Feels Like Home (Oyster Bay Book 1)

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Feels Like Home (Oyster Bay Book 1) Page 4

by Olivia Miles


  Now Margo hesitated, wondering if she should mention her run-in with Eddie and decided against it. The circumstances didn’t exactly shed her in the best light, and besides, she shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie at all right now. She should be thinking of Ash. And why he still hadn’t called.

  And why he was cheating on her. And when he’d stopped loving her.

  “Margo!” Lori seemed to reach for a hug but then thought better of it. Things were strained, still, after all these years. “In town for long?”

  And there was the loaded question. It wasn’t going away, and Margo needed to think of a good response so she wouldn’t feel so rattled every time someone asked her this. “I’m between projects with work, so I thought I’d use the time to visit my family.”

  Fair enough. It had been three years, after all.

  “And how is business?”

  “Good,” Margo replied, but the heaviness in her heart said otherwise. Business had been good. Very good. And it still could be. But that would require going back to Charleston, confronting Ash, or maybe just looking past his indiscretions, hoping they would go away. She frowned. Like that was realistic. Or in her nature.

  Instead she was technically unemployed, living in a rental, not even her family home. She couldn’t sustain this for long. She’d have to make a decision. And soon.

  She sighed. But not today.

  “How’s Nick?” she asked, and sure enough, Lori beamed.

  “He’s living in Portland now. He just got a promotion at the bank.”

  “Nice!” Margo had fond memories of Lori’s only child, who was Bridget’s age, but never her type. She only had eyes for Ryan back then—who was full of charm and funny stories, and who used to write her songs on his guitar.

  “It’s still strange to think that you’ve all grown up.” Lori hesitated. “You know, I probably shouldn’t be saying this…”

  Margo sensed a “but” coming on.

  Lori gave an embarrassed smile. “It’s silly, but I always thought you and Eddie were going to end up together.”

  Well, that made two of them. Not that Margo would be admitting as much.

  Lori’s eyes skirted over the display case. “I’d always hoped things would turn around. Then I worried we’d made the wrong decision in sending him away. But then you went to college and got married, so…I guess everyone moved on.” She trailed off, a wan smile on her face.

  That wasn’t exactly how it had gone, but now wasn’t the time to bother with correcting Eddie’s aunt. It wouldn’t help anyone to point out that it was Eddie who had disappeared, left dozens of letters unanswered, broken Margo’s heart, moved on without her and given her no choice but to do the same. And it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  “We drifted apart,” was all she said. “I’ve always felt sad about that.” That was putting it mildly.

  “Well.” Lori gave an embarrassed grin. “It’s ancient history. I wouldn’t even bring it up, except…Well, Eddie’s moved back to town. I’m sure he’d love to see you while you’re here.”

  Margo lifted an eyebrow, hating herself for the quickening of her pulse at the thought that she still mattered to Eddie to at all. “I bumped into him, actually, on my way into town.” She struggled to find something diplomatic to say. “It certainly brought back a lot of memories.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Lori said, picking up her white bakery box when her name was called. “Well, hopefully you won’t be a stranger on your visit. Is your husband with you, too?”

  Margo felt her already strained smile pull a little tighter. “No, it’s a busy time of year for him. He’s a professor and school just went back into session, so it’s…just me.”

  Just me. Is this how it would be from now on? Just her, back where she’d started, still being reminded of the seventeen-year-old girl who’d loved Eddie Boyd and believed in him almost as much as she believed in happy endings? Just her, floating through town, dodging prying questions from the neighbors who had known her since birth, witnessed every school event and transformation, from her first bike ride to her first training bra to her first heartbreak.

  There were no secrets in this town. No privacy, no place to hide. It had been Eddie’s downfall. Hers too, really.

  And this, she thought, as she gathered up her paper bag and coffee cup, was why she’d left Oyster Bay in the first place.

  ***

  Margo had one true memory of Serenity Hills—a shining moment, some might say. Miss Berriman’s Dance Studio made an annual appearance at the center, in what Margo now saw clearly as an effort to cheer up the residents, but which she saw at the time as an opportunity to show off her moves and wear a little lipstick.

  Margo was about fourteen at the time, dressed in teal blue sequins with matching eye shadow she’d borrowed from her mother’s makeup bag. Her cheeks were pink, her lips were red, and her hair was crimped. She was ready.

  The performance took place in the Serenity Hills cafeteria; tables had been cleared and the girls had been reassured the linoleum was no different from the dance studio floor.

  “Smile!” Miss Berriman had cried out from her post near the industrial-sized freezer, as she shooed the line out the kitchen door.

  Margo had smiled against her nerves, but when she saw the white-haired men in the front row smiling back, it made things a little easier. They clapped to the music. A few even winked. Her confidence was so high by the end of the night that she signed herself up for the high school talent show the very next day, and a week later shimmied on stage to perform her group tap routine solo in front of the entire freshman class. She’d grinned cheekily at the boys in the front row, but instead of indulging her the way the men at the old folks home had, they’d just giggled and jabbed each other in the ribs, a few even pointed.

  Margo looked down at her leotard and bare legs and felt a cold wash of fear come over her. She finished the routine and ran off the stage, barely holding back her tears.

  She’d never performed again. But she’d never forgotten the reception she had at Serenity Hills either. Or the fact that the very next morning after the talent show, the new boy in town, Eddie Boyd, had come up to her, told her he liked her performance, and grinned like he meant it.

  Now Margo walked by this cafeteria, which, judging from the Berber carpet, must have undergone a renovation since that blissful night, and stopped at the front desk.

  “I’m here to see Margaret Harper,” she said.

  The woman behind the desk tapped a manicured finger on an open binder next to a vase of what were probably meant to be cheerful looking flowers but instead had the eerie vibe of a funeral arrangement. “All visitors need to sign the log. Mrs. Harper is in room 132. To the left, follow the signs.” She went back to reading her magazine, a cheesy tabloid, without another glance in Margo’s direction.

  Margo fought to control her temper. Was this an example of all the staff, or just one employee? The only thing worse than the thought of her grandmother living here rather than in her beautiful family home was the thought of her not being treated well. Images of late night commercials flooded to the surface. Stories of abuse and neglect and…She blinked back tears that prickled the back of her eyes. She’d jot down the names of some of those attorneys, next time she saw a television ad. Just in case.

  “If she’s not in her room, just wait for her. Thursdays she goes to the salon,” the woman added, before flicking the page.

  Margo set the pen on the binder. Salon? Well. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad then.

  She shifted her handbag straps on her shoulder as she walked toward the hall. Her heart was racing and her stomach was hurting. She tried not to glance into the open doors that lined either side of the passageway. Eyes forward. Find room 132. Talk to Mimi before it’s too late. Simple enough. The house hadn’t sold—yet. But Margo wasn’t taken any chances. She’d have to act quick. With any luck, she’d be loading Mimi into the car in less than an hour.

  Room 132 was at the end of th
e building, a fair distance from the lobby. Margo took this as an immediately good sign that her grandmother was much less dependent than those whose rooms were within shouting distance of the front desk.

  Mimi was sitting in her rocking chair—the weather-worn one that used to reside on the back of the wraparound porch. A quilt was around her shoulders and she was stroking what appeared to be a grey stuffed animal.

  This wasn’t good.

  “Mimi?” Suddenly the animal moved. “Jesus!” Margo jumped. “What the hell is that?”

  Mimi gave her a reproachful look. “Watch your language, young lady.” Then, looking down to stroke the cat fondly, she said, “This is Pudgie.”

  Pudgie? Margo decided to pick her battles.

  “Mimi, are you allowed to have that thing in here?”

  Mimi looked at her quizzically. “Of course I’m allowed, Abby. You gave him to me, after all.”

  Margo felt her heart sink. Of the three Harper girls, Margo and Abby took after their father, with dark brown hair, green eyes, and a dusting of freckles. But Abby was four years younger and two inches shorter, and coloring aside, they were far from twins.

  “I’m Margo,” she said gently. She walked forward, tried to reach out for Mimi’s hand, but Pudgie gave a hiss of warning, forcing her to snatch it back.

  “Margo?” Mimi stared at her until, to Margo’s relief, her eyes filled with recognition. “Of course! Margo! Come here and give me a hug, girl.” Sensing Margo’s hesitation, she gave Pudgie a pat. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite. At least, not too hard.”

  Crisis averted. It was a simple mistake. Dark hair, green eyes, and it had been nearly three years since her last visit. Mimi had just been surprised to see her. Surely that was all it was.

  Careful not to upset Pudgie, she leaned down to give her grandmother a hug, breathing in the smell of peppermint and perfume that brought back a hundred wonderful memories all at once.

  “Margo, Margo.” Her grandmother shook her head as Margo pulled away. “That’s right. You moved down south. Got married to that woman. Ashley.”

  Margo blinked. “Ash,” she said evenly, “is a man.”

  Mimi didn’t look convinced. “No need to protect me,” she said with a wink. “I’m not living in the stone age.”

  “No, really, Mimi. Ashley—Ash—is a man. He’s a law professor. Remember our wedding?”

  Who could forget it, after all? The church was enormous, more like a cathedral, and each pew had been anchored by a huge bouquet of roses. The aisle had been lined with a white carpet, and a string quartet had played all of Nadine’s favorite songs for the procession…

  Mimi squinted for what felt like an unnatural amount of time. “You wore my pearls.”

  “Yes,” Margo exhaled in relief.

  Mimi patted the empty visitor chair next to the television. Dutifully, Margo sat down.

  “Tell me, how old are you now?”

  “I’m thirty-two,” Margo said. And my husband has already left me for a younger woman.

  “Thirty-two! When did that happen?”

  Margo hissed out a nervous laugh, hoping against her better judgment that Mimi was making some sort of joke. The last time she’d been in Oyster Bay, Mimi had been full of life, pushing everyone out of the kitchen so she could prepare dinner without being disturbed. Over her famous apple pie, she’d told them stories of the time her son, their father, then just a boy, had brought home a baby snapping turtle and kept it in his room for two months without anyone being aware, until one day Mimi went into his closet and had the surprise of her life.

  There was no confusion. Her memories had been as sharp as her mind.

  Margo fought back tears. She wanted to cling to her grandmother, ask her to explain. What had happened? How was she to know that last visit would be the last time she’d truly speak to her grandmother at all?

  Mimi looked at her sharply. “You old enough to drive?”

  Margo didn’t like where this was going. “Well, yes.”

  Mimi slanted her eyes at the door. “Think you could bust me out of here?”

  It was what she had come to do, but now Margo didn’t know whether to laugh at the irony or cry at the circumstances. “I don’t think Bridget would approve.”

  Mimi waved a hand through the air. “Oh, Bridget never was any fun. You, Abby, you were always fun.”

  Mimi was right about one thing: Abby was fun. It was Abby who broke into song for every car ride, not caring who was watching, and Abby who danced the night away at every wedding, even if her moves didn’t exactly match the music.

  But Mimi was very wrong about something else.

  “I’m Margo,” she said with a smile, but she wasn’t sure she could hold the tears back much longer.

  Mimi went back to petting Pudgie, and Margo looked around the room for distraction, desperate not to let her grandmother see her cry. There was a single bed that faced the chair on which she sat, and a bedside table that held nothing more than a lamp and two framed photos: one of Mimi on her wedding day, and the other of Margo’s parents.

  Margo stood and crossed the room to pick up the photo of her parents, taken at the beach, when they couldn’t have been much older than Margo was now. Once there had been a time when she looked at their photo daily, needing to keep them with her, keep their image fresh. Now, she realized with shame that somewhere in the past eight years she’d grown accustomed to life without them, even went for days without thinking of them at all.

  It was easier in Charleston, of course. But here in Oyster Bay, there was no avoiding it. Her parents were gone. They’d died in a car accident on a winding road in bad weather. Abby, being the youngest, had taken it the worst. Bridget had taken it in stoic stride—having a newborn baby to focus on had helped. But Margo, well, she was the only one who could escape from it, for a little while at least.

  Margo quietly set the frame back on the table and looked over at Mimi, wondering if she remembered the accident, that she’d lost her only son, and hoping, strangely, that Mimi didn’t remember it any more than she could remember Margo’s name.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Margo said abruptly. The suggestion was made with more enthusiasm than she felt, but she couldn’t sit in this room any longer. The memories were weighing down on her, and that cat—she glanced at it, and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear it had just narrowed its eyes—that cat was creeping her out. “You can give me a tour.”

  Mimi sighed. “Not much to show, but fine.” She perked up for a moment. “Pudgie likes to be shown off. He’s quite the ladies’ man, you know.”

  The cat seemed to glare at Margo as she helped Mimi into a wheelchair, her chest aching that this is what Mimi’s life had come to, and pushed her out the door. So this is what she had to get used to. Mimi wasn’t just living in a home. She was also a package deal with a grouchy feline with a silly name.

  “Oh, that’s a pretty wreath on that door,” Margo said, determined to stay cheerful as they moved toward the lobby. “Maybe I should get you one for your door.”

  Mimi craned her neck to look up at her. “So you’re not busting me out? Then where are we going?”

  Margo’s eyes burned. Mimi was funny and strong and wise. She danced and sang and she belonged to a quilting club. And the woman staring back at her wasn’t Mimi. She just looked like Mimi. An old woman with thinning hair and trembling hands and watery eyes.

  And somehow, Margo had missed this transition. Somehow, while she was in South Carolina, content in her suburban married life, picking out ottomans and drapes and recommending various drawer pulls for a custom kitchen renovation, Mimi had gotten old. And disappeared.

  She cleared her throat, but the lump was still there. “What time is lunch?”

  “Why? You planning on staying?” Mimi curled her lip. “Take me to the cafeteria. We’ll see what’s on the menu.”

  Margo did as she was told, guiding the wheelchair down the hall. “Pretty flowers,” she commented, gesturing
to the bouquet on the visitor’s desk.

  “Those were from Betty LaMore’s funeral last Saturday,” Mimi said, pinching her lips.

  As suspected, Margo thought grimly.

  “That hussy Esther Preston is already making a move on Mitch LaMore,” Mimi continued.“He’s ninety-four and has no one to leave his fortune to now that poor Betty’s gone to meet her maker.”

  “Mimi!” But Margo was laughing as she pushed the wheelchair into the cafeteria, which, from the various posters on the wall, seemed to function as a multi-purpose room. Bingo, arts and crafts, game night, and a special whiteboard with names scribbled all over it. Margo paused for a better look. “The ultra conservatives club,” she read aloud, and then, with a tut, noticed Mimi’s name scrawled at the bottom.

  Oh, Mimi. She shook her head and moved them to the back of the room, where a menu was set up on an easel.

  “Just what I thought,” Mimi said, leaning forward to squint at the large print. “Slop, slop, and more slop.”

  “Oh, now, it doesn’t look so bad!” Margo scanned the items. “I can’t remember the last time I had a four-course meal.”

  “Well, it’s hardly the Ritz,” Mimi sniffed.

  Margo had an idea. “What if I take you to The Lantern one night for dinner? Would you like that?”Even though it was owned by Margo’s mother’s brother, Mimi had adopted the place as her own.

  Mimi looked uncertain. “You’ll have to check with the warden, but yes, I would, Abby!”

  That settled it then. Abby, or Margo, or whoever it was that Mimi needed her to be would take her to dinner at The Lantern. Uncle Chip would give them the family table and add extra whipped cream to their desserts and keep them distracted with funny stories and a friendly grin. Margo felt better just thinking about it.

  She pushed the wheelchair out of the room and down a few more halls. In fairness, it did seem like a nice place. Not the Ritz but…nice.

  “I think Pudgie needs a nap before lunch,” Mimi said, stifling a yawn.

  Margo gave a sad smile. “I’ll bring you back to your room, then.” Defeat settled over her. Everything was slipping away. Everything had changed.

 

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