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The nursery didn’t open until nine, but Kate and Amelia arrived a few minutes early. Simply called Birches, it offered a good-sized garden and shop, and it was where Nora had come for everything she ever needed. Situated just on the inland side of Birch Avenue from the Village, the women could have walked there if they’d rolled a wagon with them, but Kate couldn’t find the rusty Red Flyer she had recalled from her childhood.
So instead, she threw a paint sheet down in the back of the SUV and drove it the short way. Amelia had hopped out and stretched like she’d been cooped up then twirled around in the sunlight. Kate smiled at her younger sister. A dreamer in every sense of the word.
It was probably Kate’s job to help the girl find a path, but if Amelia wouldn’t take her advice, then it was a futile attempt.
They leaned together against the hood, waiting for the owners to open the front gates.
“Have you heard from Jimmy?” Kate asked while she chewed on a painful hangnail.
The sun warmed Kate’s back. It would be nice to spend the afternoon under an umbrella on the beach. Maybe she would if she finished her garden plans and drew up a list of local attractions like Amelia had suggested. It was a good idea that Kate had considered. She wanted her sister to feel like she was helpful. Necessary, even, so she feigned ignorance. In fact, Kate would have a little checklist and information stowed neatly in a Word document for when her guests inquired. Maybe she’d even upload it to a website, if she ever developed one. But she did believe that handing out a half sheet upon check-in didn’t fit the quaint, homey experience she hoped to offer.
Her mind began to wander off to Matt, who was coming by after he handled some morning business. He didn’t install new air conditioning units, but he agreed to see if he could fix the current one. If not, they’d go together to order a unit and schedule the installation at Harbor Hardware.
Beside Kate, Amelia kicked at an errant green leaf then answered. “Heck no, I have not spoken to Jimmy. He was an easy one to boot.”
Smiling, Kate patted Amelia’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.” Amelia was the type to date a guy for a year or so, break up (or rather, be dumped), meet someone similar to the last, enter a new relationship right off the bat, dive deep, break up, and so on into a long, deep cycle that revealed how unwilling she was to be alone. Of course, the pretty brunette had terrible taste. For nearing middle age, she looked closer to thirty-five and therefore attracted men south of thirty, even.
Once the guy found out Amelia’s real age, it went one of two ways. He was normal enough to quit then. Or, he was immature enough to pursue the cougar-style fling. What Kate never could figure out was why Amelia didn’t go for men her own age.
Then again, perhaps that was the wrong question.
“What about Michael?” The words fell out of Kate’s mouth. An accident. She hadn’t planned to bring it up, because all of them had been there, done that. Suggested Amelia try this nice man or that and with zero success. Amelia was the sort who needed to stumble along herself, pushing away help like a four-year-old.
To Kate’s surprise, Amelia didn’t make a face or slap away the question. Instead, she smiled. “He’s handsome, that’s true.”
The two shared a look, a dash of bewilderment, a hint of glee. Kate nodded. “He is handsome.”
“But he’s not my type.” There it was. The batting away of a great idea.
Kate just sighed.
“Actually, that’s not it.” Amelia pushed off the SUV and walked a short distance away and back, flapping her hands gently along her jeans.
“What do you mean?” Kate watched her sister, who looked more nervous than petulant.
“I think I’m not his type. That’s what I mean.”
Kate frowned. A truth materialized in Amelia’s words, something dark and deep. Kate was about to answer with a word or two of encouragement, but somebody shuffled behind the gate, jiggling the chain and cutting short what could have been an important conversation.
***
Back at the Inn, the sisters worked efficiently to unload the SUV. Tansy and thistle, shrubs, and a couple young trees sat patiently in their plastic pots, awaiting the delicate process of transplantation into their forever home.
“Start now or snack first?” Amelia asked, propping her hands on her hips.
Kate clicked her tongue. “All we’ve done so far is shop. We’re starting.”
Together, they began clearing the planters and churning soil in silence. Kate didn’t mind pulling deep-rooted weeds. She was good at it. Amelia seemed to struggle, so Kate directed her to start measuring and spacing out holes for the new selection.
“So,” Amelia broke the quiet, her voice light. “Are you going to get a sign or something like that?” She heaved back on her heels and stared up at the house. Kate mimicked her then twisted around to study the road.
“I’m not sure. I want to keep it homey; you know?”
“You could do something tasteful and simple. Just something that says The Heirloom House.”
“It’s the Heirloom Inn,” Kate corrected, feigning exasperation. She knew she was being a little militant about a business name that wasn’t even real yet, so she tried for levity, but her tone came out edgy instead, and Amelia just rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” Kate went on, “that’s a good idea. Maybe something small. Like a little wooden placard hanging from a post. Like an old-fashioned business that happens to be nestled in a family neighborhood.”
“Well, this is the property nearest the marina, so it wouldn’t be odd to have a sign. People might even think this place is a business rather than a house, especially because it’s so big.”
“But those are all homes.” Kate pointed down the shoreline at the other houses, spaced generously apart, that unfurled all the way past the town limits. She turned and went back to weeding, tugging hard at a stubborn and gnarly root.
Amelia resumed digging. “Can we put on some music?” she asked. “I’m getting a little bored.”
Kate laughed. “You are so... you,” she observed. “Is there ever quiet in your head?”
“I hate to have quiet in my head,” Amelia admitted, grinning mischievously. “I mean we could gossip if you want instead, but I have a hard time being alone with my thoughts.”
Kate’s smile washed away, and she rubbed a line of sweat from her brow. “Well, let me ask you this.”
Amelia arched an eyebrow.
The root in Kate’s hand loosened, and she sailed backward, falling on her butt as she lifted the stickery green weed in victory above her head. They both chuckled, but Kate tossed it to the pile with the others, patted her hands off on the knees of her yoga pants and grabbed the nearest thistle, returning to Amelia to begin the transplant. “Amelia,” she started, treading carefully. “You said you didn’t think you were Michael’s type. How do you know?”
“Why? Are you interested in him, too?”
“Oh, so you are interested,” Kate jabbed a finger into Amelia’s shoulder playfully, and the latter shook her head and then threw it back, laughing at herself. “All right, all right. You caught me. I think he’s hot, what can I say! And he’s smart and interesting. A little elusive, maybe. Dark and brooding. Older.”
“Older?” Kate shot back. “He’s our age, for crying out loud!”
Amelia laughed again, and Kate beamed back. They were on track again. It was just the sort of conversation they needed to break the ice and get down to it.
Shaking her head and helping pull apart the roots of the thistle, Amelia answered. “I can’t imagine he would go for a flighty actress-type. You know?”
“Opposites attract.” Kate pulled a bag of topsoil over, tearing a hole into the top with her car key then ripping the plastic wide enough to dump some dirt into the hole. They set about patting the fresh earth in around the plant.
“You have to have something in common, even a little something. We don’t.”
“Who knows? Maybe you do. He’s interested in this little family mystery, after all. Right?”
“Well everyone loves a good mystery. And anyway, the only reason I’m invested is because it’s Wendell. Our own father. What stake could Michael really have.”
Kate stopped patting and smiled at her little sister. “Maybe he’s bored, too.”
***
“Hey there.” The voice came from behind the women as they sat like schoolgirls, giggling themselves into fits of laughter. Tears streamed down Kate’s face and her sides ached in blissful hysteria, but she managed to turn and wipe the wetness away. Her gaze focused on Matt.
“Hi,” she finally said, standing and brushing dirt and dying weeds from her behind. “Come on in.” She waved him through the gate of the white picket fence.
He smiled and lifted his hands. “Can I get in on this joke?”
Amelia’s laughter finally died off. “I’ll go brew some tea and slice up that watermelon. It’s definitely snack time now.” Kate began to thank her, but Amelia then had the gall to wink at her. A fat, goofy wink that Matt also had the burden of witnessing.
Kate flushed a deep red and apologized profusely, but he didn’t let it go and instead played dim.
“What was that for?” he asked, grinning and dipping his chin in Kate’s direction. She could have melted then and there. She could have died of humiliation. But life was too short, and she’d been a party to too much heartache of late.
So, she played right along.
“Oh, the wink?” she answered boldly. “She thinks I like you again.”
Clearly unprepared to be pushed to the defensive, Matt fell back a step, laughing awkwardly. “This feels a little like déjà vu. Wasn’t it Amelia who set us up in the first place?”
“Inadvertently,” Kate allowed. “She’s the one who blew my cover at that party.” Kate cringed inside. She’d never been a cool kid at school. And never a partier. But so many decades ago, when she was just a sophomore and Amelia was only in middle school, one of Amelia’s so-called friends caught word that the Hannigan parents were out of town for the weekend. Matt, being more connected to various social circles at Birch Harbor High, showed up and slipped into the corner of the back deck. It was the same place Amelia and Megan were hiding, two little girls, watching on as high schoolers whooped and laughed, played music and danced. Nothing too nefarious happened that night, but only because Kate frantically policed the whole event, monitoring guests and turning the music down every ten minutes.
At one point during that night, Amelia and Megan had grown confident. They began strutting around the place like Kate should have, flirting with the older boys and munching on potato chips between casual sips of soda.
Near the end of the function, while Kate was plucking plastic cups and wadded napkins from the back of the sofa, Matt had wandered inside. Matt Fiorillo, the boy she’d swooned over since forever. The one whose name was doodled in pretty swirls across otherwise empty pages on her desk in her bedroom. The one she confided about to her sisters, bragging that his parents owned the Italian restaurant at the Village.
Kate could picture the moment, and she was certain Matt could too. They were frozen alone in the living room, her with a white plastic bag, him with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He said hi. She said hi. He thanked her for a great party. She pretended that it was her original goal and accepted his gratitude, coolly, unwilling to admit that it was another girl who made everything come together. Another organized girl. A more social one. Not Kate.
Then a little voice piped in from the doorway behind them. It had been Amelia, of course, the one more willing to intrude. She’d told Matt that Kate was in love with him.
In every other scenario in which such a mortifying event would have taken place across the late-night living rooms of America, it would have been game over right then and there.
But it wasn’t.
Matt had sort of glowed as Kate shouted at her sister to bug off. And then, like a fairy tale, he kissed her. Right there in the living room, while teenagers meandered across the back deck and down toward the beach. Her with a plastic trash bag. Him with a secret crush.
It was probably the best night of Kate’s life. Other than her wedding day and the birth of her children. It was the sort of night that only happened in movies or great books. The perfect moment. Too perfect, she remembered thinking later. Fate-filled and star-crossed. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Minus the double suicide, sure. Different tragedies eventualized. A deeply guarded secret. The adoption of their untimely child. And heartbreak that only young love could know.
Kate felt the heat of the sun on her neck. She was no teenager in the dim light of the living room lamp, her face clear and body thin and supple. Now she was a widow. A mother of two. Or three—depending on which stat you went by. An orphan, too, by all accounts.
Yet, for all that had changed, Kate’s heart was the same it always had been. It longed for him just the same. It throbbed now, just the same as it did that night. Their first kiss.
She rubbed the back of her arm against her forehead, smearing dirt and sweat, no doubt. But Kate felt pretty. Not for how she looked but for how she was being looked upon.
By the man who always was the love of her life. There, at the place she now called home.
“Kate,” Matt murmured. “Am I here to help you with the house or am I here for another reason?” His tone began playfully enough but slipped into a lower octave, betraying the same sincere question she’d been asking herself ever since she called him for help.
“Well,” she began, twisting around to admire the place. She had a lot of work ahead of her, and only some of it would belong to him or another repairman. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On your availability, for starters,” she replied.
He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight onto one leg, grinning. “All right,” Matt answered. “I have three projects in the works. One inland, one on the island, and I’m working on St. Rita’s in town, building all new pews.”
“That sounds like a no,” Kate answered, confused. Earlier, he seemed excited to help. Insistent, too.
“But those are all business. Well, except for St. Rita’s. That’s a passion project, so to speak.”
“This would be business, too,” Kate argued.
He shook his head. “This is family. And I’m always available for family.”