by Sophie Moss
He was already going to be on thin ice with the islanders when they found out about the threat to the school. He wanted to put down roots on Heron Island. He wanted to build a life there. But no one was going to accept the man responsible for closing down their children’s school.
He needed to find a way to save it to prove to Becca, and the rest of the islanders, that he was one of them.
It had been a year since he’d even considered getting close to a woman again for something more than just sex. But being in Becca’s house last night—seeing those student drawings on her walls, listening to her talk about the school, hearing the passion in her voice for a place that meant so much to her, watching her work so hard to save it even though she was leaving at the end of the year and her own job wasn’t even at stake—had hit him hard.
He’d spent a lot of time over the past year thinking about what kind of woman he didn’t want to be with anymore, but he hadn’t given much thought to what kind of woman he did want.
Until now.
He was starting to think he knew exactly who he wanted.
He’d lain awake most of last night, thinking of ways he could help Becca save the school. Sometime around 2AM, an idea had finally taken root. It was risky, and his father’s campaign manager was going to hate it, but it might be the only way.
Lifting his phone, he dialed a new number.
“Washington Tribune.” The receptionist answered after the first ring. “How may I direct your call?”
“Grace Callahan,” he said, walking onto the gated grounds of the State House. He had gotten to know Grace pretty well over the winter. While he’d never been a big fan of reporters, he liked her. He trusted her. And he knew she would do anything to protect her island, her community, and most of all Becca—who she’d been best friends with forever.
“This is Grace,” she said as she picked up the line.
“Hey, Grace. It’s Colin Foley.”
“Hey,” she said, her tone shifting from professional to friendly. “What’s up?”
Flashing his badge to the security guard, Colin strode into the historic brick building that housed his father’s offices. “I have a story idea I want to run by you.”
“Whoa,” Grace said, pausing in the middle of the living room at the inn that night when she saw the gaping hole in the wall beside the fireplace. “What happened here?”
“They found a crack in the foundation,” Becca said, walking out of the farmhouse-style kitchen and handing her friend a glass of red wine from the bottle she’d brought over. “Jimmy’s crew started working on it today. They had to tear out a section of the drywall to fix it.”
Grace’s eyes swung back to meet hers, widening. “Will it be done in time for the wedding?”
“It’ll be done in time,” Becca said firmly. “I had a long chat with Jimmy this afternoon.”
Grace’s expression darkened. “Did he apologize for his behavior on Sunday?”
Becca shook her head. “I don’t think he even remembered being at the café.”
“Unbelievable.” Grace shrugged out of her black suit jacket and dropped it on the sofa. The white tank top and pencil skirt she wore underneath were rumpled from the long drive from D.C.
“What happened after Ryan walked him home?” Becca asked.
“Nothing,” Grace said, scooping her long blond hair into a ponytail and snapping a rubber band around it to secure it in place. “Jimmy passed out on the couch almost as soon as they got there. Ryan said his house was a mess—empty bottles all over the place, dishes in the sink, overflowing trash cans. He and Joe stayed for a while to clean up, but Jimmy probably didn’t even notice when he woke up.”
“It’s getting worse,” Becca murmured, thinking about how quiet Luke had been in school again today. He had given her another drawing—a dog this time—and said he was going to ask his mom if they could get one soon. Becca already knew what the answer to that question was going to be. Courtney was barely managing to keep it together as it was. There was no way she was going to agree to take on a pet right now, which meant it would just be one more disappointment to add to Luke’s growing list.
“Ryan said he didn’t like the way Jimmy talked to you on the porch,” Grace said, taking a sip of her wine.
Becca remembered the way her skin had crawled at the stench of whiskey on his breath, at the slurred voice so close to her ear. “I don’t think he would do anything stupid, if that’s what you mean.”
“I don’t think he would either, but he seems fixated on you right now for some reason. I know you have a lot of other things on your mind, but be careful, okay?”
“I’ll be careful,” Becca said.
It was all she had to say. The two women had been best friends since kindergarten. They had grown up on this island together. They had both lost their mothers at a young age. Both of their fathers were watermen and spent long stretches of time out on the water every day, which meant they hadn’t always had a parent around to watch out for them. They had learned to watch each other’s backs a long time ago.
Becca motioned for Grace to follow her over to the wide chopping block counter where Will’s grandmother had spent her days cooking Chesapeake Bay-style fare for the inn’s guests, but which was now covered in dozens of glass jars, boxes of tea lights, and piles of pre-cut lavender and lace ribbon.
“Is Annie here?” Grace asked.
“No,” Becca said. “She called a little while ago and said she wasn’t going to be able to make it.”
Walking around to the other side of the counter, Becca didn’t add that she’d actually been relieved when Annie had cancelled. It meant that she wouldn’t have to spend the next couple of hours pretending everything was fine to her face.
She had asked Shelley if they could tell Annie today, but Shelley had wanted to wait. She had wanted to give Lydia at least twenty-four hours to get back to her and she hadn’t wanted Annie finding out, and possibly letting the news slip, before she’d had a chance to tell the rest of the teachers.
Becca understood where she was coming from, but she hated keeping secrets from her friends. She was tempted to tell Grace tonight—she knew her friend wouldn’t tell anyone if she asked her not to—but it didn’t seem fair to tell Grace when she hadn’t told Annie.
Walking up to the counter, Grace gazed appreciatively at the gleaming remodeled kitchen. “This place looks amazing.”
“I know,” Becca said. “I can’t believe how much Annie accomplished in such a short amount of time.”
Grace pulled out one of the stools—the same stools Becca and Grace had spent hours on as kids when they’d come over to play with Will and had inevitably ended up staying for dinner. Each stool had been lovingly reupholstered and restored to mint condition, as had every other piece of furniture in this house.
Annie had done most of the work on the interior herself—repainting the rooms, replacing the curtains and a few of the rugs, adding a few new pieces of furniture here and there, and swapping out the broken appliances in the kitchen for modern energy efficient ones, while somehow managing to maintain all the original style and feel of the historic farmhouse that had been in Will’s family for generations.
She’d even rehung all the Dozier’s family pictures on the walls, right where they’d been before, re-matted and reframed to fit the new updated look. The effect was warm, welcoming, and made you feel like you were part of the family, even if you were only staying for one night.
At least, that’s the way it made her feel, Becca thought. She could only hope the small group of guests Tom had chosen to stay at the inn on their wedding night would feel the same way.
Grace reached for a strip of white lace, wrapping it around one of the glass jars. “Are these for the aisle or the centerpieces?”
“Aisle,” Becca answered, opening a box of tea lights and dropping one in each of the jars. She had moved most of the wedding supplies over to the inn this afternoon after Grace and Annie had offered to help
with a few unfinished projects and discuss some last minute ideas for the food, flowers, and decorations.
“Is Gladys still doing the centerpieces?”
“Yes,” Becca said, the metal casings of the tea lights making a clinking sound against the glass as they hit the bottom of each jar. “I stopped by her house after work and she said she put in the order for the flowers this morning.”
“What about the vases?”
“Over there.” Becca nodded to a stack of boxes in the corner filled with old milk bottles Gladys had been collecting all winter to display the simple arrangements of white peonies, Baby’s Breath and English lavender. “Though I’m not sure how Tom’s going to feel about using them. Did I tell you he’s pushing for white tablecloths and assigned seating now?”
“Seriously?”
Becca nodded, reaching for another box of tea lights. “He’s worried that the picnic tables and buffet dinner won’t be classy enough for his co-workers.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “The next thing you know, he’s going to want to hire a team of waiters carrying silver trays.”
Becca just looked at her.
“He already asked for that?”
Becca laughed at the appalled expression on her friend’s face. “Don’t worry. I said, no. And I said, no, to the white tablecloths. But I compromised by agreeing to assigned seating.”
“Assigned seating at picnic tables?”
“I know.” Becca dropped the last tea light into a jar at the edge of the counter. “It sounds ridiculous, but Tom’s worried that some of the partners at his firm will be seated with people they won’t have anything in common with.”
Grace set down the ribbon she’d been about to tie around the strip of lace. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“This is your wedding, Becca, not an event to impress the partners at Tom’s law firm.”
Becca glanced up.
Grace opened her mouth, then closed it. “Sorry.” She held up a hand. “I forgot.”
“It’s okay.” Becca looked back down. Grace had never been a big fan of Tom’s, but she had promised to try and keep things civil, at least until after the wedding. Becca secretly hated the fact that her best friend couldn’t stand her future husband. Grace and Tom were two of the most important people in the world to her, and the fact that they couldn’t get along upset her a lot more than she let on.
Pulling her smartphone out of her pocket, Grace scrolled through a few screens. “What do you want to do about place cards?” she asked, shifting the conversation back to wedding planning and away from Tom. “I bet we could find some online…”
“Already taken care of.” Becca lifted the canvas bag off the stool beside her and passed it across the counter to Grace.
Grace took the bag and peered inside at over a hundred and fifty pieces of folded cardstock with the names of each guest written in large awkwardly shaped letters—letters that had clearly been written by children.
“It seemed like a good day to have the kids practice their penmanship,” Becca said with a straight face.
Grace smiled. “I love it.” She was about to hand the bag back when one of the cards caught her eye and she pulled it out, holding it up for Becca to see. The name, Colin Foley, was written in silver bubble letters on white cardstock. “Colin finally RSVP’d?”
Becca nodded. Reaching for a piece of lace, she wrapped it around one of the jars. “A couple of days ago.”
Grace tapped the card lightly against the counter. “I had an interesting call from Colin today.”
Becca pushed a pin into the ends of the lace to seal the piece together around the jar. “Oh, yeah?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. “What did he want?”
Grace turned the card over, laying it flat against the wood. “He wants me to write an article.”
Becca reached for another strip of lace, feeling a pinch of uneasiness. “About what?”
“About the elementary school.”
Becca’s eyes met Grace’s across the counter.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Grace said quietly.
“I’m so sorry,” Becca said, setting the lace down. “I wanted to. Colin asked me not to say anything until he and his father had a chance to figure something out. I thought we had everything under control.”
“Don’t worry,” Grace said. “I’m not angry with you. I just thought you would have told me. I know how much that school means to you.”
Becca looked down, running her thumb over the edge of the lace. “I haven’t told Annie yet, either.”
“Well, she’s going to find out soon enough. Colin wants me to break the story tomorrow, right after Shelley makes her announcement to the teachers. I went up to Annapolis today to interview the governor. It’s going to be a major piece, Becca. But I’m going to need an interview or a quote, at the least, from Annie to make it work.”
Becca’s heart sank. There was no way Annie would agree to that. “She hasn’t given a single interview since the shooting.”
“I know,” Grace said. “And I respect that. But it’s been over six months. Maybe she’ll be willing to do it if I’m the reporter asking the questions and it’s to save her daughter’s school.”
It was true, Becca thought. If Grace broke the news in The Washington Tribune, one of the most widely read papers in the country, the story could go viral. A quote from Annie could potentially convince the board to drop the threat. But was it fair of them to ask this of her?
In the weeks following the shooting, reporters had hounded both Annie and Taylor in D.C. Part of the reason they’d moved to Heron Island was to get away from all that. “If we open this door, more reporters will come to the island. Every newspaper and TV station will be calling the café, wanting a quote from Annie, wanting to interview Taylor.”
“That’s going to happen anyway,” Grace said. “As soon as this story breaks, Annie and Taylor will be swarmed. The only question is, who’s going to get to them first?”
Annie, wait,” Becca said, pushing out the double doors of the elementary school after her friend the next day.
Annie shook her head and kept walking. “I need to find Taylor.”
“Taylor’s with Della. She’s fine. That’s why we asked you to come alone. So you could have some time to process this.”
“I don’t need time to process this.” Annie’s boots clicked over the pavement as she made her way across the parking lot to the sidewalk leading back to the café. “I need to talk to my daughter.”
Becca followed her past several small groups of islanders huddled together, all talking about the same thing. Now that Shelley had made her announcement to the teachers, word would spread fast across the island. A few of their neighbors stopped talking when Annie walked by, their expressions filled with concern.
“It’s not over yet,” Becca said, when she finally caught up with her. “The decision hasn’t been made.” She placed a hand on Annie’s arm. “We’re going to fight this.”
Annie paused at the edge of the sidewalk. She looked down at Becca’s hand, then back up at her face. “Why aren’t you as upset as I am?”
“What?”
“Shelley said all the teachers found out today.”
“Yes, but—”
“When did you find out?”
Becca lowered her hand back to her side. “Thursday.”
“Thursday?” Annie echoed. “You’ve known since Thursday, and you didn’t tell me?”
It sounded awful when she put it that way, Becca thought. She watched her friend turn and walk away. She knew Annie needed time, that she probably wanted to be alone right now. But she didn’t want her to think, even for a second, that this school meant any less to her than it did to everyone else on the island. Just because she was leaving didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do everything in her power to save it.
She started after her, picking up her pace until she’d closed in on her friend aga
in a block away from the café. “The only reason I didn’t tell you sooner was because we were trying to find a way to convince the board to reconsider their decision. We didn’t want to upset everyone before we knew for sure. Colin was certain that—”
Annie stopped walking, turning slowly to face Becca again. “Colin?”
Becca nodded. “He’s been trying to help us. His father—”
“Colin knew about this and he didn’t tell me either?”
Becca trailed off when she saw the hurt expression on Annie’s face. Her friend felt like she’d been betrayed, not by one, but two of her closest friends. And it was about to get a lot worse, Becca thought as she spotted Grace sitting on the steps of the café. Annie’s participation would be crucial for the story’s success, but she had a feeling Annie wasn’t going to be feeling too warm and fuzzy about helping any of them right now.
Grace pushed slowly to her feet, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Hey, Annie.”
“You know, too?” Annie asked.
Grace nodded.
Annie brushed past her, climbing the steps to the door. “Am I the last person on this island to find out?”
“I know you’re upset,” Grace said, “but I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” Annie snapped, already reaching for the door.
“About what’s happening. I don’t like this any more than you do, but we need to act fast if we’re going to fight this.” Grace walked up the steps so they were eye-to-eye on the porch. “If we break this story before anyone else does, we might be able enlist the public’s sympathy. If we can get enough people behind us, it might be enough to convince the board to drop the threat.”
Annie stiffened. “You’re writing about it?”
“Yes,” Grace said.
“I guess I should have expected that,” she said bitterly.
“It’s the only way.” Grace walked up the steps. “I know you don’t want the press. I know you haven’t given a single interview since the shooting last year and I respect that, but think how powerful it’ll be if you speak out now, for the first time. If the public hears from you—about how important this school is for Taylor.”