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Dean held her eyes for a long time. Elise remembered the diary—how her mother had described feeling weak at the knees whenever she and Dean made eye contact.
He’s unlike any man I’ve ever known.
“Sometimes, the truth is too hard to look at,” Dean told her. “Sometimes, it’s better left alone.”
With that, he whipped around and stomped down the little walkway, back out toward the road. Elise gripped the doorknob and wavered on wimpy knees. Her eyes were wet with tears.
Suddenly, a hand crept over her shoulder. Elise nearly jumped out of her skin, as she had forgotten that anyone else still lingered inside. When she turned back, she blinked wide eyes at both Cindy and Tracey. Toward the back of the house, Wayne and Michael held plates of lasagna and beers and headed toward the back porch.
Elise let her shoulders fall forward. She pressed a hand on her cheek, embarrassed.
“I think I just lost control of myself,” she said.
Tracey and Cindy nodded. “It obviously runs in the family.”
Elise laughed, in spite of it all. “I really wouldn’t have wanted to ambush him like that. I tried to explain what I knew at his house when he invited me for dinner, but it just didn’t come naturally. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him. Faced with me, a ghost...”
Tracey heaved a sigh. “Why don’t we head back in? Eat up, drink some wine, and chat for a bit?”
Cindy nodded and slipped a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Since their first meeting, Cindy hadn’t been the kindest to Elise. Elise could understand why. The woman had discovered Elise’s existence around the same time her only son had returned to the island after years away.
There was a lot on her plate.
Elise, Cindy, and Tracey sat around the beautifully set table. Wayne and Michael’s voices were murmurs just outside the window. Elise couldn’t make out anything they said.
Their plates were loaded with gooey lasagna, the ricotta oozing out across the china, the salad piled high in little salad bowls, the garlic bread glittering with butter and garlic and salt. Cindy eyed Elise for a long time, then gestured as she said, “Are you going to eat with us?”
Elise chuckled and said, “I thought I’d lost my appetite. But this looks delicious.” She stabbed a fork across the top layer of the noodle stack. “I swear, I’ve eaten better on Mackinac Island than I have in years.”
“We’re preparing for winter,” Tracey said with a wink. “If you stick around much longer, we’ll bring out the really good stuff.”
“That’s right—beef stews. Schnitzels,” Cindy said.
“Pies and cakes and cookies...” Tracey said.
“And don’t forget the fudge. I assume you’ve had some Mackinac fudge?” Cindy asked.
“Just a little,” Elise admitted.
“You haven’t lived, my dear,” Tracey said.
“That’s kind of why I’m here, I guess,” Elise affirmed with a light shrug. “After all those years of school and kids and work, work, work...”
“You really have to tell us what you’re working on,” Cindy said contemplatively. “Everyone’s talking about it. Some screenplay about the island...”
Elise’s cheeks grew crimson. She lifted her glass of wine and swirled around the dark red liquid, feeling almost mesmerized by it.
Tracey chuckled. “You’re like us.”
“What do you mean?” Elise looked up at her feeling surprised at the sentiment.
“You don’t like to brag about what you do,” Trace continued. “Not like Alex. You’re like me and Cindy and Dad. We like to keep our success to ourselves. But it doesn’t mean we’re not proud of all we’ve done.”
“We just don’t like to rub it in,” Cindy explained.
Elise considered this. “I guess I have always resisted that about California culture. Everyone is overly-willing to brag about themselves all the time. It’s one of the only ways to get ahead in the entertainment business.”
“Sounds horrible,” Cindy said.
