Dearly Beloved

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Jennie slips out of the inn with the blue canvas bag containing her art supplies tucked under her arm.

  There . . . I made it, she thinks as she heads around to the path leading down to the beach. She’d successfully avoided an encounter back at the inn; no one had seen her come back from town.

  As she hurried down the stairs just now, she had heard Jasper’s voice humming along to classical music somewhere toward the back of the house. But he hadn’t come out to talk to her. She’s grateful for that. The little man is pleasant enough, but something about him makes her distinctly uncomfortable.

  And it’s not just him. It’s this whole place. She knows Tide Island is beautiful and idyllic and quaint—and so is the Bramble Rose Inn—but Jennie doesn’t want to be here.

  Maybe it would be different, she tells herself, if she weren’t here by herself. And if it were summer.

  But even being here in winter wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, if she had some company. Maybe if she and Keegan had come here together . . .

  No! Stop it! Keegan’s out of your life.

  With a sigh she picks her way around a tangle of wet sea grass and vines, continuing toward the water.

  The weather can’t seem to make up its mind. One minute it’s windy and raining furiously; the next—like right now—it’s curiously calm, though the air is still misty and the sky remains threatening.

  As Jennie scoots down the last few feet of the sloped path behind the inn to reach the beach, she scans the horizon and sees that it looks dark. There’s no doubt that a storm is on the way—she can sense it.

  She wonders, not for the first time since this morning, whether she should just leave—pack her things and hurry to catch the ferry to the mainland while she still can.

  She’s tempted, so tempted that her legs feel jittery and she has to fight the urge to run back to the inn. She can’t get past the feeling that she’s in danger here, that something evil is lurking nearby.

  But you know why you feel that way; and after three years, it’s time to get over it. You can’t spend the rest of your life being terrified of everything . . . of nothing.

  Besides, if you leave, what are you going to tell Laura? She’ll want to know what you’re doing back home two days early. And she’ll talk you into going back to that psychiatrist.

  Dr. Bonner.

  Jennie scowls at the mere thought of the man, remembering his thoughtful, bearded face and piercing black eyes. She’d seen him several times in the months after the . . . incident. One of the social workers she’d met during the police investigation had referred her to his office, telling her he specialized in post traumatic stress disorder.

  Unfortunately, Laura had been right there with her when the social worker said it, and Jennie had agreed to see Dr. Bonner at her sister’s insistence.

  She’d disliked him instantly, but had returned to his office a few times because it was easier than arguing with Laura. She knew her sister was just worried about her and wanted to help; but Laura couldn’t know that it was pure torture for Jennie to talk about what had happened, that she relived the horror every second of every day in her mind, and that nothing anyone said was going to help her.

  Not that Dr. Bonner had said much, anyway. Just fixed her with his level stare and told her to tell him what she was feeling.

  What the hell did he think she was feeling after what she’d been through?

  No, Jennie can’t bear the thought of going back to his office again, or of facing Laura’s well-meaning concern. There’s nothing to do but stay on this island for the weekend, the way she’s supposed to, and try to ignore the irrational feelings of panic that keep creeping over her.

  Jennie sets her jaw resolutely, and, for the second time today, makes her way across the wet sand. She finds the wide, flat rock she’d noticed this morning and climbs onto it, carefully pulling her coat down in back to sit on it so that her jeans won’t get soaked.

  There. This isn’t so bad, she decides, looking out over the churning water again and taking a deep breath, drinking in the cold, salty air.

  She reaches for her blue bag and removes her sketch pad and pencils. It’s too damp to paint, but she’s not in the mood anyway. She feels like working with charcoal, has an urge to fill page after page of creamy paper with bold, dark strokes.

  Her hand poised over the sketchbook, she looks up and sees a lone gull swooping over the water. To her left, for about a mile, the beach curves out toward the horizon in a crescent shape, and through the gray mist, she can barely make out a scattering of enormous houses sitting above the rocky shoreline.

  It looks just like England, she realizes, remembering the remote seaside homes along the shore on the other side of the Atlantic. She gazes out over the ocean and thinks how strange it is that it’s still out there, hundreds of miles away—that isolated patch of beach where she had sat, sketching and feeling homesick, the day she’d met Harry.

  She still remembers how startled she’d been to hear a voice behind her—a voice with an American accent, no less.

  “If it’s any good, I’ll buy it,” he’d said, and she’d looked up to see a lanky, sandy-haired guy standing there grinning at her.

  “Excuse me?” was all she could say in response, and he’d gestured at the sketch pad in her lap.

  “Your drawing. Can I see it? If it’s good, I’ll buy it and frame it and hang it on the wall of my room. I love this spot. It reminds me of the beach back home. In fact,” and he’d held up the camera in his hand, “I was just about to take a picture of it so I can keep it with me forever.”

  She’d known what he meant. There was something special about this lonely stretch of shore where the waves foamed over jutting rocks to crash against the crescent of sand. The tiny beach was only about a half-a-mile wide, separated from the rest of the coast by rocky cliffs that jutted out into the water, topped by magnificent homes.

  Jennie had discovered the spot soon after arriving the month before to spend the semester at nearby Hillshire University, and she went there often to be alone with her thoughts.

  Her mother had already been dead for two years at that point, while Gran was growing weak from the heart disease that had always plagued her and Gramps was terribly concerned over her. Jennie had felt guilty leaving Laura alone with their failing grandparents in Quincy while she went off to England but Laura had insisted that she go.

  “After all, one of us has to go to college and see the world, and it’s not going to be me,” her twin had pointed out cheerfully. Laura had only lasted a semester at a community college in southern Massachusetts before dropping out to become a bartender in Cambridge, much to their grandparents’ dismay.

  It was while Jennie was overseas, in fact, that Laura had started dating Brian. Jennie has always thought that if she had been around, her sister never would have fallen for him. She would have glimpsed his dark side and could have talked Laura out of it. By the time she’d returned to the states, Laura was engaged and it was too late for Jennie to do much but paste on a smile and tell her sister she was happy for her.

  But even though her absence had, in her opinion, resulted in a disastrous relationship for her twin, Jennie wouldn’t have traded England for anything. If she hadn’t gone, she would never have met Harry.

  Then again, she thinks wistfully now, if you hadn’t met Harry, he would still probably be alive . . .

  Jennie had found England quaint but so foreign that she couldn’t seem to shake her homesickness during those early days. Maybe that was why she had latched so eagerly onto Harry from the start. It wasn’t like her to flirt with a stranger; but when he’d told her that he thought her sketch was terrific, she’d ripped it out of her pad and handed it to him.

  “Hey, thanks! How much do I owe you?”

  She’d shrugged. “How about just a cup of coffee?”

  That easy grin had spread over his handsome face and he’d said, “Sure. Come on. Only it’ll probably have to be tea. You know . . . when in
Rome.”

  It turned out that Harry was also spending the semester at Hillshire. He was from a small town on the Oregon coast, and he, too, was homesick. Even that first day, as he’d enthusiastically told Jennie about his hometown, and how he couldn’t wait to go back, she’d found herself feeling oddly regretful.

  After all, Oregon was on the opposite side of the country from Boston. Jennie had no intention of leaving the northeast, not with Gran and Gramps doing so poorly. And the way he was talking about his friends and family back home, Harry didn’t seem like the type who’d relocate, either.

  Looking back, Jennie never ceases to be amazed that even in those first moments she’d spent with Harry, she’d had hopes of a permanent relationship.

  They’d been inseparable during that semester in England. And when it was over, they’d prolonged their time together, spending the summer traveling through Europe together. Too soon, it was August and time to head back to the States. Harry had spent several days with Jennie in Boston before flying back to the west coast to finish his senior year.

  She hadn’t seen him until Christmas break, when she’d flown out to visit him. There, she had seen how truly connected Harry was to the scenic Oregon town and to his large, warm family that included five brothers and sisters. And there, Jennie had realized that she was deeply in love with him and couldn’t bear to be without him.

  Harry had proposed to her on Christmas Eve, and she had fiercely wanted to accept. But she thought of Laura, who was planning a spring wedding to Brian—they had already moved into an apartment on the Cape together. And she thought of her grandparents, both of them old and feeble and Gran so sick. They couldn’t be left alone. And Jennie had already had her taste of freedom. It was Laura’s turn, now.

  So she’d told Harry she couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t leave Boston, and she didn’t expect him to leave his home, either.

  The rest of her visit was subdued. There wasn’t much for them to say to each other. Jennie had managed to fight back the tears until she boarded the plane back to Boston. Then, knowing she would probably never see Harry again, she had spent the entire five-hour flight sobbing miserably.

  When she’d walked heavily into the familiar old house in Quincy, though, her grandfather had said, “Harry called and he wants you to call him the moment you get in.”

  Reluctantly Jennie had dialed the familiar number, not wanting to hear his voice, unable to bear the thought that it was over between them.

  “Jen?” he’d said breathlessly when he’d answered the phone. “I need you to do me a huge favor.”

  “What is it?” she’d asked dully.

  “Find me an apartment for June first. One that’s cheap and close to your grandparents’ house.”

  “You want to spend the summer here?” she’d asked slowly. She forced herself to get past the tingle of excitement at the thought of seeing him again, to be realistic. Prolonging the inevitable would only be more painful in the end. “But Harry, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We both know you’d just have to leave again in the fall, to go back to law school in Oregon.”

  “What, there aren’t any law schools in Massachusetts?”

  Her heart had instantly jump-started as she realized what he was saying. “Harry, you can’t mean you’re moving to Boston,” she’d protested weakly.

  “I can’t? Why not? Don’t you want to marry me?”

  The lump that rose in her throat was so enormous she couldn’t speak for a moment. Then, in a strangled voice, she’d said, “I want to marry you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But I can’t—”

  “What? You can’t marry me?”

  “I can’t leave Gran and Gramps,” she’d said in a whisper, casting a glance over her shoulder toward the living room, where her grandparents were watching “Wheel of Fortune.” “I already told you. They took care of us when we had no one else. Now it’s my turn to be there for them.”

  “Well, I’ll be there for them, too. Okay?”

  She’d paused, letting it sink in. Then she’d said, in disbelief, “You’d actually leave your family and friends and your hometown for me?”

  “I love you, Jen. And yes, I can leave my family and friends and my hometown. It’s you I can’t leave.”

  “Do you promise?” she’d asked, her voice choked with tears. All her life, she’d been abandoned by the people she loved. First her father. Then Melanie. Then her mother. Now even Laura had left, caught up in a new life.

  “I promise, Jen,” Harry had said. “I’ll never leave you. Never.”

  Now, as she stares out over the gray Atlantic, his words echoing in her mind, she feels something wet on her cheeks.

  Raindrops . . .

  And tears.

  Lying flat on her stomach, Laura reaches under the couch to retrieve the can of furniture polish that had rolled when she’d dropped it.

  Her fingers find something small and round, and she pulls out a dust-covered silver hoop earring she’d lost awhile back. She’d accused Jennie of borrowing it without asking, actually . . . not that she can imagine her twin wearing jewelry this flashy, come to think of it.

  No, Jennie only wears the small gold-and-diamond studs that Harry had once given her, when she bothers to wear earrings at all.

  Laura sets the silver hoop on the coffee table, which is half-coated in a white film of lemon-scented polish, and reaches under the couch again.

  The doorbell rings just as her hand closes around the can of Pledge.

  Frowning, Laura pulls it out, scrambles to her feet, and heads for the door, wondering who can be dropping by in the middle of a rainy Saturday afternoon.

  “Hi, Laura.”

  “Keegan!” she says, surprised to see him standing in the hall. “What’s up?”

  He shrugs. “I just wondered—”

  “Jennie’s not here,” she tells him, wondering how her sister can possibly resist him. His shoulders are incredibly broad beneath that worn jean jacket and gray sweatshirt he’s wearing, and his face is so handsome, with a generous mouth and sculpted bone structure that might look too pretty on someone else but that’s masculine on Keegan.

  “She’s not here? Where is she?” He doesn’t look like he believes her, and Laura can’t blame him. After all, every time he’s called lately—which has been often—Jennie has made her lie and say she’s out.

  “She’s away for the weekend.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where’d she go?” Keegan’s sharp eyes are looking over Laura’s shoulder, as if he’s searching for clues that Jennie really is here.

  “I’m telling the truth, Keegan,” Laura says. “She really is away.”

  Disappointment settles over his features. “Oh. Where’d she go?” he repeats.

  “To Tide Island.”

  “Tide Island? What’s she doing out there?”

  “I won a free weekend at some inn there, but I can’t go because Shawn—he’s the guy I’m seeing—is coming home from Japan this weekend. In fact,” she checks her watch, “I have to leave for the airport in about twenty minutes to pick him up and I need to finish cleaning the apartment first, so . . .”

  “You’re cleaning?” He looks suspiciously at her. “Are you sure you’re not Jennie?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

  “No offense, Laura, but you’re not exactly the world’s best housekeeper.”

  “Well, Shawn’s pretty whipped on me, and I don’t want to scare him away, you know?” She brandishes her can of Pledge. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “Wait. What about this free trip to Tide Island?”

  “What about it?”

  “How’d you win it?”

  “I bought a sweepstakes ticket at Stop and Shop. It was for a good cause. The New England Children’s Leukemia Society.”

  “Never heard of it.” Keegan frowns. “You wouldn’t still have that ticket around, would you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m lucky if I manage to hang onto my p
urse. You know me—hey, wait, you know what? I do have the ticket!”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah . . . I wrote Shawn’s flight number on the back of it. I remember because the day he called to tell me he was coming home was the same day I found out I won the sweepstakes and I had to pull out the ticket to confirm the number. It’s stuck to the fridge with a magnet so I wouldn’t lose it.” She’s halfway to the kitchen, followed by Keegan, before she turns to look back at him, puzzled. “Why do you want it?”

  “Because I’ve never heard of the New England Children’s Leukemia Society, that’s why. And a friend of mine at work—do you remember Buddy?” At her nod, he continues, “Well, he’s working on a task force to uncover a ring of bogus charity collectors that’s operating in the area.”

  “What, you think the sweepstakes was a scam?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, it’s definitely real because they awarded the prize.” Laura continues to the kitchen, plucks the ticket from beneath a “Cheers” magnet on the refrigerator door, and hands it to Keegan.

  “That doesn’t mean the sweepstakes was legitimate, Laura. They probably collected thousands of dollars selling tickets. A free weekend at an inn—particularly on Tide Island in the middle of winter—only costs a few hundred at most. How do you know the rest of the money really went to charity?”

  “I don’t.” She shrugs, then says, “Hey, what are you doing with that?” as Keegan starts to tuck the ticket into his jacket pocket.

  “I’m giving it to Buddy. He’ll probably want to check it out.”

  “Well, at least let me copy Shawn’s flight information off the back.” She grabs a pen from the table and writes the information on a napkin, then hands the ticket back to Keegan. “Here, it’s all yours now.”

  “Thanks. So, how’s Jennie doing?”

  “She’s all right. You know . . .”

  “No, I don’t. I haven’t talked to her in weeks.”

  “Well, she thinks it’s better that way.”

  “Oh, really? And why is that?”

  “Because if she talks to you, she might not be able to stay away from you.”