She held his gaze for several seconds, and then he finally looked away. “Forget it.”
In her head, she counted to three as if it were enough time for him to relax. “You seem lost, Hollis.”
“You can’t come back here after twenty years and act like you know anything about me.”
“No, you’re right,” she said.
But oh, how she wanted to know everything about him.
His shoulders relaxed, but only slightly.
“But I can see you’re hiding out here with a daughter you hardly seem to know.” She wished she could just shut up, but she realized in that moment a wall of questions had been forming at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t not ask them.
“I’m not hiding out—” He shook his head.
Her bluntness sometimes upset people. Why couldn’t she mind her own business?
“I’ll talk to you later.” He started off in the opposite direction from where her bike was parked, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, wishing she’d never run into Hollis at all.
It was true: she didn’t know Hollis McGuire anymore. Didn’t know the pain he’d suffered from his accident or how hard it had been coming back from that. They called him “Miracle Man McGuire”—but even after the comeback of the decade, it was all over four years later.
She’d been so focused on her own pain, she hadn’t even stopped to think for a single second that maybe she wasn’t the only one suffering, but the chances of him talking about it with her after that conversation were slim.
Me and my big mouth.
After a brief, unproductive conversation with Gladys, who seemed intent on stalling, Emily went back to the cottage, fretting over her conversation with Hollis. She should go find him and apologize. It’s what a good friend would do. But smoothing things over with Hollis would mean making him feel like she didn’t have questions—and that wasn’t honest.
She had lots of questions.
Mostly—What happened to you?
She parked her mother’s bike near the old shed just as a mail truck pulled to the end of the driveway. The small truck honked and the driver waved as she stopped at Emily’s mailbox.
That was odd. Nobody besides her grandma knew she was here, and while Grandma was a fan of old-school traditions, she was the least sentimental person Emily knew. The odds of her sending anything to Nantucket were slim.
She traipsed down the driveway to the box, waving as the carrier pulled away.
Inside the mailbox, she found one envelope, addressed to her. Her eyes darted to the return address: Blakely and Shore, Attorneys-at-Law.
She tore open the envelope and found two sheets of paper inside. On top, a typed letter from Solomon Blakely, one of GrandPop’s lawyers.
Dear Ms. Ackerman,
I had the pleasure of serving as your grandfather’s attorney for the past thirty years. The man was as brilliant as he was generous, and we were grieved to hear of his passing. Eliza tells me you’ve received the keys to the Nantucket cottage and that you’ll be spending the summer there. That would’ve made your grandfather very happy.
I was honored to handle his will for him, and one of his requests was that I send you this letter after his passing.
You meant the world to him, Emily, and I know he loved you very much.
If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.
Sincerely,
Solomon Blakely
Attorney-at-Law
Emily flipped the paper back to reveal a handwritten letter on a plain sheet of cream-colored stationery. She stared at the page as the sight of her grandfather’s familiar scrawl clouded her eyes.
She thought she’d heard the last of his advice. She thought he was out of her reach now that he was gone, but here he was, giving her one last bit of wisdom, after his death.
Emily moved toward the front porch of the cottage and sat down on the top step. The sound of the ocean in the distance slightly calmed her racing heart.
She drew in a deep breath, knowing that this was truly the last she’d hear from her grandfather, wanting every word to mean something, maybe even more than it did.
Dearest Emily,
If you’re reading this letter, then I’ve taken my final bow. Perhaps that makes you terribly sad, or maybe you know that I’m in a better place and you can take comfort in that. Either way, I do hope you miss me a little when I’m gone.
I’ll miss you, of that I’m sure. I’ll especially miss watching you do what you love—perform. It has always brought me so much joy.
I’ve watched you grow into a strong, confident, and impressive young woman, and I’m thrilled to leave the Nantucket cottage in such capable hands. It may seem a daunting task, renovating a house like this one, but I hope that it may turn out to be a bit of fun for you. And I suppose I’m also hoping that you’ll do what I couldn’t do and revisit old memories—good memories.
We were always afraid to go back, knowing it would dredge up so much pain and so much sorrow, but I realize now there was good there too—and your mother loved the island, almost as much as she loved you.
So while it may feel difficult and sad at first, I hope you can use this time to heal, to really heal. And maybe even to let her go a bit.
Now remember: the cottage is yours—no strings. I’ve made that very clear, and while your grandmother may not completely realize it yet, she knows this is what’s best. We won’t be offended if you decide to fix it up and sell it. But if you decide to keep it, that’s fine too. It’s your choice.
I do have two requests:
1. Get rid of Grandma’s ugly wallpaper.
2. Bring back the rose garden. I always loved that.
Maybe in being there, you’ll rediscover Nantucket and all of its charms. Maybe you’ll fall a little in love with the island again. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help you move forward to the next chapter of your life.
Just remember, Emily, everything we did—everything we’ve ever done—we did because we loved you.
All my love,
GrandPop
Emily reread the letter, swiping away the tears that slid down her cheeks.
Her grandfather was a businessman, but he always had a soft spot for Emily. Why had she been so afraid to tell him about her failures? Maybe he would’ve surprised her. Maybe he would’ve understood.
She scanned the words again. He was a good man, despite his shortcomings, and she’d loved him. He’d loved her. She supposed in some ways, she was still mourning his death, grieving as one more person she loved disappeared.
“And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help you move forward to the next chapter of your life.”
Would it? Could it? And if so, how? Why hadn’t he explained how the “moving on” worked?
Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t know.
She hadn’t seen him or Grandma move on—not where the island was concerned. It was as if every good thing had died here and Nantucket had become a permanent burial ground for their happiness.
“Just remember, Emily, everything we did—everything we’ve ever done—we did because we loved you.”
She paused. Reread the last line again.
“Everything we did”?
She felt her brow furrow. What had they done? Did he mean taking her in after her mom died? It was a given that they’d done that because they loved her. It didn’t need explanation.
“Everything we’ve ever done.”
The words stared at her. If they were on a computer screen, they would’ve been flashing red.
What was he talking about?
She folded the letter and pressed it to her chest, looking off in the distance, drinking in the view of the ocean.
“What don’t I know, GrandPop?” she whispered.
A gentle breeze sent a coolness over her skin, and a wave of goose bumps appeared on her arms.
And Emily wondered if whatever it was would be better off left buried right here on the island.
/> CHAPTER 15
FOURTH OF JULY 1989
Workdays dragged on for JD, whose only real desire was to spend as much time with Isabelle as he could.
The morning of the Fourth, he stood on the course with a bag of golf clubs, waiting to caddie for one of the uppity rich guys who would most likely treat him like he was invisible and tip him far less than he deserved.
He tried not to think about it. He and Isabelle had a big night planned. She’d agreed to meet him at his aunt’s cottage for a cookout with his friends and then they were all heading down to the beach to watch the fireworks.
It was a big deal because it was the first time they’d be around other people, and while it was his people and not hers, it was a step—and he couldn’t wait to feel like they were an actual couple.
He stood in the hot July sun, wearing his one pair of nice khakis, a navy-blue golf club polo, and a white Titleist cap, his caddying uniform. His roommate, Jeb, stood a few feet away, polishing a nine iron from the bag in his charge.
When two older men started up the hill toward the first tee, JD’s stomach dropped.
Alan Ackerman and one of his hoity-toity friends were heading right for them.
As soon as the pair of older men reached the tee, Jeb took a step toward them and extended a hand toward Isabelle’s dad. “Morning, sir. I’m Jeb.”
Alan shook Jeb’s hand. “Good to meet you, Jeb, but it looks like you’ve got my friend’s clubs.” He turned to JD. “Your name, son?”
“JD.”
“Prefer my caddies not to give advice,” Alan said. “Just give me the clubs I ask for, and we’ll get along fine.”
“Works for me, sir,” JD said.
Alan nodded.
What followed was the tensest four-and-a-half-hour round of golf JD had ever caddied for—and it had nothing to do with the actual game.
When they reached the fourteenth hole, JD wanted to correct Alan on his club choice but stayed silent. (Alan landed in the sand.) At the sixteenth hole, the other man asked Alan about his daughter, Isabelle, and Jeb’s eyes shot to JD with all the subtlety of a freight train.
JD remained nonchalant, in spite of his racing heart.
“She’s heading into her senior year,” Alan said. “She’ll no doubt end up at one of the Ivies—we’re thinking she might study law.”
Again, JD wanted to correct Alan. He wanted to tell the man that his daughter had no interest in an Ivy League school or in becoming a lawyer. She wanted to travel the world and explore new cultures, maybe work with underprivileged kids. Mostly he wanted to tell Alan not to put his daughter in a box because Isabelle could do anything she wanted to do—but she needed time to figure out what that was.
And he wanted to tell the man that he was in love with his daughter, that he would make her happy—he knew he would—if they could get past the fact that he was a golf caddie working his way through university.
But he didn’t say any of those things.
Instead, he walked behind Alan all the way to the end of the eighteenth hole, accepted a decent tip from the man, then made his way to the locker room to change for his date with Isabelle.
But the whole day had shone a light on what the two of them were up against—years of tradition and money and expectations.
He met Isabelle later on that evening, struck once again by her beauty and her goodness. How she’d managed to turn into the person she had living with someone as privileged as Alan Ackerman, he didn’t know.
But it made him love her even more.
She stepped into his embrace and he held her as the seconds ticked by, wishing they could escape every prying eye from the outside world, wishing there was nothing to live up to but love. But the world didn’t work like that.
He kissed her, then led her out back, where several of his friends had already gathered, most of them having gotten the holiday off of work. JD needed the extra money, so he chose to spend his morning at the club, though now he almost wished he hadn’t.
“Are you sure these people won’t say anything?” Isabelle asked, pulling her hand from his.
“They’re good people,” he said. “But if it makes you feel better, we can keep our distance.”
Her eyes scanned the crowd—not a single face she knew.
“Or we can leave,” he suggested. “I don’t mind going to our beach and watching the fireworks from there.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to meet your friends.”
He smiled. “Good, because I want to show you off a little.”
She laughed, smoothing the line of concern on her forehead and settling his own worries, at least for the moment.
They ate burgers off the grill and drank wine coolers and he introduced her to everyone he knew. Oddly, Isabelle blended right into his world, as if the whole idea that money should separate them had never occurred to her.
But then, maybe money mattered more to people who didn’t have it.
By nightfall, the whole group had made their way to the beach, and they now found themselves on a plaid blanket with Jeb and a girl named Michelle. At one point, Jeb leaned over and said, “You were right, man. She is cool.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Isabelle might’ve overheard.
As the fireworks started, Isabelle sat in front of him, leaning into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her and wishing he could stop time.
They stayed like that throughout most of the fireworks, neither one of them feeling the need to move, and JD began to think he was the luckiest guy in the world.
Until he heard a voice behind them. A familiar voice. A voice he’d heard on the golf course earlier that day.
“Isabelle?”
She shot up straight, every muscle in her body tense, and spun around to face her father, who stood on the beach with Eliza. The pair of them looked self-righteous, shocked, and irate—not a good combination.
“You’re supposed to be with Lydia,” Eliza said. “Who are these people?”
Isabelle stood, and JD followed. “They’re my friends, Mom.”
Eliza looked JD up and down. “Your friends?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “My friends.”
“Where’s Lydia?”
Isabelle shifted.
“Aren’t you that caddie from the club?” Alan’s glare drilled a hole into JD.
“Yes, sir.”
“Isabelle, what is going on here?”
Slowly she slipped her hand into JD’s—maybe not the best move in the moment, but he wasn’t about to pull away, not when she needed him most.
“Mom, Dad,” Isabelle said, “this is JD. He’s my boyfriend.”
Eliza’s eyes widened, and Alan looked like he might explode.
“Let’s go, Isabelle,” Eliza said through clenched teeth.
“Go where?”
“Home,” she said. “We are taking you home.”
“Mom, you’re being unfair,” Isabelle said. “I’m seventeen—that’s practically an adult.”
“‘Practically’ doesn’t cut it. You lied to us, young lady. Now let’s go.”
Isabelle turned to JD, eyes filled with tears. He squeezed her hand as if to silently let her know he wasn’t going anywhere—no matter how scary her parents were.
She walked toward them, shoulders slumped, sadness oozing from the inside out.
He wondered if this was the last time he’d ever get to see or touch Isabelle Ackerman.
And the thought of it turned his insides out.
CHAPTER 16
THE LAST TIME EMILY had seen Harper McGuire, Hollis’s sister was a seven-year-old girl with long dark pigtails, big brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles.
Now, Harper stood in front of her looking like someone who’d stepped out of the pages of an Eddie Bauer catalog—the kind of girl-next-door pretty that felt less intimidating than runway models who graced the covers of fashion magazines.
It seemed beauty ran in the McGuir
e family. Even goofy Hayes, who would always feel like a little brother to Emily, had grown into a man women would go out of their way to meet.
Emily didn’t feel like she fit in with any of them, which was funny considering that years ago it was Hollis’s family that stood out in Nantucket for all the wrong reasons. Not anymore—with a dilapidated cottage on a piece of prime real estate, now it was Emily who didn’t belong.
Still, the second she saw Harper standing on the front porch of the McGuires’ cottage, Hollis’s beautiful sister pulled her into a giant hug, as if they were twins who’d been separated at birth and were finally reunited.
“I can’t believe you’re back!” Harper said. “You do remember me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Emily said. “But you look a lot different than the last time I saw you.”
Harper laughed. “I can’t wait to catch up. Hollis told me you were on Broadway.”
Emily’s eyes panned the yard until she found Hollis, packing up his Jeep with coolers and beach bags and whatever else his mother was dumping at his feet.
“Mom, we’re going on the boat for one day,” Hayes said, joining them. “You packed like we’re never coming back.”
Nan patted Hayes’s arm. “You never know when you’re going to get stranded somewhere, kiddo,” Nan said.
“You think we’re going to get stranded?”
She waved him off and started back toward the house, giving Emily that sweet smile and a squeeze of the arm as she walked by.
Emily had almost forgotten about the McGuires’ invitation to go out on the boat this weekend, but she welcomed the change of pace, in spite of the cool encounter she’d had with Hollis only days before.
The truth was, she was bored in the house alone. The only exciting thing that had happened all week was getting the estimate back from Jack Walker and hiring him on the spot. Not that she had much choice—not a single other person she’d called had any openings for a project as big as hers.
Jack asked for a few days to assemble a crew, and he hoped to be working by Monday.
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