Meet Me at Sunset (Evening Island)

by Olivia Miles

  Had this been her, she would have reacted as swiftly as one would in, say, a house fire. But Evan just raised an eyebrow, seemed to adjust to his surroundings for a moment, as if just now remembering that the twins were in the yard and that he was supposed to be minding them while she squeezed in a shower that didn’t even leave time to shave her legs, and then slowly folded his paper, set it on the teak wood table surface, and stood. And stretched.

  Hope narrowed her eyes as she tightened her grip on the windowsill.

  Had this been Hope, she would have snatched the trays of dirt from Rose’s and Victoria’s hands and immediately stripped them down, led them to the house, and carried each girl up to the bathtub. But Evan decided to use his words.

  Four-year-olds didn’t respond to words.

  Summoning every last bit of patience she could manage, Hope abandoned the laundry basket and went downstairs, out the back door, and stood on the patio, barefoot and shivering with her wet hair. Or maybe she was shaking. It was, after all, a warm day for May.

  Evan stood on the patio, barely in hearing distance from the playhouse, calmly telling the girls to please stop playing in the mud.

  The girls, of course, did not listen. Chances were, they didn’t hear either.

  Hope waited to see if he would do anything more, but, turning to see her, he sat back down at the table and picked up his newspaper.

  Hope’s eyes darted to the girls and back to Evan. The unspoken words were clear. She would have to be the one to take action.

  Only what course of action?

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she blurted, not even conscience of what she was saying. But there, the words were out. They’d been said. She couldn’t take them back. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Her heart sped up a little, but Evan didn’t react to her announcement. The girls continued to slap mud into plastic bowls and then attempt to feed each other with matching spoons.

  Oh, for crying out loud! She stormed over to the twins, took the mud-filled bowls and spoons from their hands, led them by the wrists to the garden hose, and turned on the spigot. Her freshly laundered clothes were now covered in mud as they wriggled in protest and tried to slap her legs.

  Evan watched from a safe distance.

  “Can you help?” she asked as Rose tried to dash off the moment she peeled the once-white dress over Victoria’s head.

  “You’re just going to hose them off?” he asked, setting down the paper with what appeared to be great reluctance.

  “Do you have a better idea?” She stared at him. She was aware, she realized, that she was challenging him.

  Evan did not have a better idea. He sighed, heavily, and then urged Rose to “go back to Mommy.”

  Through gritted teeth, Hope hosed the girls off, thankful that the water was not very cold at all, and then brought them into the house for a proper bath. When she had them dried, clothed in fresh, coordinating outfits, and seated in front of an educational cartoon show with a healthy snack of carrots and apple slices, she added their dirty dresses to the laundry pile.

  Evan was still reading the paper when she returned to the patio. Had he not heard? Not cared? Not believed her? The lack of response fueled her, made her realize that she had meant it. Every word. She couldn’t do this anymore!

  “I could have used a little help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

  “It seems to me that you have it all covered.” He gave a little smile at his double entendre and she glanced down at her pants, which bore the marks of dried, splattered mud.

  “This isn’t funny,” she ground out.

  He frowned at her. “You know I’m heading to Singapore in the morning. I need a little time to relax after that party yesterday.”

  “And I don’t?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

  He shook his head. “Please. You love those things.”

  “No,” she said, realizing that it was true. “I don’t. That party was work. A lot of work.” And she had done more than ninety-nine percent of it, too, from the carefully chosen cotton-candy-colored paper stock with the gold font for the invitations, to going to three different stores to track down glitter-filled balloons, to having the truly genius (or crazy?) idea of putting a horn on that pony’s head. She had stayed up until midnight putting together the favor bags, allowing for extra just in case some unexpected siblings tagged along. She had then woken at three, because she remembered that she had forgotten to buy strawberries for the smoothies, and then she hadn’t been able to fall back asleep, so she started on the cake. Of course it was homemade. From scratch. And she had stood with a piping bag, her hair slipping from its bun, sweat on her brow, watching tutorials on the internet for piping the perfect trim on the perfect pink-frosted cake!

  And she had chatted. And smiled. And served. And then, when the party was over, she had cleaned up! And what had Evan been doing when the party was over? Sleeping. On the couch.

  “Then why’d you plan it?” he asked.

  “Because it was a birthday party. I couldn’t not have a party for them!”

  “You could have made it more simple,” he said.

  She considered this for a moment. A sheet cake. Maybe cupcakes. Store bought. Some pizza. Juice boxes. Beer and wine. Chips and dip. Could she have done that? Would she have been happier? That had never been her life, not before Evan, and not with him. Before the girls, she had worked in public relations, and she’d taken her job as a mother as seriously as she had her former career, even if the effort went unnoticed more than half the time. But still, she’d tried, done her best, because she didn’t know any other way. She didn’t know how to keep things simple. The only times in her life that were simple were when she and her sisters would head up to Sunset Cottage, the one place where their mother wasn’t concerned about keeping up appearances. The only time Hope wasn’t worried about not being good enough.

  “I wanted to give them a nice party,” she finished. “But it’s a lot of work. You could have put the girls to bed for me last night while I was cleaning up.” She had bottled that one up inside all day, and there, it was finally out.

  “You know they settle down better when you do it,” he replied.

  Hope counted to three. She waited for the anger to pass. It didn’t.

  “I could use a little help,” she finally said. “When we’re both home, at night, or on the weekends…”

  “I’m working over fifty hours a week! I deserve some time to relax,” Evan said.

  “And I don’t?” she cried. Then, remembering how their next-door neighbor liked to garden on weekends and was within earshot over the hedge, she lowered her voice to an angry whisper. “And I don’t? I barely sleep. I’m exhausted. I’m lonely.” And she was. She was with the girls all day, she was never alone, but she was somehow very lonely.

  Evan looked at her in astonishment. “You’re always at that playground talking to the other moms.”

  “But all we talk about are kids!” She remembered the days when her interactions with other adults were about something current, or even intellectually stimulating. “All we talk about are recipes and nap schedules.”

  Evan raised an eyebrow. “You have nap time to do as you please. I don’t get that time in my day, Hope.”

  “And then who would do the laundry? Who would get dinner going?” She sounded shrill, even to her out ears. Did he really not see all she did? Did he think it happened like magic? “Besides, they won’t nap much longer,” she pointed out.

  “Well, they go to school,” he said.

  “Three mornings a week!” She pulled in a breath. It would be easy to get derailed, to get into a tit for tat argument, but that was not the point of this. The point was that she was not happy. And she needed a change. “I want to be challenged. I want to be…inspired.”

  “What are you saying?” he asked, looking confused.

  “I’m saying that…I think I’d like to go back to work. Or start a business. I do have sk
ills. Heck, I can plan parties.” Not that she wanted to plan parties, but she wanted to do something. Something outside the confines of her home. Something that brought her around other adults. Something that made her think. Something that made her feel rewarded for her efforts. Something that was more than just being a good, dutiful wife, mother. Daughter.

  Evan’s eyebrows rose so far up his forehead that she wasn’t entirely sure how he felt by that. But then he gave a little smile. “You want to stay home with the kids. That’s what you want to do.”

  “That’s what I wanted,” she said. “Now I think I need something for myself.”

  “And who will watch the kids?” He stared at her. “When I got the promotion, we discussed this. My travel schedule is crazy, and working in the city was too far of a commute for you to get back to the girls. And you wanted to stay home, Hope.”

  It was true, she did. She wanted to be the perfect mother. She just hadn’t realized how much it would take out of her. That it would be so…unbalanced.

  “Look, I put fresh towels out. In the kitchen. Did you notice?”

  Now Hope had to count to ten, like she did when Victoria decided five minutes after a movie had started that she needed to use the bathroom instead of five minutes earlier, when Hope suggested she try.

  “Can we talk about this when I get back?” Evan looked weary. “I have an early flight and I still haven’t packed for my trip.”

  Trip. When was the last time that Hope had taken a trip? And Gran’s funeral didn’t count. They didn’t take vacations. Evan couldn’t get away from the office, and she had convinced herself it would be too challenging with the girls anyway. But now she thought of a change of scenery, of sand between her toes. And Gemma on her way—today—to Evening Island, to be with Ellie. It was going to be a reunion at their summer place, just the women, like it always was, after all these years.

  “I’m taking the girls to the lake house,” she announced. Ever since she’d suggested that Gemma go to Evening Island, she couldn’t stop thinking of it. It was the one place she could escape, the pressure, the expectation, the feelings of restlessness and guilt and confusion that filled her days more and more. She needed to clear her head and think about what she really wanted. And she wanted to be around her sisters. She wanted to feel the way she did the last time they’d all been there together, when she was still in college, and her entire future was still wide and open.

  “Your grandmother’s house?” His brows pinched. He’d never been. She’d never pushed for it. She’d let it go, somehow, years back, when their lives merged. “When?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll drive up tomorrow.”

  “And when will you be back?” he asked.

  She paused. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly.

  He stared at her, and for the first time, she saw something close to fear in his eyes. “Well, you’ll be back by the time I return from my business trip. We have our company outing with the firm coming up,” he reminded her.

  “I know,” she replied. It was in her calendar, along with every other social event, school event, neighborhood event, and appointment. If it wasn’t another birthday then it was a Saturday barbeque, another opportunity for the women on the block to show off their newest furniture. Her mother would have relished in it. Hope, she had come to realize, did not.

  “So you have to be back in time for that,” he said, seeming to relax a little.

  “Actually,” she said slowly, letting a thought take hold. She pictured her calendar, filled with obligations, and imagined skipping each and every one, and not even caring about the social consequences. She wouldn’t (gasp!) even make a polite excuse. She wasn’t going. That was all. She was not going to attend any more events that she did not want to attend. “The spouses don’t all attend. I don’t have to be back for that. And I’m not sure I will.”

  She lifted her chin, feeling the thrill of rebellion. Hope had always been a good girl. She opened the door to guests at her parents’ annual New Year’s Eve party, she smiled and remembered names. She knew every one of Evan’s colleagues. She stood at his side. She did everything she was supposed to do.

  Until now.

  “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point now,” he said, pushing back his chair to stand. “I’m sorry. I should have helped more with the party.”

  She shook her head. “Last year’s party was the same. Next year’s would be the same, too.”

  “Would be?” He blinked rapidly. “What are you saying, Hope?”

  “I don’t know, Evan,” she said, swallowing hard. “I just know that I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  And without another word, she slipped into the house, cleaned up the spilled apples and carrot slices that had gone between the white couch cushions, and even though the juice from the apple could leave a small stain, she decided not to tend to it.

  She had packing to do.

  Chapter Four

  Gemma

  Having no car, Gemma took the train as far north as it would get her, up through Wisconsin, and then cabbed it to the ferry port in Blue Harbor, Michigan. It was May, but the ferries were operating on a regular schedule now that the tulips were popping up all over the island. Midwesterners who had felt cooped up all winter were all too happy to shed their down parkas and heavy snow boots, even if the weather forecast did say it would only reach a high in the mid-sixties today.

  The man who came to sit beside her on the ferry was wearing shorts and a polo shirt. She wouldn’t judge, even if the breeze off the lake was particularly cold once the engine on the boat got going.

  The old Gemma—the pre-breakup Gemma—might have scanned her eyes higher, to his face, then glance down at his hand, to see if he was wearing a ring. But the new Gemma—the broken-hearted Gemma—kept her eye on the view, watching as the large green land in the distance came closer and the white dots turned clearer, until she could see the details of the Victorian homes that the island was known for.

  The ride was quick, less than fifteen minutes, and soon enough she was dragging her luggage across the wooden dock to town, inhaling the smell of fudge that the island was known for. She had called Ellie last night to let her know she was coming, unsure of what Ellie’s reaction might be, and to her surprise, Ellie had seemed happy at the news, if not a bit distracted, but then, that was Ellie. She took life in stride. Sometimes Gemma envied her for it. Today, she was just grateful.

  By the time she lugged her bags to the line of horse-drawn carriages that were parked at the port, she collapsed into her seat and leaned her head back.

  “Where to?” the driver asked, glancing over his shoulder to catch her eye.

  “West End Road,” she told him. “Sunset Cottage?”

  Everyone knew the house, or houses, technically. West End Road was famed for the row of Victorian homes that hugged the shoreline, not too far from the center of town, but far enough to make sure that the tourists didn’t disturb the peace too much. It was quiet and peaceful, a total oasis from the bustling city life she’d lived in, and even years back, when she was younger, it had been a respite from their suburban life outside Cleveland. The school year was full of busy days: bus rides, class schedules, and then after-school activities, dinner, homework, and bedtime. But life on the island had no routine. There was no bedtime, and the sun didn’t set until nearly ten at the peak of summer. The days were long and unstructured, and wonderfully carefree.

  Hope was right; this was exactly what she needed. Here her mind could wander. Here it wouldn’t be filled with the daily stressors that plagued her in the city, even if she did spend more and more time alone in her apartment. Here she would get out and take walks without a route in mind. Her mind would be clear of clutter, free to be creative!

  She wouldn’t worry about the deadline.

  She wouldn’t even think about the fact that a month from Saturday marked another key date on her calendar: the day she was supposed to be married.

  She would soak in her s
urroundings. The island. Nothing had changed in all these years. Main Street still smelled like a candy store, with rich chocolate wafting through the air from the fudge shops, and the sweet smell of pies from the Island Bakery, who always sold the last slice before they turned the sign for the day.

  The sidewalks were crowded, filled with kids licking ice cream cones from Main Street Sweets and women holding pink paper shopping bags from Lakeside Gifts. But as they rounded the bend and began heading north, the sounds and smells faded quickly, replaced with white picket fences lined with tulips and small wooden homes painted mint green, light blue, white, red, and even pink. She turned to stare at the water, letting it soothe her. Calm her. Even though Chicago bordered Lake Michigan, it wasn’t the same.

  Sunset Cottage wasn’t too much farther up ahead now, and she watched in anticipation as it came into view. It had been in the family since Gran was just a girl, a summer cottage for her that had turned into a full-time residence when her husband died shortly after Gemma’s father left for college. She took pride in the place, even if the upkeep was difficult with the harsh winters and remote location. But there were always fresh flowers in the planters near the door, her vegetable garden always produced enough for salads and tomato pies for dinner, and the grass was always free of weeds.

  At least it had been. Until now.

  Gemma leaned forward as they pulled up to the house and the driver hopped down to help her with the luggage. The grass was long, too long, and it was poking up through the fence that divided it from the neighboring homes, each in far better condition, because she knew that the Taylors and Andersons rented out each summer and hired caretakers throughout the year. The flowers in the pots that flanked the front door had probably been there since Gran was still alive, and had probably died around the same time that she had, too.

  Gemma fumbled to pay the driver, her mind spinning, and she slowly walked up the path, her heart sinking with each step as the deferred maintenance became more obvious: peeling paint on the porch, rust on the lantern lights that flanked the front door, and she had only given a cursory glance. Whatever she did, she could not blame Ellie for this, even if it was, obviously, tempting. It would start everything off on the wrong foot, and what she needed to do was set up her desk and get to work. What did it matter if some flowers were dead and the yard looked like it hadn’t met a mower since last September?