“Isn’t it amazing how the beach gives up her treasures? Every day, a gift,” Amelia said.
Marin smiled.
They inched along in the car, the five-minute drive now hitting the ten-minute mark. Commercial Street was jammed with traffic.
“I just realized something. There’s no traffic light on this street,” Marin said.
“Nope. And it’s just going to get progressively more crowded all summer until the end of August, when we’re about to lose our minds, and then everyone leaves and we feel sad.”
A block away from the house, Amelia spotted Blythe waving at them from the porch. “Your mother seems to be trying to get your attention.”
Blythe hurried down the steps and met them in the street, barely letting Amelia park the car before leaning in the open passenger-side window.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Blythe asked Marin, clearly frustrated.
“I’m not carrying my phone.”
“Is everything okay?” Amelia said, stepping out of the car. Blythe took her by the arm.
“I didn’t want you to be taken by complete surprise.”
Amelia’s stomach tensed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. But your daughter is here.”
Amelia looked at Marin, the words not computing. Does she mean my granddaughter? Is Rachel looking for me?
And then it hit her.
Nadine.
“Where is she?”
Blythe pointed to the house, and Amelia walked as briskly as her aching legs would allow. For the first time in years, she bemoaned her lost ability to run, her joints as creaky as old floorboards about to give. The entrance foyer was empty. She rushed to the rear of the house. Of course Nadine would be out there, looking at her beloved bay.
Sure enough, Nadine was seated at the farthest end of the table, her back to the house. Amelia approached gingerly, quietly, afraid she would startle her off, like a fawn in the woods.
And like a fawn, Nadine sensed her and turned around.
Amelia’s eyes filled with tears. All thoughts of restraint dissolved and she rushed to her daughter, pulled her close.
“You’re here,” she said, gasping. “You’re really here.”
Nadine pulled away first, and Amelia got the first chance to take in her face. The last time she’d seen her, she had barely been old enough to drink. Now she was a middle-aged woman. She was changed, and yet Amelia felt that time had stood still.
“The house looks different,” Nadine said. “You must have put a lot of money into it.”
Amelia almost couldn’t process what she was saying. A dozen questions flooded her mind at once, causing a short circuit. So she just nodded, letting the moment wash over her, a tremendous wave that she could not master, could only give in to.
“How long are you here for?” she said finally.
“I’m not sure.” Nadine shrugged, a familiar gesture. “A few days.”
“You came to see your nieces.”
Nadine glanced at the house. “I came to see you.”
“I’m so grateful that you did. Whatever the reason.” Silence.
“So Kelly is still here,” Nadine said. It wasn’t a question. “I’ve been following the inn on Facebook. You’ve really got quite a business going.”
“Yes, well, it’s been a labor of love.”
She had found Nadine online too. Not on Facebook, but on her website. She sold handcrafted pottery. All in the Portuguese tradition. It was beautiful, and she had longed for a few pieces but didn’t dare buy any. Doing so would have felt like an intrusion.
Unfortunately, there were no personal details on Nadine’s website. And so Amelia asked, “Are you married? Children?”
Nadine shook her head. “I was living with someone for a while. But we broke up.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nadine looked away. Amelia let silence sit between them, resisting the urge to fill it with more chatter.
“So is there space for me to stay here? The website said you’re not taking guests this summer, so I figured my room would be free.”
“Of course! Of course. Come upstairs.”
Nadine wheeled her bag into the house and followed Amelia up to the third floor. Passing the closed door to Kelly’s studio, Blythe had the anxious thought that she had to warn her about Nadine’s arrival so she wouldn’t be blindsided.
“Who is the woman on the porch?” Nadine asked.
“Blythe? She’s the mother of one of the girls.”
“Interesting,” Nadine said. “And where are these…girls?”
“One of them should be here—she was with me when I returned to the house. Marin. She looks just like your brother.”
“Does she now.” Her voice was so flat, it was clearly a statement, not a question.
“And Rachel is probably here somewhere. Marin is somewhat guarded, a little tightly wound. Rachel is sunnier—very California. She’s from LA.” Amelia could hear the awkward nervousness in her voice. She opened the door to Nadine’s old bedroom.
“I’d never recognize it,” Nadine said.
“Thirty years is a long time.”
Nadine pulled her suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. “I’m going to sleep for a few hours, if you don’t mind. I’m exhausted.” She told Amelia she had flown from Italy to Boston two days ago, stayed with a friend, and then taken the ferry over that morning.
“Of course.” Amelia resisted the urge to hug her and started to walk down the hallway, but then she poked her head back in and said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here.”
Nadine offered a tight smile.
Amelia closed the door behind her and made her way quickly down the hall to the studio. She knocked but got no response. The door was locked. She hurried down to their bedroom and dialed Kelly’s cell. It went straight to voice mail. Damn it! Of course she didn’t have her phone with her. But where had she disappeared to?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rachel did little but daydream about Luke Duncan.
She kept mentally replaying the time they spent together, analyzing every word of the conversation, every shared glance between the two of them. Still, she had no clue as to how he felt toward her. On the one hand, they had spent a platonically friendly afternoon-turned-evening out. On the other hand, when he had walked her back to the inn, they’d spent a few minutes looking at the water in the bay and it was undeniably romantic.
But that would have been the perfect time for him to try to kiss her. And he hadn’t.
She hated to admit that she had never felt this way before. Shouldn’t a woman have at least one major love affair under her belt by this time? She blamed it on her upbringing. With no admirable examples of steady, secure coupledom, she did not know what to aspire to. Of course she’d had attractions and hookups. But she had never felt this mental preoccupation, the kind that left her constantly sleepless and dreamy at the same time.