“Don’t focus on the end point. Focus on today.”
She let herself lean into him. “I’m trying.”
“I’ve got you, Summer. I will not let you fall.”
She rested her head in the space between his chin and shoulder. I love you, she thought but did not say.
He loved her, too, she knew. More than she deserved.
“But what if you had to choose?” she asked. “Between me and Black Dog Bay?”
“Why would I have to make that choice?” He pulled back a bit. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“If you had to choose,” she insisted.
He didn’t hesitate. “I would find a way to have both.”
“You can’t always find a way,” she said softly. “Love has limits.”
chapter 30
“Hey!” Beryl called out from the doorway of Retail Therapy the next afternoon as Summer strolled by with an ice-cream cone. “Come in for a second. I need the latest gossip from the Purple Palace.”
Summer ducked under the store’s awning and took another bite of chocolate fudge ripple. “No gossip, as far as I know.”
“Oh, there’s always gossip around here. Scott says there’s going to be some major construction projects starting up this fall.”
Summer furrowed her brow. “Who’s Scott?”
“My boyfriend. The one in concrete?” Beryl ushered her inside.
“Oh, right. The one who makes you watch baseball in bars that are not the Whinery?”
“That’s him. He says something big is brewing, and everyone in the construction industry wants in on it.” Beryl lowered her voice, glancing back over her shoulder at a pair of customers browsing the “grieving stage” racks. “So what’ve you heard?”
Summer nibbled her waffle cone, trying to quell the nervous flutters in her stomach. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure? Hattie Huntington owns most of Main Street, and you live with her—”
“Not anymore. I moved out in a huff a few days ago.”
“—and Dutch is the mayor and you’re dating him. I figured you’d probably have the inside track.”
Summer considered what Dutch had said about Hattie Huntington deciding to twist the knife after all these years. “Did Scott happen to mention what kind of development project it is?”
“He didn’t know for sure. But something really big.” Beryl wrapped her arms around her torso. “Which kind of worries me because, you know. Black Dog Bay is a small town, and we like it that way.”
“I wouldn’t stress about it too much,” Summer said with a confidence she didn’t feel. “How much can Hattie really do without getting approval from everyone else? I mean, she’s rich and well connected, but she’s not invincible. She’s only one woman.”
—
Major Developer Plans Luxury Hotel and “Brand Overhaul” of Town
“We’re screwed.”
The next morning, Jenna slapped the new edition of the Black Dog Bay Bulletin down on the bar and addressed the friends who had gathered for the emergency summit meeting she’d called at the Whinery. “Read it and weep.”
The women crowded around as Hollis picked up the paper and began to read the article aloud:
Local land baron Harriet Huntington has approved a preliminary purchase and development deal with commercial real estate corporation KRKJ Holdings.
Proposed plans include the construction of an oceanfront resort and several themed shops and restaurants in the town’s main tourist areas.
“The main tourist areas,” Hollis repeated, looking up at her horrified audience. “Like where we’re standing right now.”
“We’re very excited about the projected growth in this area,” said KRKJ spokesperson Kami Mooth. “For years, Black Dog Bay has been known as a haven for heartbroken women, and with an increase in national press coverage, we believe that now is the ideal time to raise visibility. We aim to appeal to lovelorn singles all across the country with a new slogan: ‘Lick Your Wounds in Black Dog Bay.’”
“‘Lick Your Wounds in Black Dog Bay’?” Summer leaned over Hollis’s shoulder to examine the article for herself. “Does it really say that? Gross.”
“Where on earth do they think they’re going to fit a luxury resort?” Beryl fumed. “Every square inch of beachfront property is already developed.”
Hollis kept scanning the article. “Miss Huntington’s selling them her estate. All of it, including the beach rights. They’re going to tear her mansion down to make room for the hotel.”
“She wouldn’t!”
“‘The KRKJ team is unofficially known in development circles as “the Poconoids” for their proclivity for kitsch. Most of their successful ventures are reminiscent of resorts in the Poconos, which famously feature heart-shaped beds and martini-glass hot tubs.’”
“And by ‘kitsch,’ they mean ‘tacky as hell,’” Beryl translated.
“How much of Main Street does Hattie actually own?” Summer asked.
“She holds most of the leases,” Jenna replied. “Including mine.”
“And mine,” said Hollis.
“And mine,” said Beryl. “Rents are going to skyrocket if they bring in franchises and a luxury resort. No way will I be able to renew my lease.”
“Especially because they want to force us out,” Hollis said. “Forget the Poconos. I Googled KRKJ this morning, and their ‘vision’ is like Liberace on Ecstasy. They’re going to turn this place into the second coming of Jersey Shore.” She pointed out the front window toward the bronze dog statue. “That’s where MTV will start filming.”
“There’ll be Mardi Gras beads around that dog’s neck.” Beryl looked close to tears. “Lavinia Leighton is turning in her grave.”
“This place’ll probably turn into a daiquiri bar that plays ‘I Will Survive’ on repeat.” Jenna scowled. “With a vomit bucket by the front door.”
Summer held up her index finger and tried to clarify. “But wait. I thought Black Dog Bay isn’t about hookups or revenge?”
“It’s not. It’s about healing. But why should reality stand in the way of progress?” Beryl shredded a pink cocktail napkin. “I wish we’d never gotten all that media attention.”
“They’re going to shut down my bookstore and start selling plastic ex-boyfriend voodoo dolls for twenty-five dollars a pop,” Hollis predicted. “Just wait. They’re going to do to this town what Madison Avenue did to Valentine’s Day—turn it from something small and special into glittery, mass-produced, overpriced crap.”
“Oh, and check this out.” Jenna picked up the paper. “It says here, ‘Our resort will offer a host of upscale amenities to cater to the newly dumped demographic, including a large gas fire pit on the patio where guests can burn their wedding gowns and mementos.’” Her eyes flashed in outrage. “They totally stole that from the Better Off Bed-and-Breakfast.”
“Gas fire pit?” Beryl snorted. “That’s just wrong. Everybody knows there’s only one way to burn a wedding gown, and that’s on a driftwood campfire.”
“I told you,” Hollis intoned. “Mass-produced, overpriced crap.”
“‘Although the town has a charming history, our goal is to increase the market appeal and reinvent the brand. We’ve tentatively committed to naming the resort ‘Cupid’s Cove.’”
“Cupid’s Cove?” Summer gagged.
“Where’s the vomit bucket?” Beryl asked.
Jenna pulled a bottle of tequila out from under the bar, despite the early hour. “Shots for everyone. On the house.”
Drops of tequila sloshed down on the newsprint as the businesswomen of Black Dog Bay clinked their glasses in commiseration.
“Here’s to the end of our world.”
Summer hung back at the edge of the group. “There has to be something we can do. I mean, aren’t there, like, zoni
ng laws, or council meetings, or . . . or . . .”
“Well, sure, there are all kind of laws.” Jenna laughed bitterly. “But laws don’t apply to people like Miss Huntington and her good buddy, the senator.”
“She finally did it.” Beryl slammed her shot glass onto the bar. “She hit the self-destruct button and she’s taking us all with her.”
“But why?” Hollis kept asking.
“Why does she do anything? Because she can.”
“I called Dutch this morning,” someone said. “He said he’s working on it.”
“He can work on it all he wants, but it’s not going to change Miss Huntington’s mind. You know how she is. There’s nothing that can stop her.”
“Well.” Summer stood up and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “There might be one thing.”
chapter 31
“Don’t worry.” Dutch squeezed Summer’s hand when she finished recounting the emergency summit meeting. “We’ll figure out a way around this.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Ingrid sat at the Jansens’ kitchen table, reading the newspaper article over and over, her jaw dropping lower with each perusal.
“Because I didn’t want you to freak out.” Dutch handed mugs of freshly brewed coffee to Summer and Ingrid.
“Too late.” Ingrid spooned sugar into her cup.
Summer focused on the wisps of steam curling up from her coffee. “This is kind of my fault.” When Dutch and Ingrid started to protest, she explained, “Hattie’s doing this to make a point. And her point is, I better do what she says.”
“No. This is not how it works. Everything’s got to go through eighteen layers of bureaucracy.” Dutch remained staunch. “They can’t just start construction next week.”
“Really? Then how do you explain the geological survey team Hollis saw down at the beach this morning?” Summer and Ingrid crossed the kitchen and peered out the recessed dormer window. Sure enough, they could see trucks and workers assembled on the sand in front of the Purple Palace.
“This can’t happen.” Ingrid collapsed in a heap on the braided blue rug. “They can’t tear down that hideous house and put up some hideous resort.”
“And turn Main Street into the Snooki strip mall,” Summer said. “Don’t forget that.”
“None of that’s going to happen,” Dutch said.
“Yeah—as long as I knuckle under to her demands and go abroad indefinitely with her.”
Ingrid’s eyes got even more panicky. “But you can’t leave, either.”
Summer stared out at the shoreline. Imagining how the view would change with the addition of a huge, hulking resort called “Cupid’s Cove.”
“Right?” Ingrid turned to Dutch. “She’s not leaving, right?”
“She’s not leaving,” Dutch said. “Nobody’s developing the shoreline and nobody’s leaving.”
They both looked at Summer.
“Say something,” Ingrid demanded.
Summer lifted her mug halfway to her lips, then put it back down on the table. “If I stay here, that house is coming down, the new hotel is going up, and the local business owners are screwed. Hattie was crystal clear on her terms.”
Dutch’s composure finally cracked. “You’re actually considering this.”
Summer sighed. “I don’t think I have a choice.”
He strode over to the window. “It’s not your job to fix this, Summer. It’s mine.”
“But you can’t fix it!” Ingrid drew her knees up to her chest.
“I haven’t figured out a way to fix this part of the problem in the three minutes since I found out about it,” Dutch said. “Give me another three minutes.”
Ingrid jumped up, pounded up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door.
Dutch studied Summer, his expression unyielding. “How long have you known about this?”
Summer bowed her head and rested her hand on the back of her neck. “Since, um, since . . . Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious. Why didn’t you come to me as soon as Hattie started in with all this?”
“Because I was too busy panicking about hypothetical engagement rings.”
“You were over here for hours. You spent the night.”
“I was trying to figure out what to do.”
He didn’t move, but she could feel a new distance opening up between them. “We’re supposed to be a team.”
She took a deep breath, tried to sound detached. “This isn’t your problem.”
“Of course it is! Black Dog Bay is my problem, Summer. You are my problem.”
At this, her head snapped back up. “No, I am not.”
“Yes, you are. And I’m tired of waiting for you to be ready to admit that.”
Her words came out hurried and defensive as she tried to explain what Hattie had threatened and what it would mean. “. . . I can’t be responsible for watching Jenna and Hollis and Beryl and Cori and Marla go out of business.” She touched her chest, right over her heart. “I can’t be responsible for ruining the town that your family built.”
He remained remote, his expression stony. “You’re not responsible for anything Hattie does.”
“I’m responsible for my choices.”
“Yes, you are.” His eyes were flat and cold. “You choose to stay here or walk away.”
Long, silent minutes passed.
“I have to go with Hattie.” She focused on the churning gray waves and willed him to understand. “She gave me an ultimatum.”
The chair legs scraped against the floorboards as he stood up. “Then I’ll give you one, too. You either trust me or you don’t.”
She looked up at him, memorizing the features of his face. Remembering how she’d felt when he stopped talking to her for two days. The sharp, savage pangs of loss. The doubts, followed by the certainty that love was something she could have only for a limited time.
She imagined how she’d feel when he walked away from her for good. The sheer effort it would take to bring her back to a numb equilibrium.
“I don’t want you to give up everything for me,” she said softly. Because in the end, you may decide I wasn’t worth it.
“You trust me or you don’t,” he repeated.
She knew what she should say, what she should do. She had to take that leap of faith and believe that he would catch her.
I can’t.
She reached out to him with one hand. “I want to.”
He turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with the burning regret she knew she’d carry across the globe with her.
—
Summer splashed through the warm ocean shallows on her way to the Purple Palace. She could feel the gentle tug of the undertow with every step she took.
When she arrived at the luxurious mansion with the best view of the bay, she tried to envision what the Poconoid design team would replace it with. Neon? Gilt cupolas? Life-size cardboard cutouts of Channing Tatum and George Clooney?
By the time she reached the main entrance, she was in a rage.
For possibly the first time ever, Hattie opened the door herself. Her face looked strained, but her satisfaction was evident. “Back with an air of contrition, I see.”
Summer met Hattie’s triumphant smile with a cold, steely glare. “I hate you.”
Hattie acknowledged that with a brisk nod. “I’ll take that to mean you’re going to accompany me to Europe?”
When Summer didn’t reply, Hattie said, “The car to the airport will leave this house at nine a.m. on Thursday. Will you be here or not?”
Summer spun on her heel and walked away, wishing with all her heart that she could stay.
chapter 32
The next morning was mild and clear, and Summer spotted someone on the edge of Hattie’s beach, where the s
urveyor’s crew had been yesterday. When she walked out to investigate, she found Ingrid kneeling in the sand, using a garden trowel to scoop out a deep, narrow hole.
Summer lifted her hand in greeting as she approached. “What’s up?”
Ingrid didn’t look up from her work. “I’m building a sea turtle nest.”
Summer crouched down next to her. “Do they have sea turtles this far north?”
“No. But sea turtles are endangered, so I figure that if I make the nests, they can’t do any new construction near the shoreline.” Ingrid wiped her forehead with the back of her arm and checked a photo she’d pulled up on her phone. “I think that looks pretty authentic, don’t you? Now I have to figure out what to use for eggs.”
“Oh, honey.” Summer sat down, letting her knee graze against Ingrid’s. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“You don’t?” Ingrid regarded the sand pit and nibbled her lip. “Well, then, I’ll have find another endangered species to exploit.” She started typing on her phone. “What about an osprey nest?”
Summer took a deep breath. “Ingrid, I know this is hard, but Dutch and I—”
“You and Dutch?” Ingrid’s fingers stilled. “Are you and Dutch even speaking to each other? I heard you guys fighting yesterday.”
Summer tucked her hair behind her ear. “You, uh, you heard that?”
“I’m pretty sure they heard you in Baltimore.” Ingrid hunkered down in the sand. She paused, then pleaded, “Don’t leave. Dutch will forgive you. I’ll talk to him.”
Summer sucked in her breath as her heart squeezed. She knew too well what Ingrid was feeling right now. The helpless desperation of trying to fix someone else’s relationship. The hope that if you could just find the right words, act the right way, you could erase sins and correct mistakes you couldn’t even label.
For a moment, she was five years old again, feeling the cold soda seep into her dress and knowing, from the flicker of sorrow in her mother’s eyes, that she had ruined everything.
“You don’t need to talk to Dutch for me. Please hear me when I say this. What happened yesterday was between me and your brother.” She placed her hand on Ingrid’s arm. “We’re adults.”
Cure for the Common Breakup Page 23
