by Lizzie Shane
“Yeah,” Maggie murmured as she climbed the steps after him. “Me either.”
Though she wasn’t sure what she was staying for.
Not that she really knew why she did anything these days. Because she should. Because it was scheduled or contracted or expected of her. Even when she’d tried to elope with Demarco it had felt more like she was playing the part of Maggie Tate, rather than actually listening to what she wanted. She wasn’t sure she even remembered how.
Planning her entire life or even deciding what to do with the house was entirely too complicated, so Maggie focused on what she wanted in this moment. Crawling into bed for a nap was tempting, but she had a new rule. No naps. No sleeping past ten. No curling up under the covers and waiting for the world to fade away. She knew what would happen. And Mel wasn’t here to fix it. So no hiding in bed.
And no more long walks on the beach. She’d already taken Cecil on two today and her arms were still sore from carrying him all the way back both times.
She needed to do what Bree had said. Break her goals into manageable pieces. At some point she would have to look through the house—whether she updated it or sold it as it was, she would still need to get Aunt Lolly’s things sorted. She would start there. With something manageable.
The closet. She could keep the clothes that fit her—or at least enough to keep her clothed for the time she was here without having to go shopping—and bag the others up for Goodwill. Maybe even ask Ian if Lolly had any friends who might want some of her things before she gave them away.
She could do that.
She looked down at the upturned face of her baby. “Come on, Cecil. Let’s go make ourselves useful.”
* * * * *
He was running late.
Ian usually didn’t worry much about punctuality. Get Sadie to school on time, pick her up on time, everything else was secondary—but on Fridays his mother picked Sadie up on her way down from Seattle so he could work straight through the afternoon, and today he’d lost track of time on a job where nothing had seemed to go right. Which wouldn’t have mattered except Friday was the one night a week he actually had somewhere to be besides home. The one night a week his life didn’t revolve around being a son or a father or helpful to the community. The day he got to turn off all his worries and just be.
Not that anyone would mind if he wasn’t on time. His standing gig down at the Tipsy Gull wasn’t exactly a slot at the Grand Ole Opry. But he hated being late. Hated the lack of professionalism—which only served to remind him that this wasn’t his profession anymore. He was a handyman now. End of story. Sadie deserved stability and that wasn’t a word that could describe the life of a touring musician. Not by a long shot.
He loved his life with Sadie. The two of them made a great team. It wasn’t what he might have dreamed for himself, but he’d never regretted the direction his life had taken for a second.
But just because he had no regrets didn’t mean he didn’t look forward to Friday nights and the chance to play at the dreams he’d once had.
Gravel sprayed as he took the driveway a little too fast, bumping over the familiar ruts and mentally mapping out a plan. Shower, change, grab a slice of leftover pizza for the road to keep him going until his first break when the cooks always had a greasy bacon cheeseburger waiting for him at the bar.
Every light at Lolly’s place seemed to be burning as he drove past, but Ian flicked away stray thoughts of Maggie. He hadn’t seen her since their talk on the beach yesterday, and he didn’t plan to. The woman whose plumbing he’d been fixing today was the queen of Long Shores gossip and she’d seemed convinced Maggie was handing the sale of the place over to Kimmie Johnson and leaving town ASAP. Which was just fine by him. Before he knew it she’d be gone. Just another story the locals told to liven up their daily lives.
He threw the truck into park in the driveway, since his mother’s Honda CR-V would be taking up his usual space in the garage and the windjammer he was going to get around to fixing one of these days currently took up the other spot.
He jogged up the exterior steps. Shower. Change. Pizza. He could be in and out in fifteen minutes. Which, if he broke all the speed limits down to the Gull, would make him only about ten minutes late.
Shower. Change. Pizza. He repeated the mantra to himself as he shoved open the front door to the sound of his mother and his daughter chattering in the kitchen. “Good evening, Summer family,” he called to them, toeing off his boots so he didn’t track crap all over his mother’s hardwood floors. Every other day of the week they might be his floors, but on Friday’s they became hers again.
Dog toenails clattered across the floors moments before Edgar, his mom’s dopey mutt, appeared in the entryway, his eyes shining with vacant joy. The bloodhound-setter mix may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a sweetheart. “Hey, dummy,” Ian cooed in a gooey voice, rubbing Edgar’s silky ears as the dog gazed up at him lovingly. Thank God he finally seemed to be past the puppy stage where he greeted Ian at the door with one of Ian’s shoes, gently chewed and thoroughly slobbered.
“Dad!” Sadie appeared in the entryway immediately after the dog, wearing her usual post-school uniform of ratty jeans and a Mariners hoodie. “Nana says it’s totally fine if I go to the Mariners game with Lincoln next week instead of doing our usual Saturday stuff. And she says I can even stay overnight with her in Seattle if you don’t want me staying with Lincoln’s parents because you’re paranoid or whatever.”
Ian rounded the corner into the kitchen where his mother stood at the counter, meeting her gaze with a frown. “Does she.”
“You’re home late. Long day?” his mother asked, her gaze taking him in as her nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell?”
“Sewage, probably. I’m gonna grab a shower.” He headed toward the master bath, trying not to snap at his mother for undermining his authority with Sadie about the game.
She let them live here rent free. She paid for Sadie’s school. She came down to babysit every Friday night so he could go out. If that made her think she had the right to overrule his parenting decisions, that was the price he had to pay.
“Would you like me to make you a veggie frittata?” his mother called after him. “It’s organic.”
“Nah, I’ll just grab a slice of the leftover pizza.”
“Oh sweetie, I threw that away. That processed food is poison.”
Ian ground his molars and didn’t stop walking. “A frittata would be great. Thanks.”
The shower made Ian feel—and smell—more human and he dressed quickly, determined not to get into an argument with his mother before his gig. Lolly used to watch Sadie on Friday nights, back before his father died and he’d started worrying about his mother being alone too much. He’d encouraged her to get Edgar and begged her to come down to help him out on Friday nights since Lolly’s “arthritis” was flaring up. If Lolly had only invented her arthritis so his mother felt needed, Allison Summer didn’t need to know that.
Both his mother and Lolly thought they knew the One Right Way to do everything—and almost never agreed on anything—but the two of them had become close in the last few years. And now his mom was missing Lolly as much as he and Sadie were. He needed to remember that. And not snap her head off when she threw away perfectly good pizza because the flour wasn’t organic enough for her standards.
He came back into the kitchen to find an organic frittata waiting for him at the breakfast bar. “Thanks,” he said again as he slid onto the stool and started to eat as quickly as he could without being scolded for his table manners.
His mother glanced at the clock, a slight frown pulling at her brow. “Did the time of your show get changed?”
Ian focused on his frittata, determined to let the subtle scold roll right off his back. “Nope. Just running late today. Figured I shouldn’t leave Mrs. Nilsson with sewage leaking into her basement.”
“Dad.” Sadie squirmed on her stool, evidently having waited as long
as she could for the grown-ups to finish with the boring stuff. “I can go, can’t I? To the game? Lincoln hasn’t asked me yet, but I know she’s going to. She even told me that I should invite Maggie Tate since she’s living next door to us now and I explained that I thought Maggie was a Dodgers fan, but Lincoln said that would be okay because we aren’t playing the Dodgers and Maggie can just root for the Mariners with us—”
“Sadie, Maggie might not be here next week. Let alone want to go all the way up to Seattle for a baseball game. You shouldn’t have promised your friends—”
“I didn’t promise! I just told them she was living next door and she was nice and that she’d known you for, like, forever, but you didn’t like to talk about it because you didn’t want people to, like, use her for her fame and stuff.”
“Sadie. Don’t you think that’s bending the truth? She isn’t our friend. She’s only next door and she won’t even be there for long.”
“Nana said she didn’t see anything wrong with what I said.”
“Of course she did.”
His mother frowned at him disapprovingly. “She was your friend. And I’m sure she could be again if you would extend a little neighborly kindness.”
Ian looked at the clock and abandoned all hope of being on time. “Sadie, can I have a word with your grandmother in private?”
His daughter’s gaze flicked warily between her father and grandmother before she slunk off her breakfast bar stool and called to Edgar. She grabbed the dog’s tug-o-war toy and retreated to the far edge of the living room, near the door to the deck where she was, in theory, out of earshot, though Ian was sure she’d be straining her ears trying to catch every word.
His mother didn’t wait for him to start. “I don’t understand what your problem is with Maggie.”
“This isn’t about Maggie. It’s about telling Sadie she can go to a baseball game in Seattle when I’ve told her I’m not sure I want her to go. It’s about encouraging her to be ‘neighborly’ when I’ve asked her to leave Maggie alone.”
“Well, I didn’t know you wanted her to leave Maggie alone because I’m sure you didn’t tell me. And as for the baseball game, I asked Sadie if you had already given her an answer and she said you were worried about her staying overnight or losing out on time with me. You didn’t give her a no, you gave her obstacles, and I had no way of knowing you would be angry with me for clearing those obstacles out of her way when going to the baseball game is a perfectly reasonable request and would, quite frankly, be good for her. She needs to be building these friendships—”
His mother was speaking at an angry whisper, but Ian still glanced over his shoulder to check on Sadie’s location before answering in his own sub-vocal hiss. “Maybe I don’t want her making friends with spoiled little rich girls who make her feel like she has to compete to be good enough for their friendship and encourage her to brag about knowing famous people.”
“She has to make friends with someone! She is a sweet, smart, social girl and she needs someone in her life other than you and me. Friends her own age! She’s already at a disadvantage because she lives so far from school that the other kids don’t invite her to as many things.”
“She can make friends with the kids here.”
“Because they’re better? Because they aren’t rich snobs? I know you have a chip on your shoulder about me paying for that school, but we agreed that if you were going to live out here Sadie was going to go to a school that challenged her academically.”
“I have no problem with the academics—”
“Just the families? Just the awful rich people like me?”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Yes it is. But just because you have a problem accepting help doesn’t mean Sadie shouldn’t be allowed to bond with her peers. She spends all day at that school and those children are only going to become more important to her as she gets older,” his mother continued. “She may play with the Long Shores kids when she gets home, but what are you going to have her do when she wants to get involved in extra-curriculars? Join the softball team at Long Shores Middle School where she hardly knows anyone? These are the children in her life and you’re being selfish by refusing to think of what’s best for Sadie.”
“Selfish? Are you fucking kidding me? Sadie is my life.”
His mother folded her arms across her chest. “You’re late for your show.”
“Do you want me to cancel it? I’m late already.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then the anger melted off her face, leaving behind a cool resignation. “No. Go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
It was tempting to stay, to prove the point that he knew better than anyone how to put Sadie first. But he knew if he stayed he would only end up fighting with his mother about it—and he needed to get out of the freaking house.
He stood, collecting his guitar case. “Don’t let her stay up too late,” he said—which was ridiculous, because his mother was even stricter with Sadie than he was about bedtime, but he felt the irrational need to remind them both that he was the parent and she was the babysitter.
His mother nodded, simply accepting the instruction. “Sadie,” she called, raising her voice, “come say goodnight to your father.”
Sadie raced over with Edgar trotting at her heels. “Gnight, Dad!” She flung herself against his stomach and he wrapped his free arm around her, his palm resting on the messy curls that covered her shoulder blades.
“Gnight, kiddo,” he murmured, suddenly feeling like a first class shit. Was he being selfish? Letting his own prejudice against the yuppie parents at Sadie’s school hurt her? Letting his baggage over her mother and the fact that his life hadn’t gone the way he planned hold her back? He’d promised himself that he would always think of her first. Always make the choice that would be best for her. But it wasn’t always easy to see that choice. Was he wrong?
His mother met his eyes, her mouth crimped in a tight little line as Sadie stepped back and leaned against her. “Have a nice show.”
He jerked a nod and walked out the door, feeling like an asshole of the highest order.
Just another day in single parenthood.
CHAPTER TEN
The closet was a treasure trove.
The first rack of clothing when she opened the door was all hoodies, sweaters, flannel button-downs, fuzzy pajamas, jeans, and capri pants—the standard casual uniform of the Pacific Northwest—but when Maggie started removing those items and stacking them on the bed, she found layers of bohemian dresses and bell bottoms, decades worth of clothing that spanned several fashion eras, and several dozen boxes stacked in the back.
The closet stretched back deeper than she’d ever imagined.
Maggie had expected the closet to be a simple place to start. What was complicated about clothes, after all? But she found herself trying on dresses and shoes that were a little too big, playing dress-up—and wondering who Lolly had been when she wore these clothes. She tried on the clothes like the wardrobe for a part she was playing, trying to figure out the character from what she wore.
By the time Maggie had met her, Lolly had been in her sixties and already entering her flannel phase. As a kid, she hadn’t ever really considered who Lolly was before then. And when she got older, her idea of Lolly had already been fixed. But now she wished she’d asked more questions when she had the chance.
Cecil had long since lost interest and fallen asleep in a pile of pajamas, but Maggie only grew more energized as it grew dark, turning on every light and continuing her quest. She was wearing a cute little sixties-era sundress, wondering if Aunt Lolly had worn it here or somewhere else, trying to remember if Lolly had ever said whether she’d always lived in Long Shores or, if not, when she had arrived there.
She stretched to pull another stack of dresses off the top shelf and a folded envelope fluttered to the floor.
Setting aside the dresses, Maggie picked up what appeared to be a standard, letter sized envelope that had bee
n sealed and folded in half. She unfolded it to check the address—and froze at the sight of four block letters scrawled on the front.
LORI.
No address. Nothing else. Just Lori.
Maggie dropped to the floor with a thud loud enough to wake Cecil. He lifted his head sleepily and stirred himself to pad over and flop down in a sprawl against her hip. She absently patted him as she studied the envelope.
“Do you think it’s for me?” she asked Cecil, who was already starting to snore again.
She’d been named Dolores after Aunt Lolly, who had always called her Lori. But what if Dolores Loraine Tully of Long Shores, Oregon had once gone by Lori as well? The letter could be private.
If Lolly had left a letter to Maggie, apologizing or explaining or even just saying whatever it was she wanted to say in her final days, why would she leave it wedged in the back of her closet beneath a stack of clothes where it was entirely possible no one would ever find it? It might not even be a letter inside.
Maggie felt the envelope, but there was nothing lumpy—like the safe deposit box key this would be if this were a movie. The envelope was a little stiff, like it had been sitting there long enough for the paper to dry out. So possibly not a deathbed confession after all. But that only made Maggie want to open it more.
When had Lolly written it? If she had been the one to write it. And if it was even meant for Maggie.
She hadn’t been back in so long. There could have been a dozen Loris in Lolly’s life in the last decade for all Maggie knew.
Ian would know.
Maggie scrambled to her feet, sliding her feet into a handy pair of clogs and grabbing a hoodie, not caring if any of it matched as she clutched the envelope in her hand and rushed toward the back door. “You stay here, baby,” she said when Cecil lifted his head.
It was dark along the path between the two houses, clouds hiding the stars and no moon in sight. She stumbled blindly, her eyes slow to adjust after she’d lit every lamp in Lolly’s place. A stray branch slapped her shins and she hissed softly as she tripped over it before finding her feet again, starting to wonder if this was an idiotic idea.
