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That Saturday, the Harvey Sisters suggested another get-together to decompress after the difficult week. Brittany gave them a begrudging “yes,” despite feeling that actually, she wanted to stay in the shadows of her home and hide from the world.
“I don’t think they really understand what it means to have your entire livelihood taken out from under you without any answer,” Brittany complained to Valerie, throwing her arm into a bag of chips and coming up with crunchy, salty slabs.
Valerie, an introvert through and through and therefore accustomed to this instinct to stay home, insisted this wasn’t the right way to live. “This is a dark time, Mom, but we can make the best of it. Besides, Nicole always cooks the best meals.”
It was an unusual thing for Valerie to drive them, as their mother-daughter relationship wasn’t used to the role reversal. Brittany enjoyed it, stretching her legs out in front of her and operating the Bluetooth, playing songs from the nineties and bobbing her head along with the beat. Valerie told her mother she was “so lame” but said it in a way that exuded love and silliness. For a brief moment on the drive, Brittany was able to convince herself all the trauma of the past six months didn’t belong to her.
En route, they stopped at the grocery store to buy fancy cheeses, bottles of wine, and plenty of juicy strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries, which Brittany ate distractedly as they eased the rest of the way to the Keating House. As Valerie parked out front, Brittany eyed the old inn, where she’d spent approximately four thousand hours of her life as a youngster.
“When I see the place, I can still smell the old cleaner we used to use,” Brittany said under her breath. “It’s like a nightmare that will never leave me alone.”
Valerie laughed good-naturedly as she removed the keys from the ignition and flashed them across her lap. After another pause, she whispered, “I think about Grandpa all the time. About where he is. About whether he can see us.”
Brittany shifted her eyes toward her daughter, surprised at the dream-like words she’d gifted her.
“I know he can feel the love we still have for him,” Brittany told her softly before adding, “but I have to hope he didn’t hear what I just said about the cleaning supplies. He was too good to me, and I never wanted anything to do with the business he built from the ground up.”
Valerie gave her mother a sneaky smile.
“What? Is that smile meant to tell me that you don’t want anything to do with Bar Harbor Antiques?” Brittany teased. “Because if it is, you don’t have to worry yourself about that. I’m happy for you and Thomas to do whatever you want. I’ve always said that, and I’ve always meant it.”
“If only it was so simple to know what you wanted to do...” Valerie said simply. “I know that you’ve always known. What a blessing that must have been.”
Just then, Luke’s big white truck creaked into the driveway beside them. He waved a sturdy hand, pulling them from their reverie. Valerie and Brittany stepped out into the spitting rain and hustled after Luke toward the comfort of the front porch.
“How’s your Saturday going?” Luke asked as he opened the knob, delivering that sterling, handsome smile of his.
“Not bad. Who’s operating the Acadia Eatery while you and Nicole are both here?”
“I’m just here for an hour or two, and then I’ll head over to man the Saturday night crew,” Luke told them. “I have my preppers over there slicing and dicing vegetables as we speak.”
“Lucky them...” Brittany said sarcastically.
With the door open, spiced warm air swirled out from the Keating House kitchen, where Nicole whipped up a roasted duck as music from the sixties spit out from the speakers. Heather and her daughters, Kristine and Bella, stood around the kitchen table, sampling a new selection of natural wines from a local realtor. Recently. Valerie had really taken to both Kristine and Bella and greeted them warmly, rushing them for big hugs. Brittany knew that Valerie honored the girls’ lives in New York City; she probably thought of them as the sleekest, the most fashionable, the most in-the-know. Brittany wished she could tell her daughter that nobody in the world— not Rihanna or Julia Aniston or Prince William— knew what they were doing. She wanted to tell her that everyone was making everything up all the time.
But that was something you had to learn for yourself.
“How’s it going, cuz?” Heather wrapped Brittany in a hug as Kristine and Bella gabbed to Valerie about some purse they’d recently purchased in Brooklyn.
“Oh, fine. Well, if I’m honest, Valerie dragged me out today. I wanted to cower in sadness in my house.”
“It makes sense,” Nicole said, her spoon whipping around a big scoop of mashed potatoes. “I spent like a whole year wallowing at Casey’s house after my divorce.”
“You didn’t wallow.” Casey stepped into the kitchen in a big red sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. There was a pen mark on her cheek, which Heather pointed out almost immediately.
“Gosh. I’ve been editing the blueprints all morning and making notes. I guess I got carried away,” Casey admitted.
“It’s usually better if you use the paper instead of your face,” Heather teased.
“Anyway,” Casey continued. “Nicole, you didn’t wallow. You were with a manipulative man for many years. Brittany, you too. The fact that both of you have the strength to push yourselves beyond those relationships means you’re some of the strongest women I know. Pat yourselves on the back.”
“Okay. Now you sound like a kindergarten teacher,” Nicole teased, rolling her eyes.
“No. It’s nice,” Brittany began. “Really. Thank you. I probably can’t hear that enough.”
“Tell us what happened with you and Brad after you left the restaurant the other night.” Heather gave Brittany a mischievous glance.
“Mom?” Valerie, who seemed to have the ears of a dog, stepped out from her conversation with Kristine and Bella to ask, “What is she talking about? That officer?”
“Oh gosh, honey, it was nothing,” Brittany returned quickly.
Behind her, Nicole reprimanded Heather for bringing up the “thing with Brad.”
Hurriedly, Brittany talked over them, assuring her daughter that Brad was nothing but a friend. “He stopped by to tell me where he’s at with the case.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Valerie demanded.
“Because he hasn’t found out much yet, to be honest,” Brittany offered. “But he’s on it. He’s working tirelessly.” She then gave Heather a sharp glance, one that told her just how little she appreciated that “opening of a can of worms.”
The Harvey-Keating family sat down for roasted duck at two that afternoon. Heather poured them out beautiful glasses of natural wine, which Brittany had never had but soon learned was “all the rage in Brooklyn.” Heather discussed the fact that her book’s movie adaptation would soon begin filming, while Casey talked about the recent breaking-ground of the Keating House Part Two.
“It’s been such a mess,” Casey announced. “I’ve worked with many different weather patterns and many different construction teams. The guys I hired here seem incompetent. And on top of that, the construction workers complain that it’s a little chilly when it’s under forty degrees. Guys, welcome to Maine.”
Mid-way through dinner, Nicole’s daughter, Abby, arrived back from her shift at the Keating Inn, where she worked the front desk. She greeted Kristine, Bella, and Valerie warmly and then loaded her plate up with a feast.
“It was a wild ride today at the inn,” she told them as she shoveled her food from her plate to her mouth. “A woman was screaming at a man who everyone thought was her husband. But in the center of the lobby, she told him to just go back to his wife already. She was like, ‘It’s over, Billy!’”
“Oh my God,” Heather cried, drawing a hand across her mouth. “I love the drama at that place.”
“That’s nothing,” Brittany countered. “The things I used to see there back in the nineties are fodder for any soap opera. Every day, a new affair. One time, a guy threatened to throw himself out the window, and one of the maids who worked there at the time had to talk him down. Once, a young couple of around eighteen or nineteen came in and pretended to have forgotten their wallets. My father was a softie, especially back then, and he still let them have a room. They ended up staying for nearly a month. My father didn’t question it, that is, until they tried to sneak out without paying the bill. It turns out they were on the run from the law. They’d robbed a bank down in Nashville and driven all the way there. It was so romantic to them.”
“What happened to them?” Kristine asked, captivated.
“I guess they were taken back to Nashville and tried for their crimes,” Brittany offered.
“Look it up!” Bella cried.
Brittany groaned, grabbed her phone, and began to attempt to type in words that would give her the results she so desired. “Nashville Bank Robbery,” however, gave her too many searches, and by the time she tried out, “Nashville teenage couple bank robbery,” the conversation at the table had moved forward without her.
As Brittany slipped her phone back into her pocket, she received a sudden alert from Candace, a woman in charge of a nearby antique auction happening later that afternoon.
CANDACE BERGMAN:
Hello, Brittany. I received all that information about your stolen items. It broke my heart, but I never imagined I might encounter one of your pieces at this very show.
I believe one of the French wardrobes you listed might be here.
It’s unclear if the person selling it has any idea of its true origin (if it’s yours). Maybe you know her— a little old lady in the antique community. Nobody you’d ever suspect.
In any case, I feel that you should come here as quickly as you can to see the piece and confirm it’s yours.
We have to look out for each other in the antique community.
Love to you and hope that you retrieve all the things you once lost.
Brittany’s eyes widened with surprise. As she quickly reread the message, she nearly dropped her phone to the ground.
“Mom. What’s going on?” Valerie demanded, her voice cutting through the hubbub of the surrounding conversation.
Brittany made heavy eye contact with her daughter. “I just got word that one of the pieces might be at an auction.”
“What!” Heather cried.
“You’re kidding.” Nicole’s jaw gaped open.
“No.” Brittany passed her phone to Nicole, who read the message, her eyes widening.
“You have to call Brad,” Heather instructed simply.
“I’m not sending him in my place,” Brittany affirmed.
“No, but maybe he could go with you,” Nicole suggested.
“I’m going, too,” Valerie insisted.
“You guys stay here. Enjoy the food,” Brittany told them as she stood up, grabbing her phone to search out Brad’s number. Her thoughts whirred at a million miles a minute. Was it really possible that she could track down one of her pieces later that afternoon? What if it wasn’t her piece? Would the sorrow of that destroy her?
“I’ll pack you guys some snacks,” Nicole said, leaping to her feet.
Brad answered the phone after only two rings, perhaps proof that he did very little on weekends. Or, it was proof that he would have answered a call from Brittany no matter where he was or what he was doing. It was difficult to say.
“Brittany. Hi, how is your weekend?”
“Brad. I just got word that one of the antiques might be nearby at an auction.”
Instead of sounding shocked, Brad said, instead, a simple, “Okay, I’ll drive. Where are you? I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
He was the sort of man she could count on, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Brittany couldn’t have asked for anything better.