The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1)

by Heidi Hostetter

  Ryan’s phone beeped with an incoming text message. He slipped it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, before wandering back to the cabinet for an insulated cup.

  “Melissa and I drew the line at buying boxes of hot coffee and supplying trays of pastries for the parents though. So I guess that’s a win for us.”

  His response was noncommittal and she could tell she’d lost his attention again.

  She didn’t know exactly what was happening with the company Ryan and his college roommates at MIT had started three years ago, but she suspected it had something to do with the rounds of funding they’d received from venture capitalists out of Seattle. What she did know was that Ryan was becoming more distracted with his work, and she didn’t like it. It reminded her of her father and his devotion to his job; she wanted better for her own family.

  Connor, groggy with sleep, stumbled into the kitchen. His brown hair was tousled and his shoes were on the wrong feet. Ryan and Stacy exchanged looks. Last year, when Connor started playing soccer with his best friend Archie, the atmosphere had been much more casual, the culture more in line with a fun game for kids. Things had changed at the beginning of this season, when a small group of parents decided the boys needed “to be playing to their potential.” The volunteer coach was replaced with a trio of paid coaches who scheduled practice twice a week and insisted on a pre-game warm-up an hour before every match. Stacy and Melissa had protested until things turned ugly—then they gave up. Thankfully, they had all summer to decide whether to continue.

  “You want to stay home today, bud?” Stacy cupped her son’s chin with her palm.

  Connor shook his head. “I’m goalie today. Chad says the team needs me.”

  Stacy had just knelt down to fix his shoes when the doorbell rang. As Ryan went to answer it, Stacy slipped a granola bar into her little boy’s hand and felt a twinge of guilt. Her mother would have made a hot breakfast.

  Connor brightened when he heard his friend’s voice and that made Stacy feel a bit better.

  She kissed his forehead as she rose. “Have fun with Archie, and you listen to his mommy, okay?”

  Connor squirmed and broke free, running toward his friend. “Okay.”

  Stacy followed her son to the living room. Archie’s mother, Melissa, dropped her car keys into Ryan’s open palm. “Thanks, Ryan.”

  “Any time.” Ryan hoisted the strap of one of the insulated bags to his shoulder and lifted the cases of water. “You parked out front in the circle?”

  “Yup.” Melissa stood to the side and let him pass. “Trunk is open and the hazards are on. Can you lock it when you’re done?”

  “Sure thing,” Ryan answered.

  As Ryan left, Melissa turned her attention to Stacy. “I thought about taking the boys to the mall for pizza and a movie after the game, but if the weather is still crummy, maybe we should just stay home and order in. What do you think?”

  “That sounds perfect actually. Connor’s tired too and could probably use the rest. Thanks for doing all this, by the way.”

  Melissa shrugged. “You did it last weekend; I’m just returning the favor.”

  Stacy turned her attention to the darkening sky. “I wish they’d call off the game.”

  “That’ll never happen,” Melissa scoffed. “Lemme see if I can remember the exact wording from Coach Chad’s introduction email.” She frowned a moment, then curved her fingers into air quotes. “What the boys are playing is not just a game—they are participating in an ‘elite soccer experience’ offered to players to make an ‘extra effort to achieve excellence.’”

  “I still can’t believe that.”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t see Chad’s most recent email?”

  “What email?”

  “He’s offering a summer camp for the team to practice as a unit, in preparation for next year’s season.”

  “They’re six years old,” Stacy tutted. “They should be off digging holes and playing in mud puddles, not ‘developing elite skills.’”

  “I agree.” Melissa nodded. “That’s why we’re not signing Archie up.”

  “Good,” Stacy said. “If Archie’s not playing, Connor won’t want to. We’ll figure something else out for next year.”

  “Well, expect a phone call from Chad. Denise and Lynn have already signed up their boys and Chad is really pushing for the whole team to practice together. Wait until you read that email thread.”

  “This is the last of it.” Ryan grabbed the last bag. “I’ll bring it down.”

  Melissa smiled. “Thanks Ryan.”

  “Melissa, you want some coffee for the road?” Stacy asked. “Ryan brewed it fresh a little while ago.”

  “I would love some. I don’t have nearly enough caffeine in my system.” Melissa groaned and followed Stacy to the kitchen. As Stacy poured, Melissa asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” Stacy brought her fingertips to her stomach. “Much better actually. Morning sickness has passed, thank goodness. Now I’m just tired, so that’s progress I guess.”

  “Why don’t you let us keep Connor overnight? He can wear a pair of Archie’s pajamas and Jerry can bring him home in the morning.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that—” Stacy began, before her friend interrupted.

  “Honestly, it’s no trouble.” Melissa reached for Stacy’s arm. “I expect the boys’ll be exhausted from the game anyway. We’ll order pizza and put in a movie. They’ll be asleep in no time.”

  Stacy laughed. “You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?”

  “Blended family. Six kids,” Melissa said. “Our lives are just a matter of controlling the chaos. And honestly”—she gave Stacy’s arm a gentle squeeze— “one more is not any trouble at all. So, what do you think?”

  “Awesome. Great,” Stacy replied, imagining a long morning nap.

  Melissa left, fortified with a fresh cup of coffee and with the boys trailing in her wake, chattering about the upcoming game. Stacy wondered if managing her own family would ever be as easy as Melissa made it appear—Stacy could barely coordinate the schedules of two children. What was she going to do in the fall when the new baby arrived?

  After Melissa left with the boys, it was time to get Sophie ready for ballet. Stacy returned to the kitchen to clean up, tossing orange peels into the compost bin, throwing away the packaging from the string cheese, and wiping down the counters.

  Ready for round two.

  Thankfully, all she had to prep was a single snack bag, then help Sophie into her leotard. Ryan had offered to drive Sophie to her lesson and to take her out for lunch afterwards, which meant at least two blissful hours all to herself. She planned to read for a bit and then take a long nap while the house was quiet. To be honest, she did feel a twinge of guilt asking for Ryan’s help with the children. It had been her idea to have a big family and she had pushed for it to happen quickly, probably before he was ready. It was only fair that she be the one who took on most of the responsibilities, even if she had to quit a job she loved to make it happen.

  She peeled a few carrots and cut them into the coin shapes Sophie liked, then tucked them into the bag. Before zipping it closed, she added a packet of hummus and a bottle of water, just in case. The lesson was a short one, only about an hour, and with lunch right after it seemed ridiculous to pack a snack. But the other ballet mothers packed a snack bag, so Stacy did too. At the last minute, she tossed in a square of chocolate because her daughter loved chocolate.

  She glanced at the clock again and called out a reminder: “Sophie, time to get ready. I’ll be there in a second to help you with your tights.”

  Ryan entered the kitchen, the glow of his cell phone reflecting off his glasses as he typed a message on his screen.

  “How important is it that I take Sophie to her lesson?”

  “Pretty important, why?” Stacy felt a tingle of dread as she turned toward her husband. She had so been looking forward to that nap…

  “Someth
ing’s come up and I can’t get a hold of Jeff. He hasn’t been answering texts or email on his work account.” He squinted as he flicked through the screens on his phone. “It’s really weird that Sean’s location puts him in Seattle,” he muttered to himself.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. It’s fine.” Ryan frowned. “Just Todd doing some saber rattling—showing off in front of the money guys.”

  “What does Todd want?”

  “A chart—and Jeff has the data.”

  “A chart?” Stacy repeated, feeling a rising annoyance at Ryan reneging on a promise to her for something that seemed so insignificant. “Can’t you do that from the lobby of the dance studio? I’m sure they have Wi-Fi.”

  “If I can’t find Jeff, they’ll stick me with more than just building the chart, Stace,” Ryan said as he turned his attention back to the screen. “He’s got user data from the past quarter and we need it for the next release of funding.” Ryan tapped on the screen of his cell phone, then looked up. “But if you need me to take Sophie, I will. I’ll figure something out.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Stacy took a deep breath as she rinsed the cutting board. Her nap would have to wait. “I’ll take her.”

  “I can take her next week, I promise.”

  “This is the last week of lessons. The recital is Thursday.”

  “Good to know,” Ryan said absently. “By the way, did you know the pinks are different? Apparently, it matters.”

  “What do you mean, ‘the pinks are different’?”

  “I passed Sophie in her room earlier. She said the tights you laid out are the wrong color.” He shrugged, returning his attention to his work. “Last year’s practice color was ‘baby pink’ and this year’s is ‘princess pink.’”

  “So she’s unpacked the ballet bag?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you stop her?”

  Ryan looked up. “Was I supposed to?”

  Stacy leaned against the countertop, pressing her palms on the surface. “She’s four, Ryan, and she can’t put on tights by herself, so yes, you should have stopped her.” As she left the kitchen to see about her daughter, she turned to ask the question that had just occurred to her. “How do you know the names of the ballet colors? That seems like an odd thing for you to know. Did Sophie tell you?”

  “Nope. Jessica Steinman told me a couple of weeks ago. Her kid doesn’t like the colors mixed up either.”

  “Jessica Steinman?” Stacy repeated, giving Ryan her full attention. “You talked to Jessica Steinman?”

  “Sure. She’s nice.” Ryan shrugged as he sipped his coffee. “We had a whole conversation one week about shades of pink.”

  “Jessica Steinman is not nice. She’s never said a single word to me. An entire year and not a single word.”

  Ryan gestured to the tote Stacy carried to ballet every week. It had just enough room for whatever book she was currently reading, a thermos for her decaffeinated hazelnut coffee, and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. “You think that might have something to do with it?”

  Parents weren’t allowed in the practice rooms during lessons, so many of the mothers waited on chairs in the lobby. The atmosphere was clique-y and tense, and in the center of it all was Jessica Steinman, holding court. Early on, Stacy had recognized she had nothing in common with any of the dance mothers, so she had decided to spend her time with a good book and a strong cup of coffee.

  Still, the implication that Stacy wasn’t doing her best for her daughter stung.

  “I’m re-reading A Winter to Remember and it’s a masterpiece, I’ll have you know. Almost a full year on the New York Times bestseller list when it was first published, and it’s about to hit it again because the second book in the series comes out in the fall,” she said.

  “And the world can thank my brilliant wife for discovering Billy Jacob’s remarkable talent,” Ryan declared as he smiled.

  Discovering Billy Jacob’s manuscript in the slush pile was one of Stacy’s proudest career accomplishments. Her first real job after graduation was as an assistant editor at Revere Publishing in Boston. Mostly she made coffee and ran errands, but occasionally she was allowed to pull submissions from the slush pile, and that was where she came across A Winter to Remember. The writing had been somewhat stilted and tended to veer off track, but the story itself was magical. She devoured the entire book, almost six hundred pages, in a single weekend, then rushed into her supervisor’s office the following Monday. It took a lot of persuading, but eventually Stacy was allowed to work on the manuscript with Billy, provided she did so on her own time. When the story was finished the editors would read it again, with the understanding that even after all that work, the story might still be rejected.

  But it wasn’t.

  The staff at Revere loved the story. So much so that it was fast-tracked and published just after Connor was born. She’d heard the sales were great and Revere intended to offer a contract for more books in the series. Stacy liked to imagine that she might have been allowed to edit the new books if she had returned to work from maternity leave.

  But she hadn’t.

  As soon as Stacy and Sophie left for ballet, Ryan reached for his cell phone and dialed Todd, who, technically, Ryan wasn’t supposed to talk to. Todd was the money guy, the representative from the venture capital firm who’d promised to take their company public, and it was no secret that he and Ryan did not agree on the way to get there.

  The idea that started the company had been Ryan’s. It came to him one wintery afternoon in a computer science lecture hall, presenting itself as a puzzle to be solved and would not go away. It took Ryan weeks to arrive at the solution and months more to perfect it. When it was finally ready, he showed Sean and Jeff, his roommates at the time.

  Jeff was a big-data guy, a doctoral student who was excited about what Ryan’s program could become. Sean, Ryan realized much later, was more interested in the dollar signs than the solution itself. Without knowing if anything would come of the idea, the three of them incorporated and agreed to let the majority decide the new company’s direction. As MIT graduate students, they had access to university resources, so they booked server time to compile and test additional code that had become too complex for their laptops to handle. When the program was stable, they gave it away, just to see if people liked it.

  And they did.

  It was Sean who approached the venture capitalists for funding, flying to Seattle and presenting their start-up as his own without telling the other two. Afterward, he’d made the excuse that he didn’t expect anything to come of the trip, so why bring it up?

  Only, something had come of it. And that’s when things between them began to deteriorate.

  Not only was the Seattle group interested, but another firm out of San Diego had heard of their success and also wanted to invest. The amount of cash offered during the first round of funding was impressive and it was nice to be able to quit school to focus on their little company. But the second round of funding changed everything. The money came with strings this time, and oversight in the form of a slick frat boy named Todd. As the venture capitalists’ representative, he initially promised to offer advice only when asked, and on the surface, that’s what he did. In the shadows, he added oversight and layers of management that seemed extensive and unnecessary. But whenever Ryan pushed back, Todd added incentives—more options for Sean or equipment for Jeff—and because he was only one vote of three, Ryan lost the battle.

  That’s where they were now: Ryan felt like the only clear head left on a ship that had gone wildly off course. He could see the iceberg coming but no one seemed to care.

  As Ryan listened to the phone ring, waiting for Todd to pick up, he felt his frustration bloom. He didn’t like talking to Todd and knew this conversation wouldn’t go well.

  “Ryan. Glad you reached out.” Todd’s tone was forced, overly bright and cheerful. Ryan closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe calling wasn’t a great id
ea. “I have a few things for you to do,” Todd continued. “We need the milestone schedule to present at the partners’ meeting this afternoon. Sean says you have all the customer data.”

  “Good morning to you too, Todd.” Ryan’s voice was deliberately cool.

  “Sorry, pal. I didn’t realize you were the kind of guy who needed flowers first.” Todd’s indulgent chuckle made Ryan recoil.

  “The reason I’m calling,” Ryan continued, “is because I got your email this morning. I don’t know why you want me to build the slide-deck. We all have the same raw data, including you.”

  “It’s Sean’s opinion that you’re the best one to present the data.” Todd changed his tone to match Ryan’s, cool and professional.

  “Sean’s opinion? What do you mean ‘Sean’s opinion’? When did you talk to him?”

  “We had dinner last night, in town. He flew over for the weekend to discuss a few ideas we have. I thought he would have told you that.”

  “Well, he didn’t.”

  “I guess he’ll bring you up to speed later.”

  “I don’t need him to ‘bring me up to speed’ later. You can tell me now,” Ryan pressed.

  “Fine.” Todd sighed into the phone. “There’s a small start-up out of UMD whose application seems to have significant overlap with yours. The partners are concerned about how quickly they’re gaining market share, especially since you seem to be lagging—”

  “We’re not ‘lagging’—” Ryan corrected.

  “The partners want to you adjust the schedule. They want to capture the back-to-school market—students headed off to college in August—before the UMD guys do.”

  Ryan said nothing and Todd mistook his silence for interest.

  “The new schedule may be challenging, but the partners are willing to allow additional funding which you can use for partner bonuses. An incentive. Sean’s already on board with it.” Todd dropped his voice into a conspiratorial tone that made Ryan’s skin crawl. “Between you and me, I think that’s the part Sean was most interested in—the toys. In fact, he and I are planning to visit a couple of car dealerships in Bellevue, maybe have something custom made and delivered by Thanksgiving.”