by Grace Palmer
“Bringing in the groceries.”
She’d get inside, unload the groceries, and—
“You’ve been out here for fifteen minutes.”
Had it been that long? The window from the living room looked right out on the driveway. Oliver must have seen her pull up.
“I was just… thinking.” Her mind struggled and failed to find a believable excuse. “About things.”
Oliver’s smile faltered, his mouth tipping down on one side. “Everything okay?”
Eliza blinked at him. He knew. He could see it. Like Brent with the ocean, Oliver knew her well enough to know when she was riled up. To sense a storm coming.
“Fine.” She smiled, but her mouth was like melted plastic, misshapen and malformed.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She tried to hum in the affirmative, but it came out like a cicada’s screech.
“The girls are occupied,” Oliver said. “We have some time if you wanna chat.”
Eliza shook her head. “I’m okay.”
“Once Summer wakes up and the cartoons are off, we’re done for. This might be the only time we have all day.” He was teasing, but there was a layer of concern underneath it.
Eliza could just tell him she wasn’t feeling right. She could tell him about the elephant on her chest and about the way the money in their checking account kept going down and how it just wasn’t going back up. About how five digits had become four had become three and after this grocery trip, was dangerously close to becoming two.
Oliver had to know that, though, or at least to guess at it, right? Even if he wasn’t crunching the numbers, he knew they weren’t rich. He knew the cost of Summer’s breathing treatments. He knew the price of milk.
Her chest constricted uncomfortably. She couldn’t put this on Oliver. Couldn’t ask him to share the weight of Horton the elephant. That was Eliza’s to bear. Eliza’s responsibility.
And besides, she’d be okay. She just needed a minute.
Then Eliza would get them through. Because she had no other choice. Because it’s what she always did.
“Actually,” she blurted, “I forgot something.”
Oliver frowned. “At the store?”
“Yep.” Eliza nodded vigorously, trying to sell the point. She racked her brain for any specifics, but nothing came. Her mind was too busy plotting an escape route.
“You’re going right now?”
“I’ll be back. Right back,” she clarified. “I forgot… something.”
Eliza was already shifting the car into reverse, inching down the driveway as Oliver walked alongside her.
“I can go later for you,” he said. “You don’t have to—”
“Only a minute.” She smiled the same plastic smile. “I’ll only be gone a minute.”
That’s all she needed. A minute. To think. To breathe. To recalibrate.
She rolled up the window as Oliver followed her to the end of the driveway. His lips moved around words Eliza couldn’t hear and he waved his arm in the air, trying to flag her down.
Eliza willfully misinterpreted and waved back as she shifted into drive.
Exhaustion is what all this was. Or hormones, probably. Everyone had their limits. And that was normal.
Wasn’t it? Yes.
Eliza just needed a minute. A second. To think. To breathe.
She inhaled sharply, but her lungs wouldn’t expand. Her eyes watered and she blinked through the moisture to clear her vision.
Eliza forced the air from her lungs and sucked in more. That didn’t work much better.
Horton was back. And he’d brought a friend.
Oliver stepped off the curb.
Eliza hit the gas.
She just needed a minute.
6
Mae
THE FUTURE SITE OF THE SWEET ISLAND HOTEL
“We should stop.”
Mae’s eyes were fixed on the future site of the Sweet Island Hotel. She wanted to hate the thing. It would be easier if she could decry the entire building as an eyesore and a drag on property values. Just write it off as a dump and carry on despising it.
The building was large, yes. Especially compared with the older homes lining the block. And this far from the business district, it stood out. A little gaudy, really.
But Mae didn’t hate it. It looked kind of… nice.
If she didn’t have a dog in the race, she’d consider spending a weekend at the hotel. Her inn had a private beach, but the Atlantic waters could be chilly, even in the summer. According to the hotel’s sign, their pool would have a heater.
“We are stopped,” Dominic pointed out, gesturing to where they sat idling in the middle of the road.
“Pull over, I mean.” Mae pointed to the curb. “I want to talk to someone.”
Dominic turned towards her. “When I said we’d fix this, I meant with lawyers. I don’t think marching in there—”
“No one is marching,” Mae insisted. “I only want to walk over there and ask someone for some more information.”
“They aren’t going to tell their competition anything,” he warned. “I think our best bet is to go home and wait to hear from the lawyers.”
“I’m not competition, as far as they know. Just a curious passerby.”
Dominic sighed, seeming far from convinced, but he still pulled to the side of the road and wrenched the car into park. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. Stay.” Mae rested a hand on his knee and squeezed, giving him as genuine a smile as she could muster. It was the day of their engagement, after all. She should be happy. She was happy.
Just not about this new hotel stealing her name and cutting in on her business.
Where Dominic was concerned, though, all was peachy.
“I’ll only be a minute.”
It was still early, barely past eight in the morning, but the construction crew was already beginning to arrive for the day. Gravel dust and loose-packed dirt floated in the air, caught and illuminated by the morning light slipping between the remaining trees. A backhoe loader carried a bundle of wood from the edge of the building to a scrap heap near an industrial-sized dumpster.
“The site is closed!” a deep voice bellowed the instant Mae stepped between two orange caution cones.
Mae spun towards the voice and saw a tall, broad man walking towards her. He wore patched and stained denim pants, a long-sleeved button-down shirt, and an orange hard hat. His face was hidden in shadow.
“Sorry, but I was hoping to speak with someone about the project?” The loader reversed from the scrap heap behind her with a piercing beep. Mae jumped at the sound.
“We can’t have people wandering the site unsupervised,” the man warned. “It’s a hazard. For you and my guys.”
“Your guys?” Mae asked. “Are you a supervisor or—?”
“Foreman.” The man took off his hard hat, and for the first time, Mae could see his full face.
She recognized him instantly. “Nick! You’re a foreman now?”
Nick Nelson had gone to school with Brent. As far as Mae knew, the two had never been really close friends, but Nick had gotten Brent his first construction job during her son’s aimless years. She was grateful to him.
“Mrs. Benson!” Nick said, his tone becoming much friendlier. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first.”
Mae tucked her left hand behind her back, suddenly conscious of the fact she wouldn’t be Mae Benson for much longer. The last thing she needed was Brent hearing the news from one of his friends before she had the chance to tell him.
“That’s alright, dear.”
“It’s still early for me. I barely know my own name before my first cup of coffee.”
“You’re like Dominic, then,” Mae said, hitching a thumb over her shoulder towards the car.
Nick lifted his hand and tipped his head towards the car. Dominic would have no idea who Nick was, but the affable gesture would at least keep him from worrying about her. “
I suppose I am. But I’m sorry, I really can’t have anyone on the site. My guys had to sign a stack of waivers thicker than the Bible to get this job. No unauthorized guests is a big rule.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Mae said. “I’ll leave. I just wanted to know when the hotel is set to open. The sign is by the road, but there’s no open date.”
Nick shrugged. “I can tell you we’ll be done with construction in the fall, but I don’t know anything about when the hotel will be open for business.”
That gave Mae the summer. That was something. Summer was tourist season in Nantucket—an inn owner’s bread and butter. Mae could count on one more summer before… well, before things changed.
It was that uncertainty that worried her. She had regulars—people who visited the island for business or families who came every summer—but would that loyalty be enough?
“Do you know who will operate the hotel?” she asked. “Or is that all top secret as well?”
“The job offer came from a company in Boston, but we were hired through a third party. I don’t have any names.”
Mae sagged. Would Dominic’s lawyers be able to find out who was responsible? Even if they could, it felt like Mae was facing off against a Goliath. Someone with enough money and power to keep themselves anonymous, whereas Mae’s name and picture were on the Sweet Island Inn’s home page.
“I’m sorry about all of this.” Mae looked up to find Nick had moved closer to her, his head bowed, voice low. “I feel just terrible.”
“About what?” she asked.
He tipped his head towards the sign. “The Sweet Island Hotel isn’t very original, is it?”
Mae chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “No, it isn’t.”
“When I found out what they were going to pay, I jumped in with both feet,” he explained. “It’s the kind of long-term work that ensures I can pay all my guys through the end of the year. I couldn’t pass it up.”
Mae patted the man’s arm. “And you shouldn’t have to. I don’t blame you.”
“I know,” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck. “But when I heard what they were naming it, I called my contact and told them how messed up it was. They said they’d pass along the message, but nothing changed. I could have pulled out, but—”
“You have a business to look after just like I do,” Mae said gently. “None of this is your fault. Just the ugly side of business.”
“The worst side,” he agreed. “And for what it’s worth, I’ll only ever recommend your place.”
Mae smiled. “Thanks, Nick.”
“Us locals have to stick together, right?” he said, giving her a raised fist of solidarity.
“Yes, indeed,” she murmured. Mae could only hope her fellow islanders felt the same way Nick did.
By the time Mae and Dominic made it back to the inn, her head was so full of worries and questions that she’d forgotten Debra and Lola were going to be waiting for her.
But as soon as Dominic pulled open the front door, Mae was met with excited shrieks. A flurry of limbs accosted her before she could even make out their faces, pulling her every which way.
“Congratulations!” Lola shouted, much too close to Mae’s ear. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Me, too!” Debra chirped. “We have coffee cake and coffee and scones. You have to come tell us everything. Everything.”
Dominic gently extracted Mae from the ambush. “You don’t even know if she accepted.”
Lola and Debra reared back, twin expressions of horror on their faces.
“You did accept, right?” Debra asked.
“Of course she did,” Lola scoffed. “…Right?”
Too overwhelmed to find the words, Mae instead lifted her now bejeweled left hand. Which caused another chorus of shrieks.
Then, faster than she could process, Mae found herself being whisked through the side door and out onto the balcony, where a breakfast platter and a coffee carafe sat waiting. Just as they’d promised, the platter was loaded down with thick slices of coffee cake beneath a caramelized crumble topping, mixed berry scones drizzled with lemon icing, and a pitcher of orange juice that Mae suspected contained a heavy pour of champagne.
Debra poured Mae a mug of coffee and filled a crystal goblet with the mimosa mix while Lola all but shoved her down into the white Adirondack chair.
“I’ve been bursting,” Debra groaned, slurping on her coffee. “Dominic has been planning this for two weeks. It was torture.”
“That’s why I skipped the walk last night,” Lola admitted. “I wasn’t sick. I just knew my big mouth would blab and ruin the surprise.”
“I’m surprised you two managed to keep the secret,” Mae laughed.
“We thought you deserved a surprise. Especially such a welcome one.” Debra winked.
The proposal had certainly been a surprise. As was the Sweet Island Hotel.
Though the latter was much less welcome. Like a dark cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky.
“Hey, what was that face?” Debra nudged Mae’s elbow. “You still with us?”
Mae shook her head and plastered on a smile. “Of course. Thanks so much for the celebration. I’m glad you’re both here.”
It was fitting that they were here to celebrate. Lola and Debra had been there for Mae through so much. In the first weeks after Henry had died, Lola requested an ungodly amount of Mae’s signature marshmallow fudge—more than any human could ever eat. Mae knew her friend was just trying to keep her busy, but she’d been so desperate for the distraction that she’d played along.
Then, when Mae dropped the fudge off, Lola took Mae to her brick patio behind the house, cut her off a square of the fudge, and listened as Mae cried and railed and cursed the heavens.
As the initial waves of grief had ebbed away, Debra stepped in. Fun, vivacious Debra. She was the first person Mae had talked to about Dominic. When Mae confided to her that the broken pieces of her heart might still be capable of feeling… well, something, Debra hadn’t been surprised.
“Of course you can still feel, Mae,” she’d said, handing Mae a heavy pour of red wine. “It wasn’t a matter of if, but when you’d feel again. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Debra’s ex-husband, Ruben, was still wandering around, a plague on the happiness of women everywhere, but still, Debra knew what it was like to start over. To lose love and long for it again. She’d helped Mae see that just because Henry’s life was over, it didn’t mean hers had to be.
“We’re glad to be here, too,” Lola said.
Debra lifted her mimosa. “To friendship and new love.”
The women lifted their glasses in a toast, but before they could take a drink, Debra added, “And to the celebration of my engagement being next.”
They all laughed and drank, but Mae knew Debra was serious. On more than one occasion, Debra had lowered the veil and allowed Mae and Lola to see how much she longed to have a romantic relationship in her life.
“There is plenty of time yet for you,” Lola assured her. “You’re still online dating, right?”
Debra groaned. “Online dating is self-inflicted torture.”
“That seems dramatic,” Mae said.
“Half the men I meet on there are only on the island for a few days.”
Lola sipped her drink. “What’s the problem with that? At least if the date goes poorly, you won’t run into them at the grocery store.”
Debra groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Was that the guy who made a stop at his ex-wife’s house on the way to the restaurant?” Mae asked.
“While I was in the car!” Debra slumped in her chair. “She had a clogged toilet and he swung by to fix it. And the worst part is, I still went to dinner with him afterward!”
Lola stifled a laugh behind her hand. “Didn’t he keep texting her throughout the date to check up on her?”
“The man was clearly still in love,” Debra said. “But that didn’t stop him from
asking me for a second date. I refused and now, between the Stop & Shop and the fish market, I run into him at least once a month. And he always insists on small talk.”
“None of that awkwardness if you date guys from off island,” Mae said.
Debra shrugged. “Yeah, but those guys are only looking for a vacation fling, which I have no interest in. Not at my age.”
“Don’t say it like that,” Lola said.
“Say what?”
“Not at my age,” Lola repeated, her top lip curled in distaste. “It makes me feel old.”
Debra laughed. “I hate to break it to you, but we are old.”
“Speak for yourself! I have my whole life ahead of me.”
“Denial,” Debra mock-whispered to Mae, one hand pressed to the side of her mouth. “Classic case.”
“Don’t shrink me, Miss Psychologist. I’m not in denial. I’m just optimistic.”
Debra rolled her eyes, her lips pressed into a pert smile. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”
Mae laughed along with her friends’ playful ribbing, but she couldn’t find it in her to be genuinely amused. She’d enjoyed her sixty-fifth birthday party the week before. Mae had even said to Dominic that, in her mind, she felt exactly the same as she had when she was thirty or forty. Just because her body was aging didn’t mean her heart did. In so many ways, she felt young.
But Mae wasn’t young. She was a senior citizen, according to the United States government, the AARP, and the discount matinee prices at the movie theater. So if the Sweet Island Hotel came in and stole her business, what hope did Mae really have of starting over and building something else?
Most people at Mae’s age were retired or well on their way there. But Mae couldn’t imagine it for herself. More to the point, she didn’t want to imagine it. She liked to stay busy. She enjoyed being a port from which people could experience all Nantucket had to offer. And running the Inn utilized all of her skills—she cooked, she cleaned, she laughed, she made a mean pot of coffee and always knew which beach to recommend.
What other job could she find where she’d feel as fulfilled as she did now?