Rewrite the Stars

by Julieann Dove

  What a tragic story. Claire had no idea Melanie had experienced such misfortune in her life. Her mother always had said they’d been friends forever. She left out the fact she’d practically adopted Melanie and that her story was so completely depressing. At least her mother, she felt, had a happier life with Claire. And who cares they didn’t live on Fifth Avenue. They were happy in their one-bedroom—no blood-soaked floors there.

  “I’m so sorry for everything you went through, Melanie.” Claire leaned over and hugged her. “I had no idea what you’d been through. I always assumed you and Mr. Prescott were just two people who had no problems. Certainly not the ones you just mentioned. I hate to sound insensitive, but you proved my point, though. I don’t want to go through life without Colin. At least to not ever know what we have could be built into something more. We should have that right. And you should want that for us. It’s like righting the wrong that was done to you.”

  “My story doesn’t end there, Claire. You see, I knew James suspected I was having an affair with Richard. That’s why he waited until dessert to tell me about what happened to him. So when I gave birth to Mallory and Colin five months later, I think we both knew whose children they were.”

  Claire grabbed her mouth and swallowed hard. “So you’re telling me that Mr. Prescott isn’t Colin and Mallory’s biological dad?”

  “That’s right, and that’s a secret you must take to your grave. And unless you push Colin to leave this family, James will never have the paternity test done. You see, if you take away his only son, James will grow furious and demand to know if Colin is really his or not. When he finds out he isn’t, he’ll disown all three of us—financially.”

  “He’d do that? You honestly think he’d do something so catastrophic? So earth-shattering?” It didn’t sound possible. “It isn’t all about blood, Melanie. You’ve been a family for twenty-four years. Surely that counts for something? You’ve all shared a house, gone on vacations. Mallory almost lost her life with an infected appendix. I’m sure Mr. Prescott wasn’t thinking about whose child she was—he was probably worried sick that his little girl was in the hospital.”

  “James visited Mallory once in the hospital when she became ill. He never went to Colin’s soccer games or baseball tryouts. There was always something holding him back from showing affection to those children. It’s like they were place cards on the family tree and they’d live out their positions, but he didn’t want to fully become involved in their lives. Colin is the namesake to take over the company. I couldn’t get pregnant again after I had them. All it would take to bring us down is for Colin not to cooperate with his grand plan of moving to North Carolina and running the operations there, so James can retire with a new home on the ocean.”

  “If he disowned Colin, he’d be out someone to take over the company. It sounds like a foolish move on his part.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for a reason to find out the truth. Maybe he knows I’ll take care of whatever threat there is to Colin not to take over. I don’t know, Claire, but whatever, you can’t push Colin to leave. I can’t take that chance.”

  Something hit Claire. Out of the blue. “Wait a minute, so you’re telling me Mr. Prescott isn’t Colin’s father?”

  “Yes. Well, I’m pretty certain.”

  “Then Colin wouldn’t care if he lived up to his expectations or not. Don’t you think you’ve done your children a disservice by not telling them the truth all these years?”

  “Oh, and take away from them everything they’ve ever known? Summer houses, winter houses, cars, maids, trust accounts? Would you rather they live like I did? No money, just for the sake of not knowing a father who was already dead to them?” Her look of hopelessness suddenly became replaced with a fast talker, savvy salesman. “Claire, we’d die out there in the world. Mallory would have nothing—no trust fund and no home. Please, I beg you, don’t let Colin provoke his father. Go back home and get on with your life. Find a man you’ll love and be happy with. It might’ve never worked with Colin anyway. Please don’t risk all our family has over a silly summer romance. Your mother wouldn’t want this to happen to us, either. She’d tell you the same thing I’m telling you. There’s more here to risk than just Colin’s happiness. I’ll make sure he’s happy.”

  But it wasn’t a silly romance. Claire was in love with him and he with her. Still, she couldn’t hold the fate of the family in her decision of staying or going. She’d come from a life of very little. To return to it would be no different for her. Mallory was just beginning her life with Jason. They were going to live on her trust to get started. And hadn’t Melanie suffered enough going through all those years with a man she didn’t love?

  Suddenly Ms. Fendi bag didn’t seem so bad for Colin. At least she knew planes were dangerous and liked Colin enough not to want to see him crash and die. It’d take some time, but he’d forget about Claire. It was a long shot anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alex Prescott

  Claire felt paralyzed as she sat under that magnolia tree with Melanie. Not quite the same feeling as when she’d lost her mother, but with the same numbing emptiness. That hollow sensation of being alone in the world. Thirty minutes ago, she was filled with the love she shared with Colin. Now their sanctuary had been ripped from her soul. There was no way to win this. She would not be the one who had the power to single-handedly ruin so many lives for the sake of feeling utterly complete. It was over. As quickly as love had found her, she’d have to set it free. Her sad, lost life that existed a few days ago when she arrived at the island was what she must return to. And Colin would be none the wiser as to why. He couldn’t. It was non-negotiable—the Prescott creed.

  It didn’t take long for the heartbeat that once thumped loudly in her ears when she’d think about holding his hand to fall to a dead silence. The thorn bird can only sing its most glorious melody once before dying. Maybe that’s what she’d heard—the crescendo of love before it vanished. Perhaps this was her Buddy Jr., or her Richard. Somehow she hadn’t been able to escape the beach house at Kelly’s Cove without a secret of her own. Just like the others who had gone before her—Frieda and Melanie—she was fated to live without the one she loved. Having had the euphoria of true love cupped once in her hand had come at a high price. It cost her a closed door to her heart for anyone else who would try to come near.

  Melanie sat without saying another word. She fanned herself with another large leaf she found on the ground. It was hot now, but the sun would soon slip away and the moon would show up to keep the lights on for the rest of the night. Claire decided right then and there that she had to find a way to leave before the next day began. If she could, she’d run for the public dock now. Carry her old suitcase and run toward downtown, fighting off wedged pebbles in the toes of her sandals, and sunburned scalp from the lack of a sunhat. Anything to be gone before Colin returned home from the boat ride. For now, all she was able to do was check the time of the next ferry and change her flight schedule. She’d figure out a way to get off this island and when she arrived home, she’d busy herself with packing up to move out of her apartment.

  “Hello?”

  She and Melanie heard the voice at the same time. They both stood to see where it was coming from. They barely made it two steps away from the bench when they were greeted by a man. He seemed to be older, distinguished-looking with feathered back dark hair, hues of white creeping in near the scalp. He wore a suit jacket and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top.

  “Oh my gosh,” Melanie gushed. “Alexander, what on earth are you doing here?” She took him by the arm and pulled him close. “Let me give you a hug. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  They embraced and he pulled away first. “Don’t tell me I screwed up again and came during your weeks, Melanie?” He shook his head with pinched lips.

  “It appears so. Remember we’re through the end of June, then I guess you’re able to come July through August anytime.”


  “I’m sorry. I thought Evie had gotten in touch with you. I have a conference in July and asked her to change our dates. I feel like a heel.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I don’t remember getting any correspondence from Evie, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t send it. James is getting on me all the time about not checking my messages. Where is Evie, anyway?” She looked in the direction of the front of the house.

  “She’s still in New York. There’s a charity dinner tonight she helped host with her friend. She’ll be arriving tomorrow, although not when I tell her your family is here and you never got the message.”

  Melanie placed her hand to her mouth. “I’d say to take the guesthouse, but we have unexpected guests of our own and Claire here is staying there with Frieda.” She looked at Claire, suddenly remembering she was standing there. “Good Lord, where are my manners? Alexander Prescott, this is Claire Ashton. She is a friend of our family. Claire, this is Alexander.”

  Prescott? He took her hand in his, shaking it while she tried to figure out his identity—where his branch sat on this conflicted family tree.

  “Melanie, there’s three bedrooms in the guesthouse. I don’t mind if Alexander, I mean Mr. Prescott, doesn’t.”

  “Do call me Alexander, please.” He smiled, giving a most dangerous, almost melt-worthy look when he did. That is, for an older man.

  The thought of sharing the guesthouse seemed to have wearied him. He stood there, pondering the idea, crinkling his brow as he rubbed his lips with his fisted forefinger.

  “That’s very kind of you, Claire, but I’m afraid Evie isn’t going to like it. She looks forward to the view of the water and the comforts of the main house. I’ll just call her and we’ll try again in August when I return from my conference.”

  “Well, at least stay for dinner.” Melanie wiped the moisture from her forehead. “I’ll have Frieda set another plate. You can stay tonight in the guesthouse and leave tomorrow.”

  He was about to answer when another person came around the side of the house.

  “Say, Dad, wanna give me a hand? I can’t get the top—” He stopped when he saw Claire and Melanie.

  “Alex, come on over here and say hello to your Aunt Melanie.” He looked to Claire and corrected himself. “And Claire. Come say hello to Melanie and Claire.”

  Alex came closer. Melanie got to him first and pressed a quick hug before he offered his hand to Claire. She shook it and looked into his eyes. He was the spitting image of his father—tall, broad shoulders, thick dark hair, though she knew that would change, and incredibly warm brown eyes. She imagined he was either in his late twenties or early thirties.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Claire.”

  “You, too.” She managed to force a smile on her lips.

  Alexander turned to his son with the new plan of action. “Well, son, it seems we’ll be staying a shorter time than we thought. Take the bags back to the car.”

  “Alexander, I told you you’re welcome to—”

  “Melanie,” he interrupted. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I’m sure James doesn’t share in it. Alex and I can leave. It’s no problem.”

  For whatever reason, Alexander and James never got along with each other growing up. A further knife in Alexander’s back was when he discovered his father had bequeathed the company to his nephew, James. It was something Buddy Sr. did because Buddy Jr. would’ve been the first chosen to have the company, and then his son James would be second in line. When Buddy Jr. died, it automatically went to James. No one understood the lineage because no one was aware of who James’s father was. Buddy Jr. was earmarked for greatness, ergo his God-given name. Alexander was left with real estate and a handsome trust fund. He used some of it to get through college. The rest he made shrewd investments and now stood a wealthy man—due to his hard work.

  “Please,” Melanie pleaded.

  “Dad, we can at least stay one night. If I have to wait in another airport within eight hours of this morning’s debacle, I might lose my cool.”

  That morning, an air marshal had to escort a woman off the plane for reasons none of the passengers knew. They waited on the tarmac for two hours before the plane could lift off.

  “Then it’s settled. Claire can show you to the guesthouse and that way, you can stretch your legs, and I’ll send for you when dinner is ready.”

  There was a commotion coming up the hill. They turned their heads to see what it was. It seemed to be the happy boaters had returned from their ride. Colin was in the lead, almost sprinting up the grassy knoll to them. Emily was trying in earnest to keep up with him. Her new little shoes seemed to be more than fashionable—they were also fast.

  “James, look who came to the beach house.” Melanie presented Alexander and his son as if they were trophies. Her smile looked as though it hurt.

  James was at the back of the crowd. Mr. Hamilton seemed to be lending a hand to the poor guy. His face was ruddy and sweat gleamed from his forehead. You could hear his breathing from paces away.

  “Hello, Alexander. What brings you here? You know this is our time of the year to come.” His tone, although paced like a sprinter who’d just done the fifty-yard dash in less than a minute, lacked hospitality. Mr. Hamilton seemed to be the only one to rate a welcome tone.

  “Hello to you, James.” The distinguished gentleman had turned into a rattled man with a clenched jaw and expanding nostrils. “And yes, I am aware of that. I thought Evie had changed the dates. It was nothing more than a lack of communication. Melanie and I have it worked out.”

  “Makes no difference. This is always our time.” He was not backing down from his high horse. It didn’t matter how he’d appeared he could give out at any time from heat exhaustion.

  “Okay, guys,” Melanie said, directing the winds of the storm to calm down. “We have it figured out. Now, let’s all go and enjoy some of Frieda’s lemonade. I think we could all use a cool beverage.” With arms open wide, she ushered the group of panting boat riders to the back porch area. Mrs. Hamilton followed, pulling at the long sleeves of her shirt and waving wind in her face. Claire remained with the two obvious misfits of the family…and Colin.

  “Claire, I need to talk to you.” His face was pensive, the same as it looked as he rode off in the boat without her.

  “I’m going to help Alex and his dad to the guesthouse,” she said, backing up, almost dodging his advance toward her.

  “Come along, Colin,” yelled Melanie. “Let them get settled. You’ll have a chance to talk at dinner.”

  He shot Alex a look and lingered a second longer, almost giving him a telepathic message. And by the look of his squinty eyes and pulsing jaw, it wasn’t nice.

  “Come on, fellows, I’ll take you to the guesthouse.” Claire gave a behave-yourself look to Colin before walking in the direction of the house with Alex and his dad.

  Colin had adopted the same feeling toward Alex as their fathers had toward each other. It was understood there was to be no family gatherings for the holidays. Each stayed on their side of the street. Alexander’s sister Sally—James’s mother, as he knew her to be—had died, along with Bishop, of separate causes years ago. Alexander was the only one left of Buddy Sr. and Sarah’s children.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Alex opened the back door of the rental car for Claire to get inside. They would drive to the guesthouse—it was easier than walking with luggage. She fidgeted with her collar and smiled as he held open the door for her. A whiff of the perfume she wore blew by his face when she brushed by him.

  “So Claire, what short straw did you pick to end up at the guesthouse?” Alexander turned his head to the side so she’d be able to hear his question.

  “I volunteered.”

  “I see. I wasn’t able to meet the new set of travelers, but by the look of them, they seemed right up James’s alley—pretentious and boring. I amend my previous statement and applaud your fortune for being ab
le to escape the beach house and its pompous inhabitants.”

  “So, I guess that means you’re a good judge of character?” She leaned forward, in between the seat of Alex and his dad.

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “But, now how is it then you don’t consider me a part of that group?”

  “Let me answer her, Dad.” Alex stopped his dad from responding to her pointed question with a raised hand.

  He looked at her in his rearview mirror, watching as she caught him staring. Beautiful was the first word that came to his mind. But that was too cliché. Even if he told Jessica that’s what she was when she asked him what he thought of her, while looking at herself into the full-length mirror of their shared bathroom. Jessica was another story—a two-year long story that ended after he discovered she loved his wallet more than him.

  No, Claire had an enduring beauty, almost ethereal. She wore very little makeup and yet probably didn’t have a need for that much. Her fair skin, light eyes, and simple dress told him she was uncomplicated, effortless, and without airs. When he took her hand earlier, he noticed the lack of polish on her nails. Instead, they were neatly trimmed and filed to the length of functionality. And the way she seemed to be able to speak her mind and stand apart from the Prescotts did wonders for his esteem of her. So far she seemed like the total package.

  But how to get all of that into something he could explain to her? He took a breath and tried his best. “I think the reason we know you didn’t come with those people is because you look out of their league. Your posture is self-assured. You walk with your head raised, but nose not lifted. And your smile…it’s genuine.” He paused to grin. “The dark-haired girl,” he was referring to Emily, “she’s the type you see walking every day on the streets of Fifth Avenue, New York. Salon-kept hair, manicured nails, and a shoe collection so large her bedroom probably had to be scaled down for the closet renovation to keep them all in.”