Mrs. Miller clapped her hands like a little kid. “I just love it here. We’ve missed it so much.”
Rachel nodded, hoping the panic didn’t show on her face. She headed back into the kitchen, where Marin was making herself decaf.
Oh God. She hadn’t seen Marin since the horrendous faux pas yesterday afternoon. Marin hadn’t shown up for dinner, and neither had Blythe. Rachel ate a lobster roll alone at the Canteen.
“Marin, I’m so sorry about yesterday. I was just so excited about the baby. I hope it didn’t upset you. Or him. Was that your boyfriend?”
“He used to be my boyfriend. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. He had to find out sooner or later.”
Rachel covered her face with her hands. “I’m such an idiot.”
“No, really. You did me a favor. It was like pulling off a Band-Aid, you know?” She looked out the window. “So I don’t get it. These people just showed up thinking they had a reservation and Amelia said let them stay?”
Rachel nodded, weak with relief that Marin forgave her.
Marin groaned. “I’m just not in the mood for randoms.”
“Well, think of it this way: Two months ago we were the randoms. Imagine how Kelly felt. We invaded.”
“We’re not randoms. We’re family.”
“Yeah, well, I think that’s sort of how Amelia and Kelly feel about the people who have been coming here for decades, so try to roll with it.”
“I guess. Oh—Luke’s out front. He wants to talk to you.”
“Here? Now?”
Marin nodded, poured her coffee and snagged a hard-boiled egg, and headed back up the stairs.
Rachel looked down at her flour-covered T-shirt, then brushed it off. She pulled her hair out of its rubber band and shook it loose. Oh, what difference did it make what she looked like? Friends.
She found Luke standing on the top step, facing the house. He wore navy cotton shorts and a baby-blue University of Rhode Island sweatshirt, his jaw notably covered in gold stubble. Oh, Lord help her.
“Hey,” she said as casually as she could manage. “Marin said you wanted to see me?”
Luke smiled. “Any interest in going whale watching with Bart and me? The boat leaves at eleven.”
Luke, a boat, four hours at sea in hopes of catching a glimpse of a majestic creature. It was her mermaid TV movie come to life.
“I’m busy. Thanks anyway.”
He looked genuinely disappointed. “Rachel, I meant what I said. I really do want us to be friends.”
Who cares what you want? she thought, suddenly irritable. It hurt to want someone so much. Still, it was tempting. But the laundry. The cheese!
“It’s not that. I’m actually busy. Amelia and Kelly are away, and a family showed up because they never got the cancellation of their reservation, so I’m running the inn all week.”
“Really,” he said. “That’s…great.”
“Yeah. Hey, why don’t you ask Marin to go?” There. That’s what a friend would say.
“I don’t think a whole afternoon on a boat would be her first choice for passing the time, considering…”
“Oh, you know about that?”
“Word gets around in this place.”
They stood awkwardly. “Well, thanks anyway.” With great effort, she turned and walked back into the house.
Thank you, cheese. Thank you for helping me do the right thing.
Marin couldn’t stand being alone with her thoughts. It was agony. The baby, Julian…her life was completely out of her control. There was nothing to do to occupy her mind except work on the mosaic.
It felt strange to be in the studio without Kelly, almost as if she were trespassing. Before she started working, she reread the note that had been slipped under her door:
Marin: You’ll be happy to know I told Amelia. It was rough. She wants to get away for a few days and how could I refuse? But this is throwing off my timeline for the mosaic. I really need you to start applying some of the pieces. Do the sapphire, bluebell, and arctic Venetian tile—follow my drawing. I started that area so just keep going with the pattern. When in doubt, check the sketch. Remember what I showed you about buttering the tile with the adhesive. Thanks so much and have fun with it! XO K
Marin would not let Kelly down. She worked methodically, and her panic subsided after about a half hour. Once she fell into a rhythm, she realized she’d learned more from her afternoons alongside Kelly than she’d thought. Somehow, she’d absorbed some of Kelly’s technique. And Kelly had known this.
The thing she loved about working with her hands was how it stilled her mind. No agonizing thoughts of Julian, no worry about the pregnancy and her future. There was just the work, a beautiful pattern taking shape under her fingertips.
Three different shades of blue tile joined together to great effect. If she ever made her own mosaics, she would probably have to plan out the patterns a few different ways before deciding. Okay, to be honest, a dozen different ways. She would obsess about making it perfect before giving in to the idea that it was good enough. Maybe that was okay.
She was startled by a knock on the door. She’d locked it out of habit; she and Kelly were always careful to do it so that Amelia wouldn’t walk in unannounced and accidentally ruin her own surprise.
“Just a sec.” Marin wiped her hands on a cloth. Whoever it was would have to be sent away quickly. She was on a mission and in a groove.
She unlocked the door and her breath caught in her throat.
“Your mother said I could find you up here,” Julian said.
Marin put her brush and glue down on the table. “I don’t know why you came back. There’s nothing left to talk about.”
“There’s a hell of a lot to talk about.”
“Julian, I know you probably prepaid for a few days at Captain Jack’s. That doesn’t mean we have to drag out this conversation.”
He shook his head. “So cynical.”
“Don’t I have reason to be? You freaked out over the job thing, were barely able to talk to me for a month. I can’t imagine you handling this baby situation even under the best of circumstances, never mind with this ambiguity. And it’s fine—really. I don’t blame you. I don’t even know how to handle it. So let’s just call it a day and save ourselves the drama.”
“Marin,” he said. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t. Why did he have to show up again? She’d spent all night telling herself it was for the best that he left—it took the pressure off. Some people weren’t meant for lasting relationships, and she was probably one of them. Maybe she would raise the baby in Provincetown, get a job in one of the small law offices nearby. Or she would live in a small place on the beach, become an artist. Not much money in that, but she could make it work…
Julian was saying something. She tried to focus.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Say that again?”
“I came out here because I missed you. We started something amazing and, well, I did a lot of soul-searching in New York and I really want to see where this thing can go.”
“What are you saying?”
“I overreacted when we lost our jobs. I don’t want to make the same mistake now. I think we need to just…take things slow and get all the facts.”
“The facts.”
“Come on, Marin. You worked with me on Genie. You understand all the advances of DNA testing. We can find out the paternity in, what—a few weeks?”
Yes, she’d thought of that. And she’d dismissed it. She didn’t want to know who the father was because she loved the baby no matter what. The messy reality could come later.
“And then what happens? You find out the baby isn’t yours and you just walk away? No, thanks. Let’s just end it right here and now.”
“Marin, we’ve been together only a few months. We haven’t even gotten to the point where we know for sure about each other, never mind raising a child together. But either way, I want to know. And, frankly, Greg has a right to k
now.”
It was true. She hated that he was right.
She didn’t say anything. He looked down at the mosaic.
“Did you make this?”
“No. It’s Kelly’s—my grandmother’s wife. I’m just helping.”
Julian looked around the studio, walked over to the bins filled with shells and colored glass and tile. He examined a few of Kelly’s pieces on the walls. “She sells these?”
“Yes. My grandmother taught her when she first moved out here because she needed something to do. Now houses and restaurants all over town have her mosaics.”
“Impressive.”
“People out here make a living without showing up at a big corporation every day. It’s just a whole way of life I never thought about.”
“Is that what you want? To give up law and live out here doing something like this?”
She shook her head. “No. It just gives me a different perspective, that’s all. Why? What do you want?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. I’m the same ambitious lawyer you met two years ago when you came to the firm. And so are you. So let’s do what we do best: get the facts. Then make decisions.” He took her hand. “What do you say?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“It will be all right,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek.
She hoped he was right.
“Let’s find a computer,” he said. What’s the big rush? she wanted to say. But didn’t.
“My laptop’s in my room,” she admitted.
She hadn’t once taken it out of her suitcase and felt self-conscious retrieving it from the closet, feeling Julian’s eyes on her every movement. It was strangely intimate to be together in that space, somehow much more so than any of their moments at his apartment in the city, including that first night. She had no idea why this was so, but it made her feel skittish.
Julian sat on the edge of her bed while she plugged in the computer and logged on to Genie. It took her a few seconds to find the prenatal genetics section. Her mind clouded with anxiety; she thought about the previous time she’d logged on to the site, prompted by Rachel’s e-mail. This was even more terrifying.
She clicked on the order form for the testing kit and began typing in her info. He moved closer to her, rubbing her shoulders.
“Do they have a next-day-delivery option for the kit?” he said.
She nodded. It was done.
“Now what?” she said.
“Now? Now we go on a date. Why don’t you show me what this town of yours has to offer.”
Blythe found Amelia and Kelly’s matching blue bikes propped at the side of the house. Amelia told them all they could use the bikes whenever they wanted, but as Blythe admitted to Rachel early in the trip, it really had been about thirty years since she rode. And as Rachel told her, getting back on would be like she’d never stopped.
Blythe, wobbling her way onto Commercial, hoped Rachel was right. The congestion on the street made her nervous. It would be embarrassing enough to topple over, but running into a pedestrian or car was her worst-case scenario. She reached for the hand bell more times than was necessary, and a few people looked at her funny. Or was she imagining it?
Still, it felt incredibly liberating to be on two wheels. A giddiness overtook her, and she picked up speed when she turned toward Race Point Road. Why, oh why, had she not been on a bike in so long?
She pulled into the gravel path entrance of Garden Renovations Nursery. From much past experience, she knew she could get a little crazy in garden shops, so she stuck to her list: a forty-pound bag of compost, trays for transplanting, and loose-leaf lettuce, mesclun, Brussels sprouts, and carrot seeds.
Oh, but that wooden birdhouse would look so adorable in Amelia’s front yard…
“I see you have your hands full there. Can I help you take some of that up to the counter?”
He sure could. The man was handsome as could be, with a thick head of silver hair and smiling brown eyes. He was tall and tan, and for the first time since falling into her casual beach routine, Blythe felt self-conscious about her unkempt appearance. Her hair was loose and slightly wavy, her face completely bare of makeup. In Philadelphia, she wouldn’t drive to the WaWa convenience store looking like that, never mind walk around town.
With a smile, she handed him the heavy bag and trays. “Thank you. I should have gotten a cart, but then I have a bad habit of filling it with more than I need.”
“You’re not the first to strategize how to get out of here with minimal damage to the bank account. I know more than a few people in town whose significant others don’t let them set foot in here by themselves.”
“Well,” she said, following him to the front counter, stopping to admire a potted orchid, “that makes me feel a little better.”
“Do you want this packed up for delivery?” he asked. She found herself looking at his hands, one of the first things she noticed about men, even back in the days when she was assigned a dancing partner. This man had wide, shapely hands with neat nails. She wondered if he gardened or just happened to work here. Or did he own the place? And she noticed he did not wear a wedding ring. Then she pretended to herself she hadn’t noticed.
She realized he was looking at her expectantly. “Oh—my address. Right.” She gave him the street number of the house.
“And your name?”
“Blythe Bishop.”
“Nice to meet you, Blythe Bishop. I’m Warren Ames. You’re staying with Amelia and Kelly?”
“Yes. You know them?” Stupid question. Everyone knew everyone in this town.
“I certainly do. But you are definitely a new face around here. What brings you to Provincetown?”
“Just…visiting.”
“Last I knew, Amelia didn’t have a garden.” He printed the sales slip and slid it across the counter for her signature. “You must be very ambitious to tackle that soil.”
“I guess you could say I need a project.”
He smiled. “How long are you in town for?”
“Until Labor Day weekend,” she said. “I originally just came for a week with my daughter but we ended up staying.”
“This place has that effect on people.”
A short line had formed behind her. If Warren Ames noticed, he certainly didn’t seem to care. He slid a few packets of Buttercrunch and Red Sails lettuce seeds across the counter, telling Blythe why he preferred them to the varieties she’d selected. “I’m throwing these in the bag for you. Give them a try.”
Surprised by the gesture, marveling at how lovely it was to be in a town where people were so warm and welcoming, she thanked him profusely. She turned to leave, but then he said, “Blythe? One more thing. Can you put your phone number on the delivery slip?”
“Oh! Of course. The house number or—”
“Your cell number would certainly make me happy,” he said.
Biting her lip to contain her smile, she scrawled it on the paper.
She started heading back to the house, but instead turned to go to the beach.
When the dunes came into view, she slowed to a complete stop. The sun was bright and hot. She straddled the bike with both feet on the ground and looked through the small handbag she’d placed in the wicker basket in front of the handlebars; it held her wallet, her phone, Nivea lip sunblock, and a bottle of water. She took a sip of the water, then kicked the bike back into motion, cycling through a path to the beach. It was already crowded.
She parked the bike and walked a few feet into the dunes. They were high, threaded with grass and vibrant green plants and dotted with bright pink beach roses. She turned her face to the sun, willing to risk a few seconds of UV exposure to bask in the glorious feeling that there just might be life after being Mrs. Kipton Bishop after all.
Marin walked Julian to the Pilgrims’ monument, then up and down Commercial. They hit all the highlights: Cabot’s Candy. Shell Design. Atlantic Accents. She saved her favorite store, Provincia, for
last. An adorable white clapboard shop toward the western end of Commercial, Provincia was filled with Portuguese fine pottery and art, a heavenly little gift shop that tempted her every time she walked past on the way to Thomas and Bart’s.
But she’d never enjoyed it more than she did in that moment, looking through the shelves with Julian, pointing out hand-painted olive dishes, floral-patterned earthenware dinner sets, glazed tiles, Luxo Banho soaps, and mugs and pitchers decorated with images of fish or olive branches.
“What’s with all the roosters?” he asked. Ah, yes, the roosters; lots and lots of clay roosters, tiny three-inch roosters, giant bookend roosters, roosters half a foot tall. All painted with black bodies and adorned with colorful flowers and hearts. A quirk of the shop she’d never questioned. “I don’t know,” she said.
“They’re good luck,” said the man behind the front counter.
“Is that so?” Julian picked up one of the larger birds.
“According to Portuguese folklore, that is so.”
“Well. We could use some luck.” Julian carried the bird to the counter.
“Is it a gift?” the man asked, removing the price tag.
Julian winked at Marin. “As a matter of fact, it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rachel woke up, slipped on her orange flip-flops, and headed down to the kitchen, as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. It was the moment of truth for her cheese, which had been resting in the molds, refrigerating, for a full twenty-four hours. She’d drained the last of the whey yesterday afternoon. If she’d done everything right, it should be ready to serve.
As she pulled it out of the top shelf of the fridge and set it on the kitchen counter, she noted the cheese was white. A tad lumpy. Not, to be honest, very appetizing. Was it okay? She clearly should try a piece before serving it to the guests. But the thought of the rennet…
Still, she knew it was her job as hostess. What if it was horrible? She would disgrace the family! She had to take a bite.
She sliced into it with her knife and scooped a piece into her mouth.
The Forever Summer Page 24
