by Olivia Miles
That last thought was unfair, she knew. But it was also unfair of Ellie to create more work for her like this.
“I’m just saying,” she said as she shook Rose’s wrists until the fish fell into the bucket, “that I only asked for two hours of help. I cook. I clean. And I just asked for two hours of help.”
“Hey, I never asked you to cook those breakfasts or dinners,” Ellie said, her voice rising to a near shout as Rose’s wails became shrill.
Hope didn’t respond to that. There was no sense in pointing out that someone had to cook the meals in the house. Her girls had to eat. But did it have to be Hope, every damn day?
“I’m sorry,” she said, stopping herself. She blinked, not liking where she had taken this conversation. She was talking to her sister as if she were Evan, letting out frustrations that were misplaced, and unfair. Like she’d done with Gemma last week. “I just…I need to get these girls clean.”
She led her girls by the wrists into the studio, instructed them to wash their hands three times each—with soap!—and then did her best to dab at their arms and faces with soapy paper towels. Then she took the stroller and instructed them each to walk beside it.
Victoria had splashed her in the bathroom, and now her pants were wet, but she didn’t care. What she cared about was getting home and getting these girls clean. Because someone had to care about that.
Unable to bear the thought of walking down Main Street to get to the west side, she turned east toward Lakeview Road, hoping to eventually cut up through the forest that divided the two halves of the island, even if it did add an extra ten minutes of walking onto her timetable. She glanced down at the girls, who inched along, still begging to go back to play with their fish, which apparently had names: Petunia and Anastasia.
Make that twenty extra minutes, she thought.
Still, the view was so lovely that she almost didn’t mind. Lakeview Road was one of the quieter streets near town, full of residential homes, a few B&Bs, and anchored by one of the island’s midsize hotels, and a personal favorite, the old Lakeside Inn.
Rose and Victoria screamed the entire time, “My fish! I want my fish!” and Hope didn’t even try to bribe them into being quiet. She had no lollipops, and despite washing their hands, she didn’t want their hands anywhere near their mouths at the moment.
“No, Mommy, no! Go back! Go back to the fish!”
“We’re going to the house,” she ground out.
Now it was Victoria’s eyes that popped open in surprise. “We’re going home?”
Hope wavered for a moment. She was so thrown that she didn’t know what to say. The girls were used to Evan being away, used to it just being the three of them during most of their waking hours. But being away from their bedroom, their toys, from the only home they had ever known, that was different.
“Soon,” she said as she started walking again, only she wasn’t so sure about that. Now, with the opportunity she had here, she wasn’t sure of anything at all.
“Hello!” a voice called out and Hope cursed under her breath, not wanting anything to postpone her getting back to that cottage and trying her hand at that outdoor shower, until she saw that it was John, up ahead.
Her heart lifted, and just like that, the noise didn’t bother her, and she wasn’t mad at Ellie anymore, and she almost forgot about the fact that her children—and possibly even she, at this point—smelled like a fish market.
He was wearing khaki pants, a white linen shirt rolled to the elbows, and a smile that was downright contagious. And he was standing at the gate of the Lakeside Inn.
She pushed the stroller to a stop and the girls reduced their crying to a sniffle.
“Don’t ask,” she warned at the questioning raise of his eyebrow. She jutted her chin toward the inn, curious now to find him here. “Is this the hotel you’re thinking of buying?” she asked. She didn’t know why, but she’d expected something large and more corporate. This was one of the more intimate hotels on the island. She didn’t quite know what to make of that.
“I can’t say anything yet,” he said, but his eyes gave her the answer. He sniffed the air for a moment, looking perplexed, and then seemed to shrug it off. “These things don’t always work out.”
“Of course,” she said. She’d been inside the Lakeside Inn a few times, to use the bathroom, to have lunch on the large front porch, to play hide and seek in the lobby when she was too young to know better. It had been family owned for as long as she knew, owned by the Altmans, who had a place at the northern tip of West End Road. “I hadn’t realized that they were selling. You know that their family house is near my cottage.”
“I might have put that together when you mentioned where you lived,” he said, laughing.
“Are they selling that too?” she asked. She hadn’t seen a sign, but if plans moved forward to sell Sunset Cottage, that couldn’t be good for her or her sisters.
Although, selling the house meant leaving. No job. No getaway. No more summers with her sisters or even the hopes of one. No more memories that seemed to come alive at every turn.
No John.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, even to herself, she suddenly said, “We’re hosting a dinner at our house, actually. This Sunday. If you’re around.”
She didn’t know where that had come from, but as she said it, the idea took hold, and it sounded wonderful. A dinner on the patio. She’d light tea candles and put out colorful centerpieces and a blue table runner to match the lake across the street. She’d make grilled fish and a strawberry pie for dessert. Her sisters would have to pull together for that. It would be fun—just the fun they needed to bring them closer again. And it might just make Gemma look at Sunset Cottage in a different light. Because while selling the house may be the practical thing to do, Hope was finding that following her heart was leading to a lot more happiness these days.
His gaze locked with hers. “Sunday night. I’ll be there.”
She pulled in a breath. He’d be there. Just like that. Just like she knew that he would.
“Sunset Cottage. There’s a sign near the maple in the front. Seven o’clock.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said, giving her an unreadable look, but she could see the smile in his eyes as she pushed the girls on by.
A party. And this one didn’t even feel like work!
She didn’t even stop to think that her sisters would probably have something to say about a man who was not her husband coming to their house for dinner. She’d just have to conjure up a few more invites.
.
Chapter Eighteen
Gemma
Gemma finished replying to her editor’s email and sat back with a smile. Leo had been right—getting out had helped her, and so had their conversation. She was finally making real progress in the book. Why not use some of her personal experience? It flowed from her fingertips and filled page after page. It was heartfelt, and real, and the more that she gave of herself, the less her chest ached. Life wasn’t a fairytale, but if her heroine could come through a bad patch and find everlasting love, then maybe she could too. Someday.
She’d gotten out a few more days this week, too, taking her laptop to the Cottage Coffeehouse or working on the front porch when Hope took the girls out or settled them for their naps. And she’d taken walks, long ones, bringing a notebook to the beach and immersing herself in the setting of the story she was creating.
Why hadn’t she done this in Chicago? She lived across from the park, not far from the lakefront either. Her neighborhood was full of cafés where other people seemed to have no problems being productive despite the chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine.
But she knew the answer. Because Sean was in Chicago.
And so was his new fiancée.
They’d gotten engaged three months after he’d ended things with her, meaning that they had now been engaged for two months. For two months he had called another woman his fiancée, when she’d never even made it to
the altar.
That was the worst part of it, really. It wasn’t that he’d gotten cold feet, wasn’t ready to get married. It was that he didn’t want to marry her.
She looked down at her ring finger. She’d been walking so much that she had lost some of the weight she’d put on, and the fresh air had given her skin a slight tan, even though there was still a slight chill in the air. The mark from Sean’s ring was fading.
And slowly, the pain in her heart was too.
Gemma had just finished a chapter when there was a tentative knock at the door. She glanced at her outline, taking satisfaction in checking off another milestone. She was now more than two-thirds finished with the book. She could finish it—make that would finish it. It would happen. If she didn’t get sidetracked, she thought, as her mind went to Leo.
She stood, stretched, and called out, “Come in!”
It was Hope, carrying a wooden tray by the handles complete with a glass of lemonade with extra ice, just the way she liked it, and a plate bearing a chicken salad sandwich with lettuce, and a side of sliced apples and plums.
“Brain food,” Hope said, setting the tray down on the edge of Gemma’s bed. “I take it you haven’t had lunch yet?”
“I got busy,” she explained. “I’m really making progress.”
“Good!” Hope smiled. “So coming here was good for you then?”
“I never said it wasn’t,” Gemma replied, tilting her head. “You’re not changing your mind about selling the cottage, are you?”
Hope glanced away. “I wasn’t sure if you had.”
The thought had crossed her mind, of course, especially when she was on the horse trails with Leo. And when she learned he was staying here.
She dodged the topic, refusing to even entertain the thoughts, and picked up the sandwich. “You didn’t need to do this, but thanks. How was today?” Last night over a bowl of chowder and a glass of wine, Hope had told her about the offer from Sheila, keeping it vague and casual, and now Gemma was curious to know more. Both of her sisters were being evasive in their own ways—Ellie in the physical sense, and Hope, well, she supposed that Hope had never been one to share her emotions. She’d toed the line; she thought clearly, and behaved rationally. She would never have allowed herself to barely meet a deadline over a breakup as Gemma had. Hope didn’t fall apart. Hope did what needed to be done.
Only now she wondered if that was true at all.
“Good,” Hope said brightly. “I can see where I can really help Darcy.”
“When you said you might want to go back to work, I assumed you meant back in Chicago.”
“It’s just a project,” Hope said, her tone a little defensive. She walked to the window and glanced out it. “This window is filthy. It will be much clearer to see through it once it’s been wiped down.”
“It’s fine,” Gemma said. “You know who you sound like?”
Hope’s eyes flashed. “Don’t even say it.”
Gemma had to grin. “You know it’s true. You sound just like Mom.”
“I’m nothing like Mom,” Hope said in a huff. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, practically glaring at Gemma.
Gemma took a bite of the sandwich. It was delicious, cold and crisp with just the correct ration of mayonnaise (which she knew that Hope made from scratch because she seemed to have an all-consuming fear of preservatives and processed food) and the crusty bread was distinctly from Island Bakery.
“This is delicious. Thank you.” She took another bite, only then noticing that Hope was still looking at her, her expression turning to one of misery now.
“Take it back,” she pleaded.
Gemma blinked. “Take what back?” Then, realizing that Hope meant the comment about their mother, she started to laugh. “Relax, Hope. You’re not like Mom. You’re…you’re like a super-sized version of her. Is that better? I mean, this mayonnaise is fresh, and you know that Mom was never much of a cook…”
“I’m not a super-sized version of Mom. I can’t be. I don’t want that life!” And then, to Gemma’s horror, Hope burst into tears.
“Whoa,” she said, setting down her sandwich. “Where is all this coming from?”
Hope didn’t cry, at least, not unless it mattered. Ellie was the one who cried, at a sad movie, when they found that birds’ nest overturned in their backyard one day, the tiny blue eggs inside it cracked. And Gemma cried all the time recently. More than she smiled.
Until recently, she thought, once again thinking of Leo. She took a breath, and then, to distract herself, another bite of her sandwich.
Hope sat down on the bed and wiped her eyes. She sniffed hard. “I’m just…I’m tired.”
Yes, Hope was tired. That made sense. After all, look at all she did! She cooked! She cleaned. She took care of those girls, all on her own. Evan traveled a lot, she knew, especially since he got that big promotion a few years ago. There was nothing wrong with their marriage. Hope was just tired.
“Of course you are. Look at all you do! You’re the perfect wife and mother.”
Hope slanted her a glance. “I’m far from perfect.” Gemma opened her mouth to protest but Hope clarified, “I don’t want to be perfect. I’m tired of being perfect. I’m so, so tired of being perfect.”
“But—” But she had never complained before. Not even when they were kids and their mother would insist on matching outfits for the holiday card and Hope was way too old be dressed in the same tartan as Ellie, who was six years younger.
“I thought you liked being—” Seeing Hope’s eyes flinch, Gemma searched for better wording. “You always did everything so well. Everything you tried, you succeeded in. Grades. Dating. School activities. Your house.”
Hope was shaking her head. “It’s not as easy as it all looks.”
“I never said it was easy,” Gemma said. “But you make it look that way.”
Hope was quiet for a moment, her tears momentarily stopped. “You know how I told you that I wanted to do something else? Something for me?”
Gemma nodded.
“I might have found it. But it’s here, on the island.”
“I thought you said this project for Darcy was a one-time thing.” Gemma frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m thinking of leaving Evan,” Hope said, and now Gemma set down her sandwich. Hope had her full attention and then some.
Her heart was pounding in her chest as she stared at Hope, searching for a hint of a smile, for an uncharacteristic flare for dramatics. But all she saw was sadness in her sister’s eyes. “What? But you’re the perfect couple.”
“The perfect couple. Do you see a pattern? Nothing is perfect, Gemma. We may have been raised to think we had to be perfect, but there is no such thing. People get divorced. People breakup.” She gave her a knowing look. “People don’t wake up with perfect hair and walk around like smiling robots, hiding their emotions. And…I’ve realized that some people even actually like me for just being myself, not the perfect version of it.”
Gemma had never seen this coming. Evan and Hope had been together forever. They had a beautiful house, beautiful children, success and history and longevity and…She blinked. It didn’t make any sense. “But a divorce?”
“I can’t think of that word, not yet. But this relationship…I haven’t been happy for some time, and I wasn’t prepared to admit it to myself. Or Evan. Evan is never home, and when he is, he isn’t really there, you know? He doesn’t notice if the girls need a bath or if they’re getting into trouble. I have to ask him to babysit so I can get my hair cut every six months! That’s what he calls it! Babysitting! His own children! What does that make me?”
“Wow,” Gemma said, trying to process what she was hearing. Hope never complained about Evan, other than a few little anecdotes when it came to housework or other things that women tended to joke about when they met for coffee. Now, she tried to remember if Hope had even mentioned her husband since arriving on the island. Or if they’d talked at
all. She’d assumed that with Evan being overseas and with the reception here being hit or miss, that there was nothing more to it than that. But she’d assumed a lot of things, it seemed.
“I just assumed that you liked doing everything when it came to the house and the girls.”
“Someone has to do it,” Hope replied. “And Evan has his job, of course. And my job is to take care of the girls, but it’s not the same. My day doesn’t end, and I can’t complain about it without looking like some monster. And he travels so much that when the twins were born, it just made sense that I would leave my job to take care of them. But more and more…I’m jealous of that career. I’m jealous that he has somewhere to go everyday, where people call him by his real name, not by his role.”
Gemma nodded. “You just made it look so easy.”
“And I love my girls,” Hope said, brushing away a tear. “But…I need something else. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m not sure I ever knew who I was. I just did what I thought I was supposed to do, without questioning anything. And I’m…I’m not happy.”
“So this job?” Gemma eyed the sandwich as her stomach grumbled. It would be rude to eat in times of Hope’s distress. But it would be just as rude to not take the food that Hope took such care to prepare.
She slid her hand onto the plate. Hope didn’t seem to notice, or care. She was staring at her lap. Her cheeks were blotched. “I haven’t decided anything yet. I haven’t told Evan.”
“I remember when you met him,” Gemma said, giving her a grin. Didn’t Hope remember that too? She used to talk about him all the time back then, always with a smile. She seemed to shine around him. To glow in a way that she never had before.
Hope managed a small smile. “He was so cute. And so attentive. He was everything I thought I wanted. Now I wonder if I was fulfilling the path that Mom and Dad laid out for me.”
