“So you’re just fine with me continuing to go into the closet?” Kelsey squirted some dish soap in the sink and turned the faucet on.
“Not really, but I’ll try to be.” Melanie toyed with her phone on her lap, wondering if she should offer to do the dishes since Kelsey had cooked but making no motion to stand back up.
“And you’re not going to be even a little bit curious?” Kelsey asked loudly to make herself heard over the running water.
“Of course I’ll be curious. But you know what they say about curiosity.”
Kelsey looked skeptical. “You’re not just saying this because you know I won’t be able to come to the lake house for the next week, then all of a sudden you’ll change your mind?”
“No.” Although she had to wonder what age Mom would next be by the time Kelsey dropped in again—in her early or midtwenties, maybe. It was hard to predict how quickly the days passed inside the parallel reality.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see that Charlene had e-mailed the link to the photos of the lake house. Thank God, a distraction. “Hey, I just got the pictures of the house. Do you want to see them?”
Kelsey turned off the water and grabbed her laptop so they could view the images on a bigger screen. They sat next to each other on the couch, clicking through them. Charlene’s staging skills and the photographer’s talent had done wonders, and Melanie liked to think that her careful cleaning and repainting had helped too. Each photo was more gorgeous than the next. Even the tiny third bedroom upstairs looked bright and airy. It was like looking at pictures of herself on her wedding day, wondering who that vaguely familiar but positively radiant creature was. The house was truly showing its best self, and Melanie had no doubt once the listing became live, Charlene’s phone would be ringing off the hook for showings.
“This is really going to happen, isn’t it?” Kelsey asked in a small, quavery voice, and Melanie turned to see that her sister was on the verge of tears. “The pictures make it seem more real. You’re going to sell the house that’s been in our family for over a century.”
“Kelsey...” Melanie gently shut the laptop and set it on the coffee table. “I thought we’d agreed that—”
“No, we didn’t agree. You called me one day and told me we were going to sell the lake house. You told me about that magazine article and the real estate agent you’d found, and everything was already set in motion before you even stopped to consider what I might want.”
“Yes, I did,” Melanie said, pushing the memory of Everett and his astute question from her mind. “But it’s not up to your sister?” “No, it’s not up to her.” “I considered what you wanted and what would be best for both of us. Do you have any idea how much the property taxes alone on the place cost? Not to mention the maintenance. Is that how you want to spend your inheritance? Having it gradually eaten away on a vacant house? Because it would be vacant. There’s no way we could have found new tenants for it without having those basement repairs done, and Everett didn’t come cheap. The only way we can afford him is because we’re going to recoup the cost of the repairs on the sale.”
The oven timer went off, and Kelsey stormed into the kitchen to check on the brownies. “Don’t pretend like this is all about the money. I don’t care about the money. I’d be happy to pay for the taxes and repairs out of my inheritance. I’ll even buy out your half of the house if it would make you happy.” She banged the brownie pan down on the stovetop.
That proved again that Kelsey had no idea how much the house was worth. Their mom had left each of them a generous sum in her will, money passed down from a trust the wealthy Montclares had established, but it wasn’t enough to buy the lake house at fair market value, or even half of the value, for that matter. Melanie tried to remember the wording of her mom’s will about the sale of the Lake Indigo property so she could recite it for Kelsey as evidence, but four years had passed, and Melanie hadn’t exactly been at her best when her mom’s lawyer had rattled off the specifics. Maybe she could have Ben scan the codicil and e-mail it to her, and she could prove to her sister that selling was what Mom had wanted, that it had never been her intention for them to somehow try to keep and maintain the old place.
“In the part of her will where Mom left us the house, she specified that we should sell it one day if we chose to no longer lease it as a rental property.”
“If we chose. Stop using Mom as an excuse. If she truly wanted to sell it, why did she rent it to the Holloways in the first place? Why didn’t she put it on the market then? She kept it in the family so that we could make the decision one day, Melanie. Why does it have to be now? What’s the rush? Maybe once you and Ben have kids, you’ll feel differently. Maybe if I ever get married and have kids, I’ll want to live there year-round.”
Melanie covered her face with her hands. All the burdens she’d been struggling to hold aloft for so long were multiplying and compounding. The weight was grinding her down. In the cupped space of her palms, she breathed deeply. “I won’t...” she murmured. She dropped her hands to her lap, resigned. “I can’t have kids. We’ve tried. For two years now. Something is wrong with me. I don’t ovulate regularly, I guess. And even when I do, with the help of fertility drugs, my body still can’t...” Her matter-of-fact approach wavered as she thought of her baby, forever arrested at eight weeks old. Tears tightened her throat and made her voice unnaturally high and shaky. “I had a miscarriage three weeks ago.”
Kelsey’s arms were around her the next second, and Melanie let herself be embraced. She tucked her head against her little sister’s collarbone and wept harder than she had since she’d broken the news to Ben. Between breathless gasps, she told her everything—how they’d waited to try until she finished her doctorate; the over-the-counter ovulation kits she’d brought with her to Tucson last Christmas; Dr. Maroney’s diagnoses; the tests, tests, tests, then finally, their miracle, followed by her spontaneous abortion in the women’s bathroom of Cornelius Hall; how Ben wanted to take a break; and how it felt like he was giving up.
Kelsey didn’t interrupt her. She didn’t ask questions or offer advice but rubbed Melanie’s back in the same soothing way their mom had when they were sick. After handing her tissues, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Melanie. I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry.”
Melanie eventually pulled herself upright, embarrassed by the wet patch her tears had left on Kelsey’s T-shirt. Her eyes felt hot and gritty, and her nose was runny, but she felt strangely weightless sitting on her parents’ old couch with her sister and her sister’s dog beside her. It reminded her of the time Ben had persuaded her to go zip-lining, even though she wasn’t a huge fan of heights. For hours before the trip, her stomach had twisted in knots, but they had prepaid, and she didn’t want to let Ben down, so she’d seen it through. She had kept her eyes scrunched shut the majority of the time, but afterward, she had been buoyant with relief that it was over.
Kelsey brought the pan of warm brownies and two forks into the living room. “I know it’s a small consolation, but doesn’t this show that at least you’re capable of getting pregnant? That it could happen again with a better outcome?” She handed one of the forks to Melanie and sat back down.
It was the same thing that Dr. Maroney had said immediately after she had confirmed that Melanie had miscarried, but it had been cold comfort for Melanie when she’d already fallen desperately in love with the baby inside of her. And it still felt like cold comfort because Dr. Maroney wouldn’t let her continue with the fertility drugs until her hormones were back to normal, which ultimately didn’t matter since Ben wanted them to take a six-month break regardless. Even when that time had passed, and they started to try once more, Melanie didn’t know if she could ever trust her body again. It kept betraying her, and she didn’t believe that it was capable of doing such an important job as growing and safely carrying a baby. Even if she was able to conceive again, which seemed like such an insurmountable if, she would live every day of the nine month
s in absolute terror that her body would fail her and her baby.
“You’re right.” She tried to nod, but her neck felt stiff, her head stuffy and leaden. “I don’t have a lot of hope, but I suppose there is still some.” She leaned against Kelsey to reach for the brownies. “Hey! Are you literally just eating the middle? Stop it! Save some for me!”
Chapter Twelve
Kelsey knew it was a bad idea. Beth was counting on her—had explicitly put the business in her hands, dismissing everyone else’s competence—and Kelsey had only about sixty percent confidence in Taylor’s abilities despite the girl’s eagerness to pitch in. And who knew what poor Josh would think when Taylor showed up Sunday morning. But life was too short not to succumb to bad ideas every now and then. Kelsey was champing at the bit to slip back inside the time portal, and besides, an afternoon with Everett and Melanie at the Harris Beach Memorial Day cookout was just what she needed after her week of drudgery.
When Melanie had offhandedly relayed the information to Kelsey—that Everett had asked Melanie if they were going to the neighborhood cookout on Sunday and Melanie had replied with indifference—Kelsey had clenched her teeth and tried to have patience with her sister. “You’re really not interested in going?”
“No, I don’t think so, not by myself, at least. If you were here, I might consider it. But it’s not like I’m going to know anyone there except for Everett. It’s been ages since we were summer regulars. We don’t even know our next-door neighbors anymore! I haven’t seen any signs of life at the Fletchers’ house since I arrived.”
That antisocial comment made Kelsey worry more about her sister than she would have a week ago. Ever since Melanie had confided in her about the miscarriage, Kelsey had been grieving—for Melanie and Ben, for the loss of her little niece or nephew, and for the fact that she hadn’t known sooner and hadn’t been there for her sister. But it was awfully hard to be there for someone who refused to let you in ninety-nine percent of the time. She couldn’t tell if Melanie’s offhand mention of the Memorial Day cookout was a subtle plea for Kelsey’s company. Either way, the idea of the festivities on Harris Beach and the opportunity to see her mom again had consumed her imagination until finally she’d broken down and called Taylor to see if the receptionist was interested and willing to work for her on Sunday. Taylor had been.
So Kelsey was driving on a country road in her little blue car, green farm fields all around her, when she should have been at the pet lodge. She had that giddy feeling that came only from narrowly escaping a tedious commitment, yet it was dampened by the memory of Melanie’s body-wracking sobs, the most grief-stricken Kelsey had seen her sister since she learned the news about their mom’s pulmonary embolism. Every time she thought of Melanie and Ben’s struggles, it was like stepping on a jagged rock trapped inside her shoe—a painful reminder that could be temporarily forgotten but wouldn’t go away. Everything had always come so easily for Melanie that it was almost unfathomable that any area of her life, especially one she desired so badly, could be out of her reach. Despite her sister’s fussy tendencies, Kelsey knew Melanie would make a terrific mother—if it could only somehow happen for her and Ben.
All the windows were rolled down, and the loose fabric ceiling was flapping against the top of Kelsey’s head but not unpleasantly. Sprocket was sitting in the passenger seat beside her, his tongue lolling out halfway to his chest. She’d had a doggy harness installed in the back seat for safety, but he cried whenever she put him in it, so she often gave in and let him ride shotgun.
Her phone beeped with an incoming text message, but she refused to look at it while she was driving. It was probably Melanie, asking her to reconsider skipping out on work. Though Melanie had been initially glad to hear Kelsey would be joining her for the cookout, she had been none too pleased to find out why Kelsey was suddenly available. Her preachy recitation of all the reasons Kelsey was being unprofessional echoed Kelsey’s misgivings, and she was still working hard to tamp them down. But deep down, Kelsey suspected that Melanie’s protesting just a little too much was because she was secretly happy she wouldn’t have to spend the holiday weekend alone.
Or maybe the text was from her dad, who was still pretty new to the world of text messaging and had recently started sending out garbled strings of words that he’d dictated into the voice-activated software on his phone and failed to proofread. They’d been playing phone tag for the last couple of days with their conflicting work schedules. He wanted to know how she was faring with Melanie the General and the basement repairs, or at least that was what she’d pieced together from his latest nonsense text: Hey tell sells how are you and Megan is a fennel getting along at the like house question mark. Give the contractor me a morrow number of no wrong in trouble I will try games. Love common dad.
At the only stop sign in town, right after the LAKE INDIGO, UNINCORPORATED sign and just before Lamson’s Market, Kelsey dropped her eyes to her phone to read her text message. It was from Josh, not Melanie or her dad. It said only three words—three letters, actually: WTF?
She winced. Her “playing hooky” feeling dissipated. She could imagine him standing in the narrow, artificially lit corridor of Pooch Place, surrounded by barking dogs, annoyedly punching the message into his phone. She knew the F stood for “fudge,” because Josh had been raised in a big Catholic family with a swear jar—a dollar per naughty word—and the clean habit had stuck into adulthood. Josh’s alternative curse words were one of the things Beth and Kelsey teased him about regularly, but in private, Kelsey found them adorable. What the fudge? Good gravy! Holy cats! Only never before had they been directed at her. She knew that if their roles had been reversed, she would have been pretty pissed at him for ditching her too. Working with him was often the best part of her day, and it was the only thing that would have made her shift today tolerable. She suspected he felt the same way.
Kelsey pulled into the lake house’s driveway and was surprised to see a large, expensive-looking truck and a shiny silver SUV parked in front of the Fletchers’ bungalow. So maybe Melanie’s theory that the house was abandoned was wrong. Maybe they just didn’t open the place up until Memorial Day weekend like a lot of the summer families. She parked her car next to Melanie’s sleek black rental and hurried to reply to Josh’s message.
So sorry! she typed. I owe you big, I know! Tony’s on me, next week. Any toppings you want. But the text wouldn’t send because she had almost no reception. Sprocket was scrabbling in the front seat, eager to get outside and pee on everything, so she didn’t have time to worry about the failed message right then. She would have to try again later.
Melanie was standing on the back porch in a cute turquoise sundress. “Sprocket!” she called out to him, and he bounded toward her, his stubby tail wagging furiously.
“Hello to you too,” Kelsey called back, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder. She wasn’t really mad. It actually delighted her that Melanie had fallen as thoroughly in love with her dog as she had and made her feel like she had done one good thing in her life. Taking Sprocket home from the animal shelter the previous November was probably the best decision she had ever made—perhaps the only good decision she had ever made, she chastised herself, mentally crossing her fingers that her boss wouldn’t fire her when Beth got back from Tennessee.
“Hello, Sprocket’s owner.” Melanie stood up and smiled wryly. Her hair was wet and combed neatly behind her ears. Something about Melanie right then—Kelsey couldn’t quite place it—reminded her of Mom. Her perfect posture? Her commanding presence? The thin-lipped smile that reveals so little?
Kelsey wanted to hug Melanie but worried her sister would think of it as coddling. Instead she climbed up the stairs and jerked her head in the direction of the neighbors’ house. “When did they arrive? Have you met them?”
Melanie pressed her finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She made a sour face as they stepped inside. “They’re not very friendly.”
“Is it the Fletchers?”
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“No. A dark-haired guy about my age. I thought it might be Beau or Stephen, all grown up, so I went over there with a loaf of zucchini bread—don’t worry, there’s more—to say hi. His name’s Nicholas, and when I asked if he knew the Fletchers and mentioned we had been friends with them growing up, he acted really annoyed and said the house was still in the family. Almost like I was challenging their right to live there. Which I wasn’t,” she added huffily. “I’m just curious. He’s probably some distant cousin twice removed.”
Kelsey was already cutting herself a slab of zucchini bread, which was still warm. She didn’t bother putting it on a plate but ate it over the sink. It was even better than her memory of her mom’s bread. “Maybe he’s Jilly’s husband.”
“No, I saw the wife. She’s a blonde.”
“Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher divorced and remarried and he’s a step-kid or the product of a second marriage.” A divorce didn’t seem too wildly out of the cards for the Fletchers, considering Lavinia was most likely gay. However, Kelsey didn’t know what that said about her parents’ marriage. They had stayed together for twenty-nine years, up until her mom’s untimely death. Her dad had waited two years to start dating and a third before marrying Laila. Her parents had seemed committed, companionable, and if not wildly or passionately in love after all that time together, at least affectionate.
Melanie shrugged. “I don’t know, and I doubt Dad would either.” She brushed some bread crumbs Kelsey had left on the wooden cutting board into her palm. “I asked Nicholas if he knew about the cookout on Harris Beach today, and he acted like I was inviting them to a hillbilly hoedown. But the worst part is, as I was leaving, I could hear him say to someone, maybe his wife, ‘Now I see what you mean about this being a very prying community.’ Prying? Just what the heck is that supposed to mean? Well, excuse me for bringing them zucchini bread and trying to make them feel welcome. I’ll just take my prying hospitality somewhere else, I guess.” Her cheeks were turning red, and Kelsey could tell her sister was deeply offended.
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