“The boy is a new creature.”
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
THE NEXT day Tamra sat with Fletcher on his porch facing the ocean. They discussed some of the pottery Tamra was ready to put in the kiln later tonight, as well as how nightly attendance at the Sunset Celebration was waning with fall. For both of them, the change of seasons meant using much of what they’d earned during summer to pay the bills during winter.
It was a quiet afternoon like most on Sea Shell Lane, and their conversation a typical one. Tamra was trying to ease into some of the things she really wanted to discuss with Fletcher today, near to bursting inside.
So finally she blurted out, “Bethany likes you. As in . . . like like. Like she’s attracted to you.”
At this, Fletcher lowered his glass of iced tea to the table between them and just looked at her. She couldn’t read his silence, so she went on.
“I know we agreed not to push each other, but I think you should be open to this, Fletch. She seems nice and she seems . . . like you, in ways. Like she . . . appreciates the same sort of weird stuff you do.”
“My hat,” he murmured.
“Huh?”
“She liked my top hat. The one I collect tips in. In ten years, no one has ever complimented that hat before her.”
Tamra smiled because she could see how much meaning that one little thing had held for him, and that he knew she was right. “See?”
“Still, there’s a lot to consider.”
“Not really,” she argued.
He just gave her a look. It clearly screamed, Kim!
And the look she gave him in return said, Forget Kim. Finally. Now.
Fletcher let out a sigh and asked her, “You want to know the truth?”
“Sure.”
“I’m thinking about it. Considering it. I’m . . . drawn to this girl. She seems . . . potentially amazing. And . . .”
Tamra leaned toward him across the table when he trailed off. “And?”
An even bigger sigh left him. “I never thought I’d say this, Tam, but . . .” He stopped, swallowed visibly. “What if everyone is right? What if you’re all right, all this time, and Kim isn’t ever coming back? I hate thinking that—it feels like a huge betrayal to everything I’ve held faith in these past four years. But . . . what if I’m wrong about it and I let an opportunity to know someone incredible pass me by?”
For Tamra, it was as if a huge light had just clicked magically on in Fletcher’s brain. And it shone directly on her heart. “Yes!” she said. “What you just said! It’s so, so true, Fletch! It’s one thing to have faith, but another to let opportunities pass you by. You have to be open to this! And I’m so happy to hear you say you are!”
But Fletcher held up both his hands. “Hold on just a minute, Speedy Gonzales. I said I was considering it, that’s all. So don’t go putting any carts before any horses. Just . . . give me some space on this and I’ll see where my heart leads me, okay?”
Knowing Fletcher well, Tamra understood it was time to just be agreeable. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” But inside, her soul filled with more excitement and hope for Fletcher than ever before.
“So what’s new in your life?” he asked, eyebrows lifting.
And Tamra panicked as visions of making out with Jeremy in her backyard flashed through her head. “Nothing,” she replied too harshly. “What do you think you know?”
Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? It was just an honest question, to change the subject. But what aren’t you telling me?”
Oh shit. Now she was pretty sure her eyes were wide, too. They were in a Mexican standoff of wide eyes.
Until Fletcher said, “Tam, don’t bother lying. What’s happened that I don’t know about? Spill.” And when she just sat there, he threatened her. “If you don’t, I won’t consider getting to know Bethany better. I’ll just keep right on sitting around waiting for Kim. How’s that?”
“That is a threat I’m not going to take any chances on you carrying out.” She hadn’t planned to share this with him, but she wasn’t a good liar. And he was her best friend, so . . . “Okay,” she began. “It’s possible that . . . I kissed Jeremy.”
“What?” Talk about wide eyes—Fletcher’s now looked on the verge of popping out of his head.
“Or, well, actually, he kissed me. In my backyard.” She rushed ahead, just ready to put this out on the table now that she’d started. “He was helping me get a big bush into the garden. And he just kissed me. And I guess I kissed him back. And . . .”
“How was it?” Fletcher asked. “The kiss?”
She was tempted to lie. Because the truth—this truth—made her feel so vulnerable somehow. But again, this was Fletcher, so she was honest. “It practically curled my toes.”
Now a big smile unfurled beneath his mustache. “And then what happened?”
“Well, I eventually pushed him away, made him leave, and have been avoiding him ever since.”
She could feel her friend’s disappointment. “Because?” he asked pointedly.
She met his gaze again. “Same reason as before. He’s such an unknown quantity. Everyone here might be embracing him, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good guy or a bad one—it just means people here are nice. And most of what I know about him is bad. He returned home from war mentally messed up. He got arrested a few weeks ago for attacking some guy. He doesn’t take an interest in personal grooming. The list goes on.”
It surprised her when Fletcher didn’t immediately argue with her, but stayed quiet a long while. And it surprised her even more when he eventually said, “You know, you make some decent points. We don’t know much about him. But we do know some good things, too. We know Christy vouches for him. And we know he seems to be pulling himself together. And we know he shows up for work each day and does a good job. So . . . I think you should be brave. Give him a shot. Be open to exploring this.”
But already Tamra was shaking her head. “I keep trying. But I also keep coming back to the reasons not to. And that’s where I am right now. And I have to follow my heart, right?”
At this, however, Fletcher just shrugged. “Your heart doesn’t always know what’s good for it, Tamra.”
“Neither does yours,” she countered reflexively.
And they seemed to find themselves in another staring contest—until Fletcher said, “It seems we are destined to advise each other on romance, my friend.”
“That it does,” she agreed.
“And so . . . I have a proposition for you.”
Hmm. She hadn’t seen that coming. “What is it?” she asked cautiously.
Even as he spoke, he looked as nervous as she felt. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll be open to the Bethany thing if you’ll be open to the Jeremy thing.”
Huh. That was a hell of a proposition. The thing she most wanted him to do required her doing something scary as hell. And she supposed the thing he most wanted her to do in turn required something scary for him, too. It was perfect. Perfectly horrible. Horrible because Tamra couldn’t bear for Fletcher not to take this chance, and if she could do anything at all to help him to move on from Kim . . . she had to.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Fletcher blinked. “Really?”
“Really,” she said. “That’s how much I want this for you.”
He nodded. “And that’s how much I want this for you.”
He held out his hand and she took it, held it.
“And we both really, seriously do this,” he said. “We’re both honestly in it.”
She nodded. Even if the very notion terrified her.
But now she changed the subject. “And another thing. You need a haircut.”
His jaw dropped. “A what?”
And she sighed. “Spoken like a man who needs a haircut.” She rolled her eyes. “I was sort of elected to tell you. Or I volunteered. But either way, you need one.”
He continued sitting there looking at her as if he didn’t speak English and had no idea what she was saying.
So she went on. “For Christy and Jack’s wedding. And really for the party, too.”
He was back to blinking now. And he sounded completely perplexed as he said, “Wh-why? I mean, this is who I am.” He motioned toward his head.
“And we love you for who you are,” Tamra explained as sweetly as she could, wincing slightly as she added, “but . . . you’re a little out of style, Fletcher. Even more than I am. And since you’re in the wedding . . .”
Fletcher let out one more big sigh, taking in the request.
So Tamra rushed to reassure him. “Change can be good, right? And that’s what we’re really talking about here, isn’t it? Being brave enough to make healthy changes.”
He sounded a little defeated when he replied. “I’m not sure what my hair has to do with being healthy, but . . . tell you what.” Another blink. Another sigh. “I’ll make you one more deal.”
Oh boy. She braced herself. “Let’s hear it.”
“You wear something to the shower besides a long skirt.”
Tamra gasped. “What’s wrong my skirts?”
“You’re hiding in them,” he said without missing a beat.
Which made her gasp again. “Then—then . . . you’re hiding, too! Under your beard.”
Fletcher tilted his head. “Maybe we all hide a little, have our little bits of protection. But . . . do they really protect us from anything?”
Ah—typical, philosophical Fletcher, back on the scene. But it was a good question, and they both stayed quiet for a minute, pondering it. Until Tamra finally said, “Okay, deal. I’ll shop for a cuter, more stylish dress like the other girls are wearing to the party and you get a haircut and a shave.”
His back went rigid. “I have to shave, too?”
“Yes.”
“But . . .”
She didn’t let him get any further with an argument. “You want me in some sleek, short dress, you shave. That’s my final offer—take it or leave it.”
He looked a little frustrated. And staring contest number three commenced for a long minute until he replied, “For you—and for Christy—I’ll take it.” He held up one finger. “But you’d better appreciate this!”
“It’s for your own good,” she insisted. And then admitted something she wouldn’t have even five minutes ago. “Maybe . . . maybe we’re both in ruts. Maybe we both need to be a little more . . . daring, willing to take chances.”
“You’re making me take a bigger chance,” Fletcher said. “Just so you know.”
She tilted her head, made a doubtful face. “If I were to . . . let something happen with Jeremy, that would be the most daring thing I could do.”
“Same with me if I were to get involved with Bethany. Just in a different way.”
“Fair enough,” she had to agree.
At this, Fletcher wordlessly got up and walked in the house, returning a moment later with two cans of beer. He lowered them to the same table where their iced teas sat, abandoned, clearly having decided they needed something with a little more oomph right now. He popped the top on both, then picked them up and passed one to her.
He held his up in a toast. “Here’s to taking chances.”
She took a deep breath and tapped her can to his.
“PERFECT day for a party,” Reece said to Tamra when she got out of her car at the Happy Crab on Saturday morning, ready to help set up for the shower. Indeed the sun was shining bright, and though it would be dark by party time this evening, pleasant temps and light breezes were predicted.
“How are things looking?” she asked as they walked together through the breezeway that led to the back.
“Wait ’til you see. The tables were delivered a little while ago.”
Just then, they exited into the open area behind the Crab—and wow! Round tables covered in white linen dotted the space, and strings of white lights draped from lamppost to lamppost and palm tree to palm tree. With the boats and dock nearby, it suddenly felt almost like a miniature yacht club.
Tamra hadn’t been sure this was the best setting for a party—despite the Happy Crab’s retro charm, she hadn’t thought it romantic enough. But it had been Bethany’s brainchild—because Christy and Jack had fallen in love while staying at the Happy Crab. Now the open area edged by the dock and bay had become more romantic than Tamra could have imagined.
“This looks amazing!” she said, stunned.
Cami and Bethany exited the motel office then carrying centerpieces—jars filled with flowers, each decorated with a piece of the repurposed jewelry Christy made her living creating.
Near the pool, Polly stood setting up long tables where the seafood buffet would be. “I can’t believe you people want to eat fish at this shower,” she called to them all. “Don’t you ever get tired of fish? Lord knows I do.”
“Quit complaining, Polly,” Reece called back to her with his usual good-natured smile. “You need the business.”
“Maybe so, but I’d still think you people coulda found a more romantic food than fish.”
“From what I hear,” Bethany said, “they fell in love at the Hungry Fisherman just as much as they did here.” She pointed to the motel. “So that makes it perfect.”
Just then, Fletcher arrived, and Tamra made note of two things: He still had the same ponytail and beard he had the last time she’d seen him, and his eyes fell instantly on Bethany. Well, the second one was good anyway.
When Fletcher spotted Tamra, she reached up and gave her own hair a little tug, as a reminder. He replied by reaching down to give one leg of his shorts a small pull. As if he expected her to wear something new now, while setting up. So she made a face at him.
Reece turned on some music to echo through outdoor speakers near the pool as they all dove in on the party preparations. Fletcher and Reece set up white rented chairs around the tables as Cami, Bethany, and Tamra worked on decorations.
And the whole time, Tamra kept her eyes peeled for any sign of Jeremy.
He lived here, after all, so he could appear at any moment.
She’d spent the last few days continuing to work apart from him, on other projects, for practical reasons, both work-related and personal. She’d made progress on her own art, creating some seahorse-shaped plates and firing some already dried dishes in the kiln she’d invested in a few years ago. She’d also worked on some stained glass pieces already in progress, wrapping the edges of colorful butterfly-shaped suncatchers in copper foil, then attaching the copper with the burnishing tool before soldering them together. She’d also made more progress on the designs for the kitschy theme pieces for the golf course, adding plans for a hole that would require balls to zigzag past tiny pastel cottages built to resemble those on Sea Shell Lane and the surrounding neighborhood.
All of which had indeed kept her out of Jeremy’s path other than the night she’d seen him briefly at the Hungry Fisherman. And given her some time to think, mentally prepare.
She couldn’t believe the agreement she’d made with Fletcher. After all, instinct had told her to push Jeremy away in her garden. And she still believed she’d responded smartly, for all the reasons she’d given Fletcher on his porch.
And yet . . . she’d kissed Jeremy for quite a while before that instinct had kicked in. And those kisses had stayed with her. And when she’d seen him walk into the Hungry Fisherman, her heart had begun pounding against her rib cage so hard that it hurt. Just from the memory.
Thank God no one but Fletcher knew about that. If the girls knew, no telling what lengths they’d go to in shoving her toward him. And if she was going to truly open herself to this, she had to do it her own way, in her own time.
Though she knew tonight would be a darn good time. She knew Fletcher was expecting that, same as she was expecting him to get closer to Bethany tonight, too. The only problem being: When it came right down to it, could either one of them really go through with it?
BY early afternoon, everything for the party was in place. And everyone was gone—except Fletcher and Bethany. When she’d offered to take care of a few last things, he’d volunteered to help.
But being alone with her, even just doing a few party tasks together, was different than seeing her in a crowd. Her gaze was so direct, and so filled with . . . expectation. An expectation he still wasn’t sure he could meet. No matter how drawn to her he was.
Music still played through the speakers, currently the Sick Puppies reminding him that it was time to change. But he still wasn’t sure. About any of it.
When they finished tying fabric ribbons around the backs of the wedding party’s chairs, Bethany plopped down into one, the move suggesting she was tired, but her eyes, on Fletcher, shone as bright and bold as ever.
“Guess that’s it,” he said.
“Except for one last thing,” Bethany said as he pulled out another chair and took a seat next to her.
“What’s that?”
“Me asking you a question, something I’ve been trying to figure out.”
Fletcher pulled in his breath, tried not to feel guarded. Normally, he was just as direct as she was—it was a trait they shared. But right now, he felt uncharacteristically shy. “Let’s hear it.”
The hint of a coy smile reshaped her lips as she said, “I want to know what your deal is.”
Hmm. That was to the point, all right. And it was a fair question. So he began to tell her. “Well, I have a wife. But I don’t know where she is right now.”
It surprised him when the dark-haired girl beside him shook her head. “No, I know that part from Christy. But what’s your real deal, inside? What’s it about? What’s so special about this woman?”
And that was even much more to the point. The calm, sure, inquisitive way she posed the question nearly stole his breath. Even though it shouldn’t. You’re just two people. Two honest, open people. Just tell her the truth, what’s in your heart.
And really, the answer, when he broke it down, was simple. “She’s . . . my wife,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”
Bethany tilted her head, appeared knowing, and maybe a little cynical. “Millions of men have wives, even wives they love, but they wouldn’t wait patiently for four years, ready to forgive them for total abandonment.” And when he met her gaze, she added, “I’ve heard you’re shockingly honest. So am I.”
“I can see that,” he said, trying for a small smile.
And when he said nothing more, she went on. “How is it that you go on believing? Because I have trouble having faith in things I can’t see—like love, and loyalty, and dreams coming true—on a daily basis. But you . . . you seem at the opposite end of the spectrum—believing in something you have zero evidence for, never stopping. What is that about? Why is it so important?”
Fletcher contemplated the question. He talked a lot about his endless faith that Kim would return, but Bethany was asking him something deeper, asking him to dredge up a more private part of himself. So private that he wasn’t sure he knew the answer, and so he sat there digging through all the feelings in his heart—until it struck him.
And it was . . . a hard answer. An almost frightening answer. An answer so enormous and personal that he almost didn’t want to tell her.
And he knew he didn’t have to—he barely knew her. And yet, he still felt that connection happening, that kindred soul thing. And there had been moments with her today when he’d almost wished . . . that he wasn’t waiting for Kim at all so that he could feel truly free to explore everything about Bethany that called to him, everything about her that woke something up inside him.
And he felt the burning urge to keep right on being who he was—the guy who had no secrets, the guy who spilled his soul. Even if this had been a secret to him until just now and didn’t feel like . . . a good or flattering one.
“If . . . if Kim is really gone . . . I don’t know what my life is about anymore, what my purpose is. She’s my cornerstone, my foundation—I built my whole life on her. When I was young, I wanted to perform, to make magic, to do something impossible that would make people feel amazed and in awe, and would maybe make them think they could make magic, too, in whatever way they wanted. But somewhere along the way, I started making that magic for her. I wanted to see the world with her. I bought my house on Sea Shell Lane for her. If she’s not there anymore, in my life, in my future, what’s it all about? What’s it all for?”
Bethany let her gaze drop from his for a moment, clearly considering her reply—until she looked back up at him and said, “I understand how big a thing marriage is. And I’ve never been married so I won’t pretend to have shared that kind of intimate, long-lasting connection with someone.” She stopped, pursed her lips. Then stood up from her chair and looked down at him. “But there’s such a thing as holding on too tight to something that doesn’t really exist anymore. And sometimes it’s best to let go of the past and look to the future.
“There’s more than one kind of magic in the world. I feel like she stole yours—ran off with it and hasn’t brought it back. How long are you going to let her keep it when you could be . . . sharing it with someone else?”
She spoke the last word with invitation in her eyes.
And then she walked away, leaving Fletcher to sit there alone and to feel that, the aloneness of it, and to decide . . . that maybe he didn’t want to be alone anymore.
TAMRA looked in the floor-length mirror on her bedroom door. She barely recognized the woman looking back.
The woman before her wore a fitted, above-the-knee dress of pale yellow. She’d bought it yesterday at Beachtique, a shop in the same stretch of retail as the Happy Crab and Hungry Fisherman—which she’d always thought a little too classy and upscale for its surroundings. But when she’d needed a dress for tonight’s party, she’d been glad it was there.
She continued taking in her reflection, trying to get used to what she saw—what other people would see. There was cleavage. And leg. Basically more skin than most people probably even knew she had. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with it. But she’d promised Fletcher, and unlike the promise about Jeremy, this was the part she felt she had more control over—so she had to follow through.
And she’d even gone him one better. This afternoon, totally unplanned, she’d walked into the hair salon on Route 19 where she got her hair trimmed every few months—and made what was, for her, a radical shift. This morning, her long auburn spirally locks had hung to her waist, a big curtain of hair. Now, it was four inches shorter and laden with layers that made it lighter, bouncier, fuller around her face. And she had bangs!
She could scarcely believe she’d done it—she hadn’t changed her hair in years. But maybe the talk she’d had with Fletcher had suddenly made her realize she was judging him, and Jeremy, for not caring how they looked, when she was just as guilty. So she’d just gone for it, walked the talk.
The truth was, she thought she looked prettier now. Something in her face was softer. The hair framed her features more. Maybe she was crazy, but she could have sworn her eyes looked larger, her lips fuller.
Even so, she was nervous—her stomach swam with anxious butterflies. She thought she looked prettier—but what would everyone else think? It was scary to show people you were trying to make yourself into something a little bit new and to not know how they would react.
And there was more to be nervous about tonight than just her new look. The very thought forced her to expel a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Had she really made this agreement with Fletcher? About Jeremy? Wearing a shorter dress to a party was one thing, but pursuing romance—or good Lord, sex!—with Jeremy was another.
Jeremy had told both Reece and Polly he would be at the party tonight. And she supposed she could just avoid him the same way she had all week, but regardless, she would see him. And probably—no, definitely—be swept back to the memory of those unbelievably tantalizing kisses they’d shared in her garden.
She decided to text Fletcher. To distract herself from her nervousness. She was ready early and had a little time to kill. She scooped her cell phone up from her dresser and typed in a message. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
It took a few minutes for him to answer. SHAVING.
She gasped. She knew he’d agreed to, but it still caught her off guard. The truth was, she couldn’t quite envision Fletcher without his beard. WOW. CAN I SEE A PICTURE?
He answered more quickly this time. NO. THIS IS HARD FOR ME. CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW, OKAY?
It made her feel bad. Fletcher didn’t complain about much and she’d seldom heard him admit anything was difficult. Cutting off some of her hair today had felt a bit like . . . cutting away a little of her own identity. And in the end, it had felt refreshing, like it had lightened something inside her, cleared away something old to make room for something new. But maybe Fletcher hadn’t quite gotten to that part yet.
She kept her reply simple. OKAY. GOOD LUCK. IT’LL BE GREAT, FLETCH.
It surprised her when her phone buzzed again with another message from him. ARE YOU WEARING SOMETHING NEW?
YES.
GOOD. WE CAN DO THIS.
She smiled. It was strange to see Fletcher vulnerable—he always acted so in control. But she admired him for showing her that part of him right now, and it heartened her that they were doing this—all of this—together.
YOU’RE RIGHT, WE CAN! SEE YOU AT THE PARTY.