She's Up to No Good(107)

I turned my face up to Joe’s, only to find he was looking at me. “I don’t want to leave.”

He hugged me tightly, kissing the top of my head. “I don’t want you to, either. But I’m glad I found you.”

“I am too.”

We stayed like that for a long time, the sun climbing higher and higher over the waves before I rose to take a shower.

As the water washed over me, I leaned my forehead against the tile wall, wondering how I was going to go back to my childhood bedroom now. Then the glass door opened behind me and Joe stepped in, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck.

I looked at him over my shoulder as he ran a gentle hand down my side and around my stomach, pulling me close against him. “It’s the one place Jax won’t interrupt us,” he said.

Then a black nose appeared against the fogged glass.

I laughed and turned in his arms, kissing him under the spray.





After we said goodbye and I promised to call him when I got home, I returned to the cottage, my hair still damp, to pack the rest of my things. Tony wasn’t there.

Bringing my bag down the stairs, I found my grandmother sitting in the living room. “Ready?”

She nodded, scooting to the edge of the seat, then leaning heavily on the arm of the sofa to rise.

“Let me just put my bags in the car and I’ll go get yours.”

“Tony brought them to the front hall.”

“Neither of you should be lifting those heavy things.”

She pinched my cheek. “May you live long enough for your bossy grandchildren to treat you like a child.”

With all the bags in the car, my grandmother stumped slowly down the stairs, clinging tightly to the railing. Then she stopped to look at the cottage one last time, as did I.

“Maybe the color isn’t so terrible,” she said.

“It’s not.”

She stared a moment longer, ghosts running up and down the stairs. Then she shook her head and turned toward the car.

“Come on. It’s time to go home.”

I took another look at this house that was, in many ways, all she had left of her parents, her brothers and sisters, her childhood, committing it to memory, before joining her in the car.

As I put it into gear and started down the road, I saw the empty lot where the Gardner house had stood reflected in the rearview mirror.

“Do you know who owns that land? Where the big house was?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t elaborate.

“So who owns it?”

“Why, Tony does.”

“Tony?”

“And me, I suppose. Although I told him I didn’t want it.”

“What?”

“Old Mrs. Gardner left it to the two of us. She died right before I married your grandfather. She thought Papa would come around. Or that we’d run off if we had the money. But there was no way to explain that one to anyone, so I told Tony it was all his.”

“And he never sold it?”

“No. The old fool could have a fortune, but instead he throws away the property taxes every year just so they don’t put up condos.”

“That’s—wow. And you swear you never cheated on Grandpa?”

“No, darling. I might lie and steal, but never that.”

I thought for a moment. “You could have bought the cottage with your share.”

“No, I couldn’t have.”

“What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes. “That was the fight at Helen’s funeral, you see.”





CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE


June 1991


Hereford, Massachusetts


Evelyn no longer flinched at the sound of earth hitting a coffin. After Vivie, Miriam, Joseph, Gertie, and Sam, by Helen’s funeral, a mere seven months after Sam’s, she could shovel in her spade of dirt, hand it to the next mourner, and be done.

But now it was just Bernie, Margaret, and her. Fewer than half of the Bergman children. She looked at Bernie, who showed every one of his seventy-one years and resembled Joseph more and more by the day. Margaret was closer to her age, which wasn’t so bad. Losing Sam had been a blow, but she still had Bernie and Margaret. For now at least.

And it was easier with Anna there. Joan hadn’t come, but Anna had brought the children. And there was nothing like slipping one hand into Jenna’s and the other into Beth’s to take the sting out of a situation. She glanced at her daughter, who was trying so hard to hide the morning sickness of a third pregnancy. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, she thought. There’s no rush.

Fred drove them back to Bernie’s house, where they would sit shiva. Only three days instead of the seven they used to observe. The world had moved on, and if you weren’t Orthodox, most people didn’t want to give up a whole week to mourn the dead anymore.

Evelyn had assumed they would stay at the cottage, because why wouldn’t they? But it had passed to Sam when Joseph died, and with Sam gone, Louise was the owner. She was cryptic on the phone, saying it was occupied, so they rented rooms at the Inn, where the children could play on the beach in the mornings before going to Bernie’s house.

It was a shock to see that Bernie’s and Helen’s children were now in their late forties, and their grandchildren who used to toddle around the beach were now young adults.