by Grace Palmer
“How are we supposed to eat?” Kat gasped.
“We have dining hall passes,” Beth answered. “They serve three meals per day.”
“The dining hall?” Michelle didn’t need to see her daughter to be able to picture the curl of her upper lip. “It’s a buffet.”
Beth let out a loud huff. “Snob.”
“It’s the only option right now,” Michelle cut in before the girls could start arguing. “I’ll send you money when and if I can, but right now, we all have to make sacrifices.”
“I have some cash stashed in my top drawer,” Beth said. “We can pick up retail jobs or something. We’ll be fine for a while.”
That information seemed to surprise Kat, but Michelle wasn’t surprised at all. Beth always had an escape plan. Before every sleepover in middle school, she would leave Michelle with a script to call and read from if the party was lame and she wanted to come home early without being labelled a party pooper.
“Good. Use it wisely. I don’t know when we’ll get more.” Michelle glanced down at her ring, wondering how much she could get for it at a pawn shop. “I’ll call you if I hear anything else, but for right now, keep your heads down and… stay strong. I love you both.”
When they hung up, Michelle sunk forward again. This time, she didn’t even try to muffle her sobs. There was no point. They couldn’t be contained. After days of keeping everything together, holding onto the hope that things would go back to normal if she only stuck it out… Michelle now knew the truth.
She didn’t have money.
She didn’t have a home.
She didn’t have a partner.
And she didn’t have a plan.
The carefully-crafted fortress Michelle had built up around her was gone in its entirety, and she was left alone to wade through this mess.
So she did the only thing she could do: she cried until there was nothing left. Until her eyes were sore and her head hurt worse than ever. Then she sat up, wiped her eyes, and tucked her phone in her pocket.
One thing at a time. That’s all Michelle could control.
Before stepping back into The Wayfarer Inn, she took a deep breath and pressed her shoulders back, tall and proud.
She was a broken woman. But she didn’t have to act like one.
10
Leslie
Afternoon At The Wayfarer Inn
When Michelle first hurried out of the kitchen, her phone clasped in a death grip, Leslie knew something was wrong.
When she came back in a half hour later, her mascara smeared and her cheeks flushed, Leslie was certain of it.
“Your sister was just giving me her lobster bisque recipe,” Jill said obliviously, holding up the recipe card Leslie had handwritten for her. “I’ll never be able to make it the way she can, but it’s good to have something to aspire to.”
“It’s not that good,” Leslie rebutted. “But thanks.”
She wanted to hate Jill. For showing up at their dad’s funeral. For making things more complicated. For voting to sell The Wayfarer. But it was hard to do—because Jill was nice. Not the over-the-top, sickly sweet kind of nice that ran only surface-deep. She was nice-nice. Real nice. Genuine nice.
Leslie could tell. She’d always been good at reading people and Jill Ruthers was an open book.
Michelle, on the other hand, was not.
Leslie tossed her dishtowel over the side of the sink and turned back to her sister. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? Was that Tony on the phone?” She wanted to ask why Tony hadn’t come to the funeral, but maybe now wasn’t the time. It seemed strange that he wouldn’t be here for this.
But maybe he didn’t want to see Leslie. Not after what had happened.
Or maybe Michelle didn’t want him to see her.
Michelle dropped down into the bar stool, folded her hands calmly in front of her, and nodded. “It was.”
“Tony is your husband?” Jill inquired.
There was a small, strange hesitation before Michelle nodded. As she did, she glanced down at her wedding ring. It was a gaudy thing Tony had bought to replace the smaller diamond he’d proposed with. It dwarfed Michelle’s hand and made her look like a little girl in costume jewelry.
“It seems,” Michelle started, choosing her words carefully, “that I won’t be able to pay off the debt on the inn, after all.”
Stunned silence ensued.
Out of all the things Leslie had thought Michelle might say, that hadn’t been one of them. Leslie clenched her fists. “You two are married. It’s your money, too, and this is your dad’s business. If Tony doesn’t realize the importance of that, then—”
“Tony didn’t tell me I couldn’t,” Michelle interrupted. “I can use our money however I like without permission, thanks.”
“Okay, then what’s the problem?”
Leslie couldn’t imagine they were out of money. Every member of the family drove a luxury vehicle and their house was a marble castle high on a hill in one of the most expensive zip codes in the country.
“Tony is in jail. He’s been charged with a few crimes related to work. He seems to think he’ll be out of jail soon, but until then, our assets are frozen. I don’t have access to my money.”
“He—where?—What kind of crimes? Are you serious?”
Michelle’s throat bobbed. “Embezzlement or something like that. He said some investors lost money and went looking for someone to blame. He said it’s a big misunderstanding. He said—”
“It doesn’t really matter what he says. It matters what the police are saying,” Leslie interjected. “If they’ve formally charged him, it means they have evidence, right?”
Everyone went still. It wasn’t hard to interpret the quiet.
Michelle could say whatever she wanted, but she knew he was guilty. Everyone knew he was guilty. That much was obvious.
“So that means you can’t buy us out of our shares, either?” Jill asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she held her hands up, palms out. “I’m sorry. That was so incredibly rude. Not the time. I was just thinking, and—”
“It’s fine.” Michelle shook her head. “That’s what we’re here to do. To talk business. We came up with a plan and half an hour later, it’s toast. We need a new one.”
A new plan. Even though the thought of selling the inn had nearly broken Leslie’s heart, the thought of it being auctioned up by the bank like one of those mystery storage containers on the reality show her dad liked to watch was so much worse. It would kill her to see vultures pecking away at what remained of her father’s dream.
She dropped down into the stool opposite Michelle, sagging into her bones. “Okay. Anyone have any ideas?”
There was a beat of silence. Then Jill raised her hand. “I have one, sort of. Where do you keep the wine?”
“I can’t remember the last time I day drank,” Michelle laughed bitterly.
“You’re a stay-at-home mom,” Leslie joked. “According to the movies, that’s all you do.”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “‘According to the movies’ being the key phrase there. The movies never show those moms picking up their kids from school an hour later. Pretty sure driving up to the school pick-up line while wasted is frowned upon.”
They’d moved into the sitting room of the inn. Michelle had one leg draped over the back of the blue- and white-striped couch, Jill was slouched down in one of the armchairs, and Leslie was standing in front of the windows, looking out on the water.
In the lifetime she’d spent living in The Wayfarer Inn, there wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be made better by the sound of the ocean. As a girl, Leslie had liked to open her bedroom window and fall asleep to the distant rumble of the waves. As a grown woman, she still fell asleep that way more nights than not.
After Jill had suggested wine, their brainstorm session had taken a hard left. Now, Leslie’s head buzzed and her stomach felt warm. She didn’t care how cold it was outside—she wanted to walk on the b
each.
For all she knew, it could be her last chance.
“I propose we move this planning session to the beach,” Leslie said. “Fresh air will help.”
Jill stood up. “I haven’t seen the beach yet, so I’m in. Michelle?”
Michelle took a long drink of her wine, finishing off the glass, and then groaned as she stood up. Her knee popped—the one she’d hurt playing volleyball in high school—and she shook it out. “I could use a walk. The wine and lobster bisque are sitting heavy on my stomach.”
A few minutes later, they were all bundled in coats and hats from the front closet and heading out the door.
There was no sidewalk in front of the inn, just faded yellow lines on the asphalt. The three women followed the painted path down the street, wobbling in a line like little ducklings, and then cut across to the other side of the road.
The wooden steps leading down to the sand were smoothed and rounded with age. Leslie gripped the railing on her way down so as not to slip. She had no idea how Michelle was managing it in her high-heeled boots.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Jill said, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. “But cold.”
“It’s always a few degrees colder by the water.” Leslie tucked her chin down into the front of her coat. The crisp air was cutting through her layers and the fog of wine. Leaving the house, she’d felt warm and light. Suddenly, everything seemed to be coming back into sharp focus. And she wasn’t sure she loved the view.
“I wouldn’t know. Landlocked.” Jill bent down and ran her fingers through the sand. “I didn’t see the ocean until my twenties.”
Leslie shook her head. “I couldn’t imagine that. I try to come down to the beach every day. For a walk or a swim or just to sit for a bit.”
“When you’re this close, it would be hard to resist.”
“Exactly,” Leslie agreed. “That’s one of the big draws for the guests, too. All they have to do is walk across the street and they’re on the beach. Can’t get much closer than that.”
“Apparently, not a big enough draw,” Michelle mumbled.
She was standing off to the side, eyes cast straight out to the horizon. Her expression looked like she was a million miles away, but she was obviously listening. And judging. The way she always did.
Leslie sighed. “We don’t really know what’s going on yet. Tonight, I’ll go into the office and look through the books. There has to be an explanation.”
“If you’d done that sooner, maybe the loan wouldn’t have even been necessary.” Michelle still wasn’t looking at Leslie, but her words hit their mark. Leslie felt them like a physical blow to her chest.
“Oh, so this is all my fault, then?”
“I didn’t say that.” Michelle turned to Leslie. “But you and Dad worked together. How could you not know things were getting bad?”
“You lived with Tony,” Leslie bit back. “How could you not know he was stealing other people’s money?”
Finally, she saw it: the first flicker of genuine emotion out of her sister. Michelle’s cheeks flushed. When she blinked, her eyes looked darker, deeper. Like she’d been woken up out of a paralysis. She was staring at Leslie like she wanted to tackle her into the sand, but somehow, that was better than quietly shuffling past each other in the hall.
After the last few days, Leslie was tired of secrets.
Michelle took an angry stride closer. “The difference is I didn’t work with Tony. I didn’t claim to be a partner in his business.”
“I’m sure it was easy to ignore the warning signs as you sped past them in your Lexus,” Leslie scoffed. “And so long as he’s outfitting you in gold and diamonds, who cares about the investors losing their money? Just bury your head in the sand and—"
“None of that stuff ever mattered to me! I met Tony before any of that.” Michelle curled her left hand in, almost like she was trying to hide the ring on her finger. “But let’s talk about who’s burying their head in the sand. Because it sure isn’t me. I’m the one with a life and a family. You still live in your childhood bedroom.”
“To help take care of our father!”
“For the last twenty-four years?” Michelle shouted. “More like you were letting Dad take care of you!”
That one hurt. Angry tears stung at Leslie’s eyes.
Jill had been silent as the argument raged, but in the lull, she stepped forward slowly. “There’s a lot of emotion today, so maybe we should take a break? Split up for a bit and… cool down?”
“I’m sure Michelle would love that,” Leslie retorted. “There’s nothing she loves more than running away when things get tough.”
“Wow. If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
Leslie turned to Jill. “That’s why she hasn’t been back here to visit Dad more than a handful of times in the last five years.”
“I didn’t come because I thought he had enough on his plate, between looking after you and running the Wayfarer. I didn’t want to be another burden.”
“Make all the excuses you want. But I know the truth.”
“Oh, and what is that?” Michelle took another step forward. They were only a few feet apart now. “You’re so fond of the truth, after all. I’m simply dying to know how you see things.”
“The truth is,” Leslie said, mustering all the venom she’d stored up over the last five years, “you stopped coming here because it meant you’d have to leave the walls of your expensive house and your fancy life and join the commoners. You’re a snob, Michelle. Plain and simple.”
Michelle’s face twisted in anger. She opened up her mouth and Leslie braced herself because whatever she was about to say would hurt her as badly as anything she’d ever heard.
Then there was a snapping sound.
Michelle wobbled for a moment, eyes wide—and then she tipped backwards, landing butt-first in the damp sand. A second later, the tide rushed in, soaking her in icy cold water.
Leslie threw a hand over her mouth. Jill yelped and hurried forward, hands held out to help Michelle up. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I… I don’t know,” Michelle stammered, lifting her legs one by one, assessing herself even as another wash of cold water rushed forward.
Jill jumped out of the way, barely avoiding being drenched to the ankles.
“Oh no!” Michelle grabbed something long and black out of the sand and held it up. “It was my shoe. My heel broke!”
Leslie had clapped her hand to her face in surprise when Michelle first tumbled over. Now, though, she was using it to stifle a laugh.
Michelle heard it anyway and snapped her attention to her sister. “These were my favorite boots. Tony brought them back from Italy. I’ve had them for almost ten years.”
Now, there was no point trying to hide her laugh. Leslie tipped her head back and cackled, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
“This is not funny,” Michelle complained as she tried to get her one good boot underneath her to lift herself out of the water.
Leslie swiped at her eyes. “Yes, it is. Who on God’s green earth wears their favorite pair of Italian boots to the beach?”
Michelle was trying to stand on her own, but her other shoe kept sinking further into the saturated sand.
“Here, let me help.” Jill grabbed one of Michelle’s arms and tried to lift, but Michelle was like a stool with only one good leg. No matter how hard she tried, she wobbled.
Before they could right the ship, another wave came.
Jill yelped as the icy water rushed over her ankles. Leslie laughed even harder. She couldn’t help it, even as some distant part of her felt guilty. After days of moping around the inn like a ghost, it was good to laugh at something.
“Would you stop it?” Michelle shot lasers out of her eyes at Leslie.
Once Leslie finally caught her breath, she grabbed at Michelle’s other arm, not giving her a chance to refuse. “On the count of three, we heave.”
“I’m not a beached whale!” Michelle protested.
Leslie ignored her. “One, two, three!”
She and Jill lifted Michelle at the same time and just like that, she was up. Balancing on one boot heel, steaming mad, and soaking wet—but up.
A moment after their small victory, though, there was another snap. The other boot heel said goodbye, and before Leslie could do anything to stop it, Michelle toppled sideways again.
This time, she took Jill and Leslie with her.
The three women toppled over one another, a tangle of arms and legs and squeals. The rush of water was even colder than Leslie had imagined—barely forty degrees. And the rush of frigid Atlantic surge sucked the laughter right out of her.
Michelle, however, by now accustomed to the cold, suddenly decided that the whole situation was funny after all. She laughed breathlessly as Jill and Leslie rolled around in the sand and the water, frantically working their way back to standing. “My other heel broke.”
“No kidding,” Leslie chattered.
“Not to pick sides or anything, but Leslie is right,” Jill said. “Who wears high-heeled boots to the beach?”
Michelle opened her mouth to answer. Instead, she let out another peal of laughter.
Leslie was wet and cold, but she also hadn’t seen her sister laugh—like, really, truly laugh—in too long to remember. It was nice. Even if it was at her expense. Before she could stop herself, she started laughing again, too.
Then Jill joined in, and all three of them cackled and wheezed until tears poured down their cheeks and their ribs ached from the effort.
Jill shook her head and smiled. “We’re a mess.”
Leslie wasn’t sure if Jill was referring to their family dynamic, the issues with the inn, or their present state of being covered in ocean water and sand. Either way, she had to agree.
They were absolutely a mess.
11
Jill
