by Olivia Miles
Bridget couldn’t agree, but she couldn’t slam the phone down either. She paused, mentally replaying their conversation, knowing she hadn’t yet agreed to the final offer he’d emailed her with that morning. “As I said at the start of the call, I represent the seller as well, and…” Her mind was spinning. “And the seller would like the weekend to consider the final offer.”
“So, Monday?” Ian didn’t sound pleased, but Bridget couldn’t worry about that now.
“Monday,” she confirmed, letting her gaze drift back to the picture of Emma.
She had the weekend to hold onto hope. Or denial.
Or the part of her past that she just couldn’t seem to let go of.
***
Margo had grown used to her daily walks into town, and today was no exception. Leaves of orange and crimson gathered at the base of white picket fences that lined the sidewalk and crunched under her ballet flats as she followed the familiar path, slowing her pace every now and again to admire the pumpkins on people’s doorstops, or a new wreath someone had hung on a door.
Fall was her favorite time of the year, and she’d missed the full experience living so far south. She drew a big breath of crisp autumn air and grinned. Fall always had a way of stirring up optimism in her, and even as an adult, she couldn’t help but live by the school calendar, partially due to the fact that she had married a professor. Fall was the time for new beginnings, and maybe, just maybe, she’d found her new fresh start here, in a place that wasn’t new to her at all.
She walked past The Corner Market, stopping to admire the potted mums and fat pumpkins that were for sale outside the door. She glanced in the window, thinking of Eddie walking the aisles, selecting the ingredients for their dinner. She thought of the grin on his face when she’d opened the door and he held up the bags and her heart had turned over. And then she thought of the way he’d looked later, when they said good-bye, and he lingered in the doorway, as if he might just kiss her after all.
But he hadn’t. And that was for the best.
Or so she kept telling herself.
She hadn’t heard from him since dinner the other night, but Oyster Bay was small, and the weekend was coming up. For now she was happy to keep busy with plans for Dottie’s redesign. It was the perfect distraction. From a lot of things.
The Lantern was up ahead now, and Margo quickened her pace so she wasn’t late to meet her sister. Bridget had called an hour ago, asking if Margo could meet her for lunch, and Margo had happily set aside her plans for Dottie’s living room to do so, even if she did have a funny feeling this lunch was more than a social call.
Her sister had been selectively quiet about her showing with the big client from New York. She was keeping something from Margo, no doubt. Something that might now be revealed.
Bridget was sitting at a table of the restaurant when Margo walked in, grateful for the warmth and the touch of classical music playing in the background. She looked around the room for a sign of Chip, but other than a young waitress in the signature black shirt and skirt that constituted a uniform, the place was full of customers only.
She barely had a chance to drape her coat over the chair when she saw Bridget’s wan smile and felt her own slip. “You don’t look so good.”
“You’ve never looked better,” Bridget replied.
Margo felt her cheeks flush. Was it really that obvious?
“Margo.” Bridget hesitated. “What’s going on? I mean, why are you really back in Oyster Bay? Is everything okay between you and Ash?”
Margo frowned. She didn’t like thinking about Ash, not when she’d woke up in such a good mood, not just because of her night with Eddie, but because of the prospect of growing her business, right here in Oyster Bay, and the thought of lunch with her sister—a warm bowl of chowder on a crisp, fall day.
“Ash has been fooling around behind my back.” Now that it was out there, it couldn’t be taken back. Her husband had lied and cheated. Her family knew.
“I never liked that guy,” Bridget said, scowling.
“What?” This was news to Margo. Just recently Bridget had claimed that Margo knew how to pick ’em.
“I mean, look, don’t get me wrong. He seemed stable and responsible. You didn’t have to worry about things like him losing his job or forgetting to pay the mortgage or—” She stopped herself and looked down at her water glass.
“Or cheat on me? Or leave me?” Margo’s chest felt heavy. “I know. I thought the same thing.”
“He had qualities, at first glance,” Bridget said. “Ones I thought could make up for his shortcomings.”
“His shortcomings?” Margo frowned and waited for her sister to continue.
“Don’t you remember your wedding? How you had to do whatever his mother wanted, without any say of your own? You wanted tulips for your flowers, and you had roses, for example. Peach roses, because Nadine liked peach. And you had to go with the lemon cake because it was Reynolds family tradition, even though you wanted vanilla.”
Margo hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Maybe she hadn’t let herself. “It wasn’t important,” she said, but that wasn’t true. She’d been upset about the peach roses. She’d wanted the tulips, and if she had to have roses, she wanted white ones. But Nadine had already ordered her dress, which was, of course, peach, and she’d made such a stink that Ash had begged her to just go along with it, claiming they were just flowers, and Margo had felt petty for causing a stink.
“It was important,” Bridget said. “And you went along with it because Ash insisted and you didn’t want to ruffle feathers. He didn’t put you first, and you deserve to be put first.”
Margo knew that her sister had a point. There were countless examples, little things, that could have added up over time if she’d let them, like the way Ash always decided how they spent their weekends, and the way Margo never disagreed, because she didn’t want an argument.
“Can I ask you something?” Bridget said. “When was the last time you really laughed with Ash?”
Margo tried to think of a recent time and came up blank. “We don’t have a relationship like that.”
Bridget tipped her head. “Don’t you think you should?”
Margo felt her stomach tighten. Of course she should, but it wasn’t always that easy. You could fall in love, have all the butterflies and flutters that came with it, all the joy and laughter, and then…Then it could all be gone. The way it had all gone away when Eddie left.
All the good feelings about Eddie were suddenly replaced with bad ones, memories of the way she’d felt when he disappeared, without explanation, and the loss of that happiness they’d once shared was gone forever.
The loss of Ash was different. Not easier, but somehow less painful.
“I always did want a wedding at the house,” Margo said sadly.
“Me too. Instead, I eloped because deep down I was afraid Ryan would get cold feet with a long engagement. And now it’s too late for a big, backyard wedding.” Bridget looked miserable. “I got an offer on the house. A good offer. I don’t see how I can refuse to accept it. Mimi put me in charge of this, and we need the money to pay for the nursing home. I have to set my emotions aside, but…I’m struggling.”
Margo’s breath was still. Of course. It was just a matter of time. And it wasn’t her home, not anymore. It hadn’t been in a long, long time.
So why did it suddenly feel like she’d never left? That everything she’d ever wanted had been right here all along? And that somehow it could all slip away again…
Chapter Fourteen
There was a strange car parked behind hers when Margo arrived at the cottage two hours later, her heart heavy, her tread a little slower than usual. She stopped, wondering if the landlord had stopped by, or another real estate agent from the office, needing more paperwork signed.
But then she saw him, sitting on the front stoop, in jeans and a dress shirt, looking every damn bit as remorseful as he should.
Eve
ry damn bit as guilty as he was.
“Ash.”
She forced herself forward, even though her heart was pounding. From anger, from hurt, she didn’t know anymore.
“How’d you find me?” she asked, stopping a good four feet from where he stood. And why’d it take so long? She grew angry at the thought.
“It wasn’t hard to figure out you’d be back in Oyster Bay,” he replied. “I stopped for a coffee in town and ran into some woman named Dottie. She told me where you were staying.” He paused, then jutted his chin to the door. “Can we talk?”
Margo blew out a breath and nodded. It was inevitable. The conversation needed to be had and today, she was ready to have it.
He stood, but she sidestepped him toward the door, her hands shaking as she pushed the key into the hole and turned it. If he had any comments about why she was staying here and not at the house, he didn’t ask. Perhaps Dottie had already filled him in on that too.
Margo hung up her coat, noticing that Ash, being unprepared for the weather, wasn’t wearing one. She knew she could ask him to sit down, offer him a glass of water or some food, but she wasn’t in the mood to make this easy for him, and besides, he wasn’t her guest. She hadn’t invited him here, and, she realized, she didn’t want him here. This was her world. Her town. Her family. Her friends. Her past.
Her life.
“So I guess you know…” He combed a hand through his hair, looking at her sheepishly.
Margo waited a beat. “Know what exactly? About you and your grad student?”
“It’s not what you think,” Ash said, but he stopped when he saw the sharp look she gave him.
“Not what I think?” Had he rehearsed this line from some bad movie? “I don’t see what else it could be, Ash, but if you have an explanation, I’m all ears.”
“She…she likes me, Margo.”
She nodded, her lids drooping. She wasn’t buying it.
“And I’m not going to lie, it felt good to be…wanted.”
She scowled at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know damn straight what it means. You and I—we were never like that. Maybe at first, but then…”
Margo swallowed the lump that was building in her throat. She knew what he meant. She’d known it herself. The only difference was that maybe she hadn’t seen it as soon as he did. Instead, she had fooled herself into thinking everything was fine.
“That doesn’t mean I can just forgive you for cheating on me. You lied to me.”
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Ash’s face was lined, his eyes had a sad look to them, and Margo couldn’t overlook the fact that he hadn’t corrected her. That it was true. He had lied to her. Cheated on her.
“Why are you here?” she asked wearily. She wanted nothing more than to sit down. To drop onto the soft, slipcovered sofa and close her eyes. She suddenly felt exhausted. Like she could sleep straight through until morning.
Then it occurred to her that he might be here to ask for a divorce. She waited, her pulse quickening, the finality of everything closing in on her.
“Because I wanted to see you. Because I knew when I came home that day and you were gone that you’d seen…that you knew.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Because I missed you.”
Margo felt as if she’d been slapped. She took a step back, staring at this man, trying to figure out who he was and if she’d ever even known him at all. “You missed me?”
“I know you probably won’t believe this now, but…I really missed you, Margo.”
She shook her head. “No. No, what you missed was our life. Our routine.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”
“A lot is wrong with that, as you were so quick to point out,” she reminded him. “That comfortable domestic life you miss so much isn’t enough for you.”
And it wasn’t enough for her either, she thought. Not anymore. Even if he hadn’t cheated, the thought of going back to the life now made Margo feel empty, instead of comforted.
“But it’s something,” Ash said. “Something to build on.”
“Build on?” She managed not to laugh.“You cheated on me, Ash.” A part of her wanted to ask the hard questions, to know if it was the first time, to know if it was only one girl. But then the other half of her knew that it didn’t even matter. It didn’t change what he had done. It didn’t change the way he felt.
Or the way she felt. Her marriage was over. She’d known it when she came to Oyster Bay and she knew it even more now.
“I want to try again. I want to try to make this work.” His voice was firm, certain, even. But it wasn’t convincing. “Ten years. It can’t all be for nothing.”
“It wasn’t for nothing,” Margo realized. And it hadn’t been. There had been good times, moments of laughter and friendship and fondness, even love. Those years couldn’t be erased any more than they could ever happen again.
The doorbell rang, and Margo frowned, wondering who was dropping by unannounced. Few people even knew where she was staying. If it was Bridget, Ash had better run, she thought, not bothering to warn him. She opened the door, her eyes widening when she saw Eddie on the stoop, his hands thrust into the pocket of his jeans, his grin wide and excited.
“Hey.”
She swallowed. Her heart was pounding now. “Eddie.”
The smile on his face fell when he looked over her shoulder. She didn’t need to turn to know what he saw.
“I didn’t realize I was interrupting,” he said tightly.
“It’s not what you think,” she started to say, but right at that moment, Ash stepped forward and extended his hand.
“Ashley Reynolds,” he said.
Eddie’s gaze almost imperceptibly flitted to hers.
“Margo’s husband,” Ash added.
“Eddie Boyd. Old friend.” His eyes were stony now.
Old friend. Not friend. The distinction was clear.
“Eddie,” Margo protested, but his jaw was set.
“I was just stopping by to bring you this.” He handed her a well-worn paperback. She didn’t need to look at the cover to know the title. It was The Catcher in the Rye. He’d kept it, all these years, just as he’d said.
Her chest sagged.“Eddie.”
He didn’t meet her eye. “I’ll see you, Margo.” He turned, walked toward his car, not stopping or looking back. Margo watched him go, her heart hurting.
“Was that Eddie from juvie?” Ash asked, incredulous.
Margo was surprised that Ash would remember this bit of her past, but she refused to be touched by it. Ash may know her, but he certainly didn’t understand her. Or care about her. Not really.
“That was a long time ago,” Margo said defensively.
Ash’s gaze was stony. “People don’t change, Margo.”
“You have,” she said lightly. “Or maybe you were never the person I thought you were. Maybe I wanted you to be something you weren’t.”
The truth in that statement hit her hard.
“Don’t do this, Margo.” He stepped forward, taking her hand, and she let him, knowing it would be for the last time. “Let’s try again. Let me try again. Please, Margo. Come home.”
She held his hand, holding onto her past for one last moment, before letting it go. “I am home.”
***
The old Eddie would have gone straight from Margo’s to Dunley’s for a beer, which would have turned into two, and then three. And then…nothing good ever happened then.
Eddie drove through town, past Dunley’s and The Lantern. His shift didn’t start for three hours, but the clock was ticking for a decision to Mick. He had half a mind to call him right now and tell him yes, he accepted, he’d go back to Philly, to a job that would challenge him, excite him, make him feel like he was making a difference. Like he had a purpose. After all, what argument could he really make for staying here in Oyster Bay? He’d left this town half a lifetime ago, and it had moved on. And
so had he.
He kept driving, going nowhere in particular, wanting to keep going, all the way to Philly, and to not stop until he got there. But he’d done that before. Run from his problems. Made a pattern of it, really. A pattern he was determined to break.
Just before the road turned ahead was the entrance to Serenity Hills. Eddie eased off the gas, feeling his back teeth graze as they did every time he saw that sign. He drove past the entrance, followed the road’s winding path instead, but every minute that passed made his chest feel heavier.
He couldn’t escape it. No matter how hard he tried.
He could blame his dad for ruining his life. Or he could blame himself.
At the next road he turned back, toward town, toward Serenity Hills. This time he pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car before he second-guessed himself, and went inside. The woman at the front desk barely looked up from her magazine when he signed himself in and walked down the hall, knowing there was no risk of running into Margo today.
His father’s room was at the end of the hall, and the door was open, just like it always was. He hovered in the frame, looking at the frail man asleep in the bed. A man who used to seem so big and boorish, reduced now to skin and bones.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and stepped inside. He hadn’t looked around this room, not properly, at least. Usually when he came to visit Ray, it was for a brief stop, and he kept his eyes on the television, or out into the hallway. But today he took the chair next to the bed and stared at his father’s face, straight on.
Ray’s sleep was sound, he didn’t stir, and Eddie studied his features. The nose they shared. The chin, too. Not much else, he thought grimly. Maybe just a handful of bad memories. But they were still memories. Someday soon that’s all he’d have.
He didn’t remember his mother—she’d left before those impressions could cement. But he’d seen her picture, buried deep in his father’s bedside drawer, and he knew he looked like her. He never asked about her, he knew better, and the one and only time he did, Ray had made it clear he didn’t know her whereabouts and wasn’t going to share. They were never married. Ray wouldn’t even tell Eddie her full name.