"Too smart for your own good. That's what your mama always said about you, Lena. But she always said it with pride. I'd wondered if you'd guessed...assumed you had, given all the time you've been spending with me the past couple months. When did you figure it out?"
“I think a part of me always knew. Who else would it have been? But I felt more sure looking through Maeve's journal entries after Ollie's death. She was spending a lot of time with you and Annalise...there was no mention of a man at all, and if she had one, there always was. You know Maeve, in love with being in love. I did the math, and it seemed obvious, then."
“You should know that Annalise was--” he said, stopping short when Lena put a hand up.
“You don’t have to explain it or justify it to me. That's the old Lena, Harry. I won't even pretend to know the type of pain you two were going through at the time. But I recall Annalise's condition when I was a kid, and I know this. There aren't many people who would have stuck in like that. I know you didn’t mean to disrespect Ollie’s memory, either. I can only imagine how it must’ve felt to have your best friend die at the same time as your wife lost her identity and mobility. Anyone would need someone to lean on. It makes sense that you leaned on each other.”
His double chin wobbled and Lena was worried she'd sent him over the edge, but he gathered himself together and blew out a long breath. “I still have a lot of guilt, but you should know that I don’t regret it. Not any of it. Especially not you, Lena.”
There were still so many unanswered questions, but she'd filled in the gaps on her own and certainly didn't need to weigh this sweet old man down with any more guilt than he'd carried all these years. Her father wasn’t just another nameless and faceless one of Maeve’s men who wanted no part of her. It was Harry, a beloved family friend who had been there all along. Who had kept her deepest secret, and supported her and her family when they needed him the most. And now, she would spend what time she could with him before he left this earth, the way she hadn't been able to do with her mother.
It wasn't perfect, but that's the way it was, and she was content enough with that.
“Has Serina contacted you since you sent her the money?”
“No. I don't expect her to. She handled the situation all wrong, but she was right about one thing. Her father was taken from her through no fault of her own and a share of her father’s life insurance money was hers by right,” Lena said.
It had taken some doing. Both Alistair and her sisters had tried to dissuade her, but now that she knew what Serina had suffered and that she was just another victim of a terrible situation, she wouldn't have slept a solid night if she didn't make good on that debt. They'd done it all through a series of anonymous channels, but they'd gotten it done nonetheless.
Last she'd checked, Serina had purchased a property sixty miles south of La Pierre for a hundred grand at an auction and paid cash. It had cost Lena nearly half her retirement savings, but she'd never felt better about an expenditure in her life. Seemed like a bargain price for peace of mind.
"We should head back inside. I heard tell the catfish was almost gone," she said, slipping her arm through Harry's and leading him toward the door.
When they got back into the bar, Sasha was standing by the jukebox, microphone in hand, clearly searching for someone. Her cornflower gaze locked on Lena and she waved her over furiously.
"Hurry up, people are getting restless."
Lena bit back a smile as her sister handed her the microphone and then linked her arm through Rusty's. Apparently, whatever short fling she'd had with the younger deputy a year or more before had been re-kindled, and if his beaming face was any indication, he was happy as a clam about it. Sasha looked pretty thrilled, too. Who knew if it would stay that way, and, so long as Sasha was happy, Lena didn't care if she stayed single forever. But he seemed like a nice guy, and it was great to see her with someone who clearly cared about her.
Things were bumping along nicely, and Lena looked forward to seeing what the future held for them all.
She took the microphone from Sasha, and held up a hand in surrender as the chants for a speech reached a fever pitch.
"All right, I hear you. Speech! But remember, y'all asked for this," she said with a grin, gripping the mic with now clammy hands. I'm gonna try to do you right, Mama. "We're here today to celebrate the life of the incomparable Maeve Blanchard. As you all know, our mother was a complicated woman. Flawed, like all of us. But since I've spent a lot of years focusing on those flaws, today, I'm going to focus solely on the good parts of Maeve. And on that note, we'll start with her legs...man, those gams were something, weren't they?" she asked with a chuckle.
The crowd hooted their approval and laughed along with her as Sasha let out an ear-piercing whistle that had Lena grinning.
"Her face was the stuff of poetry, her husky voice the stuff of legend. But Maeve was more than a great beauty. She was also a tough as nails survivor who took no prisoners and even less shit. She was a keen businesswoman who knew her place and then ignored it. A lover and a fighter. A fierce protector of her family and the people she called friends. She had a passion for this community, and the people in it. She wasn't big on complaining and pointing out problems, unless she also had solutions." Lena scanned the faces before her, bolstered and uplifted to see everyone nodding along. "Over the years, I've tried so hard to make sure I was nothing like her. It's only these past twelve weeks here in La Pierre, seeing her through the eyes of my sisters and of y'all in the community," she said, gesturing to the crowd, "that I realized what a good woman she was in so many ways."
She held her glass aloft and the room went silent as the crowd hoisted their glasses in return. "To our mama, Maeve Blanchard, may she rest in joy."
“To Maeve!”
Lena swallowed back the rush of tears threatening to choke her. Crying never helped nobody but Mr. Kleenex, after all…
* * *
Thanks so much for reading Maeve’s Girls! If you’d like to read more women’s fiction, come meet the Sullivan sisters of Bluebird Bay in Finding Tomorrow…
* * *
Chapter One
* * *
Home sweet home.
Celia Burrows stepped through the front door of her house with a sigh.
Part of her was happy to be back in Bluebird Bay, but she couldn’t shake the unexpected sense of melancholy that had settled over her on the ride home. She’d had an amazing couple of days recharging at the Lotus Blossom Spa and Wellness Retreat with her friend, Jackie. Her skin felt great, she’d slept like a baby, and she’d had seventy-two hours to focus wholly on herself for the first time in years. But all of that me time hadn’t recharged her like she’d hoped it would. She was already looking ahead to the yawning stretch of the week to come.
Nate always got on her about that. “You can never live in the moment,” he’d say.
Still, she couldn’t ignore the niggling feeling that something was missing. Truth be told, the feeling had been there for years, but raising children and tending to Nate had helped drown it out. Caring for her ailing father had done the same.
She’d hoped the spa weekend would help, but if anything, that feeling seemed more insistent. Louder.
“Yeah, poor you, Celia,” she murmured with a low chuckle under her breath as she set her suitcase in the foyer and hung her lightweight sweater on the bannister. “Stuck in this big, beautiful, dream beach house with your handsome, successful husband. Someone cue the violins.”
It only caught her then that the house was extra quiet. Nate’s car hadn’t been in the driveway when she’d pulled up, but that didn’t explain why her cocker spaniel, Tilly, hadn’t charged over, tail thumping, the second she’d walked in.
“Tilly, Mommy’s home,” she called as she turned to scan the marble kitchen island for a note from Nate. She glanced at her watch with a frown. She’d told him what time she’d be home, and he hadn’t mentioned going out. “Tilly, come on, sweet girl!” she cal
led, cupping her hand to her mouth and calling up the stairs.
Maybe her sweet pup had missed her so much, she’d decided to hibernate in the master bedroom where Celia’s scent was the strongest. That dog hadn’t been without her a single day since she’d gotten her from the shelter five years before. Maybe she thought she’d been abandoned again?
Guilt pricked at her as she grabbed her suitcase and jogged lightly up the stairs. But her guilt was quickly replaced with concern as she stepped into the bedroom.
Tilly was nowhere to be found.
Dog and car, both gone. Nate would never put her in his beloved Porsche unless the dog was sick or dying…
So where were they?
She peered around the room again and a strange sensation washed over her…a sense of foreboding so strong, it made her knees go weak. The bed was made, no surprise there, as Nate had always been pretty tidy, but it looked so picture-perfect, it could’ve graced the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.
She walked gingerly toward the king-sized bed, which seemed larger and more ominous with every step she took. Fingers trembling, she lifted the corner of the comforter, and what she found shook her to the core.
Pristine sheets with perfectly executed hospital corners.
Corners so precise, only one person could’ve done them, and that was Celia herself.
Blood roared in her ears, crowding out the oppressive silence. Nate hadn’t slept in their bed all weekend. She’d spoken to him just yesterday morning, and he specifically told her he’d slept in and planned to spend the day working on the boat so not to worry if he didn’t answer his phone. No mention of sleeping anywhere but home.
She turned to peer around the room again and something on her vanity table caught her eye. A heather gray envelope propped there, from the gorgeous, custom stationary set she’d bought Nate for Father’s Day last year.
Her legs moved as if of their own accord, carrying her toward the fussy little vanity table even though her brain urged her to run in the other direction. She reached for the note gingerly, like it was a bomb, because in the deepest part of her soul, she knew that’s exactly what it was.
A bomb that was going to obliterate her whole life.
She glanced down at the masculine scrawl on the front of the silky envelope that simply read, Celia. Then she tore it open.
* * *
Dear Celia,
It breaks my heart to do this to you this way, but I know how strong inertia is, and how easy it would be to fall back into our normal patterns if I tried to do it in person. I love you and always will, but I’m not in love with you anymore.
* * *
The rest of the words blurred before her eyes as the note slipped from her fingertips to the gleaming, oak floor.
How could this be happening? They’d just celebrated thirty years of marriage three months before. He’d even made a toast at the party he’d insisted on throwing. In front of all their friends and family and his business associates, he’d said, “Thirty down, thirty more to come, and I can’t wait. Love you, Celia.”
But I’m not in love with you anymore.
Celia lowered herself to the vanity stool and pressed her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not now.
They finally had everything they’d ever wanted. All their hard work and sacrifice had paid off. Nate’s business was booming and had become one of the premiere commercial real estate agencies in town. They’d just finished renovating their forever home, a stunning contemporary house with an unparalleled view of the ocean, now equipped with every modern convenience imaginable. The kids were grown and doing great. Max was an accountant in Portland, Maine, two and a half hours south of Bluebird Bay, and happily married to her job, for the moment. Gabe had a great fiancée, and owned a charter fishing boat that allowed him to be on the water seven days a week.
This was supposed to be their time to reconnect. Enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Together.
A sharp rap sounded at the front door and she sucked in a steadying breath.
There were only a handful of people who would stop by on a Sunday morning without calling first. Gabe was likely out on his boat, and Max typically spent the weekends with her friends. It had to be one of her younger sisters. Anna was in town between assignments, so it could be either of them.
Briefly, she considered ignoring it, but her car was in the driveway, and her sisters were nothing if not persistent.
She slipped off her kitten heels, afraid her still-wobbly legs couldn’t carry her steadily, and then padded barefoot down the sleek staircase. As she passed the long mirror on the wall, she slowed and swiped at the tears she hadn’t even realized were streaking down her cheeks.
No one liked to see a weeping woman—it made people uncomfortable.
The knocking grew more insistent and she quickened her pace. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe one of the kids needed help with some kind of an emergency.
Dear God, the kids.
She had been so preoccupied with her own feelings, she hadn’t even considered theirs. What was she going to tell them?
Her heart gave a squeeze as memories pelted her brain like tiny, unerringly accurate bullets.
Nate holding a plump, newborn Gabe in his arms, beaming with pride. The two of them playing catch in the tiny swatch of backyard behind their starter home. Max and her daddy dressed to the nines for her kindergarten Father-Daughter dance.
Celia’s chest ached so much, it felt like it might crack in half. This was bad. No doubt about it. But whoever was behind that door didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her grief.
She straightened and threw her shoulders back as she smoothed a hand through her hair.
Answer the door, plead a headache, and get whoever it is out of here as quickly as possible.
She turned the knob, pasting a polite half-smile on her face.
“Thank God! If you didn’t answer, I was going to have to eat all four of these by myself, and you know I’d do it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a good bagel in this town?” Anna demanded as she pushed past her in a whirlwind of typical, infectious energy.
Celia tried to form a reply as she trailed behind her youngest sister, but her throat was locked up tight, frozen with unshed tears.
Keep it together, Celia, you can do this, she counselled herself silently. You have to talk to Nate before you tell anyone. Spreading the news will only make things awkward once he comes home.
“Tell me about the spa. Was it as glorious as I hear it is?” Anna asked as she set the white paper bag on the kitchen island and made her way toward the refrigerator. “You have cream cheese, yes?”
Celia cleared her throat and nodded. “Y-yes. On the door.”
Anna set the tub of cream cheese on the marble island and then paused, butter knife in hand, hazel eyes narrowing. “You look weird. Pale. Did you eat some bad seaweed at that spa or something?”
Celia shook her head and tried to croak out a reassuring "I’m fine.” But what came out was a wrenching, whole-body sob.
“Celia, oh my God, what’s happened?” Anna asked, her face a mask of confused concern. “Is someone hurt?” Her eyes widened as she clutched at Celia’s arm in fear. “Dead?”
“No, no,” she managed, holding on to her sister like a lifeline. “N-Nate is leaving me.”
Where were those dang violins now?
Anna stared at her sister, shocked into total silence.
If she was being honest, her first reaction was relief. Not because she disliked Nate—though she did—but because her mind had instantly shot to several worst-case scenarios. Gabe had gotten into a boating accident, or Max had gotten into a car wreck, or Pop had…
She pushed those thoughts away and tried to think straight, despite the fear-induced dump of adrenaline pumping through her veins.
“Okay. Okay,” she mumbled, pulling her sister into a tight hug as she processed this new information.
Nate had alway
s been a thorn in her side. He was nice to her, of course. Cee-cee wouldn’t have allowed him to be anything but. Cee-cee and Anna had always been close growing up. Even now, with Anna traveling three hundred plus days a year for her job as a nature photographer, she and her oldest sister talked every week. They saw each other frequently whenever Anna returned to her home base between jobs. Nate had known that bond was unbreakable, so he’d carefully maintained the status quo. Deep down, though, Anna knew he’d never liked her.
Well, bully for him, because the feeling was mutual.
She thought back to Cee-cee, B.N.—before Nate. The girl who used to wake her and Stephanie up in the middle of the night for a giggling skinny dip in the pool. The girl who used to host her own version of Chopped on their old camcorder before the show was even invented, laughingly demanding that the three of them make a meal out of canned ham, chickpeas, and peanut butter or something equally vile.
Cee-cee, B.N. had been a firecracker.
Their sister Stephanie had always thought their oldest sister might become an actress or an artist. Something creative, like Anna, because she always saw the beauty in the world.
Nate had been drawn to that wonder and light. At first, Anna had thought it was because he believed it was as beautiful as she did. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Cee-cee was just another beautiful object for him to add to his collection, like his lawn and his car and this house. He liked all of his things pristine, perfectly manicured at all times, and his wife was no exception.
Celia had been no different. She was still a gem under all the polish, but he’d done his best to keep the wildest parts of her under wraps. Anna remembered, though.
Once Nate came along, that all changed. He’d treated her like a princess, no denying that, but he’d made it clear he expected her to act the part. For a beach-loving, small-town girl who preferred a good, sticky barbecue to fine dining, wasn’t that the cruelest twist of the knife? He’d done it so skillfully, changing her slowly over the years, that Anna was pretty sure Cee-cee hadn’t even realized what was happening. Like a boiling frog, not that Celia, P.N.—post Nate—would appreciate the comparison.
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