“We plan to sue you if you don’t step back,” Jennifer said in a strong, stern voice.
Derek lifted the document. “I can read.”
Anger wrapped itself around Jennifer’s neck like a snake. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”
“I haven’t been rude. In fact, I haven’t even pointed out how uncustomary it is for you to drop this off at my door,” Derek replied.
At this, his eyes sparkled mischievously again. Perhaps a woman like Michelle would have known what to do in that instant; Jennifer certainly did not.
“You don’t know what you’ve done,” Jennifer said. This time, her voice quaked with emotion. “And we’re going to fight this. Whatever it is you’re planning to build in our beautiful Edgartown, we don’t need it. I will fight tooth and nail for my family’s bakery. And that’s final.”
With that, Jennifer turned on her heel and traced her path back through the snow. After a long moment, she heard the door close behind her. On instinct, she swept her head around to blink at the door. She tried to drum up the appropriate amount of hate for this man who’d set out to ruin her mother’s family business. Instead, she felt only sadness — as the only man, she’d had any kind of attraction for in the previous year had proved himself to be a villain.
“Isn’t that just the way?” she said to herself. She tried to laugh it off. But ultimately, the walk home to Green Hollow Road was a cold, lonely, and dark one — much like the rest of her life.
Chapter Eleven
Derek had rented the dark-green house from an older woman who’d left the island to reconnect with her children, who were based in Florida. He had really fallen for the place since his move-in, although he attributed most of that to the fact that he could enter any of the rooms and not feel barreled over with memories. In fact, the old woman had left most of her furniture, the TV, the art hanging on the wall, and even the silverware and plates. It made Derek feel as though he was allowed solace from his normal life.
Now, he stood in the foyer of the house with this piece of thick paper in-hand. It suggested that the family-owned Frosted Delights Bakery had some kind of authority over him and could therefore sue him to ensure they could keep their building on the property that he’d bought months before.
It was so small-town, so mindless that Derek almost had to laugh.
He returned to the kitchen, where he’d just poured himself a glass of whiskey. On the stovetop was the leftover pasta he’d cooked earlier in the evening, along with the sauce that had begun to harden to the sides of the pan. Years ago, Angela had always nagged at him not to let things sit like that. “You’re just going to make it harder on us later,” she’d said. Now that he was all alone, he fell into these self-made traps frequently. He knew that if Emma caught him like that, she would scold him just like her mother had.
The woman who had appeared with the letter was the same woman Derek had seen at the Frosted Delights Bakery on that one Saturday when he’d decided to stop by and check it out. He had run out of coffee at his house, and his tongue had ached for some sweet pastries. When he’d entered the bakery, he hadn’t thought to himself that he should totally rethink tearing this down. He supposed this was because, on the surface, the place really wasn’t so special. The style and decor were from another lost generation. There were only a few tables and chairs in the front. The sweet selection they’d had was beautiful, naturally—but it really would have looked better in a different, updated counter.
Hadn’t this woman ever been off the island? Didn’t she understand what was possible, in terms of updating to a more modern style, and perhaps some marketing and all that jazz?
Anyway, it was clear to him that the bakery needed to be bulldozed to the ground. It was one of a number of old, washed-up businesses that sat on the property he would build upon. It was the ideal stretch of land, as it cut out toward the water beautifully. The views outside the restaurant he planned to build within the event space would be immaculate. The gazebo he planned to build out near the water would play host to an infinite number of lovers, all who met there to kiss and fall in love as they gazed out across the Nantucket Sound.
This bakery? The Frosted Delights Bakery? It had nothing to do with his plans.
Derek glanced again at the whiskey, which he hadn’t yet taken a sip of. He tapped his belly, thought better of the whiskey, and then rushed toward the bedroom to change into thick running pants, two sweatshirts, a ball cap and his tennis shoes. Yet again, he wanted to remain hyper-focused on his health. All that pasta had been a mistake.
He had to keep himself around for Emma.
He wanted to build up the courage to have a big, beautiful life.
Of course, in order to do any of that, he really had to find a way to wage war on the grief that had wrapped itself around and around him. Some days, he found it difficult to draw himself out of bed. According to the books he’d read, this was normal. He remembered a Tolkien quote he had read once: “I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.” He wished he could feel that the tears were useful, but they just seemed to weigh him down even more.
Once outside, he kicked up to a good pace and traced a path through Edgartown. There was something beautiful and sacred about running at night, especially in the wintertime. The air felt like icicles across his cheeks, and his hair froze to his neck, but his bones and his muscles felt spry and agile, and the Christmas lights illuminated everything into a kind of fairyland. When he ran quickly enough, he found a way to escape the inner turmoil of his heart.
After a good five miles, he reappeared at his door and clutched his knees. He gasped for breath, grateful that he had found a way to weave through the inner chaos of his mind. Maybe he could have that whiskey, after all. He deserved it.
After he’d showered, he sat beneath a blanket and flicked through the TV channels. His whiskey was a calming balm across the back of his throat. As he settled in on an old Clint Eastwood film, his phone buzzed and produced a single name: EMMA.
His heart lurched. He absolutely lived for news from Emma. He hadn’t heard from her much since his visit to NYC the previous week, and he hadn’t wanted to bother her, especially if she was embarrassed about what had happened with Will. He never wanted Emma to think that he judged her or thought ill of her decisions. He only wanted her to know his love.
“Hey!” he said.
But immediately, the once-happy girl on the other side of the line burst into tears. They were the kind of tears that didn’t allow her to breathe very well. Panicked, Derek stood from his chair and paced the floor. He tried to say all the things he thought a father should say, all the things he would say when she’d been a little girl and needed assurance.
“What is it, honey? You can tell me. I’m here,” he murmured into his cell phone.
All the while, Emma sniffled and spun out of control. “I am so embarrassed,” she said finally.
Had she failed a test? Had she gotten a bad haircut?
Was this all about her mother?
It could have been anything. Derek braced himself for the worst.
“Whatever it is, we can work through it. Together,” he told her.
Emma paused. She seemed to set down her phone. Then, there was the almost-funny sound of her blowing her nose. Derek could picture her doing it as a little girl, still trying to get the hang of it.
Finally, she returned to the line.
“Sorry about this, Daddy,” she said.
She hadn’t called him Daddy in years.
“It’s okay, honey. Like I said, whatever it is, we can get through it.”
“I don’t know about that. I know you—you’re so excited about it—and I...” She trailed off.
“What’s happened?”
“We called off the wedding,” Emma said.
The sound of sirens tore through Derek’s ears. He had the funniest image of himself, blowing a fist through that horrible Will’s chin.
“Oh, honey. I’m so s
orry,” Derek whispered. “That sounds really hard.”
“It is,” Emma replied through her tears. She coughed and sputtered again for a moment, then added, “I don’t know what went wrong. We’ve been so happy for two years. He—he’s my everything. Daddy, I don’t think I can handle life without him. Not now. Not without Mom, too.”
The words sliced through Derek’s heart. After a long silence, he said, “Did he at least wait until you were done with all your finals to end it?”
Emma’s voice quivered. “I just have one more to turn in. It’s a written one, and I’m mostly finished with it.”
“That’s a relief, at least,” Derek said.
“Yeah. What a great guy. He waited till I was done with my finals to ruin my life,” Emma groaned.
Derek felt it: that same glimmer of humor that Emma always had. Maybe all wasn’t lost, after all. Maybe they really could find a way through this.
“I want you here on Martha’s Vineyard with me. Sooner rather than later, Bug,” Derek said suddenly.
The original plan had been for Emma to spend more time in NYC, then visit Will’s family for the early part of the Christmas holiday, then head over to Martha’s Vineyard to visit Derek. This breakup, though? It had certainly opened up a wealth of possibilities for Derek Thatcher. It was possible that he wouldn’t have to spend much time alone.
In fact, he might have the most important woman in the world with him for Christmas, which made his heart swell with love and happiness.
“Are you sure I won’t be putting you out?” Emma asked.
“That’s ridiculous. Honey, this will be our first Christmas without your mother. I need you here with me. You’re always welcome,” he said.
“Ugh. I think you’re right about this city,” Emma confessed. He could hear the smile behind her voice. “It’s so loud and cramped and dirty. I think a trip to Martha’s Vineyard is definitely overdue. Should I bring you a bagel?”
“If you don’t bring me a classic New York bagel, I will disown you,” Derek said. His laughter was contagious through the line; a few seconds later, Emma’s laughter joined his. It was the best sound in the world.
At that moment, he was overwhelmingly happy—happier than he’d been since his wife’s passing. The only downfall was that it came at the price of his daughter’s very sincere sadness.
“Okay. I’ll text you more details as I know them,” Emma said. Again, she heaved a sigh. “I just can’t believe this. One minute, you think you have this future laid out before you. And the next...”
“Emma, honey. Everything happens for a reason. I know it doesn’t seem like that now, but it will.”
Derek knew this all too well. Hadn’t he and Angela had big plans for their future together? Hadn’t they dreamed of retirement, of sailing, of falling deeper in love as they grew old and frail together in their old age?
Emma and Derek said goodnight a few minutes later. Derek regretted it; he knew how difficult the night would be for Emma. Always, that first night after a breakup was the worst. He could remember those nights, as his heart had crumbled in his chest and he’d hunted for his own sleep that he knew would never come.
He sat in front of the television for a long time after Emma hung up. He sipped his whiskey slowly, letting it spread across his tongue. For reasons he couldn’t fully understand, he typed “FROSTED DELIGHTS BAKERY” into the search bar on his phone. Seconds later, he arrived at their website—which looked like it hadn’t been updated since 2002.
The Frosted Delights Bakery has been in Ariane Conrad’s family for three generations. Come on down for one of our specialty lattes, specialty donuts, cakes, or other delights. We love you, Edgartown!
It was a cheesy description for a place Derek really shouldn’t have cared for. Even still, he perused the bottom of the webpage, where he found a number of photographs of pastries and coffees. Then, at the very bottom was a photo that looked like it had been taken maybe twenty-five years before.
In it were six teenage girls. They all held onto one another and grinned broadly at the camera. Each looked as though she’d just been handed a ticket to the Wonka Chocolate Factory. Beneath the photo, a caption read: The Sisters of Edgartown.
Derek placed his phone back on the arm of his chair and leaned back. As a man of incredible wealth, he hadn’t dealt with anything so small-town, so “quaint” in a number of years. But something about that photo tugged at his heartstrings. It reminded him of the way he loved his daughter — with every fiber of his being, in ways he couldn’t even fully describe. He would have done anything for her. And she was so much of the reason why he wanted to build this event space in Edgartown.
He wanted to prove to her and to himself that he wasn’t dead. When Angela died, the world had very nearly crumbled around him. But he knew he would remain, and he would make the best of his time. He had to. He had a beautiful daughter to live for.
Chapter Twelve
A few nights had passed since Jennifer’s mad-dash toward the door of Derek Thatcher. She sat in the driveway of her parents’ place with her hands still on the steering wheel. She had fallen into a kind of trance, lost herself in her own fatigue, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the nurse, Mary, appeared beside the window and knocked at the glass.
Jennifer rolled down the window and forced herself to greet the woman in a friendly manner. Mary spent about forty-five hours a week with her mother, so it was the least Jennifer could do.
“Hey there,” Jennifer said. “How was she today?”
“A bit grumpy,” Mary offered. “Although that’s to be expected, I guess. She spoke a lot about the bakery.”
Jennifer scrunched her nose. “She knows I’ve been avoiding the topic, huh?”
Mary shrugged. “The woman’s brain is fully intact. She can’t imagine a world without her bakery. She told me all these beautiful memories of herself as a young girl, helping her mother roll out the dough.”
Jennifer’s heart dropped. She had similar memories with both her grandmother and her mother. She peered up at Mary, who seemed to look at her with strange resentment.
“She said you’re doing everything you can to make sure the bakery remains afloat,” she said.
“That I am, Mary.” Jennifer blew out her cheeks. “That I am.”
Mary slipped into her car and eased down the rest of the street. Jennifer watched her go, her stance wide in the driveway. Just as she planned to turn in and greet her parents, Nick and Stacy appeared down the driveway. They didn’t live too far away, and apparently, they’d walked.
“My gosh. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Jennifer said as she threw her arms around both of them. “I thought you said you couldn’t make it tonight?”
“Things changed, I guess,” Nick said. “Stacy said she was starving, and I got out of some of the work I had to do. You know me. I’ll come wherever there’s good food.”
“Then I hope you like pizza again,” Jennifer said. “Because I don’t have any energy to cook.”
Once inside, they found the house in a strange state. Ariane sat in her wheelchair at the dining room table, a set of cards in front of her, untouched. She stared down at them morosely. In the living room, the television screamed a sporting game to John Conrad, who sat with a beer in-hand. Neither of them noticed Jennifer, Nick, or Stacy, not until Jennifer gripped the remote control and flicked off the TV.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said to her father.
All the color drained from his cheeks. He glanced toward the ground, where, it seemed, he’d collected a rather large number of beer bottles and cans over the previous hours. His tongue was lazy behind his lips as he tried to say, “Hey there, Jen. I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“Dad, it’s Friday. Me and Nick have come over for Friday night dinner almost every week for the past twenty-some years,” Jennifer said. She dropped down and collected the bottles and cans as tears sprung to her eyes. She didn’t want to show this sign of we
akness to her father, so she turned quickly and fled for the kitchen.
“Is Joel on his way?” her father asked.
This forced Jennifer to stop short. She swallowed harshly and shook, hating herself for the terror that quaked through her. Either her dad was too drunk to remember her divorce, or he actually wanted to hurt her. Either way, she wanted to throw all these beer bottles against the wall.
“Grandpa, what game was that?” Nick asked. He stepped forward and dropped down on the couch near his grandfather. He tried on that classic smile, the same one Joel had given her father so often.
“It’s a college team,” John said. “You want it back on?”
“Of course,” Nick said. “You know— I love basketball.”
“And you were damn good at it, too, Nick. I remember doing time on the bleachers to watch you play. You could have played in college, I think.”
“I don’t know about that,” Nick said. He eyed his mother ominously, then mouthed, ‘Are you okay?’
Jennifer was grateful to Nick for bringing peace. It certainly wasn’t something she could muster right then. She stepped past her mother and placed the beer bottles in the recycling bin. When she was finished, her mother cleared her throat.
“What’s the news on the bakery front, honey?”
Jennifer felt the words like a knife.
“I’m doing my best to figure out how this happened, Mom,” Jennifer replied in a steady tone. She reached for the pizza menu on the fridge and began to shuffle through it, anything to get her mind off the current affairs. “I’m pretty sure we can find a way out of it. Amelia’s on the case. You know Amelia. She always knows what to do.”
Even Jennifer could feel the lie as it hummed across her words. How stupid had she been, giving him that letter? He’d probably seen directly through it. He’d probably decided she was a small-town idiot, just like the rest of the islanders.
He would barrel right on over them—rip right over their hopes and dreams and memories as though they’d never really happened.
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