by Grace Palmer
“Why did I order a milkshake?” Jill groaned. “I feel like I’m going to explode.”
Leslie didn’t say anything, but based on the way she was slouched down in the red vinyl booth, she must be feeling way.
“Maybe we should just go home. I need sweatpants. Leslie’s waist is smaller than mine.” Jill hadn’t packed anything beyond her outfit for the funeral and her sweatpants, so she’d had to cobble together an outfit from Leslie’s closet. Luckily, they were close to the same size. But not quite close enough when you added a cheeseburger, curly fries, and an Oreo milkshake to the mix, it seemed.
“I could go home. I’m exhausted,” Leslie agreed.
Michelle was tempted, but she also needed this. A night out to unwind. The last week had her tied up in knots, and unlike Jill who apparently felt like she was on vacation, Michelle was exhausted. She hadn’t worked this hard in a long time. She needed some fun.
“One drink,” Michelle insisted. “Let’s go out for one drink. Pretend we’re young and carefree.”
Jill immediately slid out of the booth and pumped her fist in the air. “Speak for yourself. I don’t have to pretend. I am young and carefree.” With that, she marched through the diner towards the front door.
“I’m not young and carefree,” Leslie whispered.
Michelle laughed and waved her older sister on. “Come on. I have a feeling you’ll rally after a drink or two.”
“You said one drink!”
“We’ll see where the night takes us.”
The night took them to Big Rock Bar. As soon as they walked in and caught sight of the flashing lights coming from the DJ booth, Leslie turned to Michelle, brows raised. “A nightclub? This might be a little too young and carefree, even for spring chickens like us.”
“There isn’t even anyone in the booth. It looks like they just hammed up the lighting. Don’t be a drama queen.”
There was a hardwood dance floor in the center of the room lit up every color in the rainbow, but only a few people had dared to venture onto it. Most of the patrons were too busy watching the televisions at the bar, playing pool, or throwing darts.
Michelle grabbed Leslie’s arm and hauled her further inside. “Come on. Let’s grab a seat at the bar and order.”
The bar top was damp and Michelle could feel her jeans sticking to the top of the stool, but it still felt nice to be out. Leslie and Jill sat next to her, leaving one seat open on her left for a man in an unbuttoned dress shirt to claim less than a minute after they’d sat down.
“Hey,” he said, giving Michelle a grin.
She smiled back politely and moved to turn back to her sisters, who were flipping through a drink menu, but the man caught her arm.
Michelle jerked her wrist away instinctively. “Hey!”
The man held up a hand in surrender. “Sorry. Hands to myself.”
She leaned ever so slightly away from him. “Right. That’s okay.”
“…I was just going to say you’re the most beautiful woman in here.”
Did he really just say that? Michelle’s smile stiffened. She knew it was just a line, but wow, it was a bad one.
“Thanks.” She raised her hand, trying to catch the bartender’s attention.
“I mean it,” the man pressed. He smelled like a little too much cologne and a lot too much vodka. “I’d love to buy you a drink.”
While her husband may have been in prison on charges of embezzlement, she wasn’t ready to flirt with anyone else. Even if she was, Mr. Drakkar Noir here would not be her first choice.
“No, thanks. I can get it myself.”
“Come on,” he said, sliding even closer until his leg pressed against Michelle’s. “Just one drink.”
“No. Thanks anyway.”
“Come on, baby,” the man said. “I just want to—”
“Leave?” A high-pitched female voice drew the man’s attention away from Michelle and across the bar.
The woman standing on the other side of it was short and petite, just barely over five feet tall. Her red hair was twisted into a long braid that she had pulled back in a bandana and her heart-shaped face was turned down in a scowl.
She narrowed green eyes on Michelle’s pursuer. “I think you wanted to leave,” she repeated. “Because you won’t be getting another drink from me.”
The man jerked back like he’d been slapped. “Hey, now. I don’t think there’s any reason for that. I was just—”
“Harassing my customers and exhaling your toxic breath all over the place. Leave before I have Big John throw you out.”
She hitched a thumb over her shoulder towards the large man at the other end of the bar. When he noticed the red-headed woman gesturing at him, he shifted his weight in their direction and Michelle could swear she felt the entire floor shake. He was not someone you’d want to mess with.
Apparently, the man next to Michelle agreed. Without another protest, he mumbled an apology and shuffled his way out the door.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said. “That guy gave me some seriously bad vibes. If you were interested in him, just take my word for it, I saved you the trouble. He was so not worth it.”
“Absolutely not interested in him at all. You saved me.”
“Saved you from what?” Leslie asked.
“A handsy drunk with halitosis.” The woman wrinkled her nose. “He leaned way too far over the bar to talk to me. Always a red flag.”
“Apparently, I was looking a little too young and carefree. Someone was hitting on me,” Michelle explained. Now that the man wasn’t pressing his vodka-soaked body against Michelle, she could laugh about it. She turned back to the bartender. “But seriously, thank you.”
“Of course. This is supposed to be a happy place. If I have to sic Big John on a few pervs to cleanse the aura around here and keep my customers happy, so be it.”
“Your customers?” Leslie asked. “Do you own this place?”
The woman lifted her chin and smiled. “Fiona Hamilton, owner and operator of The Big Rock Bar, at your service.”
She bowed and then stepped back into the light, and Michelle could see Fiona was older than she’d first appeared. Based on nothing but her hair, her lightly cropped graphic t-shirt, and her loose-fitting jeans, she looked like she could easily be in her mid-twenties. But the lines on her face told a different story. She was Michelle’s age, at least.
“Michelle Evans, co-owner and operator of the Wayfarer Inn, at your service,” Michelle mimicked.
“A fellow businesswoman? I love to see it.” Fiona beamed.
“We all three own it, actually.” Michelle tipped her head towards her sisters. “Jill and Leslie. My sisters.”
The title still seemed to chafe Jill a little. She fidgeted and looked down at her hands. But Michelle didn’t figure there was any reason to beat around the truth. They were sisters. Time they all started getting used to it.
“My guess was sisters,” Fiona said. “It’s a game I play with myself, guessing how customers know one another.”
“Are you usually right?” Michelle asked.
She shrugged. “After suggesting a few brother-sister pairings were married and mistaking a woman’s boyfriend for her grandfather, I’ve started keeping my guesses to myself, so I have no idea. But with you three, it’s obvious. What can I get the three sisters to drink?”
Leslie and Jill ordered Long Island Iced teas. Michelle opted for a Manhattan.
Fiona worked quickly, returning a couple minutes later with their drinks. Then she leaned her elbows on the bar, chin in her hand. “So give me the story! How did you three decide to go into business together?”
“Bit of a long story,” Leslie chuckled.
Fiona grinned. “My favorite kind.”
“Well, actually, we didn’t,” Michelle said. “Our dad owned the inn, but he recently died and left it to us.”
“A family business. I love that!” Fiona smiled. “It’s nice to have a piece of your dad left, too
, I’m sure. Being able to take care of his dream. That’s amazing.”
“Well, actually…” Michelle repeated, wincing slightly.
Fiona frowned. “Am I romanticizing? I do that a lot.” She pointed to her eyes. “Rose-colored glasses, I’m told.”
“No, it is nice,” Leslie jumped in. “Or it will be, so long as we can manage to keep the business open.”
“What’s going on?” More people had walked up to the bar, but Fiona didn’t seem in a hurry to help them.
“Some old debts and necessary renovations and—” Leslie grimaced and waved her hands around. “Small business stuff I’m sure you know all too well.”
“You can say that again.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “When I first suggested combining the best elements of a sports bar, a dance club, and a cocktail lounge into one bar, no one was interested. It took me forever to save up the money. But now, here I am.” She planted her hands on her hips and grinned as she looked around the space. Then her eyes widened. “Although I won’t be for much longer if I don’t start serving drinks. You gals want anything else?”
“You’ve done enough by kicking that creep out,” Michelle smiled. “Thanks again.”
Fiona waved her off. “It’s my job. And here.” She reached under the bar and pulled out a business card. “Keep my card. If you ladies need anything at all, one female business owner to three others, I’d love to help. Call me anytime. After 10 A.M., preferably.”
As soon as she was gone, Jill nodded. “I knew this place had a weird energy, and now it makes sense—the sports bar, dance club, cocktail lounge concoction. I like it, though.”
“Me, too,” Leslie said. “All the business advice says to stick with what you know and be specific, but Fiona did what she wanted. And it totally works. It almost makes me interested in stepping out on the dance floor.”
“You? Yeah, right,” Michelle scoffed. “I’ve never seen it in my life.”
“You don’t like to dance?” Jill asked.
Michelle chuckled. “Leslie is a tried-and-true wallflower. She and Shane went to every high school dance together, but he never once got her out on the floor.”
“Not when everyone else was watching,” Leslie mumbled.
“I cannot relate,” Jill said. “At my senior prom, I requested the band play ‘Friday I’m in Love’ by The Cure five different times and danced until my soles fell off. So fun.”
“You were still in school when that song came out?” Michelle asked.
“Of course I was! I’m not that much older than you two. Only a couple years.”
Michelle hadn’t really thought about it, but Jill was only three years older than she was and only two years older than Leslie. They would have all been in high school at the same time. Grayson, too.
Their house had been chaotic enough as it was, with Michelle and Leslie both fighting for bathroom time in the mornings and slamming their bedroom doors every time they felt even slightly misunderstood. But four teenagers under the same roof? It would have been insanity.
Still, Michelle couldn’t help but wonder what things would be like now if they’d all known about each other from the start.
Suddenly, Jill tipped back her drink, finishing it in one gulp, and then stood up. “Actually, I’m feeling a little dance-y right now.”
Before they could respond, Jill jogged over to the DJ booth to yell something at the man behind the turntables. He gave her a thumbs up and two seconds later, The Cure was pumping through the bar’s speakers.
“Oh no,” Leslie moaned, sinking down in her seat.
Jill danced across the room towards them. “Time to reconnect with our youth, ladies!”
“Whose youth? Not mine!” Leslie shook her head. “No way!”
Michelle wasn’t the most confident dancer, but she’d play along just to see Leslie try and find her rhythm for even a minute. She grabbed Leslie’s elbow and tugged. “Come on, Les. Live a little. Dance with your sisters.”
Jill grabbed her other arm, and together, they hauled the reluctant Leslie onto the dance floor. If anyone had looked over, it may have resembled a kidnapping more than anything else. But by the time they got her on the floor, Leslie was resigned to her fate with slouched shoulders and an annoyed smile.
The DJ turned the music up a little bit louder, and halfway through the song, a disco ball lowered from the ceiling and began to spin. When Michelle looked back towards the bar, she could see Fiona smiling, her hand on the operating switch.
The last week had been a wild ride. One Michelle had no desire to repeat anytime soon. But for now—for the length of one song, if nothing else—she was dancing with her sisters and laughing.
And everything felt like it would be alright.
16
Jill
The Next Morning
A sharp ringing noise roused Jill awake.
She couldn’t have been asleep more than four or five hours. Significantly less than her standard eight. Even running on a full night’s sleep, Jill needed a strong cup of coffee to find her “get up and go” attitude. Today, she’d need a pot of it. An IV drip, maybe.
Michelle had coaxed them to the bar promising it would only be one drink, but one drink had led to two and three. The bartender, Fiona, had given them at least one round on the house. Jill couldn’t remember if there were more after that. Her memories were fuzzy around the edges.
The ringing stopped for a moment, just long enough for Jill to sigh and ease back into the mattress and the warm comforter, before it started up again, shrill and piercing.
She groaned and stretched out her hand for her phone. It was on the nightstand and she answered without checking to see who it was.
“Hello?” Her voice was raspy. She couldn’t tell if it was from sleep, dehydration, or the unofficial karaoke party she and Leslie had thrown on the dance floor. Once Leslie loosened up a bit, she was a riot. And she also knew all the words to every single Shania Twain song. Who would’ve guessed?
“Hi, Jill. I’m sorry it’s so early, but I’m headed into work and—”
Jill thought she recognized the voice, but her brain hadn’t caught up yet. She looked at her phone screen and saw Brenda’s name.
She sat up, her body suddenly on high alert. “It’s fine, Brenda. Is my mom doing okay? Sorry I haven’t been checking in. It has been wild here, and—”
“She’s fine,” Brenda said calmly. “Perfectly fine, I promise. I’ve been checking on her in the mornings and making sure she’s eating. She even seemed to remember me a little bit last night, though she thought I was there to fix her toilet.”
“Is her toilet not working?”
“It looked completely fine, in my unprofessional opinion,” Brenda chuckled. “The problem is that I’m actually headed out of town on vacation, so after today, I’m not going to be able to keep swinging by. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”
“No, no. Don’t apologize. Really. You’ve helped me out a ton already. And on ridiculously short notice. You’re an angel.”
“I don’t know about all that…”
“I do,” Jill insisted. “You’re the one person I really trust my mom with, so I’m grateful.”
“You’re sweet for saying so. But if you do want some recommendations, I know in-home nurses who could probably cover for me. I can give you names and—”
“Actually,” Jill said, her foggy mind scrambling to make plans, “I think it’s about time I come home, anyway. I’ll take a morning ferry out and be back home by midday.”
Brenda sighed. “Are you sure? I hate to think I ruined your plans.”
“I’m positive. You haven’t ruined anything.”
“It’s just that… in the five years I’ve known you, you’ve never once taken a vacation,” she said. “I was so excited for you when you said you were getting away for a bit.”
Jill winced at that. How many people had paid enough attention to notice how small Jill’s life was
? Work, her mom’s house, her apartment, rinse and repeat. That was the extent of it. Aside from her weekly grocery shopping trip and her quarterly hair appointment, Jill’s world was extremely predictable. It certainly didn’t include nights out where she drank too much and danced and sang with her sisters.
No, that part was new. And Jill was hoping it wouldn’t all be over when she left the island.
But her mom came first.
“I plan to try and make trips like this one more frequently,” Jill said. She thanked Brenda again for all of her help and then slid out of bed.
As soon as she knew she could walk without falling over, she padded into the en-suite bathroom and hopped in the shower.
Her mind was still racing. She’d known her stay in Martha’s Vineyard was temporary. She had a job, after all. And a limited number of vacation days. And a mother who relied on her care.
Grayson had no issue running away from home forever, but Jill couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.
When agreeing to help with renovations at the inn and stick around for a while, Jill knew all of this. So why did it feel like such a surprise? Why did her stomach turn every time she thought about boarding a ferry and sailing away? Why did she finish her shower and go to sit on her bed, fully dressed and packed, for fifteen minutes before she could find the courage to go downstairs and face the women who, more and more each day, truly felt like her sisters?
Jill sighed and trudged out of the guest room.
Michelle was already in the entryway, draping the fabrics they’d picked up the day before over the tables. As soon as she heard Jill on the stairs, she started talking.
“…You were so right! These tablecloths will look great. We have a sewing machine in the basement, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work anymore. Thankfully, I know where we can rent one. And then we can—”
Jill couldn’t stay quiet and hear, in detail, all of the planning and renovating and crafting she’d miss. It hurt too much.
She cleared her throat. “I’m actually headed to the ferry. I have to leave. Right now.”