She lifted her chin, feeling the thrill of rebellion. Hope had always been a good girl. She opened the door to guests at her parents’ annual New Year’s Eve party, she smiled and remembered names. She knew every one of Evan’s colleagues. She stood at his side. She did everything she was supposed to do.
Until now.
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point now,” he said, pushing back his chair to stand. “I’m sorry. I should have helped more with the party.”
She shook her head. “Last year’s party was the same. Next year’s would be the same, too.”
“Would be?” He blinked rapidly. “What are you saying, Hope?”
“I don’t know, Evan,” she said, swallowing hard. “I just know that I don’t want to do this anymore.”
And without another word, she slipped into the house, cleaned up the spilled apples and carrot slices that had gone between the white couch cushions, and even though the juice from the apple could leave a small stain, she decided not to tend to it.
She had packing to do.
Chapter Four
Gemma
Having no car, Gemma took the train as far north as it would get her, up through Wisconsin, and then cabbed it to the ferry port in Blue Harbor, Michigan. It was May, but the ferries were operating on a regular schedule now that the tulips were popping up all over the island. Midwesterners who had felt cooped up all winter were all too happy to shed their down parkas and heavy snow boots, even if the weather forecast did say it would only reach a high in the mid-sixties today.
The man who came to sit beside her on the ferry was wearing shorts and a polo shirt. She wouldn’t judge, even if the breeze off the lake was particularly cold once the engine on the boat got going.
The old Gemma—the pre-breakup Gemma—might have scanned her eyes higher, to his face, then glance down at his hand, to see if he was wearing a ring. But the new Gemma—the broken-hearted Gemma—kept her eye on the view, watching as the large green land in the distance came closer and the white dots turned clearer, until she could see the details of the Victorian homes that the island was known for.
The ride was quick, less than fifteen minutes, and soon enough she was dragging her luggage across the wooden dock to town, inhaling the smell of fudge that the island was known for. She had called Ellie last night to let her know she was coming, unsure of what Ellie’s reaction might be, and to her surprise, Ellie had seemed happy at the news, if not a bit distracted, but then, that was Ellie. She took life in stride. Sometimes Gemma envied her for it. Today, she was just grateful.
By the time she lugged her bags to the line of horse-drawn carriages that were parked at the port, she collapsed into her seat and leaned her head back.
“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing over his shoulder to catch her eye.
“West End Road,” she told him. “Sunset Cottage?”
Everyone knew the house, or houses, technically. West End Road was famed for the row of Victorian homes that hugged the shoreline, not too far from the center of town, but far enough to make sure that the tourists didn’t disturb the peace too much. It was quiet and peaceful, a total oasis from the bustling city life she’d lived in, and even years back, when she was younger, it had been a respite from their suburban life outside Cleveland. The school year was full of busy days: bus rides, class schedules, and then after-school activities, dinner, homework, and bedtime. But life on the island had no routine. There was no bedtime, and the sun didn’t set until nearly ten at the peak of summer. The days were long and unstructured, and wonderfully carefree.
Hope was right; this was exactly what she needed. Here her mind could wander. Here it wouldn’t be filled with the daily stressors that plagued her in the city, even if she did spend more and more time alone in her apartment. Here she would get out and take walks without a route in mind. Her mind would be clear of clutter, free to be creative!
She wouldn’t worry about the deadline.
She wouldn’t even think about the fact that a month from Saturday marked another key date on her calendar: the day she was supposed to be married.
She would soak in her surroundings. The island. Nothing had changed in all these years. Main Street still smelled like a candy store, with rich chocolate wafting through the air from the fudge shops, and the sweet smell of pies from the Island Bakery, who always sold the last slice before they turned the sign for the day.
The sidewalks were crowded, filled with kids licking ice cream cones from Main Street Sweets and women holding pink paper shopping bags from Lakeside Gifts. But as they rounded the bend and began heading north, the sounds and smells faded quickly, replaced with white picket fences lined with tulips and small wooden homes painted mint green, light blue, white, red, and even pink. She turned to stare at the water, letting it soothe her. Calm her. Even though Chicago bordered Lake Michigan, it wasn’t the same.
Sunset Cottage wasn’t too much farther up ahead now, and she watched in anticipation as it came into view. It had been in the family since Gran was just a girl, a summer cottage for her that had turned into a full-time residence when her husband died shortly after Gemma’s father left for college. She took pride in the place, even if the upkeep was difficult with the harsh winters and remote location. But there were always fresh flowers in the planters near the door, her vegetable garden always produced enough for salads and tomato pies for dinner, and the grass was always free of weeds.
At least it had been. Until now.
Gemma leaned forward as they pulled up to the house and the driver hopped down to help her with the luggage. The grass was long, too long, and it was poking up through the fence that divided it from the neighboring homes, each in far better condition, because she knew that the Taylors and Andersons rented out each summer and hired caretakers throughout the year. The flowers in the pots that flanked the front door had probably been there since Gran was still alive, and had probably died around the same time that she had, too.
Gemma fumbled to pay the driver, her mind spinning, and she slowly walked up the path, her heart sinking with each step as the deferred maintenance became more obvious: peeling paint on the porch, rust on the lantern lights that flanked the front door, and she had only given a cursory glance. Whatever she did, she could not blame Ellie for this, even if it was, obviously, tempting. It would start everything off on the wrong foot, and what she needed to do was set up her desk and get to work. What did it matter if some flowers were dead and the yard looked like it hadn’t met a mower since last September?
But it did matter, because some strange part of her needed this place to be exactly as it had always been, right down to Gran sitting on the front porch rocking in her chair. She needed one place she could rely on to always make her feel better. One place that promised good things, like Sunset Cottage always had.
She knocked, which seemed like a strange thing to do considering that she owned a third of the house, the same share as Ellie, but still, knowing Ellie, there was no sense in predicting what state Gemma would find her in. Ellie had always been free with her body, not shy about walking around the house in underwear or changing with the door open.
The need to knock was not for Ellie’s sake. It was for Gemma.
Ellie answered right away, her cheeks flushed, her brown hair braided into a long rope that slung over her shoulder.