“I can imagine,” Wes affirmed. “Didn’t I always tell you, Susie? The city was bunk.”
“You always did say that, Dad,” Susan replied with a laugh.
“We’ll make Kellan an islander yet,” Wes said.
SCOTT APPEARED DOWNSTAIRS with a backpack. Susan slipped on her tennis shoes and muttered mostly to herself about the case until she and Scott slipped out the back door. Scott’s fingers found hers as they walked along, heading toward the line of trees off to the northeast side of the house.
“Gosh, it’s nice to just walk with you,” Susan said evenly.
“It was always my favorite thing— to walk with you even when we don’t have any direction in mind.”
“Like now?”
Scott tilted his head and gave her a mischievous smile. “Actually, I have a destination for us. If you don’t protest.”
She tilted her head to get a better look at his face. “Why would I?”
“It’s a bit — strange.” Scott’s grip on her fingers grew stronger, more insistent. They continued through the woods and then ducked down lower toward the waterline. Susan knew that they’d walked away from the Sheridan property line but that nobody had lived down in this area of the woods for at least two decades, maybe more.
The house that came into view both surprised her and reminded her of a long-ago dream-like memory. In that memory, the house, which had belonged to the Jacobson’s, had been regal, made of stone, almost like a miniature castle there by the sands. In the wake of the Jacobson’s departure, the house had turned toward ruin, and for whatever reason, nobody had scooped it up in all the years since.
But as they stood on the hill overlooking the house, Susan breathed, “It looks like someone has restored the entire house.”
Scott’s thumb traced the top of her hand delicately. After a long, pregnant pause, he said, “We don’t have to live here if you don’t want.”
Susan’s jaw dropped. She flung her head round to catch his gaze as he dropped down again on that very hill and positioned himself on one knee.
“It has been one hell of a month for both of us, Susan. But I purchased this house in January with every intention of building it back up in time for our wedding day on June 19th. In the previous weeks, as you’ve spent more and more time in Boston, Kellan and I have spent more and more time here. Sanding and painting and nailing and — well — you name it, we’ve done it. The house is nearly finished and Kellan and I have talked it over. We think — no, we know for sure that June 19th is still the perfect day to begin the rest of our lives together. So, will you still be my wife, Susan? Will you spend the rest of your life with me? I know that the cabin isn’t suited for a family of three, but we have this place now. The old Jacobson place, as your dad calls it. I think it’ll do just fine.”
Susan felt the tears roll down her cheeks as the reality of it all hit her. She threw her arms around him as she whispered, “You did this all for me?”
“Of course. You’re everything to me. You’re my entire world, Susan!” He breathed, then twirled her round and round in circles as her heart pumped and the joyous tears continued. She hadn’t envisioned this, not in a million years. But Scott Frampton had always had a way about surprising her.
He led her through the house after that. Susan was mesmerized as she watched him position a key directly in the front door and actually open it, proof that it was theirs, that it may always be theirs.
Of course, the place hadn’t yet been furnished and there were still a number of design decisions to be made. Susan laughed and said, “You knew better than to make those without me, didn’t you?” Scott affirmed that he did.
“It’s not like me and Kel could ever pick out the perfect paint color for the bathroom, you know?” he said.
“Oh, I have a hunch. I saw Kellan pair orange with blue the other day,” Susan said. “Besides, I’ll need Lola and Christine’s eye on everything. Oh, and Amanda will beg for wallpaper. She’s such a stickler for that. She’ll need her own room. And—oh, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“No, no. I want you to get ahead of yourself,” Scott said. “I want this place to make you dream up all the different realities we’ll have together here. We’re still young, babe— only mid-forties. We still have forty years together to drive one another crazy.”
Susan burst into laughter. She then traced a path through the foyer, past the newly-positioned cabinets in the kitchen, out toward the porch, with its gorgeous view of the Vineyard Sound. If she peered through the trees off to the left just so, she could make out the outline of the Sheridan house.
It was beyond her wildest dreams to be so close to the ones she loved. Already, she could envision Baby Max — not such a baby any longer, barreling through the trees and hollering her name. What would Baby Max call her, anyway? Aunt Susie? Grandma Susie? They would cross that bridge when they came to it. And besides, labels weren’t so important in the Sheridan family. There was so much love to go around.
Out on the porch, the waves rushed soundly across the white sands and basked against the edges of the white birch trees. Susan dropped her head against Scott’s chest to listen to his beating heart. He reached into his backpack to draw out a bottle of red and two glasses.
“I want to toast to our future. Here at our new house.”
But as he poured their glasses, Susan knew to do one thing before anything else.
She texted all of them: Amanda, Audrey, Christine, and Lola.
SUSAN: Wedding’s ago. June 19th. Squash any and all rumors that it isn’t moving forward and get ready for the biggest party of your life. I’m marrying the love of my life! And best of all we’re moving into the Jacobson house next door!
By the time the text messages buzzed back through in response, Susan’s lips were sealed over Scott’s, and her mind was empty of any other thoughts. It was crazy how times could change and how they stayed the same. It was a remarkable thing.
Chapter Twenty
Susan, Amanda, and Marcie Shean sat together in one of the side offices outside of the courtroom. It was approximately twenty-five minutes prior to the start time of the next round of witness testimony. Susan had just finished explaining what had occurred on Martha’s Vineyard with someone named “Marvin Stokes,” a name that didn’t ring any bells for Marcie Shean at all. In fact, Marcie seemed increasingly despondent. Susan sat across from her at the overly large table. Somehow, the girl seemed to have lost years from her face; she seemed more like seventeen, perhaps sixteen, on the verge of choosing her university and major of choice.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know him. And I didn’t really ever know any of those guys,” Marcie whispered in that mouse-like voice of hers. “Vincent tried to keep everything separate from me. We had a bit of the money for a while, but yeah, like Jimmy said, he started using and spending it all again. I hated to sleep separately from him. I guess you could say we were co-dependent or something. I read a book about that once. We were textbook like that.
“But he never wanted the guys to come to the house. And I always worked while he did whatever he did to make enough money to use. Gosh, it sounds so crazy now, doesn’t it? I just hate that it all came to this.” Marcie’s hands shook as she extended them over the table.
“The cops interviewed this Marvin guy and tracked down a few more witnesses for us,” Susan explained. “I don’t think we’ll have time to see them today. The trial could extend a bit longer than expected. I hope you’re up to that?”
“Whatever we need,” Marcie replied, although her voice suggested that she was on the verge of some kind of mental break.
Amanda stood to go grab everyone cups of coffee. Her heels clacked off into the distance as she left Susan and Marcie alone. Marcie’s eyes scanned the paintings that hung on the wall in the large room. Sometimes, Susan hated how intimidating courthouses seemed. It was all this pomp and circumstance for nothing.
“I can’t believe he went all the way to the Vineyard to find you,”
Marcie said suddenly. “How awful it must have been.”
Susan nodded. “Stuff like this had happened before when I used to work with my ex-husband, but we had a good system in place. A system of protection that I thought the Vineyard would also provide, out there on that rock in the middle of the ocean. I was wrong to assume that, though, and have definitely learned my lesson.”
“But you shouldn’t take cases like mine anymore,” Marcie said. “You have so much to live for— a beautiful family. Everyone on the island knows about the Sheridans and what kind of people you are. There was no reason you should have helped me. But I think my dad knew you would. He sensed that you’d know you were our last hope.”
A lump formed in Susan’s throat. She reached across the table and cupped the girl’s hand tenderly. Pain beamed off of her; torment of the worst kind. This girl, this poor girl, had discovered her dead boyfriend on the floor of the apartment they had shared. Susan had never gone through anything worse. Assuredly, the girl would have nightmares surrounding that very moment for the rest of her days. It was like a poison that could never be released.
There was a loud rap at the door. Susan glanced at the clock, which told her they still had seventeen minutes till the start of the session. She released the girl’s hand and stepped toward the door. When she opened it, she found herself face-to-face with the bailiff.
“The judge would like to speak with you in his chambers,” he told her.
Susan left Marcie with two of the guards. She traced a path back toward the chambers, where she found the prosecution’s lawyer, Paul, waiting. He looked irritated, and he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. When Susan greeted him, he didn’t say anything in return.
Once in the chambers, the judge folded his hands over the desk and looked at them with eyes that clearly indicated he was irritated.
“I’ve just gotten word from the police station. One of the men connected to Marvin Stokes just confessed to the murder of Vincent Camden.”
Susan gasped, then turned her eyes toward Paul, who furrowed his brow and said, “Are you sure about this?”
“Quite sure,” the judge affirmed. “We will make a formal announcement once the session begins. At that time, I will allow for Marcie Shean’s immediate release. She will be free to go.”
Susan felt as though she slept walked out into the hallway. Once there, she peered up at Paul, who looked strangely flabbergasted.
“This is such amazing news! Vincent’s parents will finally know what really happened,” Susan said.
Paul scoffed. “Sure. Now they know he was a drug-addled lunatic involved with all the wrong people.”
“Isn’t the truth better than sending an innocent girl to prison?” Susan asked, her voice laced with snark.
“It is. Congratulations, Ms Sheridan. All the best to you and your client,” Paul returned as he walked out toward the courtroom in defeat.
Minutes later, Amanda found Susan and Marcie out on the wooden bench. Susan hadn’t yet found the words to explain the news to Marcie. Her heart hummed with fear and excitement. Amanda pressed a cup of coffee into her hand and said, “Sorry. The line was so long.” Susan hardly heard her.
The judge entered. He blasted his gavel against the top of the large desk and announced, “Today in the proceedings of the State Versus Marcie Shean, I find the defendant not guilty. The trial is dismissed.”
A gasp erupted across the room. Marcie’s eyes bugged from her skull. She gripped Susan’s hand there on the bench, and Susan could feel how quick her pulse was. It raced like a rabbit’s.
“What did you do?” Marcie demanded then.
Susan shook her head. “There was a confession.”
Marcie’s eyes filled with tears. “They got the guy. They got the guy who did it.”
“It seems like it.”
Tears rolled down Marcie’s cheeks. One of the guards came and removed her handcuffs. She shook her wrists around and eased one hand over her opposite wrist to soothe the skin. After a pause, she turned around to look her father in the eye. It was difficult to decipher what the two of them thought there at that moment. Her father nodded firmly and then gestured toward the back exit. It was time to return home.
Susan walked with Marcie toward the entrance. Everywhere they looked, cameras flashed toward them. Microphones were shoved toward their mouths as journalists hollered, “MARCIE! Now that you’re deemed not guilty, do you have something to say to the entire city of Boston, a city that was entirely sure of your guilt until now?”
“Marcie! What would you say to Vincent right now, if you could?”
“Marcie!”
“Marcie, wait!”
Susan wrapped an arm around her client and hustled her out toward the sidewalk, where she hurriedly hailed a cab. Together, Amanda, Marcie, and Susan pressed themselves into the back seat. Marcie’s father had been caught by a journalist, who peppered him with questions on the sidewalk. Marcie furrowed her brow.
“He’s my ride.”
“We can take you back to the island. If you like,” Susan said.
Marcie nodded. “Just text him, if you can. Tell him I’m okay. And I’ll see him at home.”
WITHIN THE HOUR, SUSAN watched as Marcie draped her head against the car seat headrest there in the passenger seat of her vehicle. She had soft rock purring on the radio, and already, Amanda was fast asleep in the backseat. It was as though all the trauma of the previous weeks had built up around them and reminded them of their own exhaustion.
Still, as they drove toward the Vineyard, Susan hummed with questions. The girl had the rest of her life stretched out before her. What on earth did that feel like?
“Marcie. Can I ask you something?”
Marcie turned her eyes the slightest bit toward Susan, proof that she listened in.
“What does it feel like? Now that it’s over?”
Marcie chewed on her bottom lips before answering. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to describe. I was pretty set on spending my life in prison, to be honest. I had a strategy in my head about how I would live out each decade. And now, it’s like, I’ve been given this new gift of what feels like eternal life. I don’t want to mess it up, you know? And that’s even more pressure.”
Susan chuckled. “That’s a funny problem to have, isn’t it?”
Marcie nodded. After a long pause, she turned her eyes to watch the road as it rushed past. “When I first met Vincent, we talked non-stop about how we wanted to discover the world together. We would make out in the walk-in fridge at the restaurant and talk about our daydreams. He said he would show me the world. I don’t know why I believed him because, hell, he’d never seen the world himself. But all I had known was Martha’s Vineyard. I was swept up in the idea of it all. But before I knew it, we were arguing and there wasn’t any money and we were screaming at each other and — well. But I still loved him, you know. I never stopped loving him, even when I would tell him I wanted to leave him. He always begged me to stay. Gosh, I wish I had left. I would never have gotten involved in all of this. But I don’t know where I would have gone.”
Susan adjusted her hands low on the steering wheel at five and seven. If Amanda had woken, she would have given her mother about this. She always did.
“Do you think you’ll stay on the island now that it’s over?”
Marcie shook her head quickly. “I want to go where nobody has ever heard my name. Maybe a different country. Somewhere in South America. Maybe I can learn how to dance the tango. Or paint really well. Or ride a horse.”
Susan’s heart swelled at all these beautiful images. She could just make it out — Marcie, wearing a vibrant smile, maybe even introducing herself with a new name, with a fresh accent. Maybe she would learn to speak Spanish or Portuguese. Maybe it would be enough just to be alone somewhere new, a place where she could stew over her thoughts and process them. A place where she could mourn the death of Vincent Camden, a man she’d loved, and a man she now probably regretted she’d lo
ved so much.
“You’re going to get through this, Marcie,” Susan told her softly. “You’re a writer on the first page of the draft called ‘the rest of your life.’ It’s up to you to write the first sentence.”
“That’s beautiful,” Marcie replied. “And I think I’ve had enough bad luck for now. Maybe I’ll find some good luck over the next horizon. Who knows?”
“Who knows,” Susan echoed.
“Ah, but you know, the first thing I want to do is this.”
“What’s that?” Susan asked.
Marcie drew herself up from the headrest and exhaled slowly. “I want to swim in the Nantucket Sound. I want to feel the ocean up to my neck and then dunk myself under. I want to hear only the sound of my heartbeat as I swim through the ocean waves. As an island girl, that was the only thing I knew for years and years.”
Susan blinked back tears. When she’d been a wife and a mother in Newark, she had always had similar dreams about the ocean. It was true what they said; wherever you went, you carried Martha’s Vineyard with you. It was a part of you.
“I hope you’ll look me up when you visit your brother and father,” Susan said. “I want to hear about every adventure and every wild romance.”
Marcie gave her a sheepish smile. “Okay. I’ll see you, but I can’t say it’ll be soon.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Susan cut the engine outside of the Sheridan house. She looked at the house with suspicion. After all, news of the end of the trial had certainly reached the airwaves and it wasn’t like the Sheridans to let any such major event pass by without some sort of celebration. Still, Susan prayed they would back off, at least for a few days. It had all been overwhelming, an emotional rollercoaster. Her head still spun, and her stomach ached with nausea. This was what it meant to be “back in the world of criminal law.” She remembered it well, now.
Amanda was wordless as they entered the cozy house. She had slept nearly all the way back from Boston, and her motions seemed slow and sluggish. She snapped on the light in the mudroom as she removed her kitten heels and flashed her hair around her back.
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