An odd welcome ritual ensued, lots of catching-up talk that excluded Rachel. She looked at the two kids shuffling their feet and checking their phones while their parents exulted in their reunion with Amelia and Kelly. Finally, the woman turned to Rachel.
“Joan Miller,” she said, her hand outstretched. “Are you staying here too?”
“Oh! I’m sorry. Where is my head? Joan, this is my granddaughter Rachel.”
More exclamations. Joan didn’t know Amelia had a granddaughter! (Of course she didn’t. Amelia hadn’t known she had a granddaughter until three months ago.)
Kelly pulled Rachel aside.
“Listen, we have a somewhat awkward situation on our hands,” she said, breathing heavily. “The Millers have been coming here every summer for the past two decades. I canceled their reservation this year because we closed the inn, but clearly they didn’t get the memo. Now that they’re here, I can’t see making them leave, but Amelia really wants to get away for a few days—” A coughing fit interrupted her, and Amelia rushed over.
“Hon, go to the car. I’ll handle this,” she said, her face creased with concern.
“Amelia, I can take care of things here. Just tell me what to do,” Rachel said. Amelia glanced back at the Millers, who had congregated on the front porch while waiting for their room.
“Are you sure?” Amelia’s face was pinched with doubt.
“Yes. Absolutely. Just tell me what room to put them in and I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s a lot of work. The linens, breakfast…”
“I can handle it! It’s the least I can do. I mean, we all showed up here and never left. I feel bad that you and Kelly have to leave in order to get some peace and quiet—”
“Oh, my dear. That’s not it at all.”
“Just let me do this. Let someone do something for you for a change.”
“It would be a huge help,” Amelia admitted. “But only if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure,” Rachel said.
What could go wrong?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Marin sat on her bed, in the same spot she’d occupied all summer yearning for Julian. Now he was there, and things couldn’t be worse.
He paced in front of her. “I just don’t understand why you would keep this from me.”
“Really? Maybe it’s because you handle complications and setbacks so well!”
“You’re comparing this pregnancy to us losing our jobs?”
She shrugged. He sat next to her and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a father and I would never do that to my own child.”
She broke his gaze. “That’s noble of you, Julian. But what if it’s not your child?”
His hands fell from her shoulders and he sat back, a stricken expression on his face.
“It’s not?” he whispered.
“I don’t know, okay? I mean, you do the math.”
His eyes narrowed and he got the faraway expression she’d seen when he was poring over a case, trying to solve a problem or answer a complex question. After what felt like forever he said: “How could this happen?”
“I assume that’s rhetorical,” Marin said.
Julian stood and pressed his hands to his forehead. “Goddamn it, Marin.”
“You should leave,” she said, fighting back tears.
She didn’t have to tell him twice. When he was gone, she closed the door and leaned against it with a sob. That’s when she noticed a piece of Beach Rose Inn stationery had been slipped under it.
“Hello over there? I’m looking for Nadine.”
Blythe glanced up from the patch of soil she was raking. It was marked off from the rest of the yard with wooden stakes, and the next step would be to buttress the garden with wood planks, which she would hopefully find at the garden shop.
Blythe wiped the soil from her hands and adjusted her sun hat so she could see the person calling out to her from the side of the house. It was Sandra Crowe.
Sandra was dressed in a salmon-colored sundress and strappy gold sandals. Her dark hair was sleek, cut sharp at her jawline, and despite the relative humidity of the afternoon, her face was fully made up. She looked like she was going to an audition for Real Housewives of Provincetown.
Blythe stood. “Nadine’s not here. She went away for a few days. Can I help you?”
Sandra looked at Blythe’s hands and dirt-smudged shorts.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m gardening,” Blythe said.
“Can you please not dig up this property?”
Good Lord, not this again.
“Excuse me?” Blythe said. “I don’t see how that’s your business.”
Sandra cocked her head, smiling with amusement. “It is literally my business. I’m buying this house. Now, if you don’t mind, Nadine told me I could take some measurements inside.”
“It’s not a good time,” Blythe said. Did she have a right to interfere like this? Hell yes. More than a right; she had a duty!
Sandra started to protest, but Blythe plastered a smile on her face and said, “The exterminator is here. It’s being fumigated.”
“Exterminator? For what?”
“Well, now—that’s not my business. You’ll have to come back when Nadine is here.” Blythe steered her back to the front of the house and left her at the sidewalk with a wave.
Blythe walked up the steps and took a seat on the porch. She felt she should have a shotgun, like a settler defending her home on the range. After a few moments of reveling in her role of domestic protector, she decided she’d check out the gardening shop she’d seen on Race Point Road.
The front door swung open, startling her. She turned, hoping to see Marin, who had disappeared after breakfast, but instead she found a tall, dark-haired, extremely handsome young man.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?” she said, standing quickly.
“I was just leaving,” he said. He was dressed in khaki pants and a white button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves. The clothes were casual but not quite as casual as the norm around here. He was a visitor, but who was he visiting? Or was he looking for a room?
“I don’t mean to be rude, but this is a private residence. The inn is closed this season.”
“Like I said, ma’am, I was just leaving.”
His eyes were dark, long-lashed. His voice held a hint of a British accent.
Oh, happy day!
“Are you Julian?”
Now it was his turn to be startled. “Yes, I’m Julian.”
“I’m Blythe Bishop, Marin’s mother. Oh, I’m so glad she called you about the baby and that you came!” Blythe wanted to hug him. He had proven her right: Marin had to embrace the situation, be honest, not try to hide the complicated truth. It was all going to work out for her.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. Then: “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bishop.”
Oh, dear. Something was wrong.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes. I’m leaving.”
Blythe’s maternal alarm sounded.
“So soon? Please don’t go. I know it’s complicated. But you came here to see Marin so you must want to be with her.”
He looked at her like she was crazy.