by Grace Palmer
“Oh, here, there, and everywhere,” joked Robbie DeVry, the father of the family. “We sold our home in Florida and went to Australia, Japan, Greece, France, and now back here for a wedding before we go back overseas. The kids have loved it. Right, kiddos?”
Michael, their oldest, an eleven-year-old bookworm, nodded fervently. He had the redness of the beet salad dressing smeared all over his lips like a hungry vampire. His mother caught his eye and tapped on her own lips to tell him to clear it up. He blushed as red as the beets, and Sara laughed. They were a cute family.
But she still had three more courses to serve, so she reluctantly pulled herself off her little perch on the windowsill where she liked to sit and watch her guests eat. Walking back to the kitchen, she plated everything for the mac-and-cheese course. She looked at her phone again. It was a stupid habit, she knew. Russell wasn’t going to text her. She ought to just move on. Focus on something else.
For now, the food would do.
An hour and a half later, the dining room was filled with the groans of people who’d eaten far too much.
“I swear, one more bite and I’ll explode,” said David Higgins, another of the inn’s guests. Sara smiled. She was in the kitchen, starting to wash some of the mountain of dishes that had accumulated before her. “Sara, you have a gift.”
She demurred. “Aw, thank you.”
“No, I’m serious,” he continued. “A gift. When are you opening up a restaurant? You could charge two hundred bucks a head for a dinner like this, easy.”
“Easy!” agreed his wife, a petite brunette named Jillian. They’d both been at the inn long enough to have two of Sara’s Friday Night Feasts. “I’m just upset we have to leave in the morning!”
“Definitely. But we’ll be back, guaranteed. Maybe you’ll have a restaurant by then and we can eat your food every single night of our next trip.”
“Now you’re just trying to blow my ego up,” Sara teased.
David raised a hand like he was swearing into court. “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. You’re an artist. I’ve never had lobster that good in my whole life.”
“Me neither,” said another of the guests, Robert, who’d only arrived that morning. “And I used to work on a lobster fishing boat.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” Sara said shyly. She tried not to let her smile get too big. She didn’t want to come off as egotistical. And she genuinely appreciated the praise.
But what they were suggesting—a whole restaurant—just seemed so daunting. She didn’t have any experience with outfitting a kitchen, or running a waitstaff, or any of the million and one things that being a successful restauranteur required. And the one person who was in the best position to help her out—her old boss, Gavin Crawford—was the last person on this planet she wanted to talk to. Not to mention the question of where she would find enough money to get started.
Still, for just a moment, it was nice to close her eyes and dream. My own restaurant, she thought. Could I do it?
8
Eliza
“Sorry we’re late,” Eliza said as she muscled open the front door with one elbow and swung Winter’s car seat in behind her.
“All good,” Sara replied, wiping some sweat off her forehead with one sleeve.
“Save some food for us?”
“Well, you’re gonna break Sheriff Mike’s heart if you take the last of the lobster, but family first, you know?”
Eliza smiled. “Family first. Hi, Mom.” Mae had come swooping over and picked up Winter from her seat before even saying hi to her eldest daughter. Eliza just laughed and rolled her eyes. Grandmotherly behavior at its finest.
“How’s my little angel?” Mae cooed. Winter reached out and touched her grandma on the nose.
Sara leaned over to Eliza and stage-whispered behind an upheld hand, “You know, I think you can physically see her heart melting when she does that.”
The women laughed. It was true. Mom turned into the world’s biggest softie whenever any of her grandchildren were around, and Winter was no exception.
“I can hear you, girls,” Mom chided. “Am I not allowed to love on my beautiful little granddaughter? Is that such a crime?”
“No, Mom, not a crime,” Eliza said. She leaned over and gave her mom a kiss on the cheek. “But the level of hunger I’m currently experiencing ought to be illegal. Sara, show me to the grub.” The sisters walked into the kitchen as Grandma brought Winter over into the dining room to show off her granddaughter to anyone who would listen.
Sara stopped a few steps into the kitchen and turned to look at Eliza. “You look … radiant.”
“Radiant? That’s a five-dollar word, especially for you, sis.”
“Yeah, well, bite me is two words.”
Eliza chuckled. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll be nice. My stomach is at your mercy, anyway.”
Sara smiled back. “For real, though. You look good, Lizzy. Like, happy. Glowing.”
“Radiant.”
“Radiant,” she agreed.
Eliza knew what Sara was talking about, even if she wanted to give her younger sister a hard time. The truth was that the sheer goodness of her life was leaving a physical mark on her. Or maybe it was just erasing the physical marks that her old life had left on her. Her hair was longer and blonder than it ever had been before. Whether it was the smog of the city getting washed out or something else, Eliza wasn’t sure, but she saw the same thing Sara was seeing whenever she looked in the mirror: like she was beaming, a source of light in her own right. She knew why—she had her family and her Oliver and her daughter with her. And the Nantucket magic in the air that just seemed to settle deeper and deeper into her skin the longer she stayed here.
“So, can you direct me to this food, or am I going to have to beg you?”
Sara tilted her head with a wry grin on her face. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a little begging and pleading first.”
“Not even in your wildest dreams, sis,” Eliza shot back. “I’ll help myself, thank you very much.” She laughed and grabbed a plate from the cabinet, loading it up with what remained of the ravioli and a few cheese biscuits. She didn’t hesitate to finagle a fork and shovel a bite into her mouth. She could feel Sara’s eyes on her, but that didn’t stop her from offering up the most honest reaction she could: “Oh my God, Sara, this is incredible. Your best yet.”
“You’re just buttering me up.”
“Nope. Dead serious. It’s—mmphf—jeez, what’s in there? Crab?”
“Crab, lobster, shrimp. The works.”
“I want to bathe in this sauce.”
Sara wrinkled her nose. “Gross. I mean, thanks, but gross. Please don’t.”
Eliza was too busy letting her taste buds zoom up to heaven to keep bantering with her sister. The food was honestly that good.
“Girls?” came Mom’s voice from the dining table. “Come here for a sec! Mr. Higgins used to work on Wall Street. He wanted to see if you knew someone or other.”
Sara chuckled. “You’re on, sister dearest.”
Eliza sighed and set down her plate, scraped clean already. “And so it begins—the social hour.”
“All good things come with a price,” Sara agreed.
Eyeing her empty plate mournfully as she went, Eliza walked into the dining room and put a smile on her face. She wasn’t the social butterfly that her mother liked to be, but she knew that she ought to be pleasant and host-like regardless. She was an employee of this inn too, after all. The least she could do was chitchat with guests for a little while.
The house was dark when Eliza got back after another successful Friday Night Feast at the inn. Oliver was working tonight—playing piano at a private event in ‘Sconset—so he probably wouldn’t be home for a little while longer. She got Winter changed into pajamas and set her down in her crib. Eliza wasn’t tired yet, so she decided to pour herself a small nightcap and sit down next to her sleeping daughter for a littl
e while. She turned on the baby monitor, went into the kitchen, and plucked a half-empty bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator. Then she returned to her bedroom, settled onto her side of the bed, and sipped slowly from her drink as she watched Winter slumber. Every time her baby’s chest fell with an exhale, she held her own breath with a tingle of fear until Winter inhaled again.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed like that before she heard Oliver’s keys scraping in the door. He was quiet when he came into the bedroom, as always. When his eyes landed on Eliza’s, she held a finger up to her lips and pointed at Winter. Oliver smiled. He slipped off his shoes and walked over to the side of the crib to peer in carefully.
Eliza loved watching Oliver with Winter. Their whole situation was weird and delicate—Winter was not his biological daughter, after all—but Oliver had never paid an ounce of attention to all that. He loved Winter like she was his. Eliza wasn’t quite sure how she’d gotten so lucky.
Oliver straightened and looked at her. He jerked his head towards the living room. Reluctantly, Eliza slid out of bed, put her feet in her slippers, and followed him out. He was waiting for her on the couch when she emerged. He patted the seat next to him.
“I have news.”
Eliza’s heart leaped into her throat. When he saw that, he smiled. “It’s good news. No need to worry.”
She sat down on the couch, but stayed perched on the very edge, like she was ready to flee at any moment. What news could he have? He’d been working all evening, right?
“Are you gonna tell me, or are we playing Charades?”
Oliver laughed and ran a hand through his hair. His green eyes shimmered in the light from the lamp on the end table. “I got an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“A big one.”
“Okay, now you’re really gonna bug me. Can you just come out with it already?” Oliver loved these guessing games sometimes. He was like a cat with a ball of yarn when he had a story to share or a secret to reveal, swatting at it endlessly. It drove Eliza up the wall.
“You remember my buddy Slick Eddie, right?”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I could forget about someone who voluntarily goes by ‘Slick Eddie’?”
“You’re right. Unforgettable kind of guy. Anyway, he called me.”
“Oliver, if you don’t get to the point, I’m locking you in the backyard for the night.”
He laughed again and grabbed Eliza’s hands in his. He had such beautiful hands. Pianist’s fingers, long and soft and supple. Sometimes, when they were falling asleep cuddled together, he’d tap softly on her back, pretending to play her spine like a set of keys. It was oddly calming.
“He has a friend who has a friend who knows a guy, and, long story short, this band wants me to open for them. The Fever Dreams.”
Eliza’s mouth fell open. The Fever Dreams were a popular rock band based out of the Boston area. They weren’t huge yet, but their buzz had grown and grown over the last few years. Everyone kept saying they were on the verge of making it big. In fact, they’d just dropped a new album recently that had garnered some really positive early reviews and media attention. Eliza didn’t have to know much about the music industry to know that Oliver hitching his wagon to their train could be huge for him.
“By ‘open for them,’ you mean go on tour.”
Oliver wrinkled his nose. “Well, yeah. A tour, of course.”
“Away from Nantucket.”
He smiled. “I mean, they aren’t exactly gonna tour to ‘Sconset and back for the next eight months, obviously. It’s nationwide, plus a few dates in Canada.”
Eliza didn’t know what to say to that. Eight months? Nationwide? Her heart ached suddenly. Life had seemed so good, not so long ago. In fact, just a few minutes ago, it had been pretty close to perfect. And now, she felt like someone had thrown a rock through her window.
“I … I, uh. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say next. See you in eight months, I guess? Congratulations? I don’t know. What’s my line?”
Oliver squeezed her hands tighter. “No, you clown, you’re supposed to say yes!”
Eliza was confused. “Yes? Yes to what?”
“To coming with me.”
She sat back on the couch. “You want me … to come with you. On tour. For eight months. With the Fever Dreams. Nationwide.”
“Plus Canada.”
“Plus Canada,” she echoed.
This couldn’t possibly be real life. In real life, she had escaped from the cold clutches of a bad relationship and a soulless job in New York City and was just now getting comfortable in her happily-ever-after. Her happily-ever-after most certainly did not include an eight-month tour with a rock band. That wasn’t a thing that happened in real life.
“So what d’ya think?” Oliver said. He was bristling with energy, and now that she was paying a little more attention, she thought he might be a little drunk, too. It must’ve been a raucous party.
“I think that you forgot I have a three-month old daughter, is what I think.”
He frowned. “You’re not excited about this.”
“Excited about what? About running away from home on a joyride? About living out of hotels for eight months? Tell me, Oliver, which part am I supposed to be excited about?”
He let her hands go. “I thought you’d be happy for me, at least.”
“I’m thrilled for you! Go ahead, have a grand old time! Send a postcard! Winter and I will miss you!” The more she talked, the angrier she got. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Her boyfriend wasn’t supposed to just take off gallivanting on an eight-month bacchanalia of drugs and drinking and rock ’n roll shows! Who knew how many groupies would be there, throwing themselves at the members of the band? Who knew what kind of parties burgeoning rock stars got invited to? Was she supposed to just walk in to some crazy party, holding Winter in one arm and Oliver’s hand in the other? Had he lost his mind completely?
“This is huge for my career. You should be happy for me.”
She threw her hands in the air. “I am happy for you. It is huge. You’re right. Have fun out there. We’ll be here when you get back. If you get back.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means whatever you want it to mean, Oliver. I’m tired. I want to go to sleep now.” She started to stand up, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down to the couch.
“Eliza, come on. Just sit and talk with me about this. I can tell you’re upset, but this is a good thing.”
“I’d really love to hear you explain how this is a good thing. I have a three-month-old daughter, Oliver. Maybe a year ago, this would have sounded like a good thing. Now, it sounds like a nightmare.”
“Eliza, please. Just hear me out.”
She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he wouldn’t let her go. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had a headache all of a sudden. “I’m listening,” she said.
“Look at me. Liza, look at me.”
Sighing again, she looked up and met his eyes. Her head felt so heavy, and she was so tired. But his gaze was steady and sincere. She felt the tide of her anger start to ebb just the tiniest bit.
“I want you to come with me—both of you—because I love you both. You’re my family. My girls. And I can’t do this without you.”
“Oliver …”
“Just hear me out, babe. This is big for me, yeah. We’ve talked about this kind of thing before, remember? You know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life playing bars and rich-guy parties. I’m so sick of that. But I’d do it if I had to. For you. For Winter. If I had to spend every day until I’m dead and gone performing at company Christmas parties—but I got to come home to you two every night—then I’d do it without ever regretting it. Do you believe me?”
She didn’t want to keep looking into his eyes because she felt like she might cry. But Oliver had reached out to lightly grab her
chin and keep her face trained on his. So she bit her lip to hold back the tears. The craziest thing was that she believed everything he was saying. When he turned on the power of his eyes full blast like he was doing right now, he was like a star, up close and personal. There was such a powerful, radiating intensity to him. Even now, months since she’d first come into his orbit, that intensity made her shiver.
“I believe you,” she whispered.
“I’d do it and I’d love it. Because of you. Okay? Because of you.”
“I believe you,” she repeated.
“But this is a chance for all of us to do something special together. We can chase our dreams, together. You and me and Winter. Our little family. I want you with me, Eliza. I want you to come. I can’t do it without you. I won’t do it without you. So if you say the word, I’ll call Eddie right now and tell him no. Just say the word.”
She hesitated. She wanted so badly to believe what he was saying. Almost all of her did, like ninety-nine percent of her heart had already packed her bags and boarded the plane. But there was one percent left that just couldn’t quite commit yet.
Oliver searched her eyes, saw the hesitation there, and reached for his phone.
“No,” she said suddenly, leaning forward to snatch his cell phone out of his hand. “Don’t call. Just … give me the night to think it over, okay?”
He smiled softly. “Of course. I love you, Eliza.”
She rested her forehead on his chest. “I love you too, Oliver. Can you just hold me for a little while?”
In response, he pulled her into his embrace. He smelled so good. As always, she couldn’t quite pick out exactly what it was that made his scent so powerfully attractive to her. It was a mix of his cologne, the whiskey fumes soaked into the fibers of his clothes, and the faint edge of his musk beneath all that. She closed her eyes and snuggled into him as thoughts ran rampant through her head.
She was a brand-new mother. She had her family here in Nantucket, and something akin to a job.