by Toni Blake
* * *
THE DAY OF Dahlia’s memorial service dawned bright and sunny. Snow still covered the ground, but spring was in the air. The sky shone blue, the clouds were fluffy, and Suzanne couldn’t help thinking it was the sort of early March day she might normally call Dahlia to suggest lunch.
While she would normally wear black to such an event, she and Meg and Zack had decided to let color rule the day instead—in honor of Dahlia’s vibrant spirit and love of bright hues. Guests were invited to wear something colorful that would make Dahlia giddy with approval if she was looking down on them. And so Suzanne chose a hot pink sweater she seldom wore since it felt loud to her—but just right for today.
Zack lacked much in the way of bright clothes—even when she went to his apartment above the café to look. But she returned with a fire-engine red fisherman’s sweater, attractive in style, garish in color, that had come as a surprise to her when she unearthed it in the far corner of his closet. “This was all I could find,” she’d told him, holding it up upon her return.
He’d sighed, looking wistful. “I hate that thing. Dahlia got it for me to wear at Christmastime, but I never have. It’s perfect.”
There was no getting around the awkwardness of arriving at the inn. It was awkward getting Zack up the steps, awkward entering her best friend’s home but no longer feeling at ease there, awkward because Dahlia was gone. Though Beck and Lila had come early, and there was safety in numbers as they all busied themselves—Meg commandeering the food setup in the kitchen, Suzanne arranging things in the parlor.
Sadness, of more than one kind, crept in on Suzanne as she worked.
But stop it—Dahlia would hate it if you were maudlin today. She’d want this to be a party.
And so it was.
Everyone arrived in their bright colors, all with stories and memories of Dahlia, told around the fire.
“If not for Dahlia,” Allie shared, “I don’t know if Trent and I would be together. I’ll always love her for her pushy ways.”
“She gave me the courage to ask Michelle out for the first time,” Josh Callen said. “Not sure I’d have had the nerve to do it on my own.”
“Sometimes,” Audrey Fisher said, “when Bob and I would bicker, Dahlia reminded me all the things I love about him. She had a way of making me look past petty nonsense.”
Suzanne hadn’t planned her words, but when her turn came, she said, “I don’t think Dahlia would mind me telling you that on her deathbed, she confided some romantic regrets. But hearing everyone talk here today reminds me that she surely brought more love into the world than she lost along the way. She was my friend, my advisor, my confidante, the person I turned to for wisdom. She saw in me things I couldn’t see myself.”
Meg’s tribute was longer, with a few stories, and the observation that Dahlia always told you what you needed to hear, even when it required harsh honesty or, conversely, a white lie.
When Zack spoke, it was simpler. “She was the best thing in my life, my whole life, since I was a kid. I’m not sure I realized that until just recently. I hope I can be the man she’d want me to be. And I hope I made her life even half as good as she made mine.”
There were tears, but then food and music, two of the many things Dahlia loved. And Suzanne felt they’d honored their friend well.
She stood in the foyer eating chocolate cake, chatting with Tom Bixby—when a tap came on her shoulder and she turned to see Meg. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”
“Of course,” Suzanne said, then followed Meg to the little round library at one corner of the big Victorian. As blandly cordial as they’d been to each other today, she assumed it was a question concerning the event—but when they were alone and Meg closed the door, she knew this was something else.
At first, her nerves flared, flashing back to the ugly scene at the Knitting Nook—but then Meg removed the cake plate and fork from Suzanne’s grasp, set them on a nearby shelf, and took Suzanne’s hands in hers. “I’ve been thinking,” Meg began, “about the things Dahlia said.”
Suzanne nodded. “I’m sure we all have.”
“And she’s right. I have to move on and keep loving you.”
“Oh.” Suzanne’s gaze widened on her friend.
“Believe it or not, I really am happy for you. And for Zack. I really want happiness for you both. And I can suddenly see how well you fit together in ways I just—” Meg stopped, shook her head “—never imagined. Maybe because you hated him,” she added teasingly.
“Fair enough,” Suzanne conceded.
“And when I really get down to the heart of the matter, what hurt was... I used to be the glue that connected the two of you. And now, suddenly, you’re both more connected to each other than you are to me. I felt...brushed aside, forgotten. By both of you.”
Suzanne sighed. She’d been so irritated at Meg that she’d never really considered what it felt like from her side. Suddenly she felt like the oblivious cheerleader who’d bounded onto the scene. “I’m so sorry, Meg. And you were never forgotten, I promise. I never meant for things to happen this way. And I hate that things are weird between us now. I miss my friend.”
Meg’s eyes went glassy with emotion. “I know it was just the situation you were put into. And I know it probably seemed like an impossible thing to tell me.”
“Exactly. I’m sorry I didn’t, though. I should have. I should have found a way. And honestly,” she said, “I didn’t think it would last, or get serious. Because...Zack.”
“So is it serious then? Lasting?”
She hoped Meg wanted the real answer. “He’s...not the same man he was a few months ago. He’s been forced to change, and I think he’s lost so much over the last year, you included, that he’s realized he doesn’t want to lose any more. So...yes.”
“You deserve a man who’s devoted to you, Suz. And if Zack can really be that man, then I’m happy for you. And...well, I can’t guarantee it won’t still be a little weird, and I’m not sure we’ll be double-dating anytime soon,” she said with a soft smile. “But I think I was wallowing in old feelings, and even jealousy. And the moment I realized how little that all mattered was when I saw Seth helping Zack up that hill.”
Suzanne nodded. “That was a moment.”
“Seth didn’t hesitate. And it reminded me why I love him, and that I ended up with the right guy. And so what on earth am I jealous about?”
The words heartened Suzanne. Because they made so much sense. “I think we’re both with the right guy. It’s just...a hard transition.”
“And maybe it’ll go on being hard for a while. But every time it gets hard, we need to just step back and remember what matters. I need my best friend back, Suz—for keeps.”
They were hugging, teary-eyed, when the library door opened and Seth peeked in. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but...I didn’t want you two to miss what’s going on out here.”
Still in a loose embrace, Suzanne and Meg exchanged looks. Then they followed Seth back into the parlor—where Dahlia’s favorite music still played, and the seating had been pushed up against the walls to create a dance floor, teeming with people in bright clothes.
They both smiled, and Suzanne said, “Dahlia would love this.”
“She would,” Meg agreed on a nod. Then she took Seth’s hand and led him to join in.
Suzanne spotted an unmissable red sweater in a chair near the hearth and walked over. “May I have this dance?” she asked.
He gave his head a questioning tilt. “Never was much of a dancer, Suzie Q, and these things,” he said, motioning to his crutches, “make me even worse.”
“But it’s not impossible,” she said cheerfully—just as Wilson Pickett’s “Mustang Sally” faded, and “Suzie Q” began. “And they’re playing our song.”
“Damn it, woman,” he muttered, “if this doesn’t prove I love you, nothing do
es.” And with that, he got to his feet with the aid of the crutches, Suzanne put her arms around his neck and wiggled her hips, and Zack did his best to dance with her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A MONTH AFTER Dahlia’s memorial service, patches of green began peeking through the rapidly melting snow, and enough ice had melted for the ferry from St. Simon to get through.
Life had gone on. Mourning had progressed, Suzanne and Meg’s friendship had progressed, and Zack’s recovery had progressed. He’d even traded in his crutches for a walker. The more he used his right leg, the stronger it became, and the less pain he experienced.
And damn, it was good to get outside. Good to see the sun. And good to be rid of those damn crutches. They’d saved him in some ways—but the walker made him feel a hell of a lot more independent, especially now that the streets were free of snow and mostly dry.
Despite the ferry restarting runs yesterday, suddenly he wasn’t in such a big hurry to reach the mainland. Lots of islanders were—mainland shopping started to seem exotic in winter, and they had friends to see, movie theaters to go to, and haircuts to get.
“You definitely need a haircut, mister,” Suzanne pointed out as they walked slowly up Harbor Street.
He just laughed. She was right. “We’ll get there soon enough, Suzie Q.”
“Happy April, you two!” They both looked up to see Clark Hayes outside the Huron House Hotel, fixing a gutter that had come down under the weight of winter.
“Same to you, Clark,” Suzanne called.
Clark smiled—just as Trent sped past on a bicycle, made a U-turn in front of the park, and headed back in their direction, coming to a stop.
“Slow it down,” Zack teased him. “There are people with walkers out here.”
Trent laughed and said, “Beautiful day for a stroll, huh?”
“Actually,” Suzanne answered, “we’re headed to see Dr. Andover. He called yesterday, ready to get Zack in with a specialist on the mainland, and when he heard how much progress Zack has made, he wanted to see for himself.”
A few minutes later at the clinic, Dr. Andover looked like he’d watched the world’s best magic trick as Zack maneuvered across the floor with the walker. “It’s miraculous, son. Positively miraculous.” He turned to Suzanne to add, “And you, young lady, are to be commended! Whatever you did with him, it worked wonders.”
That made Zack laugh, which she ignored as she replied, “Well, he was a surprisingly good patient—very diligent with his exercises.”
“I couldn’t have imagined you’d regain feeling this quickly,” the doctor said. “Let alone be putting weight on this leg or balancing yourself on a walker. It’s a head scratcher, for sure.” He then plopped down in a chair next to the one Suzanne sat in. “That said, I told you this kind of injury wasn’t my specialty, so maybe I overshot, but I didn’t want to give you false hope.”
Zack saw no reason not to let the old man off the hook. “Maybe it just made me work harder.”
“Well, whatever the case,” the doctor said with a jowly smile, “I do believe I stand corrected. If you keep this up, you might just end up back on that fishing boat.”
At this, Zack’s head shot around as he processed the doctor’s words.
Though the old man held his hands up in front of him. “Don’t know when, mind you. Not gonna happen overnight. But at this rate, you might well have a full recovery.”
A full recovery. Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to hear—but it still was. Because he’d been told normal life was a thing of the past for him. And so maybe, no matter how far he’d come, he hadn’t been willing to let his mind go there. “Are you serious, Doc? You think I could get back that level of strength? Balance?”
Zack’s doubt—and maybe the excitement he wasn’t even trying to hide—made the old doctor pull back a little. “Now again, this isn’t my area of expertise—maybe you’ll reach a threshold. I’m just saying...you’ve beat the odds on this thing so far.”
The very notion left Zack bubbling with unexpected hope. Because even as much as he’d progressed, he was hellaciously far from being able to haul up nets, sort a catch, deliver it to distributors. But hearing the doctor say maybe he could at some point in the future...it was literally having the thing you held dearest taken away and then learning you might get it back.
No. Dahlia was the dearest thing.
And she wasn’t coming back. That bad dream was one he could never wake up from.
But if there was any way he could really get back out on the water, doing the job that had always given him purpose...well, that would be the world’s best magic trick.
He beamed at the woman he loved. “Did you hear that, Suz? Because of you, I might actually be able to fish again one of these days.”
Suzanne did her best to smile back. “That would be amazing,” she said. Because it would. It truly would. But what if that happens? What will it mean for me? For us?
She hadn’t thought it possible—even if Zack regained the ability to walk on his own, commercial fishing was hard labor. And maybe the doctor was wrong—but Zack’s rate of recovery suddenly made her feel shortsighted about this. If he continued at the same pace, he would keep defying the odds. And God knew the man was driven.
Fishing had been an enormous part of Zack’s life. She knew how devastated he’d been to think he’d lost it. So why wasn’t she happy for him now, as happy as he clearly was?
Because you just got him and you don’t want to be without him for months at a time. Same as Meg. And you don’t want to be afraid he might never come back. Meg had never feared that—for Meg, it had just been loneliness. For Suzanne, it would come with something even worse.
Still, she smiled. What kind of monster are you if you don’t want him to be able to do everything he did before? You have to be happy for him—you have no other choice.
And so as they left the clinic, walking slowly toward home, she kept smiling. And she reminded herself that whatever happened, it would take time. Maybe he’ll open the café and love running it. Maybe he’ll realize working a fishing trawler is a younger, healthier man’s game. Maybe he’ll realize he just wants to stay with you, that you’re enough, and that he doesn’t have anything to run from anymore. Please, please, please let it happen that way.
As they walked up Harbor Street, she wasn’t even sure who she was beseeching. God? Dahlia? Whatever angels had been in the room with them that night?
She wanted Zack to be happy. But just like Meg, she didn’t want to feel second-best to a fishing boat, or to the inner demons who had always sent him running there. She’d been so sure she’d banished them. But what if she was wrong and they were still inside him, just waiting for a chance to make him start running again?
* * *
ZACK STOOD ON a sun-washed dock, watching the ferry carry Giselle away. He’d come to the marina to see her off.
He hadn’t really known what to say—she’d been like an angel who’d come floating into their lives, done an important job, and was leaving again. They hadn’t gotten to know her, even though she’d been here for six weeks since Dahlia’s death. While always pleasant, she hadn’t seemed inclined to socialize, even when Suzanne had invited her to dinner. But she’d loved his aunt, and he hoped she knew how much he appreciated all she’d done.
In parting, she’d handed over the keys to the house, and one last letter. “It’s to Pierre Desjardins. I found it, unfinished, in a box of stationery. I think she’d want him to have it.”
Sorry to know she’d had more to say to the man and hadn’t gotten to, he tucked it into a pocket and promised he’d try.
He and Suzanne still hadn’t gone to the mainland. He still wasn’t in a hurry to get there. Funny, he’d always been itching to get off this island when spring came—but now the mainland felt...foreign. He’d never maneuvered there on a walker. And
the mainland held more doctors, which Dr. Andover still wanted him to go see. But he’d said, “Doc, what can they do to help me get better any faster than I already am?” The way he saw it, it would be opening a can of worms. A bunch of appointments and tests—which would cost a shitload of money—all to tell him what he already knew: he was recovering and he would keep on recovering. Hell, at this point, he’d be almost afraid if some specialist wanted him to try something new. Why mess with success?
So it was settled in his mind. He’d go get a haircut in a day or two, but he’d skip the new doctors and stick with Nurse Suzanne.
Still peering out over the ferry’s wake, he caught the sun sparkling on the cold water as the big boat moved past the South Point Lighthouse. The water itself lured him. The Great Lakes had been his home, more than any piece of land, for over twenty-five years. He let out a sigh, still able to see his breath in the cold air and recalling the doctor’s prediction the other day.
He hadn’t allowed himself to even imagine he’d ever work his boat again. But now he was sinking into the feel of it—the feel of stepping onto the Emily Ann and sailing out past the Mackinac Bridge into Lake Huron. Stepping onto that boat was freedom. It had felt exactly the same from the time he was sixteen. As that first trawler had left Saginaw Bay, he’d looked back at the land and known he’d never return, never have to see his mother again, never have to do what anyone told him again. There were no worries, no responsibilities—other than bringing in a catch. It made life so simple.
He could have stood looking out over those waters forever, letting the waves call to him—but using the walker to get around had its limits, made him tired, left his leg achy. As he made his way back toward Suzanne’s place, he looked up to see Dahlia’s Café, the building seeming to stare back at him, empty and wondering what its fate would be.
