by Katy Regnery
“Of course,” I say. “And it’s bleak.”
“Hey, Manda,” she says after a pause. “Guess how many violent crimes they’ve had in Coupeville over the last five years.”
“Coupeville on Whidbey Island?” I ask, referring to the little waterfront town located on the southern coast of Penn Cove. It’s always been Leigh’s and my favorite place for lunch when we visit Whidbey together.
“Yep.” Leigh nods.
“Um. Why would I know that? I have no idea.”
“Two. Only two,” she answers, letting that statistic sink in for a second. Then she adds with more than a little sass, “And maybe you didn’t realize it, but the island has four movie theaters.”
Leigh’s been doing her research too.
***
The ferry has a relatively short line for a Saturday morning, and we make it on after waiting for half an hour. We stand on the upper deck, the ocean breeze pushing at my red waves and Leigh’s tight brown curls. When we arrive in Clinton, we take Route 525, an interior road, north toward Coupeville, which is also the county seat of Island County. I’ve taken this drive dozens of times, but since Leigh’s and my talk on the way up, I’m looking at Whidbey through different eyes. Not just as a day-trip destination but as a possible place to live.
There are forests of fir trees on either side of the road, but there are also shopping centers with grocery stores and other businesses, restaurants, and gas stations. There are farmer’s markets, insurance companies, banks, and hardware stores—not so many businesses that the natural beauty of the island gets lost or the place feels too built up, but amenities are plentiful. And besides, it’s only a thirty-minute ferry ride to mainland Washington.
We make it to Coupeville in about forty minutes, and as I’ve noted a million times before, it feels like a different world—much farther from the city than we actually are. As the crow flies, we’re only about fifty miles from downtown Seattle, but Coupeville feels incredibly removed from the pace of Seattle.
Leigh pulls into a parking place in the waterfront historic district, and we get out of the car, stretching our legs and breathing in the clean, brackish air.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say.
“Helping you get your head out of your ass and explore your options? You’re welcome.” She pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and says, “Stroll around for a while. I wanna call Jude and see how things are going with Kai. I’ll meet you at A Touch of Dutch in half an hour.”
A Touch of Dutch, a small shop in Coupeville that offers imported foods, china, and other items from Holland, is one of our favorite stops for chocolate.
While Leigh sits down on a bench and calls home, I look at Coupeville through a fresh lens and realize it’s not so different from Sitka. Both places are islands. Both have small downtowns directly on the water. Both are populated heavily with fisherman. Both have charming storefronts and cafés. Both would be considered off the beaten path.
Coupeville lacks Sitka’s dramatic mountain backdrop, but Coupeville is, after all, a half-hour ferry ride to the Washington mainland, while the ferry from Bellingham, Washington, to Sitka, Alaska, takes about fourteen hours, changing ferries at three separate ports. Another plus? Coupeville lacks Sitka’s cruise ship traffic, which overwhelms the small town several times a week from April to September.
I pass by the FisherKing Bookstore and the Front Lane Café. Ahead is the Aspen Wine Shop and Tasting Room, and I duck inside, deciding that a glass of wine is required for the sort of thoughts I’m suddenly having.
I walk over to the bar where an older woman greets me with a smile.
“Welcome to Aspen. Are you tasting today?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Do you prefer whites? Reds? Both?”
“I like everything.”
She grins. “My favorite kind of customer! A little of everything then.”
She places a clean glass on the counter and pours a small amount of very, very light wine into the glass.
“This is a Washington State Pinot Grigio,” she says.
I sip it slowly, savoring the sweet notes and clear taste.
“It’s good,” I say.
“It’s very popular,” she replies, swishing some water around my glass and pouring another tasting of white wine, slightly more yellow this time.
“Are you from Coupeville?” I ask, swirling the glass.
“No,” she says. “My husband and I both grew up in Oregon.”
“Oh. You relocated here.”
“We did. Decades ago.”
“How do you like it? Living here on Whidbey?”
“We love it,” she says in that serene way that middle-aged women own. “We both grew up in vineyards, but there’s only one vineyard on the island. We didn’t want to compete with them, but we love the wine business.”
“So you opened a tasting room instead.”
“Yep. We switched gears.”
“And you’re happy here?”
“We love the pace of life here. Island living. Knowing our neighbors. But if we’re just dying for the symphony, we can sneak off to Seattle for a night.”
“Best of both worlds,” I murmur, sipping the wine she’s poured, then offering the glass back to her.
“We think so.” She pours me a rosé. “This is my favorite.”
As I reach for the glass, I gather the courage to ask her another question. “Did you raise any kids here?”
She nods. “Yes, in fact. Two boys and a girl. They went to Coupeville elementary, middle, and high schools. We have a great school system here. Really involved parents. Everyone knows each other.”
“That’s—Gosh, that’s so good to know,” I say, trying the rosé and liking it just as much as she does. “Delicious!”
“Do you have children?” she asks.
“Umm. No. Not yet. But my boyfriend does.”
“Oh. Are you two considering a move here?” she asks while pouring me a splash of red wine.
I clear my throat because I’m not sure how to respond. “I don’t...”
“I only ask because there’s a real estate office in the back of this building. Front Lane Realty. Janelle, the woman who runs it, is lovely. If you stop by after your tasting, tell her that Marlena sent you.”
I don’t want to get ahead of myself.
I don’t want to make major decisions about my life without being thoughtful.
But at this moment—this very special moment—meeting Janelle from Front Lane Realty feels like a really excellent idea.
“Thank you, Marlena,” I say, tasting a Pinot Noir and deciding it’s the best I’ve ever had. “I’ll do just that.”
***
Luke
I’m impatient with my recruits.
I’m snapping at my kids.
And I just threw the TV remote control across my bedroom and watched it shatter against the wall with some weird satisfaction.
It’s official: I miss my woman something fierce.
Don’t get me wrong...I love talking to her on the phone at night or getting a sexy picture via text, but I want to be with her. I want to see her face first thing when I open my eyes in the morning. I want to hold her body against mine when I fall asleep at night.
I’m sick of the distance between us.
So. Fucking. Sick of it.
Nothing feels right anymore: not work, not my house, not my car, and not the town I loved so much when I was married to Wendy.
I miss Amanda, and I feel like if she and I can’t figure this out soon, I’m going to go crazy.
“Dad!” calls Chad from the foot of the stairs. “Aunt Bonnie’s here!”
Oh, great. My sister. My lovely little sister who put me in this situation in the first place. Yep. I’d like to share a piece of my mind with her.
I clomp downstairs in bare feet, standing at the foot of the stairs with a pissed expression. “What?”
“Hi, Luke,” she says, with overexaggerated cheer
fulness. “It’s so nice to see you too. Yes, I’d love to come in. A glass of wine? I shouldn’t, but yes, please. Isn’t it a gorgeous evening? Ted and I decided to bring some pizza over for dinner. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Pizza?” yells Gilly. “Yum!”
“Go set the table,” I bark at her.
She and Meghan scamper off to the kitchen, and I’m left alone with my meddling sister.
“Thanks for bringing dinner over,” I mutter.
“You’re a bear lately,” she says.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare at her. “You’re the one who placed the goddamned ad.”
“Yes, I did,” she says. “The very ad that led you to the next love of your life. You’re welcome.”
I huff angrily because that love of my life isn’t in my life. She’s in goddamned Seattle, which is eight hundred miles too far south for my taste.
She reads my face like a book, then reaches into her purse for a chilled bottle of wine. “I think we should open this.”
Pouring us two glasses, she hands me one, then sits down on the couch in my living room and pats the cushion beside her. “Come talk to me, big brother. You’re miserable.”
I plop down on the couch, careful not to spill my wine. “I miss her.”
“I know you do.”
“She has a great job and lots of friends, and she doesn’t want to move up here.”
“And let me guess...you can’t stand Seattle, especially after what happened with Meghan at the carnival.”
“Bingo.”
My sister takes a deep breath, then exhales. “You need to break up with her.”
Of all the possible combination of words that could have come out of Bonnie’s mouth, this is one I don’t see coming. “W-What?”
“Break up.”
“N-No—”
“I was wrong to place that ad. I was wrong to set you up. You aren’t ready. You can’t handle it. She lives there. You live here. Moving is a hassle. The kids wouldn’t adjust. It’s just not worth—”
“Shut up!” I bellow.
She peers at me over the rim of her wineglass. “Did I hit a nerve?”
“Daddy?” asks Meghan, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “Is everything okay?”
I look at her over my shoulder, at my daughter’s small body in a light-blue shirt and hot-pink shorts. She’s so innocent and young, and she needs a mother so badly. No, scratch that. She loves Amanda. She needs Amanda. As much as I do, on both counts.
“Come here, Meg.” She races across the room and jumps on my lap, making my vino slosh a little. “Everything’s okay.”
She cups my scruffy jaw in her small hands. “Why did you yell at Aunt Bonnie?”
“Because Aunt Bonnie is saying things Daddy doesn’t want to hear,” says my sister. “Come on, Miss Megs, let’s give Daddy a minute on his own to brood. I’ll help you make a pitcher of lemonade before Uncle Ted gets here.”
I chug the rest of my wine and place the glass on the coffee table in front of me. Then I stalk outside to the front porch and sit down in the red wicker chair where I always sit when I call Amanda. Her number’s on speed dial, so I press Talk, then 3, and my phone automatically dials.
“Luke?”
I clench my jaw and close my eyes because her voice makes me happy and hurts at the same time. “It’s me, baby.”
“I was just going to call you!” she says.
Her voice is buoyant tonight—a lot more cheerful than it’s been of late, and part of me is glad to hear the lift in her mood, but part of me sort of appreciated the fact that we were miserable together.
“You sound happy.”
“I am,” she says. “I had a great day!”
“You and Leigh had a girl’s day out, right?”
“Mm-hm. And it was just what I needed.”
“Well, that’s great,” I say, knowing my voice sounds flat but unable to help it. It’s not that I begrudge her a good day, but mine sucks, and I’m feeling extra pissy about it.
“Doesn’t sound like you’re in a good mood,” she says.
“I’m fine,” I huff. I’m just fine, living here in Sitka, feeling sorry for myself, missing you.
“Listen, I know we talked about getting together over Labor Day weekend, but I did a thing, and I was hoping—”
“What thing?”
“I...” She exhales softly. “Hey, do you remember our trip to Whidbey Island?”
“Yeah.” Of course I do. Aside from being with Amanda, it was the one bright spot of those days we spent together in Seattle. The sea air. The little towns. Island living. I actually felt like I could breathe for a few hours. “I liked it there.”
“I rented a house there!” she cries. “For the weekend after next.”
“You did what?”
“I rented a vacation house,” she says, “for you, me, and the kids. I couldn’t stand how bad our last visit was...the carnival and everything. And I know they’re supposed to go back to school in three weeks, so I was hoping we could squeeze in—”
“I can’t afford to just fly us all down to Seattle, Amanda!” I say, my voice gruffer than I intend, but damn it, I don’t want to keep putting a Band-Aid on this thing. Another vacation-style visit? Sure. Sounds great. But then what? When are we going to actually address our future? We need to come up with a plan...or, as Bonnie pointed out, we need to break up.
Because this long-distance shit is killing me. I wasn’t cut out for it.
“Well,” she says, her voice slightly more cautious now, “I have plenty of miles on Delta that you could—”
“I don’t want you to pay for it. That makes me feel like crap.”
She takes a deep breath, then exhales into the phone. When she speaks, her voice has lost all of its sparkle, all of its cheer.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, and fuck, but I think she might be on the verge of tears, which makes me feel like a total asshole. “I should have...I should have talked to you about it first, Luke. I’m sorry. Um. I’ll cancel the house and see if I can get my money back, or—”
“Wait,” I say. “Just...let me think.”
The reality is that I do have money in the bank, because one, I’m careful with my spending, and two, because I received a settlement after Wendy’s death. But that money is supposed to help put my kids through college, and I’ve been very careful about not touching it. That said, if Amanda and I have a chance in hell of ending up together, we need to talk. We need to figure out a plan once and for all, and somehow I think Wendy would approve.
“I can swing it,” I say.
She gasps, and fuck if the corners of my lips don’t tilt up for the first time all day, because I love making her happy.
“But, Amanda,” I tell her, “we need to talk about us. Specifics. For the future. We need to figure out if we want to stay together and how we’re going to manage it. And, baby, that means at least one of us is going to consider moving. We can’t avoid talking about this anymore. We need to face it head-on and talk it all out until we come up with a solution. Agreed?”
“If?” she whispers, her voice small and broken.
“What?”
“You said we need to figure out if we want to stay together,” she says, definitely on the verge of tears. “Are you not...I mean, do you not want to—”
“I love you,” I blurt out, and suddenly, all of that horrible tension inside of me eases. I needed to tell her this. I needed to hear myself say it.
“You do?”
Easiest question I’ve ever been asked.
“Absolutely.”
She sniffles softly, then giggles. “I love you too.”
“Of course I want to stay together, baby. I want to be with you, but we need to figure out how. We need a plan. Long distance isn’t working for me.”
“Me neither. It’s awful,” she says. There are still tears in her voice, but there’s a little bit of sparkle back too, and it
makes me feel better. “If you come down for the weekend, I promise we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding as I stand up and point my body south. “Okay. And we’ll...we’ll make a plan?”
“Mm-hm,” she hums. “I promise. By the time the weekend’s over, we’ll have a plan.”
“No matter what?” I ask, because if I know she loves me, and I know we’re both committed to making this work, I can make it through the next two weeks without ripping someone’s head off.
“Luke,” she says, and I close my eyes when she says my name, because hers is the only voice I want to hear saying it for the rest of my life. “I love you. We’ll have a plan. No matter what.”
Chapter 16
Amanda
“Is this the craziest thing I’ve ever done?” I ask Leigh, cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear as I stare at the snow-capped peak of Mt. Baker from the master bedroom picture window.
Luke called me from Sea-Tac ten minutes ago to tell me that he and the kids have landed and they’re on their way. I’m running around the Whidbey house, trying to get everything perfect before they arrive.
So far, I’ve got Chad set up in the small, blue bedroom that faces the bay and the girls in the larger, peach-colored room across the hall that looks out over the front lawn and driveway. Luke and I will take the master bedroom, which also faces the bay and has its own bathroom and private deck.
“You know what Jude would say...” she says, and in the background, I hear Jude yell, “Go big or go home, Aunt Manda!”
“Thanks, Jude,” I say, draping hand towels over my arm so I can go around to both bathrooms and hang them up. “Now...what does Leigh think?”
“You love him, right?”
“You know I do.”
“What’s the point of loving someone if you’re not willing to gamble your future on them?” Leigh asks me. “I’m with Jude, Manda. Go big or go home. No, you’re not crazy.”
“I didn’t think your real estate agent would find someone to take my apartment so fast,” I tell her, placing two white, fluffy towels by the sink in the master bathroom.
“A gorgeous one-bedroom in downtown Seattle? I think you undersold at four hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
