“I admit that was odd. But I wonder why—”
Just then, the back door opened and Helen, one of Ivy and Sylvia’s acquaintances from the church they’d attended when they were in better health, tottered down the back steps hugging a large vase of white lilies. “I’m not absconding with these,” she said, peering around the blooms. “Ivy insisted I take them because they make her sneeze. She wrapped goodies for me to bring home, too, but my car is parked down the street so I’ll have to come back for them.”
“I can help you,” Zoey offered, taking the vase. While Helen was inside retrieving the goodies, Mark told Zoey he was going to say goodbye to Ivy and then he intended to take off.
“Already?” she questioned, since he had just arrived on the island that morning. She assumed he was going to spend at least one night there.
“Yeah. Check-in is at four.”
“You’re not staying at the house?”
“Nah. I’d suffocate in there. I booked a room at The Harborview.”
Of course. Only the best resort for Mark Winslow III. Knowing him, he was charging his lodging to his company’s account and claiming it was a business expense. “Are you coming back here at all tomorrow?”Or will that interfere with your golf schedule?
“Yeah. I’ll be on the island for a few days.”
“Okay. See you later.”
As Zoey and Helen inched halfway down the hill in the direction of the harbor, Helen apologized for walking so slowly, explaining, “I’ve put on quite a few pounds over the winter.”
“That’s okay—I’m wearing new shoes so I’m not going anywhere fast, either.”
Zoey was actually glad for the excuse to get away from the house for a few minutes and after Helen drove away, she paused to survey the seascape below, at the bottom of the hill. Benjamin’s Harbor was much smaller than Port Newcomb, where the island’s ferry docks were located, but it was more picturesque. She never tired of gazing at the bay’s cobalt-blue water during high tide. The vivid green grass and blanched sands at low. Or at the white brick, black iron-capped lighthouse—Sea Gull Lighthouse, the one Mr. Witherell used to keep—standing tall among the bayberry bushes and juniper trees on the flat sea-level peninsula. In the summer, she could spend hours sitting on one of the many wrought-iron benches and watching boats navigate past the long, narrow jetty as they entered or exited the harbor.
There weren’t many vessels docked in the slips this early in the season, but because it was such a pleasant day, the waterfront park was humming with activity. Families with small children walking dogs. Teenagers playing ultimate frisbee on the beach. Couples strolling hand-in-hand. Joggers and cyclists exercising in T-shirts and shorts. And just past the harbor, where the pavement gave way to cobblestone, people were strolling along Main Street, browsing in shops and dining al fresco at the numerous restaurants boasting water views.
At another time, Zoey might have hustled the rest of the way down the hill to be in the thick of things. But today, she chose a bench at the edge of the park so she’d have more privacy to collect her thoughts. Because of the way the bench was angled, she had a view both of the harbor and of several of the houses lining the bottom half of the hill.
Despite their differences in size and design, virtually all of them were painted white, with their doors and shutters such a dark shade of green they almost appeared black. Invariably, the yards had lush, manicured squares of lawn—or they would, once spring had fully sprung—bordered by picket fences just like her aunt’s. Zoey loved the clean, simple architecture of the residences on Main Street in Benjamin’s Manor. This place had always provided her a sense of order and stability whenever it seemed her own world was in chaos. Like when herparents were getting divorced. Or her college boyfriend, her first love, broke up with her. When her mother died of an aneurysm. Her father of heart failure. And especially after her sister’s brief, intense battle with cancer…
Oh, Jess, I wish you were here with me now, she thought, as she’d done countless other times during the past six years. Jessica had been Zoey’s best friend, as well as her big sister, and she still missed her like crazy. Unfortunately, Zoey had had enough experience with mourning to know how to endure her own sorrow over Sylvia’s death, but she wasn’t as confident about her ability to buoy her great-aunt through such a loss. Jessica, on the other hand, would have known exactly how to comfort Ivy.
She also would have known how to respond to Mark’s suggestion that their great-aunt would benefit from moving into an assisted living facility. Although the incident with Ivy leaving the gas on had initially given Zoey pause, nothing like that had ever happened before. So, whether her aunt had forgotten to turn it off or just hadn’t completely twisted the knob around, Zoey figured it was a one-off, a mistake anyone could have made. Still, she wished her sister were there to give her a reality check. And to back her up. Jess could always see through Mark’s ruses but she had a lighthearted way of calling him out on his behavior without overreacting or offending him, the way Zoey did.
How am I going to handle this kind of family stuff without Jessica’s advice and humor to get me through? It’s going to be like… like not having an anchor in a storm,she lamented, already feeling adrift.
If she wasn’t careful, Zoey was going to cry and it still wasn’t time for that. She stood and took a few tentative steps toward home but her blisters were killing her feet. If she took her shoes off to walk back, she’d get runs in her newly purchased pantyhose.Who cares? I’m never going to wear them again.Zoey had only put them on today in deference to her aunt Sylvia’s belief that a lady never wore a skirt or dress bare-legged to a formal event, like a wedding or a funeral. But the funeral was over and besides, it was stinking hot outside. Too hot for her to trudge back up the hill wearing nylons.
Zoey pivoted toward the park so she could take her hosiery off in the public restroom, some twenty yards away. But when she hobbled over to it, she found the facility was still locked for the off-season. She surveyed the area around her; not a soul in sight and she was hidden from view, too.
“Sorry, Aunt Sylvia,” she apologized, removing her shoes. With her back to the wall so she could see if anyone was coming, as well as to prevent them from catching a glimpse of her derriere, she discreetly slid her hands beneath her skirt and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the hosiery. As swiftly as she could, she brought the pantyhose to her ankles. She intended to quickly step out of them but when she lifted one leg, the nylon clung to her foot, turning inside out, so she had to roll the stockings over her toes.
“Ah, freedom!” she proclaimed when her second foot was finally bare. She flipped her hair back over her head as she stood upright again, thrusting the ropey ring of hosiery in the air like a hard-won trophy.
At that moment, a man wearing a suit came around the corner of the building. Not just any man. It was Nick. The guy whose tie she’d cried on. He stopped abruptly, a wry smile on his face. Mortified, Zoey scrunched the hosiery into a ball and hid it behind her back.
“The bathrooms are closed,” she snapped as if it were somehow his fault, and tore off across the grass instead of using the walkway.
“Zoey” he called after her. When she sped up instead of slowing down, he called again. “Zoey, wait!”
Couldn’t he take a hint? How could he possibly expect her to stop and chit-chat after she’d just been caught disrobing in public, especially since he knew she had a funeral reception to get back to? Then she was struck by a discomfiting thought:He probably has women throwing themselves at him all the time. What if he misread my little teary-eyed lapse in the driveway as flirting?
Under different circumstances Zoey might have been interested in getting to know him, but her aunt had just died, so she couldn’t trust her emotions right now. Plus, she had sworn off dating—for at least six months, anyway—after breaking up with Erik. And that had only been two months ago. Not to mention, Nick was pals with Mark.
After years of giving Mark’s friends the benefit of the doubt, Zoey had learned the hard way that in her cousin’s case, birds of a feather really did flock together. The people he attracted tended to be duplicitous, self-centered and combative. Mark had no affinity for honest, giving, easy-going types and they usually didn’t stick around him long, either—with the exception of his family, of course.
So, no. Zoey wasn’t interested in Nick. She hurried across Main Street, refusing to slow down even when she heard his footsteps right behind her.
