by Grace Palmer
She closed her eyes. “When I first found out my dad split the Wayfarer four ways and that it was saddled with a huge debt, I wanted to leave. Michelle was going to pay the money we owed, and then we were going to sell it and I was going to go… somewhere. Anywhere. Sometimes, I still think that would have been the better choice.”
“No.” Shane slashed a hand through the air as though swatting the idea away. “If you want to travel, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’ve been a lot of places and I hear I’m a great tour guide. But Martha’s Vineyard is our home. I don’t at all regret moving back. It’s where I belong. I firmly believe it’s where you belong, too.”
“I’m glad one of us can be certain.”
Shane looked over at her, his easy smile back in place. “Hey, I’ve been known to be wrong before. But I know you, Leslie Townsend. And you’d regret walking away from the inn and your sisters without giving it a real shot.”
Leslie tried to imagine backing out. Packing her things, giving up her share of the business, and leaving.
And she couldn’t do it.
Not when she was so close to patching things up with Michelle.
Not so soon after she’d met Jill.
“Fix things with your sisters,” Shane said, as though he could read her mind. “Make it right with them and make the inn work.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It’s not easy, but it’s simple. And you’re not alone, Les,” he said, kicking her foot with his. “I’ll be here for whatever you need. Remember: anything you need, I’m your man.”
Leslie’s insides warmed at the thought, but she pushed it away.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
22
Michelle
Grand Re-Opening Of The Wayfarer Inn
When Michelle made it back to the inn, no one else was home, so she headed upstairs and painted the trim she’d sworn she would take care of. She heard the occasional footsteps moving down the hallway, but no one came into the room to talk with her and Michelle didn’t go into the hallway to talk to them.
In the morning, practical matters took priority. Their fight was like an awkward piece of furniture in the middle of the room that they all had to navigate around.
Leslie made breakfast for everyone—multigrain pancakes with berry compote and maple syrup—and then they did a final walkthrough of the inn, saying as little as possible.
At some point the day before, Jill had finished a few of the lingering projects she and Michelle had planned. She’d given a last coat of paint to a wooden shelf that was now hanging in the hallway, loaded down with antique gilded mirrors, beachy blue candles, and hand-painted sailboats they’d scrounged from thrift stores and estate sales. She’d also installed all of the new hardware on the end tables and dressers they’d restored and painted.
“Everything looks great to me,” Michelle said as they finished the walkthrough. They paused in the entryway where they’d begun. She’d done her best to view the rooms objectively, as though she was a guest seeing them for the first time.
The Wayfarer Inn had always been comfortable to her. She’d grown up there. It was home. In the same way a person you love becomes more attractive to you the more you fall in love with them, the inn and all of its imperfections had grown on Michelle.
Bu now that they’d finished the upgrade, she couldn’t get past how charming it all was. How much better it looked.
“I can’t believe we managed so much in only a few weeks,” Jill said. “In that respect, it’s amazing.”
Leslie nodded. “We definitely met our deadline of the renovations being done before summer.”
“We did good,” Michelle said.
“We all did great,” Leslie reiterated.
Jill nodded. “Agreed. Every single one of us.”
There was a tense beat of silence before they all met each other’s eyes and smiled.
“Is this our way of saying sorry without actually saying sorry?” Michelle asked.
“Absolutely,” Jill admitted.
Leslie sighed. “Yes. But I’ll also say it: I’m sorry. Things have been stressful and—”
“There’s a lot going on,” Michelle said. “For all of us.”
“And we all said things we didn’t mean,” Jill said. The statement sounded ever so slightly like a question. Michelle and Leslie nodded in agreement.
There was another beat of silence and then they all took a collective breath.
“I’m glad we got that cleared up before opening,” Leslie breathed. “By the time I got home last night, everyone was in bed.”
“Where did you go, anyway?” Michelle asked. “When I got back, your car was still here, but you weren’t.”
Leslie’s cheeks flushed and she glanced down at the floor, looking every bit like a shy schoolgirl.
Michelle whistled. “I think that means a certain Oak Bluffs police officer paid a visit. Am I wrong?”
“Shut up,” Leslie snapped, trying to bite back a smile. “I went for a walk and he gave me a ride.”
“A ride to where?” Jill asked.
“His house.” Leslie ignored the oohs and ahhs of her sisters. “Nothing happened! We went to the dock and talked. Now, let’s all be adults about this. We aren’t in high school, okay?”
“Speak for yourself,” Michelle chuckled. “I ran into a handsome man yesterday and basically self-combusted.”
“Ooh, do tell us more.” Jill leaned her elbow on the handrail, her fist under her chin.
Michelle relayed the story, sure to include every cringeworthy detail. The spilled coffee, the ruined book, the man’s smooth proposition, and her barely coherent response.
“… And then I ran away,” she finished. “It was mortifying.”
“You told him your husband was in jail?” Jill winced. “Not exactly information you share with a stranger.”
Didn’t Michelle know it! She’d replayed the conversation in her head most of the night. The chances she’d ever see the man again were slim to none, but still, she’d get an embarrassed shiver every time she thought about the interaction for a long time to come.
“Enough about me,” she said. “Time to focus.”
Leslie nodded in agreement. “We have six groups checking in for the grand reopening today. During the summer months, all ten rooms are usually booked solid, so think of this as a practice round.”
“A practice round that determines our futures.” Jill nodded and gave a sarcastic thumbs up. “No pressure.”
Michelle hadn’t helped check anyone into the Wayfarer Inn since she was eighteen-years-old, but the moment their first guests walked through the door, arms loaded down with luggage, it all came rushing back.
She ran the front desk, getting payment information, handing out room keys, and running down their list of amenities. Jill carried luggage upstairs and made sure everyone was comfortable. And Leslie replenished the complimentary snack table with warm cinnamon rolls and ham and cheese croissants to lure guests into maybe paying for a dinner or lunch at the inn in addition to their free breakfasts. The Wayfarer Restaurant might’ve now be closed to the public, but keeping it running for guests seemed like an easy way to make some extra money.
The check-in process took until mid-afternoon, but then the guests were eager to get out of the inn and see the island. Leslie had printed new informational pamphlets of the top tourist destinations, restaurants, and activities, but people still wanted to hear the advice directly from a local’s mouth.
Jill ordered cabs for several of the guests, Leslie checked out the inn’s small stash of bicycles to two of the younger couples there for romantic getaways, and Michelle made hand drawn maps of how to walk to Circuit Avenue from the inn.
“Make sure you stop in at the park just down the road,” she said to a middle-aged twosome, the Wilkens. They had decided to come just before the busy season to try and avoid the mass of tourists. “It has a walking trail and a lovely gazebo that gives yo
u a great view of the ocean, but it’s pretty quiet, too. Oh, and be sure to bundle up!”
Once everyone was either happily ensconced in their rooms or exploring the island, Michelle, Leslie, and Jill set to prepping for the next day. Michelle rolled clean towels and stocked the maid cart, Leslie whipped together scones and biscuits she could refrigerate until the morning, and Jill and her mom went to the store for extra juice, coffee beans, and a new coffee maker.
Michelle was used to running a house and taking care of other people, but doing it on such a large scale was exhausting. By the time they served a dinner of basil lemon crab linguine and ate themselves, Michelle’s feet were aching. She felt like she could fall into bed and sleep for twelve hours straight.
Instead, Leslie poured them all a glass of wine, which they took onto the private back patio.
“I have no idea how you did this all by yourself for so many years, Leslie,” Michelle said, stretching the arch of her foot to stave off an impending cramp.
“Hear, hear,” Jill chimed in. I feel like the walking dead right now. My eyes burn.”
Leslie just shrugged. “I did what I had to do. Dad obviously helped a lot with guest interactions and check-ins, and I wasn’t doing lunch and dinner before now, either. So that was significantly less work. But yeah… none of this would be possible without the two of you helping out, that’s for sure.”
Jill raised her glass a second time. “To teamwork.”
“To sisters,” Michelle said.
The new relationship dynamic still fit about as well as the pair of “goal jeans” that had been hanging in her closet since the twins were middle schoolers. But if there was a day to embrace their situation fully—feuds and long-lost sister and all—it was on the day of the grand reopening of their father’s life’s work.
“Sisters. That’s sweet,” Amelia said. She turned to Jill, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’m glad you’ve made friends.”
Jill had explained the situation to her mom several times on her good days, but the likelihood she’d ever remember who Michelle and Leslie were was slim. They’d found it was easiest to let her think whatever she wanted about the situation.
“Me, too,” Jill said with a sad smile. “But I’m beat. Mom, are you ready for bed?”
The two of them had been staying in Warren’s old room. It was a strange setup to be sure, but it was the only non-guest room big enough to accommodate them both. And considering Amelia didn’t remember she was living in Warren’s old inn most of the time, it seemed to be working out.
Amelia stood up and smiled politely at Michelle and Leslie. “Lovely to meet you girls. Goodnight.”
Michelle smiled back, but Leslie stood up and pulled Amelia into a quick hug. Amelia raised her brows at Jill over Leslie’s shoulder, not remembering that she and Leslie had grown quite close over the last two weeks.
When Leslie let Amelia go, Jill offered her arm, and the mother-daughter duo slipped inside and closed the back door behind them.
Michelle only realized once the back door closed that it was the first time she and Leslie had been alone since their fight the day before. And really, one of the few times they’d been alone at all since Jill had originally arrived.
In the twenty-four hours that Jill had gone back to New York before immediately returning with Amelia in tow, the two sisters had reverted to orbiting around one another. Strangely, even though Jill was a new addition to their family dynamic, she’d become an important fixture. Michelle didn’t know how to talk to Leslie without Jill around.
But now, here they were, sitting opposite one another on the porch with fleece blankets wrapped around their shoulders. A lifetime of memories and five years of resentments lingered between them.
The air felt thick.
“It’s cold,” Leslie said, taking a sip of her wine and looking out on the small garden plot.
“But getting warmer,” Michelle said. “Soon, the garden will start growing again.”
They’d started tending the herb garden when they were only teenagers. Leslie had kept it going, adding to it a bit each year. At the beginning, it had been just a square of dirt, but now it was a wooden bed built above the ground with wires to keep out rabbits and pests.
Leslie hummed and nodded her head, but the conversation fell off, slipping into an uncomfortable silence Michelle didn’t know how to navigate.
They each sipped on their wine for a few more minutes. Michelle wracked her mind for anything to say. Before, they’d at least been able to talk about renovations or projects. Now, the inn was open, guests were checked in, and there wasn’t anything to prep.
She came up empty.
“Well,” Leslie said. “I guess I’m going to turn in for—”
“I’m sorry.”
The words slipped out of Michelle’s mouth before she could really consider what she was doing. But as soon as they were in the air between them, she didn’t regret them.
She was sorry.
Sorry that their relationship had fallen this far.
Sorry that they couldn’t talk to one another.
Sorry that she hadn’t listened.
“For what?” Leslie asked.
“About our fight.”
Leslie waved a dismissive hand. “We already cleared the air about that. It was just pre-opening jitters and stress. Nothing to worry about.”
“Not that fight,” Michelle said quietly.
When she looked up, Leslie’s mouth had fallen open slightly. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Michelle sighed. “I said so many awful things to you, Les. I accused you of being jealous and trying to ruin my life. Of lying to me. I just… I’m so sorry.”
Leslie blinked. She was staring down at her wine glass, but Michelle could tell her gears were turning. She was processing an apology five years in the making.
“If I’d known about Tony then what I know now, I never would have doubted you,” Michelle continued. “But I just… I didn’t see it. And more to the point, I didn’t want to see it.”
“I didn’t want to be the one to show you, either,” Leslie said finally.
That night five years ago that Leslie had called, Michelle knew immediately something was wrong. At the time, she’d assumed it had something to do with their dad or the inn.
“Is everything okay?” she’d asked.
“It’s not that. Dad is fine. The inn is good,” Leslie had said. “It’s about the party.”
One of Tony’s best friends from college was getting married. As the best man, Tony had arranged a Martha’s Vineyard bachelor party. They golfed and drank and Leslie gave them a generous discount on their rooms at the Wayfarer Inn.
Michelle hadn’t exactly been nervous about the bachelor party, but the fact that her sister would be around to keep an eye on Tony and make sure nothing too nefarious happened was a comfort nonetheless. When Tony was around “his boys,” he could revert to his twenty-year-old mentality in a snap.
“Is Tony okay?” Michelle had asked. Kat and Beth were out for the night at a sleepover, so she had been holed up in the den all night with popcorn and Casablanca.
“He’s physically fine. He isn’t hurt or anything, but…” Leslie’s voice trailed off.
“Leslie, what is it?” Michelle had demanded. “Tell me.”
“The guys were drunk when they came back. Really drunk. I had to help a few of them up to their rooms, including Tony.”
Michelle’s chest eased and she’d chuckled. “I mean, it’s a bachelor party. I suspected as much. He’ll pay for it in the morning. I don’t need to get onto him.”
“Maybe he didn’t even know what he was doing,” Leslie had continued, her words picking up speed, as if she wanted to say it as fast as possible. “But he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close.”
Michelle chuckled again, but the sound got stuck in her throat. It sounded like she was being strangled. “He has always been a sloppy drunk.”
“This w
asn’t just him being a bad drunk,” Leslie said. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe it was. But it was really bad. I tried to push him off, and he grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the wall.”
Michelle had squeezed her eyes shut against the mental image. “A little too much fun.”
“Michelle,” Leslie pleaded, her voice thick. Michelle had wondered if she was crying before, but now there was no denying it. “You aren’t listening to me. He grabbed me. He touched me.”
Michelle summoned other images of Tony. Tying ribbons in the girls’ hair before a cheerleading competition. Sneaking finger scoops of cookie dough every time he walked through the kitchen while Michelle was baking. Kissing her on the cheek in apology, only to steal yet another scoop while she was distracted.
“No. You’re wrong. Tony isn’t like that.”
“Not usually, no,” Leslie agreed. “But he pressed me against a wall and told me he’d always found me attractive. Michelle, he unbuttoned my pants and tried to—”
Michelle’s ears had started ringing. She didn’t hear everything Leslie had said, but she didn’t need to. She’d understood where Leslie’s story was headed.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anyone,” Michelle had said simply. “Perhaps you’re exaggerating.” She knew it was a cruel thing to say, but she’d been in a cruel mood.
“That is not it. He told me he wanted to—”
“Enough!” Michelle had said sharply. “Clearly, Tony got drunk and you read too much into it. You’re lonely and you made it more than it was. Just drop it.”
“I wouldn’t come up with this story because I’m lonely,” Leslie whispered. “Meesh, you have to—"
“You’ve always been jealous of me. Tony is a handsome man, but I never thought you’d try something like this. How about instead of trying to ruin my relationship, you find one of your own?”