Under The Willows (Jackson Bay #1)

by Ciara Shayee

  Peering at him in Dad’s arms, I smile. “I know, Lo. Me, too.”

  It may only be a little before eight here, but we’re still on Eastbourne time and it’s almost 1 a.m. back in England. Even though we all slept for short stretches on the plane, we’re exhausted. I wish I could fall straight into bed with my boys and sleep for a week.

  Alas, we still have to get to the parking garage, then we have a couple of hours in the car. Dad carries Arlo for me while Mom gently tugs me along, her arm around my waist. Jaxson clings to my hand with Finley on his other side, their eyelids drooping and their patience wearing thin. I quietly fill Mom in as we walk, telling her about the boys’ excitement when they realized they could watch movies while we flew, and about Finley’s disgust when he saw what they were serving for dinner. He’s my little fusspot when it comes to food. If it’s anything other than the color beige or from a Happy Meal box, it’s not passing his lips.

  By the time we’ve made our way to the car, Arlo is out on Dad’s shoulder, Jaxson and Finley are dragging their tired feet, and I’m seriously struggling to keep my eyes open.

  It’s only when I open the door to the backseat of Mom’s Tahoe that I realize I totally forgot we’d need booster seats. Thankfully, Mom was on the ball.

  “We got them this morning,” she tells me as I buckle Arlo in without waking him. Jaxson and Finley can buckle themselves into the back row, but I lean over to check them anyway.

  “Thanks, Mom.” A yawn interrupts me, her smiling eyes bright when I shake it off and offer her a small smile.

  “Come on, honey. Let’s get you home to bed. We can catch up properly tomorrow.”

  It takes a shade under three hours to get to Jackson Bay. I sleep through the whole journey, and the boys do, too. Mom wakes me up in time to see the Welcome to Jackson Bay sign as we roll over the hill, though.

  At the crest, the beautiful bay I grew up in is spread out before us. The moon reflects off the navy ocean, the lights of a few night owls punctuating the darkness. There are just under a thousand people living here in the bay full time, so it’s a much smaller town than the one we’ve just come from. I think I’d forgotten just how small it is.

  “Welcome home, honey.”

  Tiredness weighs heavily on my eyelids, but I muster a smile for Mom as she turns in her seat to face me. “It’s good to be back.”

  As she beams back at me, I realize I’m not lying. She’s been begging me to come home for months; years, even. To be fair, she never wanted me to go in the first place, but she put aside her feelings to be encouraging. I’ve always been grateful for that. She and Dad, they’re the best parents I could ever wish for, and they’ve been amazing grandparents even from a distance.

  It makes me ridiculously happy to know they’ll be able to see the boys much more now we’re all on the same continent. They’ll be able to do all the things other grandparents do, like babysit, go on days out, hype them up on sugar before sending them back to me—well, once we’ve got a place of our own, anyway. For the time being, we’ll live with Mom, Dad, and my two younger sisters in the house where I spent my childhood.

  It isn’t long before we’re pulling onto Sunshine Avenue. The street is all much the same, the lawns well taken care of and the houses progressively larger the further we go.

  Jackson Bay is small, but The Boardwalk—the main street which starts at the beach, stretches back into town, and is home to most of the stores—acts as the line between the two halves. This side, where my parents live, is the more upmarket area. The other side hosts the more modest homes and the small Jackson Bay Hospital. Mom and Dad got their house here when it was a run-down pile of rubble, almost, and turned it into a gorgeous family home that holds so many wonderful memories.

  As we roll onto the short drive leading up to the front door, I can’t help but smile despite the ache in my bones and the exhaustion weighting my limbs.

  It hasn’t changed a bit.

  The gray siding is the same, just like the white shutters, the neat lawn, and the shrubbery under the first-floor windows. The pots my siblings and I painted as children for Mothers’ Days still line the porch, and the wooden plaque Dad made right after their wedding is still on the wall.

  The Fitzgeralds.

  Nostalgia warms me as I climb out of the air-conditioned car. Solar lights along the path to the front door lead our way. Arlo shifts in my arms, mumbling gibberish as I carry him inside.

  “Whoa,” Jaxson murmurs. “It’s bigger than I remember.”

  Dad grins and squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of time to explore, don’t worry.”

  “Hey, kiddo,” I whisper, kissing Arlo’s head. “We’re here.”

  His eyes peel open just enough to look around the foyer before he murmurs something about Cheetos and drifts off to sleep again.

  Resting a hand on my arm, Dad tells me he’s set up the guest bedroom for the boys as theirs isn’t quite ready yet, but I figure they’ll be disorientated enough waking up here without being in a different room than me. My childhood home is substantially bigger than the two-bedroom annex they’ve called ‘home’ their entire lives so far.

  “I’ll just have them in with me tonight. They’ll probably be confused when they first wake up and won’t know where to find me, otherwise.”

  “Ah, we didn’t think of that,” Dad admits, rubbing his thick beard. It’s got a lot more salt and peppered sprinkled through it now than it did when I last lived here.

  “That’s okay, it’s not a problem.”

  An eye-watering yawn makes both my parents laugh before they usher me toward the stairs. “We’ll see you in the morning. Sleep as long as you like, we’ll be here.”

  “Thank you both.” After kissing each of their cheeks, I lug my youngest up the stairs with my eldest two trailing behind, my feet following a familiar path down the hall to my bedroom. It’s been my room since the day I was born. It, like the exterior of this house, hasn’t changed a bit since the day I left.

  As I fall into bed between my boys after taking care of business in the bathroom, I can’t help but wonder how the Piper of today—the Piper who has three sons and so much more life experience than the naïve eighteen-year-old who used to inhabit this room—will fit into this house, this town, after walking away from it for so long.

  *

  “Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!”

  What the…

  The beaming face poised over me when my eyes flash open isn’t the face of my four- or either of my six-year-olds, but that of my baby sister.

  “Everly!”

  Although half-asleep, I can’t help but grin right back as I sit up and yank her into a hard hug. I’ve missed her like crazy.

  She was accepted into Florida State on a swim team scholarship right out of high school, so she couldn’t just up and leave with my parents whenever she wanted to. It’s been a long slog of Facetime and Messenger calls to get through the time apart from all three of my siblings—Sebastian, Rosie, and Everly.

  Since college, Everly has taken over the swim school here in the bay. It’s kept her so busy that regular contact has been kind of hard to come by, so I’m relieved to finally be in the same time zone again.

  “I couldn’t miss the great homecoming, could I?” she laughs, squeezing me. “It’s all Mom and Dad have been going on about for weeks.” Shuffling around, she reclines against the headboard and makes herself right at home. “So, how was the flight? How did the boys like it?”

  My heart lurches. “Oh—”

  “Don’t panic, they’re in the kitchen with Mom. Last I saw, they were baking up a storm.”

  “Right, okay.” Blowing out a long breath, I sink back into my pillows. “It was…long. Long by anyone’s standards, but for Jax, Finn, and Arlo, it was pretty unbearable. Movies can only keep them stationary for so long, you know?”

  “God, I can imagine. I hate long-haul flights.”

  Poking her le
g, I point out the obvious. “That’s because you got Mom’s legs.”

  All of us kids got a pretty even split as far as genes go. Sebastian is all Dad. I’m much the same, but with Dad’s dark hair—when it isn’t dyed magenta like it is currently—and Mom’s gray eyes, only I inherited what our family affectionately refers to as Petite Fitz Syndrome. Most of the women in the Fitzgerald family tend to be on the petite side. My dad has six younger sisters and every one is either under five feet tall or only barely above. At just a shade taller than five feet myself, I’ve definitely inherited that particular gene. My two younger sisters, however, are the tall, fair-haired, statuesque beauties people read about in romance novels. They get their height and their blonde locks from our mom.

  I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve been jealous in the past.

  Shrugging and flipping her hair over her shoulder, Everly flashes her teeth in a pearly white grin. “Sooo, how does it feel to be home? It’s been a while.”

  “It has,” I agree. “I haven’t had time to really adjust yet. We got in late and came straight to bed. Ask me again later when Mom and Dad have filled the boys with sugar.”

  *

  Hours later, once Sebastian and Gianna, my brother and his fiancée, have arrived with my nephew, Danny, I’m not so worried about the boys settling in.

  After a brief moment of hesitation when their aunt, uncle, and cousin arrived, I haven’t seen any of the kids for more than a few seconds at a time. Finley can be nervous around strangers, but he seems to be doing just fine. It helps that Jaxson and Arlo are social butterflies and accepted their three-year-old cousin as one of the pack in a heartbeat, so he’s just following their lead.

  Instead of fussing over them, which is what I’m tempted to do, I relax at the dining table and enjoy having a face-to-face conversation with Sebastian and Gianna for the first time in nearly four years. Neither of them has changed all that much. He’s still the big goofball I grew up with, still loud, cheeky, and a complete wind-up merchant.

  Gianna, his high school sweetheart and partner of eight years now, is just as fierce as I remember—her Italian spirit shines through in her accent and her passionate nature. It’s a necessary evil considering she’s marrying my oaf of a brother later this year.

  By the time the boys rush inside a few hours later, their hair sweaty and their faces split by their smiles, the last of my siblings has finally arrived.

  Rosie sweeps into the room laden with files and barking instructions into the headset tucked into her ear. She flashes us a brief smile before motioning toward the den and mouthing that she’ll be right back.

  While Everly went off to college to pursue her own dream, Rosie went into the family business and made Dad’s decade by joining him at Swan’s Nest, his USA-wide hotel franchise. The last time we spoke, he’d given her more responsibility with the two hotels here in Florida. She was stoked about it, of course. Rosie and Dad—they’re two peas in a pod.

  Dad shakes his head with a fond smile. “She could be anywhere from a few minutes away from joining us to a couple hours. Shall we start getting ready for dinner, then we can catch up with her once she’s done?”

  A chorus of agreement rings out, so we all scatter. Sebastian, Gianna, and Danny head next door to their house to freshen up, Mom and Dad take Jaxson and Finley with them to get ready, and Everly and I laugh as I have to tug Arlo away from the window beside the front door where he’s waving to Danny.

  “You’ll see him again in a little while, Lo,” I promise.

  Sighing and pushing his hair out of his face, he nods. “’Kay. Can I have my bath in your tub, Aunt Everly?”

  “Of course!”

  “Sweet.”

  In the time I’ve been away, the Jack and Jill bathroom joining my bedroom and Everly’s has had an overhaul. I didn’t notice it last night, but the changes were impossible to miss this morning when I was more awake. The old, shallow tub is gone. It’s been replaced by a walk-in shower and a long, deep tub.

  Arlo’s already told me he thinks it’s big enough to swim in.

  “You know,” I murmur, ruffling Arlo’s hair, “that’s our bath, too, for the time being. We share it with Aunt Everly.”

  His eyes widen with glee. “Cool! I’m gonna swim in the tub. It’s so big!”

  “That’s my doing,” Everly admits. “Dad got fed up with me complaining that I couldn’t fit my legs in the old one.”

  Reaching the hall where our rooms are located, I let Everly take over Arlo’s bath time. Her pleading eyes and reminder that she’s never actually had the opportunity before convince me. Plus, it’s kind of nice having a chance to get ready without any of the boys underfoot for a change. I love my kiddos, but they’re a handful.

  I showered a couple of hours ago, so I listen to Arlo’s giggles and Everly’s laughter through the door as I pick out outfits for myself and the boys to wear to dinner. Mom and Dad didn’t say where we’re going, but their tastes are usually fairly casual, so I opt for simple clothes—a wrap dress for myself and polo shirts and cargo shorts for the boys. I’ll probably have to bribe Arlo not to wear one of his funny t-shirts, but he can suck it up for one night. I’ve just finished getting dressed and piling my hair on top of my head in a messy bun when the door to the bathroom flies open.

  “Arlo, hold on!” Everly chokes out between giggles, rushing into the room with a towel in her outstretched arms.

  “I’m all clean, Momma,” Arlo tells me cheerfully, covering his modesty with his hands and giving me a wide, bright-eyed smile from under his mop of wet hair. It’s grown out a lot since his last trim; it hangs past his ears at this point and way past his eyebrows.

  I cock my head. “Do you think it’s almost time for a haircut?” At Arlo’s quick head-shake, I clarify, “A trim, maybe?”

  “Maybe a trim,” he concedes. “Only a teeny, tiny bit though, okay?”

  “Okay. Now, how about some clothes?”

  Everly snorts when he loudly declares that he’s proud of his body.

  “You’ve been watching Gok Wan shows with Nanny Jude again, haven’t you?”

  The smirk on his face gives him away before he has a chance to tell me a lie.

  So it seems his fascination with fashion shows might have transcended oceans. Ideal.

  “All right. Well, come on, kiddo. It’s time to get dressed. I can take it from here, Ev. Thanks.”

  She hands over the towel, still laughing as she heads back through the bathroom to her bedroom. “Don’t ever change, Arlo,” she calls over her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Aunt Everly. I won’t!” My boy chimes happily, completely nonplussed about being buck-naked. Of my three sons, Arlo’s the most likely to ditch his duds at any opportunity. He’s a miniature nudist in the making, for sure.

  After much wrangling, he’s finally dried, dressed, and somewhat presentable, so I plop him on the bed and attempt to tame his hair. He’s been blessed with gorgeous, thick, soft locks, but he hates sitting still to have it brushed or cut.

  “Are you almost done?” he asks for the hundredth time as I gather his mane on top of his head.

  “Yep, one second, Lo.” I keep a trio of hairbands on my wrist for exactly this purpose. “Red, blue, or black?”

  Toying with the hem of his salmon-striped polo, he murmurs, “Black.”

  “Black, it is.” Tying his hair in a knot on the crown of his head, I pat his shoulder. “There, you’re free. Run wild, crazy thing.”

  And run wild, he does. By the time I make it downstairs with his little rucksack of distractions for while we’re out at dinner, he’s sitting on the kitchen island cackling his head off with Rosie, his hair already loose around his shoulders again.

  “You didn’t!”

  Baring his teeth in his father’s wide grin, he nods vehemently. “I did! Momma helpded me!”

  “Helped, kiddo,” I gently correct. “What did I help you with?”

  His eye
s dart to mine, crinkled at the corners with the force of his smile. He’s such a cute little dude. “We jumped off the big pier, didn’t we, Momma?”

  Nodding, I enjoy the surprise on my sister’s face. “We did. You were such a brave boy.” Looking at my sister, I promise to find the pictures. “It was hilarious.”

  Last month, a week after Arlo turned four, he finally got to join the annual charity pier dive. The minimum age requirement is four, but Arlo has been begging to try it ever since he was two and Jude held him while I jumped with Jaxson and Finley.

  Somewhere, I have photos of us right after we popped up in the water, Arlo still safe in my arms with his floaties around his arms and chest and the biggest, proudest smile on his face. I have a similar shot of me with his brothers after their first jump, then a series of each jump since.

  “Well, little man, you’re braver than me,” Rosie tells him. “I’d be way too scared to do something like that.”

  Arlo puffs up with pride and launches into other stories demonstrating his bravery, leaving me to sit on the stool and bask in the feeling of being home.

  *

  “Where are we goin’?” Arlo stage whispers.

  “To dinner,” I whisper back with a smile.

  “Well, yeah,” he sighs, like duh. “But where?”

  Gazing out at the scenery rushing by, I shrug. The streets we’re traversing are only vaguely familiar. Jackson Bay hasn’t changed that much since the last time I called it ‘home,’ but I’ve heard there are a few new stores and restaurants popping up here and there. “I’m not sure, Lo.”

  “Nana?”

  Mom turns her head to face him, her lips already twitching toward a smile. “Yes, honey?”

  “Where are we goin’?”

  Turning her gaze to me, Mom laughs. “Can’t you guess?”

  Peering out of the window with furrowed brows, I try to place myself as the stirrings of realization start to spread. The film of my old memories blankets the newer storefronts and shrouds the taller trees that line the sidewalk. I remember skipping along with my sisters as we headed to the beach.