But that was over now. Now, sitting on the ferry next to her new best friend, Andrew, Emily screwed her eyes shut and willed herself to stop thinking about Max, her failures, her grandparents, and her empty bank account.
She wasn’t sure which of those things would be most difficult to put out of her head. All of them seemed to have her attention at any given point of the day. She supposed that’s what happened when you hit rock bottom. You wasted a lot of time replaying your mistakes, trying to figure out if there was any way to undo them in order to right your own ship.
So far, she’d found no indication such a solution existed. She only knew that when you found yourself at rock bottom, it would be nice to see a hand offering to pull you up.
For her, there was no hand, and that was maybe the worst part of all.
“You’re humming again.” It was Andrew. Earnest Andrew and his big brown eyes.
“Don’t grow up to be a jerk, okay, Andrew?” Emily said absently.
Andrew’s mother frowned.
“Sorry,” Emily said. “Sometimes I say inappropriate things.”
“Kenton does that too. One time he spent the whole day talking about poo.” Andrew’s face was so serious Emily couldn’t help but laugh.
He smiled at her. “What’s your imaginary friend’s name?”
“I don’t see much of her anymore,” Emily said. “But her name was Kellen.”
“Kellen,” Andrew said. “Kellen and Kenton. I bet they’re friends.”
“You ask him the next time you see him, okay?” Emily smiled. She’d been having such a lovely time with Andrew she didn’t even notice the ferry had slowed and was now docking in Nantucket.
If she closed her eyes tightly enough, Emily could almost imagine she was just another Nantucket tourist. If she stopped her mind from wandering, she could almost believe it was her first time on the island, her first time seeing in real life what she’d only seen in photos—the cobblestone streets, the gray Shaker homes with big bushes of purplish-blue hydrangeas out front, the rows of brightly colored Vespas for rent, the lighthouses that beckoned weary travelers to come and rest here.
Nantucket made promises, but in her experience, the island didn’t make good on them.
What she wouldn’t give for this to be her first time.
But it wasn’t, was it?
She glanced into her big, floppy bag, the one where she’d stuffed all the necessities, including the haphazardly assembled book of letters, worn with years of handling. Sometimes just touching it was enough to make her mother feel close, almost like she had a magic lamp she could rub and see her wishes come true.
But as she placed her hand on the tattered, hand-decorated cover, even her mom felt far away.
It was as if her presence had been pulled out of the book the second the island came into view. As if even her mother’s memory wanted to forget.
All around her, other passengers were gathering their things, anxious to get the season started on the island. But Emily stayed in her seat, dazed and maybe kind of motion sick. Or perhaps the nausea had nothing to do with the boat ride at all.
If she were smart, she would’ve approached Nantucket the way she would a two-day-old Band-Aid.
One quick rip and it would all be over.
If only . . .
“You’re getting off, aren’t you?” Andrew stood in front of her now, his red-and-yellow tiny-person backpack wrapped around both of his shoulders, a red baseball cap doing its best to tame his unruly chocolate-colored hair.
“I’m thinking about it,” Emily said with a smile.
“You like it here, don’t you?”
Ooh. A trick question. What was she going to tell the kid? That this island had stolen everything from her and she was only back here because she had absolutely no other option? His mother would probably call the police.
“Yes, it’s very lovely,” she finally said. It wasn’t a lie, not really. Nantucket was lovely. At least it was for other people.
“I love this place,” Andrew said. “Here.” He held out his fist and gave it a shake.
She held her hand out underneath his and he dropped a smooth white rock into it.
“I found this on the beach last summer.” Andrew grinned and she could tell his front tooth was about to fall out. “You can have it.”
Before she could protest, Andrew’s mom gave his hand a tug.
He looked back at her and waved, and for the briefest second Emily’s heart ached.
His mom was, quite possibly, younger than Emily. And she had that beautiful little boy and probably a devoted husband waiting for her somewhere. That life had never appealed to Emily, but in that moment—and it was a fleeting one—something tugged at her insides.
But Emily didn’t have time for heartache when she was about to get off the ferry. She grabbed her suitcase, her purse, and the large bag she’d stuffed with toiletries, Kind bars (to keep from eating junk), dark chocolate–covered blueberries (because sometimes it was okay to eat junk), two books, and anything else that hadn’t fit in her suitcase.
She made her way to the door of the ferry and drew in a deep, deep breath.
I can do hard things.
She’d tossed the mantra around in her head for so many months, the words were meaningless by now. Well, they were pretty much already meaningless because once a phrase caught on and became popular, it lost its value. Every fitness expert in America probably shouted those words out as they reached the fourteenth rep of a particularly challenging exercise.
But she could do hard things. She’d been doing hard things since she was eleven years old.
Emily stood at the edge of the island and took another salt-tinged breath, the faint smell of fish reminding her that not everything near the ocean was lovely. Certainly not.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and willed herself to press onward. She hadn’t come this far to chicken out now, and besides, what other choice did she have?
Sometimes she wished Nantucket hadn’t been ruined for her. Just another complaint to add to the pile, she supposed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d rack up so many she’d become one of those cranky old women whose mouths were permanently frowning, like that cartoon character, Maxine, on the Hallmark cards.
Or her own grandmother.
But no, that would never be her. Not Emily Ackerman. Not the girl who looked for fun wherever she went (and usually found it). Not the free-spirited wanderer who’d worked acting jobs all over the world, had more friends than she could keep track of, and knew exactly how to turn every trip into an adventure.
This was just another trip, right? Never mind that this trip had a purpose other than fun. This trip was her second chance—and she could not screw it up.
That certainly put a damper on any plans for a good time.
She dragged her single suitcase behind her, aware how pathetic it was that at the age of thirty-one, she could fit nearly everything important to her in one suitcase—and it wasn’t even the largest one in the set her grandmother had sent when she graduated from college nine years ago.
She heaved a sigh and moved with the flow of foot traffic as tourists flooded off the ferry and onto the street. When she was a girl, this was the moment she looked forward to all year long—the moment her flip-flops hit the cobblestones, the moment she and her mom arrived in Nantucket.
So much had changed.
As she watched Andrew’s red-and-yellow backpack disappear into the crowd, she said a quick prayer that his days in Nantucket were filled with nothing but good things—lobster boils and fish fries, giant ice cream cones from the Juice Bar and long, sun-kissed days at Jetties Beach.
She wished for him all the things she would’ve held on to if Nantucket hadn’t been ruined for her all those years ago.
And suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she actually could do hard things.
But she was about to find out.
CHAPTER 2
WHY WAS HE NERVOUS?
Hollis
McGuire watched the summer crowd get off the ferry and flood the street in front of him, wishing he could slow his pulse.
It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen Jolie, but what if he didn’t recognize her right away? He’d give her a complex, send her to therapy for years. But wasn’t that usually what parents did to their kids?
Last night on the phone, he’d told Jana exactly where he’d be standing, but what if she hadn’t relayed the message to their twelve-year-old daughter? What if Jolie was lost in that crowd somewhere? His eyes scanned the people exiting the ferry and for a moment he felt like he was thirteen again, a kid who didn’t fit in with this crowd, a kid only good enough to clean their pools, pull their weeds, or carry their golf clubs.
He watched as an old couple, Rich and Helen Delancey, filed off the ferry. They’d been living every summer in Nantucket for decades. They were old money, and Rich was a decent guy—he was the one who’d taught Hollis’s father about the stock market, and without that, his dad might still be working as a sailing instructor at the Nantucket Yacht Club, which was what had brought them to the island in the first place all those years ago.
Jeffrey McGuire was something of a sailing legend, but he didn’t come from money, and even though they did okay, they were poor by Nantucket standards, which had always carved a deep chasm between Hollis and the rest of the Nantucket kids.
It seemed like the perfect place to bring Jolie for a few weeks—after all, they hadn’t spent more than a couple nights together in . . . well, ever. Hollis wasn’t proud of it, but it was reality.
But now? Well, what else did he have to do? It’s not like his calendar was exactly full.
He watched the crowd slim down and still saw no sign of Jolie. He started to get nervous. He pulled his phone from his pocket to see if she’d called or texted him that she’d arrived, but his phone was blank, except for his lock screen—a photo of his daughter.
He’d changed it that morning, horrified to find the most recent photo he had of her was two years old.
He could’ve done without that reminder—he regretted so much as it was.
He glanced up as a woman appeared at the top of the ramp. He didn’t recognize her, but she was vaguely familiar. Hollis watched as she put her sunglasses on and tossed a hand through her long, wavy blonde hair. She wore a thin white T-shirt that dipped to a V, leading his eyes straight to a place they shouldn’t go. She was on the tall side of average height with narrow hips and long, slender legs, and even if nothing about her was familiar, he still would’ve noticed her. She had a sort of effortless beauty, the kind that didn’t require heavy makeup or fake nails.
After several seconds, the woman started off the ferry, but she quickly stopped. As she did, she pinched the bridge of her nose, holding it tightly for a moment.
In a flash, he was a kid again, standing on the beach next to Emily Ackerman—the girl who’d stolen his preteen heart—holding a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers and marveling at her beauty.
“Emily?” Hollis straightened, squinting to get a better look at the woman as she came down the ramp.
“Dad, I’m right here.”
Hollis startled at the sound of a girl’s voice. He turned to face her. “JoJo, you made it!”
“Yep.” Her expression told him she was less than thrilled.
Jolie was twelve going on twenty-five, probably a result of Jana’s loose parenting. Jana was a good mom, but she treated Jolie like one of her friends half the time. Not that Hollis had any right to an opinion on the matter. It wasn’t like he’d been around.
Regret twisted in his belly again.
He looked up, but the woman who’d reminded him of Emily was gone. It had been so many years since he’d seen her, he was foolish to think he’d recognize her even if she was standing right in front of him.
But the way that woman had pinched her nose . . . Emily had always done that, usually when she was deep in thought or worried about something.
Emily Ackerman. How many years had it been? And why did his pulse quicken at the thought of her? He’d been a kid the last time he’d seen her, not even old enough to call his little crush “first love.”
But Emily had stuck with him. How many times had he wondered what had happened to her after that awful night?
And when had he stopped wondering . . . ?
“Earth to Dad?” Jolie dropped her backpack on the ground at her feet.
Hollis picked the bag up. He needed to stay focused. This summer was about redeeming himself. He’d already lost so much time—he knew he didn’t have much left. After all, his only daughter wasn’t getting any younger.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he said. “Did your mom and Rick get out okay after the wedding?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Your mom said you’d have pictures from the big day.”
“You really want to see them?”
“’Course I do.”
After a pause, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket.
Hollis flashed her a smile. “Just show me the ones of you.”
She swiped around on her phone, then finally turned it so he could see an image of his daughter, wearing a yellow bridesmaid’s dress, holding a small bouquet of orange roses.
He grabbed the phone out of her hand. “This cannot be you.” Her hair was swept up, a few loose curls around her face, like a high schooler heading off to the prom. How had they gotten here?
How had he let himself miss so much of it?
She tried to hide her smile, but clearly his response was just what she was hoping for. She knew she looked gorgeous in this photo—she must’ve felt like a princess. He wished he could have seen her for himself. Not that he’d been invited to the wedding. Not that he would’ve gone anyway.
“Yellow isn’t really my color.” She tossed a strawberry curl over her shoulder.
“That’s not even true,” Hollis said. He swiped the screen, hoping to see another photo of Jolie, but was met with the image of Jana and her new husband, Rick, arms wrapped around his daughter and looking more like a real family than Hollis and Jana ever had.
His expression must’ve changed because she quickly snatched the phone out of his hand and clicked it off, the image of the happy trio disappearing.
“Looks like it was a great day,” Hollis said.
“It was fine,” Jolie said. “And now they’re off in Hawaii and I’m here.” She raised her eyebrows and let out a quiet sigh.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. And he meant it.
“I’m glad you’re here too,” she said. “My bags were getting heavy.” She half smiled, and he knew that while he wasn’t her favorite person, he hadn’t completely fallen out of her good graces—not yet.
In spite of his many attempts to screw things up, Jolie had turned out to be a pretty great kid. At least he thought she had. He’d find out for himself over the next few weeks.
“Your mom looks happy.” He picked up her bags and led her toward his car.
“She is,” Jolie said. “Rick’s good for her. Helped her settle down. Makes her feel pretty. You know, all the stuff she needs.”
He studied Jolie and wondered how she’d gotten so wise in her long twelve years on this earth.
“Does it upset you?” she asked.
For a second, he thought maybe she hoped that it did—after all, she was their daughter and she’d probably had visions of the three of them one day—finally—becoming a family, no matter how many times he and Jana both told her they were sorry, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“No, I’m happy for your mom.”
Hollis wanted Jana to be happy. He wanted her to fall in love with someone who would treat her well and take good care of her (and make her feel pretty, he guessed), but he didn’t want that someone to take his place as Jolie’s dad.
Not that he’d done much to secure that place over the last twelve years.
“Are you hungry?” Hollis asked as he tossed Jolie’s
bags in the back of his Jeep.
“Starving, but I can’t have anything with gluten.”
Hollis tried not to roll his eyes. He wanted to be supportive of his daughter, but really?
“Or dairy.”
“No, that’s where I draw the line,” he said. “We’re going to the Juice Bar—like every day this summer.”
She stared at him. “No other species consumes cow’s milk into adulthood, Dad. Do you know how hard it is to digest?”
“I don’t, but I know how good it tastes.” They got in the car and ventured out into the narrow, crowded streets. Driving in Nantucket was typically more of a bother than it was worth, but Hollis didn’t know how much luggage a tweenager would have when he left the cottage that morning.
Jolie sat quietly, staring out her side of his Wrangler. A group of boys about her age came bounding out of the Black Dog, laughing. Hollis thought they looked like they were up to no good. His daughter seemed to have a different opinion.
Jolie craned her neck to watch them walk down the street, and one of the boys lifted a hand to wave at her. She giggled and turned back around.
“Nantucket boys are off-limits,” Hollis said.
“Oh, please, Dad,” she said. “You were a Nantucket boy.”
No, he wasn’t. Not really. His family spent the summers here because an old college buddy got Dad a job at the yacht club. The money had been good enough to come back summer after summer, to bring Hollis’s mom and eventually their family. The rental cottage was part of the deal, so how could Jeffrey refuse? It was like a gift, a working vacation that gave his kids summers they never would’ve had otherwise.
Those summers became a family tradition, and now, thanks to a few very wise investments, Jeffrey McGuire owned that little rental cottage.
So, yes, Hollis had spent his summers here, but no, he wasn’t a “Nantucket boy.” Growing up, he didn’t know how it felt to have a disposable income. He didn’t have people picking up after him or clearing the path so every one of his dreams would come true. The McGuires earned their money. And he’d made something of himself.
Now money was the least of his problems. Now he fit in. And yet, he still didn’t.
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