by Blake, Toni
“He helped paint and rehang the shutters. And now I’m having him refinish the hardwood under the old linoleum in the kitchen.”
He drew back slightly at that—maybe since she’d never mentioned wanting that done before, or because he’d apparently walked right over the newly revealed wood without noticing.
“If you needed help, Meg, why didn’t you just ask me?”
“You weren’t here.”
He stayed quiet and she knew they both felt the weight of the statement.
“What are you doing here now anyway? I mean, you never come back this fast.”
He looked down at his work boots, then back up—to earnestly meet her gaze. “Would you prefer I hadn’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised.”
“I came back...because I felt bad about the way I left.”
Meg sighed. This was new. And maybe it meant something. Something good. Maybe it was the kind of change she’d spent a long while hoping to see in him. And yet, at the moment, she felt weary. Weary of feeling neglected. Weary of their relationship operating on his whims. So she quietly pointed out, “That’s always the way you leave.”
A small glint of guilt flickered in his eyes, but he moved past it quickly. “I came back because I know it was...our anniversary. And I felt bad about it. Regretted going when I did.”
Hmm. If Zack had ever felt bad about any decision he’d made regarding her, this was the first time he’d bothered to tell her. So, again, it seemed almost like...a breakthrough of sorts. In fact, the confession left her downright shocked.
But so did all of this. Seeing him when she’d least expected it. Having him find her eating with Seth. She pursed her lips, and asked, “Did Dahlia tell you that? That it was our anniversary?”
He looked a little thrown by the question, but said, “No. I knew.”
“It’s hard to decide if I should be happy you knew and came back—or hurt that you knew and left.”
He tried for a sweet smile. “The first one.”
It had always been difficult to stay mad at him for long, and his eyes on her now turned her heart full, heavy in her chest. Her emotions for him felt more confusing than ever, but the fact that he’d come back counted for something. She looked toward the grill, beside which rested a plate with two extra hamburgers on it. “Have you eaten?”
He shook his head.
“Want a burger? I can toss it back on the grill for a few minutes, heat it up. And there are extra beans.”
“Sounds good,” he said solemnly. “Thanks.” Then he stepped closer, lifted one hand to her cheek, and lowered a small kiss to her lips. The familiar taste of him moved through her like something comfortable, safe.
But was it? Was it safe to love a man who was always leaving?
Sadly, she couldn’t be certain she was happy to have him home. Maybe the damage had already been done. And to find out he’d known about their anniversary and still left—that wasn’t much better, and was maybe actually much worse, than when she’d thought he didn’t have a clue.
She reheated the leftovers while he went back inside to wash up. After flipping the burger, she pulled her sweater tight around her, and for a short moment, hated it here. Hated the often relentless chill. Hated the dearth of options—about anything, from men to hardware stores. Hated feeling trapped. And wanted to be anywhere else in the world.
Or...maybe she just didn’t want to be where she was in this moment—with a man she both loved and resented, in a situation where she didn’t know how to find complete happiness. A few minutes ago, laughing with Seth, life had seemed simpler.
But only because he’s new, like a new flavor of ice cream, and you don’t really know him yet. Everyone has issues; everyone comes with baggage. Hell, Seth won’t answer simple questions even after you practically told him your life story. You were only happier being with him because he’s never hurt you.
So Zack had come back.
And that meant something even if she wasn’t sure what.
And thus in the time it took for him to wash his face and hands, she resolved to be pleased about that, and to see where it led them.
He, too, seemed calmer and more contrite when he exited the back door again, carrying a can of soda from the fridge.
“That hardwood looks to be in good shape,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to the kitchen. “I didn’t even know it was there.”
She nodded as she handed him a plate, complete with the burger on a bun, and they moved to the same table where she’d sat with Seth a few minutes ago. “Gran put the linoleum down before I was born, but I always knew there was hardwood underneath. A shame she covered it—I think it’s going to look great.”
He gave a nod as he dressed his burger with lettuce, a tomato slice, and some mayonnaise. “Seems like everybody was covering up hardwood in the sixties and seventies.”
She asked how the fishing had been going, and he caught her up on the past few days on the water—he’d set some nets the first day, had a small catch the next day, better the day after that. He’d been fishing off the coast of Port Loyal, below Michigan’s thumb.
She told him she’d started planting flowers, and she’d taken some new room reservations. Without going into detail on the work Seth would be doing, she said the kitchen should be finished in plenty of time for the first guests’ arrival in a couple of weeks. She added that she thought Miss Kitty might have gone into hiding with all the activity in the house. “I put her water and food bowls in the hallway, but haven’t seen her all day.” The closest she’d come was the mystery sound Seth had reported earlier.
“She’s on a shelf in the nook right now,” Zack informed her. “Probably happy to have some quiet in there.”
She nodded, glad the cat had surfaced.
And then he said, “I forgot about the shutters. Sorry, Maggie May.”
“It’s okay,” she lied—she saw no point in dredging her anger back up. “But...you understand why I hired someone. I tried to do them myself and it was too much.”
“I get it,” he said. “My fault for forgetting. And leaving.”
“It’s nice,” she acknowledged softly, “that you came back.”
“I didn’t want you to think the anniversary didn’t matter to me at all.”
“Does it?” She wasn’t trying to be snide, but the words left her before she could stop them. “Because... I mean, if you knew, why’d you leave?”
He didn’t answer right away. Took a big bite of his burger. A forkful of beans. Washed them down with a long swig of Coke. “I want to be honest with you.”
“Good,” she said. Though the words sounded ominous.
“It’s been five years, right?”
She nodded.
“I guess I just worried that...you’d see it as a big thing, like...a turning point or something. I was afraid you might decide it was time to start pushing for a commitment. One I might not be ready to make.”
She took that in, nodding slowly the whole time. Just what every girl wants to hear—I’m not ready to give you a commitment after five years together.
“But I love you,” he added.
He didn’t say it often. Only occasionally.
You love me but you ran away from me because you don’t want to commit to me after five years. She just nodded again, though, because the words seemed...silly to say. Almost redundant, since he was saying them already, just in a more roundabout way.
And though she hadn’t planned on telling him this, now it made sense. “I’m thinking of selling the inn at the end of the summer.”
His fork paused midair, on the way to his mouth, the baked beans falling off and back to his plate. “What?”
“I’m thinking of selling the inn. And going somewhere new.”
“Somewhere new?” He’d repeated it as if the w
ord were offensive. “Jesus, Meg. This is sudden.” She could see she’d given him yet another huge shock—but there was no other way to say it.
“That’s why I’m taking the summer to think it over,” she calmly replied. Though even as she’d voiced it, it hit her...that this wasn’t really so sudden at all. Maybe it had been coming for a very long time.
He was blinking at her now, fork still in his hand but seemingly forgotten. “Where on earth would you go? I mean...” He shook his head, clearly dumbfounded.
“I have no idea,” she told him, the very concept actually making her feel gleeful, carefree. “I just know that... I’m not really happy here. Not really fulfilled. Not the way things are.”
Because of you. She didn’t have to say that part—he heard it anyway.
So she added, “Perhaps we should both use the summer to think about what we want.”
Across from her, he nodded. And she could sense this brand new idea sitting between them on the table: What would life be like without each other? Completely without each other. Even with Zack’s frequent absences, they had become comfortable habits in each other’s lives. She’d become his home base, the place he always returned to. And she’d become the proverbial woman who stood out on a widow’s walk, watching for her sailor to come home—far too often.
Zack’s brow knit and he glanced down at his plate, then back up at her. “Damn, this is big, Meg.”
“I know. I don’t mean to drop it on you when you came back trying to be nice.”
Their gazes met, seeming to cement the strong connection between them—but how strong could it be when he couldn’t even say he wanted her to be the only woman in his life?
He blew out a breath. “I wish I could stay longer, honey—give us some time to talk more about this, work through it.”
And her heart dropped. She wished that, too. Until this second, she’d thought maybe he would, since he clearly grasped the gravity of her announcement. “So you’re...not? Staying?”
His gaze fell away from hers, a small sigh escaping him. “I can’t.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She tried to sound unaffected, but didn’t pull it off.
“It’s almost June, Maggie May—high season. I set more nets before coming home. I can’t afford not to put decent weather to use.”
She nodded. “It’s fine.”
“I know it’s not and I’m sorry.”
But she insisted, now shaking her head. “Really, it’s fine. I understand.” And with that, she stood up, ready to end the conversation—since nothing more needed to be said. “I’m going to start cleaning this up—you should finish eating before it gets cold.”
And then Zack was on his feet, as well. Reaching out to grab her hand, squeeze it in his, step close to her. “I don’t care about eating. Let’s go upstairs so I can show you how much I miss you when I’m gone.”
And it almost came as a surprise to her when she was the one now saying, “I can’t.”
She sensed his whole body going rigid with yet one more little shock. He blinked. “You can’t?”
For more reason than one, not the least of which was the undeniable attraction she’d suffered for her handyman less than an hour ago. But the part she could tell Zack, maybe should tell Zack even though she never had before was, “I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but...every time you leave, I have to adjust to you being gone, to sleeping alone. I have to miss you. And then I get used to it. Until you come back and eventually leave again, and then I have to adjust all over again. And it’s fine, but...if you’re already leaving again tomorrow... I just don’t think I want to put myself through it—you know?”
He looked at her for a long moment before quietly saying, “Okay.”
He’d never realized that—she could see it in his eyes. It was clearly not a problem they shared. He didn’t get attached to her presence the same way she got attached to his.
“Then I, uh...should head home for the night?”
“That would probably be best.”
He nodded through an expression that hovered somewhere between taken aback and troubled. “All right. But I’ll come say goodbye in the morning. If that’s okay.”
“Of course,” she said shortly. Still a little amazed that she was sending him away. But it was what her heart told her to do right now. And she was going to start following her heart—her seemingly braver-than-ever-before heart—trusting it to lead her where she was supposed to go.
CHAPTER TEN
March 13, 1957
Dear Diary,
I hate it here! I hate it, hate it, hate it! Why, of all the places on earth, do I have to live here, on this stupid island? Someday I’m going to leave and never come back—you can bet your bottom dollar.
Mother calls me an ingrate whenever I complain about it, but she just doesn’t understand! She was a mainlander before she married Father—she chose to come here! God only knows why. We live like Pilgrims here—no cars, no radio stations, no place to buy a pretty dress. But maybe that doesn’t matter much—because there’s also no place to wear one.
At least I got a record player for my birthday! I think it’s the only thing keeping me from going off my rocker! Though Mother doesn’t like the records I buy, and I have to listen to them with the sound turned down low. I have records by Fats Domino, Little Richard, and Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, just to name a few.
We got a television set for Christmas last year! The channels are snowy, but it still feels like magic to me, like having a picture show right in our front parlor. Mother says it’s trouble—that it’s giving me pie-in-the-sky ideas about life. She doesn’t even think Ralph Kramden is funny. She tries not to enjoy any of the shows we watch—I can tell—but the other night I saw her laugh out loud at Lucy.
Elvis was on The Ed Sullivan Show back in January, and Mother crossed her arms and looked critical the whole while. They only showed him singing from the waist up since his dancing is so scandalous, but when even Mr. Sullivan said Elvis was a decent, fine boy, Mother seemed to relax a little.
She’s so old-fashioned. Father says it’s because she lived through hard times and that hard times make you grateful to be someplace as peaceful as Summer Island. They say it’s peaceful—I say it’s boring, with a big, fat capital B.
Father says people who lived through the depression and the war were affected a lot of different ways, and that for Mother, it made her want to retreat and find a safe place. She thinks Summer Island is safe. But my teacher, Mr. Hardy, said that when they drop the big one, we won’t be any safer here than anyplace else. He wants to build a bomb shelter. Mother thought it was outrageous when I told her and Father about it over dinner last week—that he was filling our young heads with fear. Father just laughed and said to take it all with a grain of salt and remember that no one knows what tomorrow holds but the Lord.
We’re taking the ferry to St. Simon on Saturday. I’m going to use my allowance to buy All Shook Up from the record section at Bergman’s! And next weekend I’m going to a sock hop! Also in St. Simon. J.T. and I are double-dating with Mary Ann Hoskins and Carl Kaneally. Other kids from our school are going, too, and a few who already graduated. The ferry is even going to make a special run to bring us all back at midnight. Mother frowns every time I talk about it, but she’s adding some lace to my green dress to make it look more fit for a party, so deep down she must want me to have a good time.
I hope it doesn’t snow. I hate snow. And ice. And cold. Someday I’m going to go to Florida. Or maybe Mexico. A place where it’s always summer. I always tell Father they named our island wrong—it should be called Winter Island, since it feels like that most of the time. He said if it was called Winter Island, no one would come, even in summer.
It’s true that the summers are nice. I just wish they lasted longer. And that
Mother would let me wear shorts like the girls we saw in St. Simon last August. She said only saucy girls would wear something so brazen. I didn’t think they looked brazen at all. And if that’s so, maybe I want to be saucy, too.
Yours, wishing for eternal summer,
Peggy
MEG SAT CURLED UP in an overstuffed easy chair in the library, staring at the old diary in her hands. She wore cozy flannel pajamas, and Miss Kitty lay curled contentedly at her side now that the house was quiet and still.
She reached down to touch the ink, the handwriting, with her fingertips. It was as close as she could come to touching her grandma now, and reading her words, seeing the way she signed her name—the girlish flourishes in her penmanship—made her feel somehow even more connected than she’d expected to when she’d opened the leather-bound book. But what really caught her off guard were the words themselves.
She barely recognized her own life the past few days and this only added to the surreal quality her existence had taken on. First a handsome stranger enters her world, making her feel new and interesting things. Then Zack comes back when she least expects it, forcing her to realize exactly how new and interesting the things she’s feeling are. And now this—she discovers her grandmother hated living here as a girl!
She let out a breath, still staring at the page. She’d never heard her grandma complain about Summer Island or talk of having ever wanted to leave. Until this moment, she’d have sworn on a stack of Bibles that Gran had loved this place always, had valued and even cherished the beauty and serenity of it her entire life.
She thought again of the odd discovery that her grandpa had once been called J.T. instead of John. And now she found out her grandma had once been Peggy and not Margaret, the only name Meg had ever known her to go by.
Her thoughts returned to the mysterious Valentine from the mysterious Ace. She’d always just assumed, knowing her grandparents had married young, that there’d never been any other romance in either of their lives. Suddenly that seemed dreadfully naive and shortsighted. Since, clearly, even as isolated as her grandma had found this place, she’d known at least one more suitor. And now Meg wondered just how important this other boy had been to her.