The One Who Stays

by Blake, Toni

  “What’s the occasion?” Suzanne asked. “Still missing Zack?”

  Meg pulled half her sandwich from a plastic baggie and bit into it. “No. It’s that I had sex with Seth last night.”

  Suzanne’s jaw dropped, along with half of her sandwich, to the table. “Wh-what?”

  Meg raised her eyes to her friend, then drew them back down. “You heard me.”

  Suzanne blinked, twice. “Correctly, apparently.” Then she narrowed her gaze. “But I’m going to need some details.”

  “We made lilac water,” she began, then relayed the general series of events that had followed. Though she didn’t fill her in on Seth’s past. Maybe she would at some point, later, once he was gone from their lives. But for now, it just didn’t feel like her story to tell. And besides, she didn’t want to worry Suzanne, whose original concerns about Seth seemed to have faded in direct correlation with his hotness.

  “That’s...incredible,” Suzanne said when she was finished, still appearing rather agog. “And was it amazing and hot and perfect?”

  Meg considered the question. “Amazing, yes. Hot, yes. Perfect—well, as perfect as it can be with someone you don’t know very well.”

  Suzanne’s shock gave way to happy approval the longer they talked, and she wore a supportive smile as she asked, “And how do you feel about it now?”

  “Confused, I guess. Like... I broke a rule or something. Like I belong to someone else. Even though I don’t.” She knew it made no sense, but it was ingrained.

  Suzanne was shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous. You owe that man nothing. You’re a free agent. And so is Seth. You should feel nothing but happy and carefree about this.”

  Meg eyed her critically. “Says the woman who’s afraid of Beck Grainger.”

  But Suzanne only shrugged. “I keep telling you—it’s apples and oranges. You want something I don’t. And I’m thrilled you’ve let yourself have it.” Her smile returned, grew. “Do you think it’ll happen again? Like become a regular thing?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you want it to, right?”

  “I have no idea.”

  They both laughed, and Meg let out a sigh. “It’s so new, and unexpected—I guess I’ll just see where it leads and try to go with the flow.”

  Suzanne popped a chip into her mouth and crunched it up before announcing, “You’re my hero.”

  “What?” Meg gave her head a tilt.

  “Because...maybe there is a tiny piece of me that wishes I was more like you in this moment. I’m content that I’m not, but I admire that you’re facing life head-on.”

  Half an hour later, a customer came in, so Meg departed, a tray of tiny white flowers between her hands and a picnic basket looped strategically over her arm. As she walked back down the street, another text notification sounded from her pocket—probably Suzanne, but she’d have to wait a few minutes. When Meg reached the inn, she lowered the flowers to the front porch and checked her phone.

  Only this time it was Zack. Hey there, Maggie May. How’s life on Summer Island? Missing you.

  She simply stood there, phone in her hand, studying the words. He was missing her? He hardly ever said things like that.

  It’s because of Seth. Because he sensed there was more going on than you told him, and now it turns out he was right.

  She wasn’t sure if that equated to real, true missing. It was hard not to feel skeptical even amid the wisps of self-reproach swirling around her like thin clouds in a summer sky.

  It’s good, she answered.

  Normally, she would say more. About how life was. That she was getting ready for the first guests in a couple of days. That she was planting more flowers. Just easy, everyday conversation.

  Good to hear.

  How’s fishing? It was the least she could do to ask.

  Decent. Been doing well off the coast near Newfork and Lawrencetown.

  Hmm, that was new. Him bothering to tell her where he was.

  I’m glad, she said. But nothing more. Because while normally she would be missing him far more than he was likely missing her, right now things were a little complicated on that front. And she didn’t really have anything else to say.

  A few minutes later, another text from him. Well, you have a good day, Meg.

  You too.

  She knew she’d been distant. And part of her wondered if he really did love her more than she knew, and if maybe a little more patience would bring about the relationship she wanted with him. No matter what the reason, it was nice he was thinking of her, and missing her, and bothering to tell her that, as well.

  But another part of her decided to do what she’d told Suzanne—just go with the flow. It wasn’t her fault he wasn’t here. It wasn’t her fault they weren’t in a committed relationship. It wasn’t her fault he’d made it so convenient for her to sleep with another man.

  * * *

  SETH HAD BEEN holding the ring in his hand when Meg had called up the stairs to him. He’d nearly dropped the damn thing upon hearing her voice. But instead he’d shoved it in his pocket—this ring that had been hidden here untouched for over twenty years—then closed the book and put the baseboard back in place.

  He didn’t hammer it in, though. Because the secret hole in the wall made him think of Meg’s grandma hiding things around the house like Meg had told him. Maybe she’d used this very spot at some point before he had. Maybe someone else would use it someday. Hiding places weren’t necessarily bad things—they yielded lost surprises, and this house seemed to have plenty of those.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d do with the book. Maybe he’d take it with him, finally read it. Or maybe he’d quietly add it to the inn’s library and let it be its own mystery—just showing up out of the blue, with a secret slot inside.

  He also wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the ring.

  Once Meg had gone, he’d pulled it back out of his pocket to study. He did the same thing again now, standing in the round library on the first floor. Funny damn thing—he’d come here looking for this, but hadn’t thought ahead to what he’d do if he actually found it. The logistics part anyway. Like a plan for the book so that he wasn’t holding it in his hand when she came back. For now, this would be a good enough place for it. Maybe he hadn’t really thought it would be here. Holding the ring in his hand now, it still felt like a surprise.

  Wanna go on a secret mission, son? his dad had asked him that summer before he’d come here with his grandparents for the last time. I’m gonna give you a secret assignment—make this trip more interesting for ya this year. His dad had never understood why a trip to a serene little island in the Great Lakes was appealing to anyone—he’d made fun of it. Or maybe he’d been jealous—there’d always been a push/pull over him between his parents from the time they’d split when he was little. His memories of those years hinged strongly on feeling like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Maybe the secret mission had made his pop feel more like he was there with Seth.

  Bring me somethin’. Somethin’ we can sell and buy ourselves some presents with. He hadn’t said to steal, but that was what he’d meant. And Seth hadn’t quite yet understood that stealing was wrong—with a dad like his, who’d made it seem like a skill, a thing to aspire to.

  Wanting to impress his father, it had seemed an easy choice. Like something God had pretty much dropped in his lap, especially when he’d overheard Mrs. Adkins—Meg’s grandma—talking about it. He could still hear her cheerful voice sharing too much, being too trusting. Only real bit of jewelry I’ve ever had is my wedding ring. We didn’t have much, but John, bless his heart, insisted on buying a nice one—far beyond our means. His parents helped him out on it—we paid them back over time. And he actually bought it at a pawnshop! Which doesn’t sound romantic by today’s terms, but to me it was, because he wanted better for me than we could
afford. Spent three thousand dollars on it, but it appraised at seven. And Lordy, with inflation and all, probably worth quite a bit more now. Then she’d laughed. Not that it matters. Its value, to me, lies in its connection to John. And it does sparkle so on the occasions I wear it.

  And then he’d found it. Snooping. Somewhere. He couldn’t remember exactly. Would he have had the balls to go into her bedroom? Hell, probably so—he’d had the balls to go in Meg’s bedroom, after all. Which he guessed, now that he thought about it, was probably the very same room. And he’d wanted to please his father so damn badly.

  Of course, in the end, he hadn’t. He’d left it behind. Hidden. After an unexpected call about his mother’s accident had sent him and his grandparents racing away from an island he’d never come back to again—until now.

  Hearing a nearby electronic beep, he glanced out an open window to see Meg standing on the front walk, typing into her cell phone. He wondered briefly if it was a text to her boyfriend—or whatever that guy was—and a surprising bolt of jealousy shot through him.

  But he had bigger things to worry about. Like the ring in his hand.

  He shoved it back in his pocket, deciding right there on the spot to keep it.

  He wasn’t planning to leave just yet, but when he did, taking it only made sense. Meg probably never even knew it existed, and if she had, it was long since forgotten, yesterday’s news. It was the reason he’d come—a way to get a new start. One last misdeed that would help turn his life around. Taking it would help him more than it would hurt her—as he kept telling himself, it really wouldn’t affect her at all.

  Taking a last look at the spine of The Wizard of Oz, shoved into a random spot on a bookshelf, he left the circular room and crossed the parlor, soon stepping out onto the front porch. A flat of little white flowers rested at his feet. “Need help plantin’ these, darlin’?”

  Looking up from her phone, she gave him a small smile, one that reminded him how much he liked being close to her and made the phone seem forgotten. “That would be nice.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  PLANTING FLOWERS WITH Seth was a lot like making lilac water with Seth. Their hands touched in the potting soil, and their faces came close to each other as they bent over the big terra-cotta planters on the patio.

  After that, their fingers touched some more in the dirt of the flower beds. She found herself looking at his hands, studying them in a way she hadn’t up to now. Big, strong hands. Capable hands.

  At one point, she looked up, their eyes meeting. They were both sweating in the sun on the hottest day the island had seen yet this year. He grinned, and kissed her.

  Her first thought? Nice. It spilled all through her. Her second? To wonder if anyone had seen. She glanced toward the street, thankful no one was passing by.

  Why does it have to feel like cheating when it’s not?

  “You got a lot more to do between now and opening day?”

  “Not much. All the rooms are ready.”

  “Any other big plans before then?”

  She lifted her gaze to his, wondering what he was getting at. “Helping my friend Suzanne with a painting project Friday evening, but that’s all.” Then she glanced toward Petal Pushers to add, “You can come and help if you want. It’s more of a social thing, something we do every year. We’ll probably come back here afterward to grill out burgers.”

  She thought he looked pleased to be included. “Well, if I won’t be in the way, maybe I’ll just take you up on that.”

  “You won’t be.” Suzanne would like meeting him, and it felt like a safe way to tiptoe him out into her life a bit more.

  Which maybe wasn’t even wise, since he probably wouldn’t be in it—her life—for very long. And yet the urge had struck, so she was doing that go-with-the-flow thing.

  “But why were you asking? About my plans?”

  He arched one brow. “Was just thinking maybe when we’re done here I should take you to bed.”

  She drew back slightly, caught off guard by his bluntness.

  Yet he went on. “Because once you’re open for business, seems like that might be a little harder.”

  So this would continue. For a while maybe. The fresh knowledge made her heart beat faster as she said, “I’m sure we can find a way.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, teasing her. “You’re pretty loud.”

  More surprise at his words—and this time a laugh broke free from her throat. “I can be quiet if I need to.”

  “Guess we’ll see,” he told her.

  “Guess we will.”

  The sun slipped behind a fluffy cloud just then, softening the air, and she realized that this all felt...right. The same way it once had with Zack back before she’d understood how he would come and go. Even though Seth had told her just last night that he was a crook and scammer by trade. By any measuring stick, it seemed like dangerous waters to be wading deeper into. And yet, here she was—wading.

  * * *

  EVERY BED IN the Summerbrook Inn was adorned with fresh sheets, every bathroom with clean towels. Trim paint had been touched up, flower beds filled. That’s how it usually was—a big rush to get it all done, so big that she finished a couple of days early and could relax with a bike ride or sit in the garden with the lilacs.

  The only difference was that now she had...a lover. She’d always thought it sounded sophisticated when people said that. It made them sound so in control of the situation, as if the “lover” were a mere plaything to be cast aside whenever the owner got bored with it. She didn’t necessarily feel in control of anything here—far from it—and yet it seemed the word that best described what Seth had become to her, given that he wasn’t her boyfriend and she had no idea how long he’d be in her life.

  All she knew was that the two days before her first guest arrived were sweeter for his presence than they’d have been without him. After planting flowers, they hadn’t had sex—instead they’d rented him a bike and pedaled together around the island. They’d stopped to hike up to one of her favorite spots—a meadow of wildflowers rimmed with a natural rock formation that seemed to spill down the hillside to the road and Lake Michigan beyond. After that, they’d visited the Promontory Lighthouse for that tour he’d requested.

  She had chosen to stop worrying about who might see her with him and what they might think. She’d introduced him to Trent at the bicycle shop simply as, “Seth, who needs a bike for the afternoon.”

  They’d stopped at his cabin for him to quickly shower and change—while she waited outside since it was such a lovely day and the interior of the old shack was drab and uninviting. And part of her felt bad that he’d been staying here—but another part of her remembered he’d spent his life living in cheap motels probably on a par with this place. In short, they were from different worlds.

  As they’d biked back into town and onto Harbor Street, completing the circle, she’d waved at people she knew as if she didn’t have her handsome young handyman on a bike at her side, and felt better for having done it. And it didn’t hurt that summer was truly upon them and had the street bustling—everyone was busy, either catering to the first tourists or preparing for them, and probably had better things to focus on besides who she was keeping company with.

  Last night afterward, however, they’d had that promised sex. And now she let herself sink fully into the memories of it. In ways it was like the night before—accentuated with scents of spring and a cool night breeze that made the curtains flutter. Though in other ways it was different, because she was more comfortable with the touching, and the being touched—it hadn’t come as such a surprise, hadn’t held as many questions. His kisses were like whispers on her skin, his hands those of a skilled craftsman, as gifted at delivering pleasure as they were at painting and repairing everything in her world.

  And be
cause it was a little more relaxed than before, it had also become about a loss of inhibition. This time she hadn’t been shy about taking his pants off, touching him where he was hard and ready for her, taking him in her hand. This time she’d followed other instincts, too—to explore the rest of his body with her touch, as well. To let herself be fully aroused by the fact that he was all muscle—his shoulders, his arms, his chest and stomach. To let herself go more in other ways, too—her responses became more instinctive and less measured, she’d cried out when he’d sunk deep inside her, and she’d cried out more when he’d rocked her world with deep, hard thrusts that made her forget anything else existed for a few mind-numbing moments.

  After, she’d found herself touching the tattoo on his arm. She’d never been much into tattoos and didn’t understand the vast fascination with them—but his she liked. “What is this?” she’d asked, running her fingers over it as they lay in bed, limbs still intertwined.

  “A mother and son symbol,” he answered.

  “Oh,” she’d murmured, reminded again of his loss, not only because of the tattoo but because she could hear it in his voice. Learning this made it easier to grasp the metaphorical meaning of the Celtic-looking design in which one set of curves and swirls sort of cradled another.

  “I got it on my twenty-fifth birthday. Probably silly, but seeing it makes me feel like she’s still with me somehow.”

  Meg had smiled. “It’s not silly. I think when people die, they are still with us.”

  Now another beautiful day poured sunshine down onto Summer Island, and they picnicked on a blanket in the lilac grove next to the inn. Clumps of lavender flowers bloomed all around them, filling the air with that heavenly scent she loved. They’d eaten cheese and pepperoni on crackers, along with green grapes, and an apple they’d cut into slices and shared. On a lark, she’d pulled a bottle of white wine from the fridge and uncorked it, even carrying the good wineglasses out into the garden. Because life was for living, and suddenly she seemed to be doing that. She still had no idea how wise her choice of a man was, but she remained inexorably drawn to him and had simply decided not to worry, and to trust life to take her where she was meant to go.