Meet Me at Sunset (Evening Island)
Page 9
She looked back up at the house. When Gemma had broached the idea to sell Sunset Cottage, it seemed to make sense. It was a big house that they rarely visited, worth enough that her share alone would fund the girls’ college bills and Ellie would be able to find a comfortable alternative. The house was so large, and in need of routine maintenance. Hope hadn’t thought about it in so many years; she’d been too wrapped up with her day-to-day life to look back on the past. But now, being here, it seemed that it was all she could think about.
And it was safer than thinking about the future.
At that, her stomach twisted and she set a hand to her waist to settle it. Evan had called already, as she assumed he would, and she’d answered, only to hand the phone to the girls, but the reception had been lost partway through the call. When he’d called again, he’d asked when she was coming home, and she couldn’t answer that because she didn’t know. She couldn’t stay here forever, especially not if they sold the house.
She focused again on the house, on the front porch where her own mother used to sit and play cards and chat with the other mothers. It seemed impossible to believe that she was once the girl who would run barefoot on this beachfront, and splash in the water, and not care if her shoulders got too much sun or if she got sand in her hair.
Now she was the mother who was brushing sand out of her children’s hair. The cycle of life had continued, just as she somehow always knew it would, that life would carry on for her as it always had, as it had been so carefully laid out for her.
Suddenly, the thought of going into the house, confined to the memories and the reminders of the past, and the horrible, sinking thought of what might have been, what path might have been chosen, became almost less appealing than the thought of two cranky girls who had missed their nap. She longed to walk through town, without the double-wide stroller that was another part of her routine the girls were quickly growing out of, sooner than she wished. Sure, it was hard to wrestle that thing through standard doors, but without it…She tried to picture walking hand in hand with the girls for any length of time and felt herself almost tear up. They’d resist. They’d get tired. She’d be even more housebound than she was now, with even less to talk about with her husband when he came home, with even less interaction with other people, and that was…unbearable.
It took ten minutes to pack up the beach toys and cross the street to the house, and another fifteen to rinse off in the tub because Victoria had so much sand in her hair that it had to be washed, and that always caused a howling fit.
From upstairs she heard Gemma say something she couldn’t make out and then close her door with more force than Hope felt was really necessary. Yes, she was writing a book, and yes, she had a deadline, but did she really need to show how much more important that was than what Hope was doing?
Hope stared at her two girls in the tub in dismay. She was rinsing sand out of a child’s hair, and Gemma was writing a book that would soon be shelved alongside her other, in bookstores across the nation. Who was she kidding?
With record speed, she drained the water, dried the girls with fluffy striped towels that she had also purchased (again, with a questioning frown from Ellie) and tucked them into their side-by-side beds and drew the curtains.
They fell asleep quickly, thanks to the fresh air and endless activity, and Hope walked up to the third floor and knocked quietly on the door. From behind it, she heard Gemma curse. A moment later, she opened the door. Her hair was pulled into a wild-looking bun and her mouth was pinched.
“Sorry, but I was going to head into for a bit. The girls are asleep. Would you mind just listening out for them? I should be back before they wake up.”
Gemma’s eyes bulged. “I’m trying to work.”
“And they’re asleep.”
“I don’t think you realize what kind of pressure I’m under here,” Gemma replied in a steely voice.
Now this was completely unfair! “I was the one who suggested you come up here, remember?” Hope pointed out.
“Yes, and then you came too, and what I thought was going to be a quiet place to write has turned into a raucous family vacation!”
Hope knew deep down that Gemma loved the twins, but she couldn’t deny the sting of her sister’s words. “I thought it would be nice for us to all spend some quality time together, as sisters.”
“It would be. But not until this book is finished,” Gemma said. “I don’t think you understand—”
“Oh, I understand,” Hope said, giving her sister a long look. “I did have a career too, once. And I understand when I’m not wanted.”
“I just wish you had mentioned that you wanted to come too—”
“Because then you wouldn’t have come? I do own a third of this house.” Hope tried to keep the hurt from creeping into her tone. “And I have been preparing the family meals, too.”
Now, she wondered why she bothered. It was a thankless job, no matter where she went. “Besides, when was the last time we were all together?” She shook her head. “Forget I asked. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come.”
She could leave. Take the ferry back on Monday. She could be back in time for Cindy’s daughter’s fifth birthday party next weekend. She realized with sudden panic that she hadn’t RSVP’d before she’d left and now she wouldn’t have to worry about canceling.
Still, she waited for Gemma to call after her, to say something, anything that would lessen the ache in her chest as she made her way back down to the second floor, the floorboards creaking underneath her. But instead, all Gemma did was close the door, reminding Hope that she was all alone when it came to this parenting thing, and that her dreams of a fun time with her sisters had been as much a pipe dream as her desire to have a career of her own.
And while she hadn’t thought much of the argument between Gemma and Ellie last night, today she had to agree. It was time to sell Sunset Cottage. It was nothing like it used to be.
Chapter Ten
Gemma
Gemma only stopped writing when she glanced up through the window and saw a figure crossing the front lawn. A shirtless figure. A handsome figure. A distracting figure, not that she entirely minded.
She looked down at her word count in the bottom corner of screen, closing her eyes in relief with what she saw. Yes, she’d spent another day avoiding the main point of the story and focusing instead on the filler scenes, but it was something, and she could call it a productive day, mostly because Hope had decided to vacate the house with the twins for an extended period of time, both before and after their naps, and Ellie had yet again left the house before even the twins were awake—and when they woke up, the entire house knew it.
She felt bad about her argument with Ellie last night. And the words she had exchanged with Hope earlier. But she also couldn’t take back what she’d said, either. And she certainly wasn’t complaining about how much she’d accomplished when the house was so empty.
Deciding that she was at a stopping point, she saved her document and closed her laptop. Then, for inexplicable reasons, silly really, she walked into her en suite bathroom, brushed her hair into a neater ponytail, and changed from her pajama pants and tank top to cut-off jean shorts and a cotton pleasant blouse.
Confidence, she told herself. It was something she hadn’t felt in a while, not since Sean decided that she wasn’t the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with after all.
Five months later, it still hurt, and with each day closer to her wedding day, the more it brought up all those bad feelings she’d experienced when the breakup was raw and the pain was fresh. The date was now four weeks from tomorrow. Did he still have it on his calendar? Had he forgotten?
Would he even think of her at all? Would he stop and think, even for one second, that he had made a mistake? He’d already picked out his tie. And together they’d selected matching wedding bands—platinum, to match the engagement ring she’d returned to him two weeks after he ended their relationship.
Should have been.
She sighed heavily and forced herself to open her bedroom door. She’d been tucked away since breakfast, and she hadn’t even stopped for lunch. Now her stomach rumbled and she walked down the stairs to the kitchen, happy to find the fridge still stocked, and the pantry, too. The bowl of fresh fruit was now front and center on the farmhouse table—again, Hope’s touch.
Guilt reared strong, but she pushed it back. If Hope hadn’t interrupted her at such a crucial point in the chapter she’d been writing, she wouldn’t have been so short-tempered. She’d offer to watch the girls one day when she had her book more under control. If she could finally break through this panicked feeling she experienced every time she reached the part of her book where the main characters met and eventually fell in love, then she could afford to be generous. And she wanted to be generous. It didn’t feel good to take advantage of Hope’s hospitality or Ellie’s willingness to share the cottage, even if it was just as much hers.
She ate a banana and one of the muffins left over from breakfast, purchased at Island Bakery yesterday by Hope, one of the best spots in town for homemade scones and sandwiches. Growing up, the girls used to pack thick turkey sandwiches from there and spend the day at the beach, before cycling over to Main Street Sweets for penny candy before they came home, full, tired, and smiling.
Home. That’s what they had always called this house when they visited, and Gran hadn’t minded. Now, it technically was her home, a third of it at least, and Gemma considered that for a moment. Then, feeling that it was time to contribute something to the household, she walked out onto the front porch and admired Leo as he pushed the mower back and forth, in straight lines.
Really, that’s all she was doing. Watching from afar. Because getting any closer…well, that was definitely not an option. And really, she was only seeking him out for professional reasons. He was handy, and this house needed work. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was easy on the eye. Very easy, she thought, as she watched his muscles strain as he turned the mower around.
He stopped when saw her, flashed a grin and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief that he pulled from his back pocket. He certainly wasn’t making this easy, she thought ruefully. Or maybe, it was the other way around. Maybe he was making this too easy. Too easy to think about someone other than Sean. Too easy to believe that she could actually be attracted to another man again.
But attraction was one thing. A relationship was another. And love…she couldn’t even think about that.
“I noticed that vegetable garden in the back,” he said, sparking a snort from her.
“It used to be a vegetable garden,” she corrected. Gran had taken such pride in her plants, and when the girls visited in the summer, they’d found endless satisfaction in selecting the tomatoes, beans, and peppers for dinner. One of her favorite memories was of sitting on the porch with her sisters and Gran, shelling peas and looking out over the water, her feet bare, her shorts sticky over her wet bathing suit, her smile tired but sincere.
Those days, she thought heavily, were over. The vegetable garden was proof of that.
“My sister killed it.”
He barked out a laugh. It was a nice laugh, rich and heavy, but warm, like his eyes. “I’ve met Ellie a few times over the last couple of months. She’s an artist, right?”
Gemma nodded. “This house is a lot of work for one person.”
He lifted an eyebrow. The intensity of his gaze not wavering. “Good thing you’re here then.”
She looked away, down at her feet. She was vulnerable, out of sorts, and she’d probably latch onto anyone who showed her a little kindness about now. But just as much as she wanted to stay out here, in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, talking with a nice, friendly, good-looking guy, another part of her wanted to go inside, close the door, and stop her heart from beating like this. Inside she was safe. Inside she was protected. Comfortable.
“I could try to revive it,” he offered.
Here, she had to raise an eyebrow. “That’s very optimistic of you.” Last she’d checked, the leaves on the tomato plants had turned crisp and brown, and the peppers looked like they hadn’t had a drop of water except for what Mother Nature decided to offer to them.
“I consider myself a bit of a green thumb. I’ll have a go.” He shrugged, and she knew that she should leave it at that, boundaries and all, but she couldn’t help herself. A good-looking man, here on Evening Island, who didn’t seem to own a shirt and who knew how to bring the dead back to life?
She followed him around the back, past the old hammock where she used to lie for hours, scribbling in her journal, or late at night, staring up at the stars which seemed so much brighter here on the island than they did back at home. Gran knew all the constellations, and they were happy to stand out on the porch and study them all, well past their usual bedtimes.
“You okay?” he asked, tossing her a quizzical look as he bent down to brush away some of the debris at the base of the plants.
“I was just thinking about this house,” she said, a little wistfully. “It’s been in my family for a long time, and we had a lot of happy memories here.”
“You don’t get back very often?” He continued to work while he talked, the muscles in his arms taut as his hands moved expertly over the plants.
“No,” she said, distractedly. “It’s not easy to get to. I wish I had come back more. But…well, life.”
“Has a weird way of doing that, doesn’t it?” He grinned up at her and she felt something in her gut twist.
She cleared her throat, eager to break the moment, and focused on the vegetable plants, which were already looking better now that Leo had cleared out the brush.
“Where’d you learn to do all this?” she asked. She raked her gaze over him. His skin was tawny, his brown hair tipped with gold, but there was something about him, maybe it was the smoothness of his hands, or something about the way he spoke and carried himself, that told her there was more to him than what he revealed. He may be handy, but he hadn’t always been a handyman, that much was clear.
“My mother was into gardening. I used to follow her around, see what she was doing. She taught me everything she knew. I liked it. It was…peaceful.”
She narrowed her eyes. Peaceful. People came to Evening Island seeking peace, that much was for sure. But from her personal experience, they also came to Evening Island for another reason.
To escape.
***
Gemma couldn’t help but notice that for the fifth night in a row, Hope fed the girls separately and then tucked them into bed before the rest of them ate their dinner. She checked her watch, it was seven, later than she usually ate at home, not that she watched the clock. Her life, after all, no longer had any structure.
Ellie had not yet returned, but she wasn’t surprised by that, and she imagined that Hope wasn’t either. Besides, the island was Ellie’s home. She had an entire life here that they weren’t part of, and for all Gemma knew, on Friday nights, she had somewhere to be.
Still, she felt sad at the thought that Ellie might be avoiding her.
“I feel bad about last night,” she admitted to Hope. “I think Ellie’s avoiding me.”
“Ellie teaches a painting class on Friday evenings,” Hope reminded her. “But I feel bad too. And the thought of selling Sunset…”
Gemma grew quiet. She knew. She felt it too. But she had been relying on Hope’s practical side to keep her strong.
“I can always eat earlier,” she suggested, hoping to make amends for their earlier conversation that day. “Before the gi
rls go down.”
Hope piled pasta into two bowls and handed one to Gemma. “I can’t eat earlier,” Hope said, pulling two forks from the drawer.
“If I’m going to spend an hour, or sometimes more, preparing a delicious meal that I’ve shopped for and prepped and then have to clean up afterwards, then I deserve to enjoy it!” Tears seemed to fill Hope’s eyes but she blinked them away rapidly.
Gemma waited until they were seated on the porch to press. She’d never seen her sister like this, and she was still thinking about her comment yesterday. Could there be trouble in the marriage? Is that what had prompted Hope to come to the island?
She’d always considered herself close to Hope, in the sense that they were easy company, could laugh and talk and stayed up to date on each other’s news. But Hope rarely revealed her deepest feelings. Gemma realized with shame that she’d always assumed that Hope didn’t have any troubles.
“Is everything okay, Hope? I’m sorry that I couldn’t help with the girls today. I’m just in such a bad position with this book and my deadlines.” She thought of that email from her editor still sitting in her inbox, unopened. She shoved some pasta into her mouth and chewed in an effort to push away the knot in the pit of her stomach.
“I know.” Hope shook her head. “Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. I just…” She stared out onto the water, where the sun was dipping into the horizon.
It was a beautiful sunset, and even though they were almost always blessed with beautiful sunsets at this cottage, it never lost its magic. They stopped, sitting in silence, and Gemma soaked in the colors of the sky. Like cotton candy, she used to say as a girl, and this would make Ellie giggle, say that she was suddenly hungry, that she wished she could eat the sky.