by Blake, Toni
Gran had always been fond of saying nothing lasted forever, though, and that it was one of life’s hardest lessons—but that once you accepted it, change came easier. Meg was so thankful for Seth finding this, giving her this sacred link, this personal glimpse into her grandmother’s girlhood.
As she pressed the open book to her chest with a wistful sigh, some of Gran’s last words played again in her mind. You pick the one who stays. You love the one who stays. Was it that simple?
* * *
THAT NIGHT IT RAINED, so Meg went around closing the inn’s many windows, then fell into bed early, the diary still foremost in her thoughts.
She’d had no idea her grandma had dealt with such serious illness at such a young age. Sort of like she had. Different, of course, but...such things did have the power to reroute one’s life.
And it was hard to believe J.T. had dumped Peggy, but then, it had been hard to believe Drew had left her in her time of need, too.
In a weird way, it made her feel less alone.
Sometimes people did what was right for them, not what was right for you—sometimes people let you down.
But then, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they...stayed. As her grandfather had.
She fell asleep thinking about all that, and feeling pleased not to have set the alarm clock—a luxury she had all winter but seldom in summer. And she awoke the next morning to the return of the sun, and the sound of the lawn mower. Seth had come.
She didn’t rush to get up, though—she took her time. She took a warm shower, dressed, walked down and made herself a bowl of cereal and some toast. She ate leisurely, in the sunroom, and when he passed close by it on the riding mower, they exchanged a smile and a wave. She continued watching him as he wove a path around shrubberies and trees and flower beds, looking intent on his work, needing a shave, and maybe a haircut.
How strange that he’d become a significant part of her life. One day a guy who saved her from dropping a shutter, the next a man she cared for on a deep level. Deep enough that she’d been afraid to feel it too much or examine it too completely. Maybe she still was.
After breakfast, she went back upstairs to make her bed, and then prepared a couple of the upstairs rooms for the next guests, all the recent revelations still swirling in her mind. If her great-grandparents hadn’t caught the Asian flu in 1957, her grandmother might have indeed left with J.T. There wouldn’t be a Summerbrook Inn, there would be no family connection to Summer Island, she wouldn’t have come here after leukemia, she wouldn’t have taken over the business. In fact, she wouldn’t have the same grandfather, and that meant she wouldn’t even be the same person. Heady stuff.
After cleaning, she took Seth a bottle of water to make sure he stayed hydrated while he worked.
“Thank you, darlin’—that’s just what the doctor ordered.”
And there was that charmer grin of his, trying to do its usual bit on her. She felt it, almost physically, trying to wedge its way into her heart—and she glanced away, toward the shed, still not quite ready for that. “The yard is looking good. Do you know where the trimmer is?”
“Yep, sure do.”
She gave him a sincere but perfunctory smile. Let’s be pleasant but keep this about work. “Great. I’m headed back in, but help yourself to anything else you want from the fridge.”
Once inside, she straightened the parlor and polished the banister in the foyer. She used the quiet time—even with the mower going, it felt quiet knowing the house was empty—to clean some of the public spaces, a task which sometimes got more challenging during tourist season.
Then she made her way back up to her bedroom. The diary rested on her bedside table, its presence for some reason reminding her this had been her grandmother’s room, and the one she’d shared with Grandpa John before his death.
Walking to the dresser, she opened her jewelry box and drew out the wedding ring. Somehow the ring meant even more than it had yesterday. It had come from Ace, not J.T. He’d wanted her to have something special, something valuable, to symbolize their love. And though Meg had never given a whit about expensive jewelry—at least not in the post-Drew phase of her life—she liked the sentiment, the love she felt behind the giving of this ring.
But...maybe she was getting too caught up in the past. Using it as a crutch—a distraction from having to face her own future. Maybe it was time to put Gran’s diary and ring away and figure out how she wanted to answer the questions in her own life.
When a knock came on the frame of her open door, she turned to see Seth, sweaty but handsome as ever. She’d realized lately that she almost actually liked sweaty men. It meant they worked hard, which she guessed she found attractive. Drew had never sweated that she remembered. But Grandpa John had always come in smelling of earth and water and perspiration, and other masculine things she couldn’t name.
“Done?” she asked.
He nodded. “Edged the front walk, too, since it needed it. Everything’s put away.”
“Thank you. And you’ll bill me?”
He grinned. After her original request that he come up with a billing system, he’d gone to the Summer Island Library and used a computer to make an invoice. “Yes ma’am, I sure will.” Then he gestured to the ring between her fingers. “Trying that on for size?”
She cast a soft smile. “No, it’s still too big. I finished my grandma’s diary last night and I guess that just made me want to pull it out for a minute. Seems a shame to keep it tucked away in a jewelry box—but unless I decide to take it to the mainland and get it cut down to something closer to a size 5, I don’t really have any better plan for it right now.”
“Maybe you’ll think of one,” he suggested with a wink. Charmers gonna charm. “But in the meantime, I’ve got something else to give you.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
Then he motioned vaguely over his shoulder. “On the front porch.”
After returning the ring to the jewelry box and closing the lid, she followed him down the stairs. When they exited onto the porch, three small lilac bushes stood before her—to her astonishment, just now starting to bloom.
She raised her gaze to the man next to her. “Where on earth did you find blooming lilacs this late in the season?”
“They’re called Himalayan lilacs. They bloom later than other varieties.”
She couldn’t have been more taken aback. “Where did you get them? And how did you know about them—since I don’t even know about them?”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “Just started asking around about lilacs, and did an internet search at the library. I asked Suzanne if she could get some in as a surprise.”
At this, her jaw dropped. “Suzanne knew about these and never told me?”
“Suzanne didn’t know you were so crazy about lilacs.”
She scrunched her nose. “Really?” She’d never mentioned it? Funny, the things you think you share with people but maybe you don’t.
“Anyway, they came in yesterday. She says these are actually blooming a little early, since they’ve been in a greenhouse. Usually they bloom in July. And so I thought you might like to add ’em to your grandpa’s lilac garden to stretch out the season a little. Since lilac water’s nice, but can’t compare to the real thing.”
Meg bit her lip, deeply touched. That he would go to that much trouble for her. That he understood why they were the perfect gift for her. A gift no one else had ever given her, or probably ever would have. And now they’d change her garden forever.
Overcome, she bent and cupped one purple bloom in her palm to inhale the sweet perfume. “Mmm.” Then she stood upright and looked into Seth’s eyes. “This is amazing. I love them. And I’ll get to keep on loving them for a long time to come.”
“You’re an easy woman to make happy, Meg.”
A slight laugh escaped her. “I’m not
sure everyone would agree.” Zack always made her feel...hard to please. Sometimes her sister and other people made her feel that way, too. Maybe it was all just about circumstance. Or maybe it was about someone taking the time to try to make her happy. She smiled again, utterly delighted by the new lilacs.
And Seth said, “You’d think I’d just given you...a diamond ring.”
This laugh came louder. “Well, my grandma always said that sometimes the little things in life are the big things in life. And I guess I agree with her. A lilac bush might seem small, but it brings me so much joy.”
“My point exactly, darlin’. You find a lotta joy in everyday things. And you put a lotta joy in every day. It’s hard not to notice that. Makes you nice to be around.” Then he shifted his weight from one grass-stained workboot to the other. “What you said before, about getting to enjoy them for a long time to come—does that mean you’ve officially decided not to sell the inn?”
She tilted her head. Had she? Somewhere along the way? “I’m not sure, but I guess it seems...well, like leaving might be harder than I thought.” She didn’t want to talk about that, though—she wasn’t quite ready to sort out all the factors involved in that decision. Tomorrow she’d start sorting. But right now, a soft breeze blew past on a perfect blue-sky day, the scent of the lake and roses—and lilacs—filling the air. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy the simplicity of an easy Summer Island afternoon, the same as she might have when she was younger.
She dropped her gaze back to the lilacs. “I think I’ll plant these right now.”
“Want help?”
Their eyes met. Connected. Ah, that chemistry—it was always there, a magnet, a fire that endlessly burned. She hadn’t seen the offer coming but should have. “Okay,” she said even as she thought better of it.
Together, they picked spots for the new bushes. She spaced them out in different areas of the yard since the lilac grove was already full and towering—here on the island, lilac bushes often grew into trees so they needed room. One would go near the parlor window so the perfume would waft in and the blooms be visible from inside. Another near the nook window for the same reason. The last in a landscaped area that had lost a young crabapple tree last winter.
Seth dug near the parlor window as Meg watched. Then together they worked to loosen the root-ball from its plastic pot, and Seth held the bush as Meg gently pulled the container away. They lifted and lowered the plant into the ground together, then both knelt and used their bare hands to further loosen the roots and then push the rich, newly dug dirt in around it. Their hands touched in the cool, dark soil.
At the first little touch, she raised her gaze to find him studying her face. But she dropped her eyes again, kept moving and adjusting the dirt, smoothing it out, getting it just right.
They repeated the process twice more.
Sometimes there was small talk—“That seems deep enough.”
“Can you hand me the shovel, darlin’?”—and sometimes there was silence. But through it all existed that same, gnawing awareness of his body near hers, his face near hers, their dirty hands mingling in the moist island soil. Her heart beat too hard as they worked.
When they were done, together they carried the plastic bins to the garbage can near the shed and put the tools away, then rinsed their hands in cold water from the garden hose. Meg knew it would make more sense to invite him inside, to a sink, with soap, but that she thought better of before suggesting.
She walked him back around the house, conscious of birds singing and bicycles whirring past on another busy, beautiful summer day, but at the same time feeling as if the two of them were wrapped in a cocoon there. She hadn’t thought at all about anyone seeing them planting together—Dahlia, Zack, anyone.
And as they reached the front walk, she finally addressed the elephant in the yard. “Thank you, Seth. This was...nice. And I love the lilacs. But... I think it’s only fair to tell you that I still don’t know what I want.”
He looked unsurprised, maybe a little sad, yet gave her a short nod. “I understand. I know I’m not the kinda guy you ever saw yourself with. Maybe that won’t change. But... I could be happy here, with you, if you decided that’s what you wanted. Think maybe I could be happy with you anywhere, darlin’. So you just let me know if anything changes.”
She bit her lip, her skin rippling from his words, as she softly said, “Okay.”
And when she least expected it, he kissed her—hard, potent, in a way that reached the tips of her toes—before turning and striding down the front walk. It reminded her of Ace in the diary. A stolen kiss. But not really stolen when it leaves your heart reeling.
* * *
THE EXPECTED GUESTS arrived right on schedule—a dad with two kids under ten, and a retired couple, the Farbers, who had stayed with her a few times before.
Over lemonade on the patio that evening, Meg found herself telling the Farbers about her grandmother and the pride she’d taken in the inn, and how she tried to live up to that. She’d been very aware of that aspiration in the first years after Gran’s death, but maybe it had faded, all becoming routine over time. The diary and the wedding ring had somehow brought it back. She gave Mr. and Mrs. Farber a tour of the freshly tended grounds, telling them how her grandfather had planted the vast majority of the flowering shrubs and trees and carved out most of the flower beds.
She lay down to sleep that night thinking of “Grandpa Ace” and how much he’d enjoy knowing there was a late-blooming variety of lilac. It really was the little things.
You pick the one who stays. You love the one who stays.
That still lingered in her mind as well, and it was with a fresh sense of peace that she resolved to begin figuring out tomorrow, once and for all, how that sentiment was going to apply in her own life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AS MEG STEPPED out of the house and started down the walk, a thick, dark blanket of billowy gray stretched across the sky, promising rain. The hour was early, the streets still.
She lamented the dreary sky for her newly arrived guests—it wasn’t the “first day of vacation” anyone wanted. And she’d always resented rainy days in summer on a more personal level, too—the summer here was short, so she held tight to every single day of sunny warmth.
But as she walked toward Zack’s apartment, it hit her how silly that was, to resent something as arbitrary and without intent as the weather. Trying to hold on to summer was like trying to hold on to lilacs—like Seth had said, maybe it kept her from fully enjoying it if she was busy dreading its departure.
When had she become this person who held on to things so tightly—even the blooming season of a flowering bush—trying to make them last, stay, knowing full well she couldn’t? Maybe it had come with leukemia, and various kinds of loss. Maybe it was about security, wanting dependable things in her life. Even if it seemed unreasonable to demand that of the weather.
Today seemed like a good day to stop being that person, once and for all. It was time to just enjoy the beautiful things in her world when they were here and...well, maybe just make her own beauty somehow when they weren’t. Perhaps she’d take up a hobby, a craft of some sort. For a long time, her craft had been the inn—keeping it pristine to honor her grandma’s memory. It was a good enough hobby—it gave her satisfaction. But maybe it was time to add something strictly her own.
She’d worry about that another day, though.
She was about to walk up the steps to the rooms above the café when Dahlia stepped out the restaurant’s front door. “He’s not up there, honey.”
Meg looked over. “He left?” Again? Now? Without even telling her at all?
But Dahlia shook her head. “Oh—no. He’s just at the marina, giving the boat a good cleaning. Headed that way about an hour ago.”
“Oh.” Her heart—which had leaped to her throat—settled calmly back in her ches
t. “Good. I need to talk to him. Thanks.”
With that, she proceeded up Harbor Street to the docks where the ferry came and went several times each day in summer, and where fishing and pleasure boats shared space.
She saw Zack before he saw her. Though he didn’t appear to be cleaning. Instead he sat on the Emily Ann, stretched out on a built-in bench, his head leaned back as if to soak up the sun—if only it had been shining today. And while she didn’t begrudge anyone spending their time as they saw fit, she had to wonder why he would choose a wooden bench on a boat where he was often sequestered for weeks on end when he could sit anywhere else on the island right now.
“Good morning,” she greeted him.
He flinched, eyes opening.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
He smiled, but looked tired. “No worries. It’s good to see your face, Maggie May.”
“Yours, too.” And it was. This face she knew. This face she was so familiar with touching, kissing. This face that was like coming home, even in this moment when the whole idea of home was changing, reshaping itself—in some ways staying the same and in others transforming into something new. The new part was that home was only home if you felt safe there. Zack could only be home to her if he gave her that. “Can we talk?”
He sat up straighter, his back stiffening. “Sure. Yeah.” Did he sound cautious, worried? Or maybe he just wasn’t quite yet fully alert from the rest he’d been taking. Don’t make assumptions. Give him a chance to be the man who can make you happy.
As she stepped onto the boat, he stood to come give her his hand, but she was already on board when he reached her.
They both sat down on the bench and she said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and about how we can both be happy.”
“That’s good,” he said. “That’s great.”
But no. He was mis-hearing her. He didn’t realize it wasn’t a done deal.
“I don’t ever want to make you unhappy, Zack, but I don’t want to make myself that way, either. So I’m going to ask you for what I need to be happy. And what I need is...for you to stay. Find a way to be a day fisherman, like I suggested. And more than that, I need you to do it without being miserable about it—because you want to, because living here with me sounds good to you, and would make you happy, too.”