Celeste found herself looking at the mirror image of her lost sister: the curtain of blond hair, the Cupid’s bow lips, the dramatic cheekbones.
She felt a wave of guilt and loss, the pain of a phantom limb she’d long since amputated. And then, a flash of irritation at the stranger standing before her who made her feel these things. She shook it away, disgusted at her selfishness.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Gemma said.
“No problem at all,” Celeste said quickly. “I’m glad you looked me up.”
They waited for cyclists to pass by and then scooted across Commercial. Music blared from somewhere, the Madonna song “Holiday.” The source of the music approached: an open-topped Jeep filled with three men who rented the same house on Commercial every summer.
“Hi, boys!” Celeste said with a wave.
“Hi, Mama!” one called out to her.
She led Gemma to a nearby bench in front of the Thai restaurant, Joon.
Oh, it was such a beautiful late spring day, one of the last before the town became truly overrun with tourists. All winter, when stores were shuttered and just a few perennial restaurants like Napi’s were open, when the sky could seem endlessly gray and high tide could bring flooding, they waited for days like this. The sun dancing on the bay. Storefronts with their doors propped open, people strolling Commercial eating ice cream, cyclists riding up and down in both directions, a new crop of puppies being walked, and Monday night live music on the front porch of the Beach Rose Inn.
Celeste wanted to look forward—to this summer. Not back at the past. But the past was now staring her in the face.
“So . . . what brings you to town?” Maybe she needed money. Of course, Celeste would help in any way she could. Looking at her sister’s daughter, she felt overwhelmed with guilt for not reaching out herself all these years. It’s not that she hadn’t thought about it—she had. Many times. And Jack had encouraged her. But something held her back, and it wasn’t just her father’s warning that the Maybrooks could make trouble for their family if any of them contacted Gemma. Once her niece became a legal adult, she knew that wasn’t really a threat. The truth was, if she reached out to Gemma, it would mean dealing with all the messiness and heartache she’d tried to forget about.
“I need to speak with you,” Gemma said.
“Are you in trouble?” She would help the girl. Of course she would.
“What? No,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just graduated from college. I’m a jewelry designer.”
A jewelry designer. Interesting that Gemma, raised away from the Pavlins, had grown up to be the first designer in their family since Celeste’s great-grandfather Isaac. Her father and grandfather had been businesspeople who hired design talent. Personally, Celeste couldn’t draw so much as a stick figure, and neither of her sisters had been particularly artistic.
“Congratulations,” Celeste said. An uncomfortable silence settled between them. There was so much to say that it made saying anything difficult. She felt she should apologize for not being in touch. Was that what her niece had come for? An explanation?
“I actually wanted to talk to you about the Pavlin Private Collection,” Gemma said. “A specific piece. My mother’s engagement ring.”
Celeste blanched. She thought she’d heard the last of that thing ages ago. And good riddance.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s my understanding that my mother left it to me,” Gemma said, looking uncomfortable. “It’s what I was told when I was young. I’m not—it’s not about the money. It’s just hugely sentimental to me.”
She seemed so earnest; Celeste wished that she could help her. But she hadn’t seen the ring since the last day she saw Paulina alive. And couldn’t imagine why her niece thought otherwise.
“Gemma, I think you need to talk to my sister Elodie. I have nothing to do with the company or any of the jewels.”
Gemma looked bewildered. “But Elodie told me that I should talk to you.”
Now Celeste was confused. “You’ve been in touch with Elodie?”
Gemma nodded, and out came a halting story about a party at Pavlin & Co, the ring not being on display, and Elodie accusing her of being a gold digger. “But then she called and told me you might know where to find it. That I should come out here.”
Elodie. What on earth was she up to, sending Gemma to the Cape on a wild-goose chase?
Her phone rang.
“Sorry to bother you,” Jack said. “But a customer’s here to pick up an amberina pitcher and I have no idea where you put it.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.” She put down the phone and said, “I’m sorry. I have to go back to the store.” As much as she wanted the conversation to be over, she knew it was far from finished. “Gemma, I’m sorry you came all this way for something I can’t help you with. But for what it’s worth, I’m happy to see you. Please . . . stay at our house tonight.”