by Grace Palmer
Then Shane’s face appeared in her mind, along with a deep twinge of regret. She blinked it away before she could start to parse what exactly that meant.
She sighed and finished off her drink just as Fiona sashayed back over to the table. She had on a long, flowy, Bohemian-style floral skirt with a ruffle-sleeved shirt tucked into the high waist. Her hair was in the same long braid it had been in when they’d first met her.
“Can I get you ladies another round?” she asked. Her smile began to fade once she saw the looks on all of their faces. “Whoa. Who died?” As soon as the words were out, Fiona clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. You all just lost your dad. How tactless am I?”
“It’s fine,” Leslie said. “Really.”
“Our dreams, that’s who died,” Michelle said glumly. “Our dreams are dead.”
Fiona slid into the circular booth alongside them. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
Jill ran Fiona through the situation, which took a surprisingly short amount of time. As it turned out, their situation wasn’t all that complicated. It just felt complicated.
Fiona whistled. “Hopefully, you gals like to gamble. Because that’s what it seems like you’re gonna have to do.”
“It was easier to gamble before we had the option to cash out,” Leslie said.
Fiona frowned for a moment. Then, suddenly, she jolted upright. “Hey, gambling. There’s an idea!”
Michelle raised a dark brow. “You think we should try to gamble for the fifty thousand? Because there are no casinos on the island and I wouldn’t even know how to get in touch with a bookie.”
Fiona waved her hand, dismissing them both. “No, you gooses. You could do a raffle! Gambling for a cause. The innocent kind of gambling we do to raise money for children’s hospitals and school trips, that sorta thing.”
It was Leslie’s turn to frown. “A raffle might help a little, but there’s no way it could make that much money.”
“It depends what you’re raffling off,” Fiona countered. “My cousin organized a raffle for her daughter’s cheerleading team. It was a gift box with a bunch of little things in it: a one-hour massage at a spa, jars of local honey, a free car detailing from a car wash, movie tickets, stuff like that. They made over six grand in one night.”
“You know,” Michelle joined in, “my daughters’ school always did raffles as part of their fundraisers and they were a hit, too. One time, they made enough money to fund their entire summer art program by selling tickets at a football game.”
“Okay…” Leslie ventured. “But what would we raffle off? A free stay at the Wayfarer?”
“That’s a start,” Fiona said. “And I’ll add in free drinks and appetizers here at the bar. We make a mean nacho platter.”
Jill sat up. “You two have lived on the island your entire lives. You definitely have some connections that might be willing to donate more prizes to the raffle, right?”
Leslie and Michelle looked at one another, each trying to gauge the other’s interest. Michelle was the first to speak. “Dad did have a lot of friends. I’m sure many of them would want to help if they knew the inn was in trouble.”
“Dad would hate asking them for help, though,” Leslie laughed.
Warren Townsend had always been the “suffer in silence” type. He kept a firm upper lip and didn’t like to show weakness. She could practically hear him rolling in his grave at this idea.
Michelle reached over and gripped her sister’s shoulder. “And look where it got him. Don’t you remember the letter he left us? In the will?”
Even though things had mostly worked out, Leslie still didn’t like to think about the reading of the will. About the complicated jumble of emotions it let inside of her. Grief and anger and surprise and jealousy. It had been a horrible day. Even her dad’s letter had felt underwhelming.
Still, Leslie nodded. “‘I dealt with problems alone when I should have asked for help. All I want for all of you is to learn from my mistakes.’ I remember.”
“So,” Michelle said, “let’s learn from his mistakes! Let’s ask for help.”
“Six weeks is plenty of time to know if the raffle plan will be enough,” Jill added. “There’s honestly nothing to lose.”
Fiona was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. “So? So? Am I sensing a new plan has formed? Are my three favorite businesswomen going to give this a go?”
Michelle and Jill both turned to Leslie, waiting for her response.
Asking for help didn’t come naturally to Leslie. It never had. Nine times out of ten, she’d rather give up than be forced to ask for help.
Plus, it would be easier to sell. A guaranteed paycheck. A clean slate.
But then again, here she was, looking into the hopeful eyes of her sisters and the bartender they’d only just met but had already fallen a bit in love with. Leslie had to try. For them. For her dad.
And for herself.
Finally, she nodded. “Let’s do it.”
25
Michelle
A FEW DAYS LATER AT THE WAYFARER INN
Michelle had been standing at the front desk in the Wayfarer Inn’s lobby so long she was sure her feet should be fused to the hardwood floor by now.
Fridays were a big day for both check-ins and check-outs. People looking for a quieter trip or hoping for lower midweek room rates were headed home, while the weekenders were just arriving.
Usually, Michelle and Leslie split the duties—Jill didn’t like being the forward face of the inn. She, much like their dad, preferred to work behind the scenes. But today, both Leslie and Jill were out scouring the island for anyone who might want to donate to the raffle.
So far, out of Warren Townsend’s friends, Jeff Robertson of Robertson’s Carpet and Tile was donating a fifty-dollar gift card and Kelly of Scissors Beauty and Beyond was in for a free haircut and reconditioning treatment. Beyond that, a slew of other businesses they’d asked had jumped at the chance for the free promotion, throwing in a free oil change, burgers and milkshakes from the 1950s-style diner on Circuit Avenue, and a free home inspection.
“Does anyone really want a home inspection?” Jill had asked. “Ignorance might be bliss in that regard. It could turn out to cost them more than the raffle is worth.”
Leslie had shrugged. “I’m not turning anyone down. The more prizes in this basket, the more we can charge per ticket, and the more people will bid on it. So let’s pound pavement and keep adding stuff.”
She had a point, which is why Michelle had agreed to man the desk alone. All day. On a Friday.
Michelle had just checked in an elderly couple—lugging their absurdly heavy antique suitcases up the stairs—and then come back downstairs to find yet another family ready for her services. As soon as they were settled, she got a call from the elderly duo that they needed another set of towels. She hustled up and downstairs, to and fro, putting out fires everywhere she went.
She was still wearing her plastic smile when the front door opened and Leslie and Jill walked inside. “Welcome to The Wayfarer Inn, how may—oh, thank God,” Michelle said, sagging against the desk. “You’re back.”
Leslie laughed. “It went that well?”
“I’m exhausted. I never thought having so many guests could be a bad thing, but… woof. I’ve been busy.”
Jill held up a sheet of paper with a long, scribbled list written on it. “So have we!”
“What is that?”
“The list of prizes people are willing to donate,” Leslie answered proudly. “We’re going to need a bigger basket.”
Michelle clapped. “That’s amazing! The fact that my feet have all but fallen off is worth it because you two hit the jackpot of donations. Yay for us.”
Leslie laughed and waved Michelle out from behind the desk. “Go take a break. Or a nap. Whatever. Just… get out of here for a bit. We’ll handle things.”
“Are you sure?” Michelle asked.
Their fight was ancien
t history at this point, but Michelle still couldn’t help but worry she wasn’t pulling her weight. Guest relations didn’t come as naturally to her as it did to Leslie, and she was nowhere near as good at handling the finances as Jill. Half the time, Michelle felt like the only thing she could offer was having a pulse and a free pair of hands.
“Positive,” Jill confirmed. “We’ve got this. Take a break.”
So she did. As much as it would have been nice to get out of the house and maybe head back to The Mud Bucket to write a bit more on her screenplay idea—she hadn’t been back since she’d dumped coffee on the handsome stranger—Michelle needed a nap.
She shuffled through the swinging kitchen door, poured herself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher in the fridge, and then went back to her bedroom to lie down. She managed to take two sips before her lights went out.
When she woke up, afternoon sun was slanting through her blinds, painting shadow streaks on her walls.
She’d kept the Johnny Depp pictures and band posters up at first, enjoying the giggly nostalgia. But after a couple weeks, she was tired of feeling like a moody teenager. Several hours had been devoted to peeling down everything she’d hung up as a teenage girl, scraping off the bits of tape left behind, and changing out her lime green comforter for one of the white down duvets from the guest stash in the linen closet.
She still needed to get some art hung up. Maybe frame some photos of the girls. But for now, the generic guest room vibe beat out reliving her teen years.
Michelle swallowed her now-room temperature tea, brushed through her wild hair in the mirror, and then padded out into the kitchen.
Usually, Leslie would be prepping dinner by this time in the day, but the kitchen was empty. Michelle did her best to swallow her disappointment. After all, Leslie had been covering so she could take a nap. It wouldn’t be fair to complain about her not also making dinner. But Michelle was starved.
Before coming to Martha’s Vineyard, Michelle cooked almost every night. For Kat and Beth when they were back from school or for Tony when he could leave work in time for dinner. Nowadays, though, she hardly cooked at all. Leslie cooked every meal, for the guests and for Jill, Michelle, and Amelia. And she did so happily, it seemed. Michelle and Jill had both offered to step in, but Leslie insisted she enjoyed it.
“I only ever cooked small meals for dad and me. It’s nice to cook a big family dinner. Really,” she’d said. “I don’t mind.”
Michelle grabbed a handful of washed grapes from the fridge to try and curb her appetite. It was only when she was over by the fridge that she heard the voices.
For a second, she assumed they were coming from the front lobby. Maybe Leslie and Jill helping guests or talking to one another. But then she heard a laugh coming from the direction of the back porch.
A high-pitched, tinkling laugh that Michelle would recognize anywhere.
She slammed the fridge closed and sprinted to the back door. When Michelle yanked the door open, the talking stopped. Everything went quiet.
But in front of her were Leslie, Jill, Amelia…
And Kat and Beth.
Michelle’s shoulders dropped, her mouth fell open, and she just shook her head, not quite believing her own eyes.
Kat laughed again—the sound that had drawn Michelle to the porch in the first place—as Beth stood up and wrapped her mom in a hug.
“It’s good to see you, Mom,” Beth murmured.
Finally, Michelle came to her senses. She cinched her arms around Beth’s middle and squeezed. “You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here. Are you real?”
“Only so long as I don’t suffocate,” she wheezed.
Michelle let go just in time for Kat to come barreling in. “Group hug!” Kat cheered, her voice muffled against Michelle’s shoulder.
“Please, can we not?” Beth said.
Michelle laughed, but it quickly turned into a sob.
Her girls were here. Her family. Her heart.
Michelle felt like she was going to burst.
Once she finally stopped hugging her twins and let them breathe, the story came out in bits and pieces.
“We just finished finals,” Beth explained.
“Four As and one B. Both of us,” Kat beamed.
“Yeah, anyway,” Beth continued. “And we were going to stay on campus since our dorm is open all summer, but Aunt Leslie called us.”
Michelle turned to her sister. “You did this?”
Leslie shrugged sheepishly. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“It is the best surprise,” Michelle choked out.
Beth waved her hands. “No! No more crying, okay? This is happy.”
“I am happy,” Michelle argued. “Really, really happy.”
Kat leaned over and rested her head on her mom’s shoulder. “So are we. We wanted to see you. And meet Aunt Jill,” Kat said. “And come help.”
“Kat mentioned helping last, but it’s one of the main reasons we came,” Beth clarified. “Aunt Leslie told us about the raffle and all the work you’ve been doing around here and we wanted to see what we could do.”
They did need the help. Desperately. Michelle, Leslie, and Jill had all been running themselves ragged. Between keeping the inn functioning, setting up the raffle, and taking care of Amelia, they all had their plates full. But that still didn’t mean Michelle wanted to drag her daughters into her responsibilities.
Michelle and Leslie had each been forced to grow up fast after their mom died. Their dad did his best, of course, but he’d been busy. They figured out how to get themselves ready for school when they were still in kindergarten. Michelle had vivid memories of dragging the stepstool from the bathroom all the way down the hall to the laundry machine so she could reach the knobs and wash her school clothes.
She’d never wanted that for Kat and Beth.
“You did not have to give up your whole summer to come help us,” Michelle said. “Really, girls. I want you to enjoy yourselves. Be kids.”
Kat lowered her chin and raised a brow, looking so much like a young Leslie—and, as painful as it was to see, like Tony. “Mom, we’re on Martha’s Vineyard for the summer. Explain to me how living across the street from the ocean is us not enjoying ourselves?”
Beth nodded. “Plus, you’ve always wanted to take us to the film festival here. That’s in the summer, right?”
“The Strand Theater is doing their summer film series right now,” Michelle admitted. “I’d love to take you both.”
“See?” Kat said. “Everybody wins. We get to enjoy the beach, you get to take us to some boring old movie thing, and the Wayfarer Inn gets to stay open.”
“And I get to meet my nieces,” Jill added quietly. “My brother doesn’t want kids, so I didn’t think I’d ever be an aunt.”
Kat stood up and pulled both Jill and a surprised Amelia into a group hug. “Dreams really do come true.”
They all laughed at Kat’s dramatics. Michelle had to pinch herself again to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.
“Speaking of dreams,” Leslie said, “I need to go move things around in Dad’s office to make room for the air mattress. We’ll get you something more official soon.”
“Like bunk beds!” Kat suggested.
Beth wrinkled her nose. “God forbid.”
Leslie laughed. “We’ll figure something out.”
“I’ll come help you,” Jill offered. “Mom, do you want to come in? It’s a little cold.”
Amelia agreed and, within a minute, Michelle was alone with her daughters for maybe the first time since the day they’d driven away from their home in San Francisco back down to USC.
“So there’s a lot to catch up on,” Michelle began.
“Like what?” Beth asked innocently before cracking a wry grin.
Kat chuckled at her sister’s joke, but it was at a much lower wattage than her usual smile.
Michelle tipped her head to the side and leaned forward. “Really. How
have you both been doing?”
“Fine,” Beth said. She looked at Kat. “Right?”
Kat nodded. “Fine.”
Michelle shook her head and wagged a finger. “No. I don’t want the rehearsed, filtered version. Honestly, how are you doing?”
Kat was the first to break. She slouched forward, head in her hands. “Is it bad that I’m mostly embarrassed? Like, I feel bad for Dad, but if he did what they said, then he deserves to be in jail, right?”
“It’s not bad to feel however you need to feel about this, honey.”
“Well, then I’m mostly embarrassed,” Kat said. “People at school found out about it. There have been articles in the paper.”
“Some kids in one of my business ethics classes said some things,” Beth admitted.
“But really,” Kat continued, “we’ve mostly been worried about you, Mom. Which is why we’re glad we’re here now. We want to know you’re okay.” She laid a comforting hand on Michelle’s thigh.
“And what about you?” Michelle asked, turning to Beth. “How do you feel?”
“Same.”
“That’s it? Care to elaborate?”
Beth sighed. “He lied to us. He lied to you. He put us all in a really bad place, not to mention all the people he screwed over by stealing from them. I’m embarrassed and angry and worried about you.” She nodded with a sense of finality. “So, yeah. Same.”
Being worried about the girls was Michelle’s default. She was constantly worried about them on some level. But when Tony was arrested and charged, Michelle’s anxieties had reached a new fever pitch. She hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten until this exact moment… when a bit of that weight slipped away.
Her babies were okay.
She and Tony may have gotten so many things wrong, but not these girls. They were strong and confident and resilient. They’d be okay. And for the first time, Michelle allowed herself to really, truly believe that.
“Well, I’m okay,” she said. “You two don’t need to worry about me. That’s not your job.”
“Oh, it’s not?” Kat asked with a mock frown. “I wish we’d known that before we did all that work setting up the interview.”
