She's Up to No Good(35)

“Do you want to read the plaque?” He gestured toward a copper plaque on a pedestal, long oxidized to green from the salt air.

“Uh, okay.” I approached it. “Oh.”

Joseph Bergman Memorial Park, it read. Hereford had no truer friend.

I looked up at Joe, who was standing close enough to my shoulder that I could feel the electricity of his presence. I took a reflexive step away. “I feel like your great-uncle doesn’t agree with that sentiment.”

“Actually, he put up part of the money for the park.”

“What?”

“I don’t know the whole story. But there isn’t any bad blood there.”

I thought for a moment, trying to figure out how that could be. “Did Tony ever get married?”

“No.”

“And he forgave my great-grandfather for not letting him marry my grandma? How?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t think anyone really knows what happened except Tony and your grandmother.”

I sighed. She made it clear she was only going to tell me what she wanted to and in the order she wanted to. If I asked her how Tony and my great-grandfather made amends, I’d get a story about Sam or Bernie or something unrelated. She said it was all the same story, but I didn’t see the connection.

Giving up, I snapped a picture of the plaque.

“Do you want me to take a picture of you next to it?” Joe asked.

I looked out at the horizon. “How about one of me by the rocks with the water in the background instead? I want to look like I’m having an amazing time.”

He looked mildly amused. “You’re one of those people on social media?”

I shrugged self-consciously and tried to play it off. “Mid-divorce and all.”

“Got it. Go sit on the rocks.”

I obliged, and he took my picture. When he returned the phone, he had taken multiple shots.

“You’re good,” I said, swiping through them.

“I should be.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“You—wait, I thought you were the cottage’s property manager?”

He shook his head. “The owner is a family friend. I help out sometimes. That’s all.”

“Oh. So like, you shoot weddings and stuff?”

“That’s part of it. I’ve got an art gallery in town.”

I had pegged him as a townie who rented properties, not a legitimate artist, and I cringed at how judgmental that was. “Can I see it?”

“Sure.” He checked his watch. “Probably not today if we’re going to see the harbor though.”

I wanted to ask if he did a lot of business. I couldn’t imagine art being enough to make a living in a town like this. And I wanted to ask about his family—I knew he came from fishermen. Was that still a family business? But it felt like prying and like I was too interested. So I didn’t.

Instead, I posted the pictures to Instagram. No, I wasn’t going to spend my time going through Brad’s pictures anymore, but if he was still looking at my feed, he’d wonder who took the picture. I looked so carefree, my face turned toward the sun, hair blowing in the breeze, sunglasses on top of my head. If he did, I hoped he felt a pang of regret at throwing me away.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


August 1950


Hereford, Massachusetts


Tony proudly thrust a letter into Evelyn’s hands as she reached his car.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She pulled the flap of the envelope and removed the paper. It was Tony’s acceptance to the police training program. He would begin the following week.

Evelyn would be gone by then.

So soon, she thought, as she did whenever she realized her departure date was charging at them. But she pushed that dread aside and kissed him, then rummaged in her bag.

“It’s like I knew we needed to celebrate tonight.” She grinned wickedly, pulling a half-full bottle of Canadian Club from her handbag.

He shook his head. “I can’t celebrate my acceptance into the police by doing something illegal.”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re going to be absolutely insufferable now, aren’t you? It’s a good thing you’ll look so handsome in a uniform.”

Tony kissed her lightly. “I had an idea, actually. Now that I have this.”

“What’s that?”

He hesitated slightly. “What if . . . What if I talked to your father? Before you leave.”

She felt the excitement of the moment fall like a stone into her chest. She wanted him to ask her, not her father. Joseph would say no. But she would say yes. “I think you’d do better talking to me.”

“I already know what you’d say.”

“Oh, do you now?”

He pulled her in close and kissed her deeply, his body pressed to hers, but she didn’t kiss back. “Don’t I?” he asked quietly, his face close to hers.

“Yes,” she whispered. “But he won’t say the same thing.”

Tony released her. “Evelyn, I won’t run off with you.”

“Then where does that leave us?” She turned away. “You’re never going to be Jewish. You’re still going to come from a fishing family. He won’t say yes unless we force his hand.”