one person she ever looked for when she came to Oyster Bay—which wasn’t often. One face she still scanned for in every crowd; it was habit by now. The need for answers, for understanding. And now she’d seen it. Really, that should be the end of it. Instead, it opened more questions, more confusion. Eddie Boyd. A cop?
She supposed she would have known this if she’d asked one of her sisters. But she’d been a married woman. A happily married woman, or at least happy enough. It would be unseemly to ask outright about an old boyfriend. It was ancient history. They were kids, as Eddie had pointed out. And now Eddie, the Eddie who loved jumping on his motorcycle and speeding through town, no helmet or jacket, laughing until she screamed and hugged his waist a little tighter, was a cop.
And she was a divorcee. Almost.
She didn’t know which outcome was more ironic.
A horn behind her honked, and she jumped. Right. Time to focus on the road or risk being pulled over again. By Eddie.
Yeah, no thanks. Unless the next words out of his mouth were a big fat apology, she had nothing more to say to him.
She drove down Main, her eye darting to her speedometer. There was The Lantern, owned by her Uncle Chip, and The Scoop on the corner, where she and her sisters used to ride their bikes to get ice cream on lazy summer afternoons—she and Bridget in the lead, Abby trailing behind.
She pulled onto Shoreline Road, without even having to think about it, knowing every curve and tree as if she’d just seen it yesterday, not coming up on two years this Thanksgiving. She frowned, doing a quick calculation. Make that three years. When she first moved away for college, she’d visited more often, but after Bridget got married and Abby went off to college and then their parents died, well… Sometimes it was easier to focus on the life she had, the home she’d built. With her cheating bastard of a husband.
Mimi’s house was just around the corner now, impossible to miss, even if it wasn’t her childhood home, and her father’s before that. The Harper house was one of the prettiest in all of Oyster Bay, most people in town would quickly agree. It was large enough to comfortably house three children, which is why, perhaps, Mimi felt it was more suitable for her parents’ young family than just an aging widow, with white-painted cedar siding and big bay windows and a huge span of cool green grass that led right up to the sandy shore.
Margo eased off the gas, wanting to linger on the sight as the old Victorian came into view. She stopped, stared at it, felt the stress of the drive roll off her shoulders like waves on the sand. She could close her eyes and picture it, room by room, right down to the knickknacks on the bookshelves and the worn floorboards in her bedroom, but today she didn’t have to. The old wooden swing that hung from the branches of the big tree on the front lawn swung in the breeze, and if she tried hard enough, she could almost remember the sensation of flying, higher and higher, until she sometimes thought she could let go and drift all the way out to the sea if she really tried hard enough.
She let her gaze linger on the swing, the memory of her father pushing her back, Abby whining that it was her turn soon, and she smiled against the tug in her chest. A seagull swooped past, and she followed it, glancing at the front of the property.
And that was when she saw it. The hard plastic sign blowing in the breeze.
Her childhood home was for sale.
***
The gravel crunched under her feet as she walked up the driveway toward the stone path that led to the house’s wraparound porch. Her heart was racing as she reached the steps, frowning when she noticed the chipped paint on the porch railing. Under normal circumstances, she’d offer to touch it up, or make a call to Freddy, the handyman who had worked on the house for as far back as she could remember, doing anything from fixing broken window sashes to installing a new light fixture after Abby had broken the dining room chandelier playing Tarzan when she was five. He whistled while he worked and always charged less than he should, refusing fair pay no matter how much Mimi or Margo’s mother insisted. Eventually, they always reached a compromise: his quoted price plus an invitation to dinner that night. Freddy loved a home-cooked meal, and he wasn’t shy with his praise, which pleased Mimi to no end.
It wasn’t until Margo was older that she realized Freddy was a bachelor, with no family of his own at all. And that a night sitting at her family’s dinner table meant more to him than an extra fifty bucks.
“We’re lucky,” her mother had said, whenever Freddy left. “Not everyone has what we have.”
And now…now what did Margo have?
For all she knew the sale was already pending. A new buyer all lined up. Someone eager to come in and repaint and strip floors and gut the kitchen where her mother used to make cookies, and her father would dance with them, sliding around in socks, letting them stand on his feet as he moved to the box step. All those memories. All they had left. Gone. All under the hand of her own sister.
Margo eyed the FOR SALE sign critically.
Bridget Harper. Well. She’d just have to talk to Mimi about this.
With a heavy heart, Margo rang the bell, wondering now if she should have called before dropping by. When no one answered, she pressed her nose to the glass, relieved to see the furniture still in place. Maybe Mimi was out back having her morning coffee. Of course! It was her favorite spot three seasons of the year; even when the leaves were gone, she’d drape a blanket over her shoulders, saying she never grew tired of the view of the waves crashing against the rocks that lined the shore.
But Mimi wasn’t out back, and her favorite rocking chair wasn’t either. Margo frowned, and tried the set of French doors that led into the kitchen. Locked. Hurrying, she went back around to the front of the house, but that door had one of those intimidating-looking lock boxes on it, no doubt installed by Bridget in hopes of several showings.
Margo pulled her phone from her back pocket, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t checked it since the gas station in New Hampshire. She licked her lips, taking her time in flipping it over and lighting up the screen. Blank. No calls. No texts. Ash would surely have recognized her absence by now. If he was smart, he would have even seen that a few suitcases were missing. Their best suitcases, including the one he preferred to use for his annual conference trips.
Now she wondered what really transpired on those trips. If his indiscretions were limited to one woman, or if this was just his style.
She should have left a note. Crystal clear: Ash, I’m leaving you. Really, what else was there to say?
A smile curled her mouth. She could think of several other things to say, but she was a lady.
She supposed Mimi could be in town. She liked to buy fresh flowers, but she usually did that on Sunday, for the start of each week. Margo supposed she could drive around, look for her.
Or she could call her sister. See what the hell was going on.
With that, Margo walked over to the FOR SALE sign and dialed the listed number, bypassing Bridget’s cell phone number that was stored in her phone, and going straight to her direct office line.
“Bridget Harper,” her sister answered a moment later.
“Bridget.” God, it felt good to hear a familiar voice. So good that Margo’s throat felt tight. “It’s me. Margo.”
There was a pause. “Margo! Is everything okay?” A strange reaction, but not completely, considering how much time seemed to lapse between their calls.
For a moment Margo had the urge to tell her sister everything, to let it all come pouring out of her like a flood, but she stopped herself. Now wasn’t the time.
“I think I’m the one who should be asking you that,” Margo said. “I’m staring at a FOR SALE sign in front of our house.”
“You’re home? In Oyster Bay?” Another pause, this one shorter. “Why?”
Well, that was a loaded question. “Why is our house for sale?”
“I didn’t know you were coming home,” Bridget replied, again dodging the topic.
Margo was losing patience. “Well, I am home. I drove all night and I really need a cup of coffee and a hot shower. Mimi isn’t home. Can you give me the code to the lock box?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Bridget said instead, and hung up without another word.
Margo shoved the phone back into her pocket. The wind was picking up and a chill cut through the thin sleeves of her shirt. She walked back to the car to wait, an unsettling feeling creeping over her as she wiped the chip crumbs from the driver’s seat and sat down. Why did she have the distinct impression that there was more to Bridget’s sudden urgency than just a concerned sister?
***
Crap. Bridget pushed back her chair and stood. She smoothed her skirt and took one last sip of coffee from her “World’s Best Mom” mug. Cold. No time for a refill either. She had more important matters than feeling perky, or at least mildly awake. It was ten thirty and she’d been up for five and a half hours. Some people, like her youngest sister Abby, a lifelong student and professional job hopper, were probably just now pouring their first cup of coffee, not swallowing the dregs of their fourth.
Right. Cold coffee. Then over to the house. Then the big meeting.
She set a hand to her stomach to settle her nerves. Ian Fowler, in search of an oceanfront vacation home, was at this very moment driving up from Manhattan to tour the house. Everything was riding on this meeting going well. And Margo stood to ruin it all.
Well, not on her watch.
Grabbing her handbag, Bridget crammed in her notebook and listing sheets, cell phone, and a few extra business cards, then fished for her keys. They were never where they should be, which was in the interior pocket of her bag. Instead they were in random places like coat pockets, desk drawers, sometimes the pantry, or once, the bathroom medicine cabinet. Her mind was too busy. She had too many thoughts spinning at all times. Too many worries fighting for attention; too many responsibilities to keep track of, like remembering to schedule her fall conference with Emma’s teacher. And remembering to inform her ex of the time. Not that he’d show up. No, unlike her, Ryan was too busy for everyday responsibilities like school events or making sure that lunch was packed and homework checked.
Her fingers touched something metal. Good.
“Off to the big meeting?” Her colleague and “work husband” Jeffrey popped his head out of his doorway, tie a bit askew, as she hurried to the door.
“Not yet,” she said, slowing her step. She supposed her sister could wait a minute or two. “Margo’s in town. She’s at the house,” she added.
“Oh.” Jeffrey was late on the uptake. “Oh,” he repeated with more meaning, his eyes widening. He ran a hand over his prematurely balding head and grimaced.
“Exactly,” Bridget said, lips thinning. She’d meant to tell her sister about the latest developments, and she would have eventually. But they rarely talked on the phone, and Margo was so removed from family matters and decisions that by luck of birth order had fallen on Bridget’s shoulders, that it hadn’t been forefront in her mind. She’d been more concerned with handling Mimi, the house, trying to build a career while making sure her daughter had a costume sewn in time for Oyster Bay’s summer children’s theatre auditions for Peter Pan than keeping Margo in the loop.
Besides, didn’t the phone work both ways? If Margo had called between last Christmas and now, Bridget would have gladly filled her in on everything, maybe even gotten a little help out of it, or at least some emotional support.
“Good luck,” Jeffrey said, giving her a pat on the arm.
Bridget managed to smile. Whether the luck was for her big meeting or managing her sister, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she’d take it.
“And before I forget, Trish wanted me to see if you wanted to come over Saturday night. Nothing fancy. Just us and a few friends.”
If by “a few friends” he meant another single father with three rowdy kids in need of a stepmother to handle the laundry and cooking, she’d have to pass. “I’ll check my calendar,” she said with a smile, then remembered that this Saturday was Ryan’s night with Emma, and what else did she have to do with her time?
Well, other than laundry and errands.
Her heart felt heavy as she walked to the car. Life could have been so much easier if she had a Jeffrey to come home to. Jeffrey was the type of father who took his two kids out for ice cream, just because; the type of father who coached Little League and read bedtime stories, with all the voices.
Emma had never known a father like that, and as her mother, Bridget could never forgive herself for this.
She could have picked a guy like Jeffrey McDowell. Heck, she’d gone to school with him. And he had asked her to the spring dance junior year. But no, she had to pick the exciting guy. The slick charmer with the wide grin and twinkling eyes. The guy who liked to have a good time and show her a good time. The guy who didn’t want to settle down, not really. The guy who just wanted to do his thing and was still doing it.
She should have followed in her sister’s footsteps. Married a guy like Ash.
Just thinking of her sister’s reaction made Bridget anxious. Still, once Margo recovered from the shock, she’d understand. Maybe she’d even offer to help a bit. The place needed sprucing up, and God knew that Abby wasn’t good for so much as lifting a box.
Bridget drove to the house on autopilot. Down Main, right on Dune, then two miles down Shoreline, Oyster Bay’s scenic stretch. This was where the big houses were—the crown jewels in the real estate world. And she had a listing.
Sure, it was her childhood home, but it was a listing all the same. And the sale would certainly be noted, hopefully leading to more prestigious clients down the road. The locals rarely uprooted, but Oyster Bay never tired of those in search of a summer getaway.
Bridget pulled onto the driveway, fighting the wave of nostalgia that still hit her every time she saw the house. A silver SUV was parked at the end; Margo was leaning against the hood. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a three-quarter sleeved cotton top over her jeans—attire completely inappropriate for Maine this far into September.
“Aren’t you cold?” Bridget asked by way of hello, as she climbed out of her own vehicle, her father’s ancient Mercedes she’d foolishly hoped would send the right kind of image to potential clients, if it didn’t break down while she was driving them around town instead. You know, the one that said, “See? I’m successful, not struggling to pay rent and keep my kid in ballet lessons.”
“It beats sitting in the car,” Margo said. “I’ve been driving all night.”
Bridget noticed that Margo seemed to be alone. Usually Ash joined her on these rare visits. “Why the last-minute trip?” And why now? Why, why? It had been years since Margo deigned to come back to Maine, and now, right when an offer on the house was nearly within her grasp, Margo was here to mess everything up.
Margo just grinned, but it seemed a little strained. “Don’t I at least get a hug?”
Bridget felt her shoulders relax. She really needed to lighten up. This was her sister. Her sister! She was such a wreck over her afternoon meeting that she was jumpy.
She walked over and gave her sister a hug. Tugged her ponytail the way she used to as a kid, only back then it bothered Margo. A lot. “Welcome home.”
Margo was frowning when she pulled away. “This isn’t the homecoming I was expecting.” She tipped her head, locking Bridget’s wary gaze. “Mimi’s selling the house? But…this is our home.”
“We’ve all flown the nest, Margo.” Bridget recited the lines she’d mentally rehearsed on the drive over. “Emma and I are across town. Abby is too. And you have a life somewhere else.”
Margo looked resigned. “But where will she go?”
Bridget enjoyed one last moment of silence. Here it came. “Mimi lives in Serenity Hills now.”
“Serenity Hills!”
Ah, yes, there it was. The predictable reaction. One she’d deep down been avoiding by not picking up the phone and keeping her sister informed. Bridget stayed firm. “That’s right. Serenity Hills. It’s the best place for her, really. This house was too big for a woman of her age, with no help.”
“We could have hired her some help,” Margo scolded.
“We?” Now this was rich. Bridget crossed her arms. “I’m a single mother on a fixed income. Abby can’t hold down a job. Chip is Mom’s brother, not Dad’s, and this isn’t his family responsibility. So that would leave you.”
Margo crossed her arms. “You should have called me.”
“Maybe you should have called Mimi,” Bridget shot back, instantly regretting her words. There was truth in them, and she was just defending herself, but the hurt in her sister’s eyes made her ashamed. “Look. Serenity Hills is a good place for her.”
Margo didn’t look convinced. “We used to threaten to dump each other in Serenity Hills someday.”
True, very true, but now they were adults. Now they understood the realities of life. At least she did.
Bridget shifted the weight on her feet, feeling uncomfortable. It hadn’t been an easy winter for any of them, with Mimi’s declining health and the endless worry about something happening to her when she was alone in the big house. Decisions had to be made. Difficult ones. And as usual, she’d been the one to make them. Alone.
Never had she missed her parents more. They’d been gone for eight years, but the pain was always there, lurking just below the surface. At trying times, she felt their loss on a deeper level, imagining how much comfort they could have brought her if they were still here. Sometimes it was just a hug that she needed, or the sound of her father’s laughter. Other times, like recently, it was support. Someone to deal with the big problems, someone to ease the burden that came with trying to please everyone and feeling like all you ever did was let them all down instead.
“Serenity Hills is the best place for her,” she said more firmly.
“I wish I’d been consulted,” Margo said, shaking her head.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. I’m here. I see what’s going on.”
Margo blinked, then looked away, out to the stretch of lawn that met the sea, and back up to the porch. Bridget wavered, seeing the squint in her eyes that was no doubt fighting off tears, and then straightened up. She couldn’t afford to be getting sentimental, now. Not when she was showing this house in less than three hours.
“I take it you were planning on staying here,” Bridget said gently. “I’d let you stay with me, but we’re pretty cramped, and Ryan got the pull-out couch in the divorce.”
Margo kicked at the gravel with her shoe. “I understand. I’ll go to a hotel.”
A hotel. Is that what it was coming to? No more gatherings around the big kitchen table or Christmas carols in the parlor. From now on, when Margo came to visit for holidays, she’d be staying at the stuffy Oyster Bay Hotel.
Bridget couldn’t bear it. “How long are you in town for?”
Margo shrugged. “A week. Maybe more.” She looked back down at her feet, and Bridget narrowed her gaze. That was an odd response, and it wasn’t like Margo to be so free with her time. She swept around, just in case she’d missed Ash somewhere. But no, it was clear that her sister was alone. And in Oyster Bay for an undetermined amount of time. Interesting.
“Well, I know of a weekly rental that’s available.” It was Jeffrey’s listing, and he was having a hell of a time filling it after Labor Day. “It’s tastefully furnished, waterfront. Since it’s off season the rent is lower. Probably less expensive than the hotel, and you’d have your own kitchen.”
Margo’s eyes sparked for the first time since Bridget had stepped out of her car. “I’ll take it.”
Bridget smiled. “Should I put you down for a week?”
Margo’s eyes drifted. “Oh. Maybe two?”
Bridget studied her sister, but decided against saying anything. She was probably reading into things, and besides, she had a meeting to prepare for. “Well,” Bridget said, as she pulled out her phone. “I doubt there’s any other interest. Let’s start with one week and take it from there.”
A message popped up on her screen. The showing was postponed until Friday. Too much traffic out of Manhattan to get here today, Ian reported.
Bridget felt her heart sink, but only for a moment. This gave her one more day to prepare. And it gave her time this afternoon to settle Margo into the cottage. And maybe figure out what the heck was going on in her sister’s life…and why she had returned to Oyster Bay.