No Forever Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  “Promoting from within?” Holly nodded in approval. “That’s nice.”

  Andre grinned. “I like to run a nice company. A nice company you could work at, if you were so inclined.”

  Holly stared at him for a second, trying to understand if he was serious. Finally, she just blurted, “Are you serious?”

  “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

  “But… I live here.”

  “The position could be remote,” he said. “Like I said, I’m here in Nantucket a lot of the time, anyway. We could meet up when I’m on the island if there was anything you needed to discuss, but otherwise, you could do all of the work from anywhere you want.”

  Holly’s mouth fell open. She knew it probably wasn’t her cutest expression, but it was all she could manage.

  Andre Wellington was offering her a job?

  Andre Wellington owned a yacht and a beach house and goodness knows what else… and he was offering Holly a job.

  It all seemed too good to be true.

  “That’s incredibly nice of you. Especially considering you don’t really know much about me. I might be a terrible stay-at-home mom.”

  He tipped his head back and laugh, white teeth gleaming. “Somehow, I highly doubt that. But,” he added hurriedly, “you don’t have to answer right now. Take your time. Think about it.”

  Holly nodded. “Okay. Okay, yeah, I will.”

  “Good.” He smiled down at her just as the song changed, shifting to something slower. Smoothly, he held his hand out, offering it to her. “One more dance?”

  She’d been thinking about excusing herself, trying to spend some time with some other old friends so the gossip mill wouldn’t churn out too much fodder about the two of them. But Andre had just offered Holly the chance to change things. To get behind the wheel of her life again. Refusing him wasn’t exactly a good way to thank him.

  So Holly smiled and took his hand, allowing him to lead her back onto the dance floor. “One more dance.”

  Couldn’t hurt, could it?

  23

  Mae

  The Sweet Island Inn

  After the call with Pete ended, Sara poked around the inn for a while. Mae offered to make her something to eat, but Sara said wasn’t hungry. Mae could relate. Her own appetite had disappeared, as well.

  Spending time with her youngest daughter took some effort on even the best day, different as they were from one another. And it was far from a “best day” for either of them. After twenty minutes of labored small talk where they moved from the kitchen to the deck and back again, trying desperately to discuss anything that didn’t relate to their current situation, Sara finally stood up and announced she had to go.

  “I should go… see Joey,” she mumbled, as though searching for something—anything—to get her out of the inn. “I haven’t even told him about Gavin yet.”

  “You haven’t?” Mae didn’t mean to sound judgmental, but she was genuinely surprised. Had Sara really come to Mae with this before anyone else? Not that Mae was complaining. It was just a touch unusual, that’s all.

  Sara twisted her lips to one side. “He was so excited for me, and I… I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

  “Oh, honey,” Mae started. “You couldn’t disappoint him. None of this is your—”

  “I know, Mom.” Sara cut Mae off, the barstool scraping across the floor as she pushed it back into the island. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  That felt more like it. The kind of arm’s length distance she was used to. Small victories, though.

  “If I hear from Billy, I’ll—”

  “Yeah.” Sara waved a hand over her shoulder and nodded. “Me, too. See you later, Mom.”

  “Bye,” Mae called as Sara closed the front door behind her. She walked to the window and watched Sara climb into her car and drive down the gravel driveway.

  The sky was still heavy and gray, the sun no more than a vague lightening behind the clouds, though no rain had fallen yet. Mae didn’t know what the storm was waiting for. It seemed like the perfect day for a good, soaking rain.

  Dominic was tucked away in the closet he’d repurposed into an office. Mae had offered him her office or even one of the guest rooms, but he’d assured her he didn’t need anything more than a desk and his computer. She wished he’d come out now, though.

  Sara was gone and most of the inn’s guests were still out enjoying the day, likely eating dinner or relishing the last bit of beach-friendly weather before the storm. There wasn’t anything left for Mae to do.

  She was moments away from plucking any old book off the shelves in the sitting room and trying to immerse herself in a fictional character’s problems for a while—when she remembered Eliza.

  Of course, Mae hadn’t forgotten Eliza, but she’d overlooked the fact that the Sweet Island Inn closing would impact Eliza, too. She was the Sweet Island Inn’s business manager and marketing consultant. Eliza handled all elements of the business, and Mae hadn’t told her anything about what was going on.

  Grateful for something to do and dreading the task all at the same time, Mae grabbed her phone and punched in Eliza’s number. Her sandals slapped against the hardwood floor as she paced back and forth across the lobby listening to the dial tone purr.

  Eliza was level-headed. Calm under pressure. Why hadn’t Mae thought to call her sooner?

  Mae mentally walked through the story she’d tell. She could imagine Eliza taking it all in and then brushing it off. This is no big deal, Mom. Really. We can fix it. All we have to do is this…

  When the call went to voicemail, Mae’s shoulders sagged. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d been hanging on that scenario until it was no longer an option.

  Then embarrassment swooped in to replace her disappointment. Here she was, a sixty-five-year-old woman, seeking out comfort and reassurance from her eldest daughter. How much lower would this day bring her?

  Her phone buzzed in her hand, and Mae answered instantly, assuming it was Eliza. But when she looked at the screen, she didn’t recognize the number. Still, she’d already answered, so she pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Mae?” The voice was male. Formal.

  “This is her.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” the man said, relaxing noticeably. “This is Billy Payne.”

  “Billy, yes. Hi.” Mae’s hand tightened on the phone as she tried her best not to drop it. She didn’t have the best control of her limbs at the moment. “I just talk to Pete a little while ago. I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.”

  “Pete told me to give you the family treatment, so that is what I did. Anything I can do to help, I want to do it.”

  Help. The word rang inside of Mae like a gong. Yes, that is exactly what she needed. Help. Finally.

  “That’s great to hear. What exactly can you do to help? I assume Pete filled you in on the situation.”

  Mae could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end of the line. Billy cleared his throat. “Yes, Pete told me what was going on. I’ve heard rumblings of this Boston Investment Group over the years. Nothing overly flattering, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’d imagine not,” Mae said. “If they treat everyone the way they have my family, it’s a wonder they are in business at all.”

  “Yes, yes,” Billy mused, the sound of more papers shuffling on the other end of the line. “But if everyone was looking out for their fellow man, I’d be out of a job.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Mae chuckled, but she was growing nervous. Pete had told her and Sara what his estimation of the situation was. Mae had tried to remain hopeful, but Billy didn’t sound like someone who was excited to deliver good news. He sounded more like someone preparing to pull the rug out from under her.

  Billy sighed. “So the first thing I did was check to see whether The Sweet Island Inn was a federally registered trademark, and it wasn’t.”

  “Oh, no. I’ve been meaning to get
around to that.”

  “It’s not a legal requirement,” he rushed to add. “But it does add more protection in trademark cases. The problem here is that Boston Investment Group has filed to trademark ‘The Sweet Island Hotel.’”

  “Oh, no,” Mae said again, wondering how many more times she’d repeat that refrain before the conversation was over. She sounded like a depressed parrot, but her brain was too busy processing to make interesting conversation.

  “Yes.” Billy agreed with her this time. “I reached out to the financier, and in fact, they are… Ah, Mae, I wish there was another way to say this. They’re actually looking at pursuing a suit. Against you.”

  Mae’s mouth dropped open. Oh, no was sitting at the end of her tongue, but she couldn’t formulate the words this time.

  “They are going to demand that you stop use of the name,” he continued. “You can definitely fight this, and you may even have a good case. The trouble is, with companies like this, they have more money and more time.”

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  Mae heard a door open and close nearby. She knew it was Dominic. Earlier, she’d wanted to see him, but now, she didn’t want to see anyone.

  How could things get any worse? This was how. Things had gotten so much worse.

  “Mae?” Billy asked. “Are you still with me?”

  “Sorry,” Mae whispered. Her voice cracked. Her throat felt tight. “What do I need to do right now?”

  Dominic walked around the corner, an easy smile on his face. Until he saw Mae.

  She couldn’t imagine what she must look like. Dumbstruck and pale. She felt light-headed.

  His brow furrowed, and he padded across the wood floor in his socked feet and mouthed, “Who is it?”

  Mae held up a finger and turned away from him as Billy answered, “Right now, the best thing you can do is shut down the inn while the case is being fought.”

  “Shut down the inn?” Mae gasped, needing to say the words aloud to be able to understand them.

  Dominic gasped right along behind her.

  “I’m afraid so,” Billy said. “B.I.G. may come for any profits you’ve made under the Sweet Island name since their trademark went into effect. The less money they can claim from you, the better.”

  Mae felt like the walls and the floor were melting away. Like she was standing in the center of a whirlpool, reality spinning violently around her.

  “Who is it?” Dominic said, volume raised to a whisper. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m really sorry about all of this,” Billy said. “I wish I had better news, but that’s all I can tell you right now. I’m going to look more into it, and I know Pete is going to, as well. But—well, that’s the best advice I can give you right now. I’m sorry.”

  Billy sounded genuinely distressed. Mae hated that he’d been forced to be the messenger. Sara was right about B.I.G.—they sounded like a villainous corporation from a movie. It would have been more fitting if they’d delivered the news themselves in the form of a ransom note written with cut-out magazine letters. At least then an innocent person wouldn’t have been forced to do their dirty work.

  “It’s okay, Billy. None of this is your fault,” Mae said. “Just business.”

  “You can still fight this,” Billy reiterated. “Whether with me or Pete or another firm entirely. There are still options. Just, for right now—”

  “Close down the inn,” Mae finished, nodding her head, letting the idea take root. “Thanks for the advice.”

  Billy apologized again. Mae barely heard him. She mumbled thanks a few more times, then ended the call quickly. She didn’t have anything else to say and she didn’t want Billy to feel responsible for comforting her.

  As she’d said herself, this was business. Horrible, heartbreaking business. Mae couldn’t take it personally.

  “What is going on?” Dominic asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Why on earth are you talking about closing down the inn?”

  Mae tucked her phone in her pocket and took a deep breath. “Because I have no other choice.”

  She relayed the most important parts of the conversation to Dominic in as few words as possible. The longer she talked, the sicker she felt. This was just business. It wasn’t personal.

  Except that the Sweet Island Inn was personal to Mae. Dearly personal. It had saved her in a time when nothing else looked capable of that.

  “They can’t do that!” Dominic roared. It seemed to Mae he grew six inches in an instant. His face was red. “They can’t steal what is yours and then claim you stole it. It’s ridiculous. Let me call my lawyer.”

  “I just spoke with a lawyer. Two of them, actually,” Mae said. “They both said—”

  “I should have called sooner,” Dominic continued. “I was so focused on our engagement and my writing and… I got distracted. But this is clearly out of hand. There is no way you are closing down the inn. No way! We have to—”

  Mae reached out and laid a hand on Dominic’s shoulder. “We have to close it down.”

  Dominic sagged. “No, Mae. You can’t. It isn’t fair.”

  “It’s business,” she shrugged. Maybe if she kept repeating it, the sentiment would finally sink in. She’d believe it. “Once the current guests are gone, I’ll be closed down until… until we get this resolved.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “I have no idea.” Mae’s throat tightened. She had to force the words out. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, and she dropped her hand and turned away from Dominic before he could see. “But I trust Pete and Billy. If this is what they think is best…”

  Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  Closing the inn couldn’t be Mae’s best option. It felt impossible. Unthinkable. Except, right now, it was her only option.

  The current guests at the inn would all be gone within a day or two, and Mae could call everyone with upcoming reservations to tell them she had to cancel. It would not be a fun chore.

  But that could wait until tomorrow. Right now, Mae needed space.

  “I’m going to take a walk.” She grabbed her rain jacket from the peg next to the door and tried to sound normal. To keep her voice steady.

  Dominic took a step towards her. “Are you sure? I can go find my shoes and—”

  “No, I’ll be back soon,” she said, turning and giving him a smile. “You stay here and man the inn. We still have guests.” For the time being, she almost added.

  Before Dominic could argue, Mae stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. Tears brimmed, threatening to spill over her cheeks. She glanced up at the sky to try and hold them in.

  The air felt heavier. Water Mae couldn’t see soaking into her skin. It felt nice. And immediately, Mae knew where she needed to go.

  She turned on her heel and marched around the side of the inn. Towards the path carved discretely between the tulip trees that lined the property.

  Mae crunched over gravel, looking down at the ground as the gravel was slowly replaced by sand. Then the trees opened up and the roar in Mae’s ears was replaced by the gentle, continuous hum of the ocean.

  Even if Mae was left with nothing, she’d always have this.

  The call of the water.

  The sound of home.

  24

  Sara

  Evening In Downtown Nantucket

  She couldn’t tell Joey. Not after he’d been so excited for her. So proud of her.

  Sara knew she wouldn’t be able to keep Gavin’s role in the acquisition a secret forever. She might not even be able to keep it a secret for another twenty-four hours. If she knew Gavin—and unfortunately, she did know him, far too well—he was probably working with reporters and journalists to splatter Sara’s humiliation all over the news cycle.

  But she could keep it to herself for another evening. One more evening of pretending she was Chef Rising Star.

  No one at Little Bull was expecting her tonight. S
he’d texted Patrick a picture of her from the private plane earlier that morning, and Jose was still filling in for her in the kitchen. But as Sara steered the car down gravel drive of the Sweet Island Inn, she found herself aiming downtown. Towards her restaurant.

  Or rather, what was once her restaurant.

  The night was winding down. The storm that had been promised for two days was rumbling off in the distance, small raindrops beginning to patter against Sara’s windshield. People were hurrying down the cobblestone sidewalks with purpose as opposed to the usual amble, heading for their cars or any kind of protection before the sky broke open.

  If the meteorologists on the radio were right, the storm had some staying power. It would be hanging over the island for a while. How fitting.

  Little Bull was lit like a lantern, yellow light pouring out of the front windows and the double doors. A few people waited on the bench outside and Sara could see others through the windows, sitting at booths and smiling as they ate.

  She hit the brakes, turning her slow crawl down Main Street into a full stop. Staying still even when the car behind her tapped on their horn.

  Sara didn’t know when she’d see it again. Her restaurant filled with people. People eating her food.

  Because tomorrow, Little Bull’s doors wouldn’t open.

  Sara hadn’t made that decision lightly. But really, there was never another route she’d considered. When her options were either to sit back and willingly let Gavin Crawford stomp all over the thing she’d built or to fight, Sara was going to pick “fight” ten times out of ten.

  Idling in the middle of the road, staring at Little Bull, Sara knew she’d rather be the one to deliver the killing blow to her baby. If anyone was going to be at the helm of her restaurant’s destruction, it was going to be her.

  It certainly wouldn’t be Gavin Crawford.

  The car behind her honked again, laying on the horn this time to let out a long wail. Sara finally eased off the brake and accelerated away.