Olivia packed her bag as soon as she woke up. When she’d finished, she sat on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts against the background of loudly chirping birds.
Was it wrong to leave without saying goodbye? Probably. But she couldn’t endure one more conversation. Last night’s excruciating dinner and walk home had depleted her tolerance. Her mother, with her typical determination, just kept on talking as if she hadn’t been busted trying yet another self-serving maneuver in a lifelong line of them.
Her phone pinged. Last night she’d texted her father late: Just to let you know, Mother isn’t dying. She’s just manipulative. Is that fatal? LOL call you tomorrow.
His response had just come in: Try to make the most of your time. Remember, at the very least, it’s a much-needed vacation.
She didn’t need a vacation that badly.
She wheeled her bag quietly into the hallway, then picked it up to carry it downstairs. To avoid making noise across the hardwood floors, she carried it the rest of the way to the kitchen, where she quickly popped a coffee pod into the machine. Another few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. She could still be on the road by ten. She was surprised her mother was still sleeping. But then, she had consumed the better part of two bottles of wine last night. Olivia couldn’t blame her for that. She would have indulged in more herself if she hadn’t been stopped by the thought of having to make a five-hour drive with a hangover.
Leaning against the counter, she scrolled through her phone.
The plus side to her twenty-four hours in Provincetown was that the place was one big photo op. The waterfront restaurants, the tiny shop that sold only pink-frosted cupcakes, the pier, the Colonial Revival houses with fences draped in hydrangeas, the art galleries. She posted a photo of the view from The Red Inn across all her social platforms, drained her coffee cup and rinsed it, then wheeled her bag to the back door.
Goodbye, Provincetown. Thanks for the memories.
Halfway down the red-brick walkway, past the hydrangea bushes, she spotted a man opening the gate to the white picket fence. He wore jeans and a red T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. His hair was dark, thick, and wavy, and his well-defined arms were deeply tanned. When he looked up, he was just as surprised to see Olivia as she was to see him, and she noted that his eyes were nearly black. She could chisel a rock with his cheekbones. He said something but she completely missed it.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Her bag toppled to the ground. She hadn’t realized she’d let go of the handle.
“I was just asking if Elise is home,” he said, bending down to retrieve her suitcase. He handed it to her, and their fingers brushed in the exchange.
“I’m not sure you have the right place,” she said. “My mother is staying here. Ruth Cooperman.”
He grinned. “I’m pretty sure I have the right place. This is Elise and Fern Douglas’s house.”
Right. The keepers of the mystery baby. “Sorry—I forgot. I don’t know if Elise is here. I haven’t met her.”
“Marco Barros,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Olivia Cooperman. Do you live—”
Then she realized he was looking past her, at the house. She turned around and found her mother waving at them from the front door.
Elise woke, as she did every morning now, to the baby crying.
Fern preferred to have Mira sleep in her bassinet just a few feet down the hall in the office instead of right by their bed. But since Fern had stayed the extra night in Boston, Elise indulged in having a little roommate. Still, Mira’s company was no substitute for having her wife at home.
Elise had to admit, the lonely weekend had helped her put things in perspective. She wanted to be a mother, and now, specifically, she wanted to be a mother to Mira. But not a single mother.
I’m taking the early ferry and going straight to the shop, Fern had texted her last night. See you there.
Fern was avoiding Shell Haven. She didn’t want to see Mira—maybe, on some level, she didn’t want to see Elise.
Elise was very aware of the fact that they hadn’t so much as held hands since the night of their conversation about keeping Mira for a week or so. She didn’t want things to continue in that direction. Over the past few years they had weathered a few dry spells when it came to their sex life. Elise had learned the toll that the erosion of physical intimacy took on their relationship. When Elise had been going through hormone treatments to harvest her eggs, their physical relationship had receded into the background. Fern had been understanding, but they hit more bumps in the road after each failed pregnancy. Elise was heartbroken, and her sexuality took a nosedive.
“I love you and you’re my best friend. But I’m scared we’re becoming roommates,” Fern told her once. Elise hadn’t paid attention to this warning, this signal that something had to change. And then one night last summer, Fern said she was going to see Bobby Wetherbee perform at the Central House Piano Bar with friends. An hour after she left, it struck Elise as odd that she hadn’t been invited. True, she’d been less than fun to be around after her last miscarriage. She’d been mostly moping, reading, and OCD-level housecleaning. It wasn’t that hard to understand why Fern might want a night out by herself.
And yet something nagged at her, enough to motivate her to change out of her sweats, run a comb through her neglected hair, and walk down to the bar.
As Fern had told her, Bobby Wetherbee was playing that night. Unlike what Fern had told her, she was not in the audience.
Elise waited up until two in the morning. When Fern finally climbed the stairs of Shell Haven, Elise had already prepared herself for the worst. Fern was having an affair. Fern was leaving her. All of the stress of trying to start a family had pushed her away. Elise was surprised that her primary emotion wasn’t anger; it was fear. In trying to have something she thought was the most important thing to her—a baby—she’d risked losing the most valuable thing in her life.
“I’m not having an affair,” Fern told her. “We just decided to go somewhere else.”
“I’m sorry. I’m losing my mind.”
“No,” Fern told her. “You’re not. Because I’ve thought about it. I mean, things have not been great and there’s a lot of temptation this time of year. But that’s what marriage is about—riding out the not-so-great times.”
The admission that she had considered straying but had chosen not to was an even bigger wake-up call than if she’d actually had an affair. Fern was working harder at the relationship than she was. It was also a red flag that summers in Provincetown, with its massive influx of vacationers looking to have a good time and then leave, were dangerous.
Now, this summer was off to a bumpy start. She didn’t want to push Fern away again.
She changed Mira’s diaper, making clucking noises to distract her from her hunger, kissed her belly, taped the diaper closed, and slipped her into a fresh onesie. “Your bottle is coming, your bottle is coming,” she crooned, heading down the stairs.
A surprising number of voices seemed to emanate from the kitchen, one of them male. Elise walked in to find Ruth, her daughter, and Marco Barros sitting around the table. She mumbled good morning, opened the cabinet, and pulled out a can of formula. Mira fussed while Elise held her in one arm and filled a mug with hot water with her free hand.
“Let me help you,” Ruth said, taking Mira into her arms. Elise swirled the bottle around in hopes of warming it faster.
“What brings you by, Marco?” Elise said, taking Mira back from Ruth as soon as the formula reached room temperature. She never ceased to be amazed by the way her little mouth latched eagerly onto the silicone nipple.
Marco shifted in his seat, ran his hand through his hair. “I wanted to see you,” he said.
“Me?” she said, looking up.
He nodded. “Jaci can’t hang around your tea shop all day or spend hours here babysitting. I need her help with the oysters. It’s been a rough start to the season—those late storms—and it’s been hard holding on to part-time help. I was really counting on her to jump in when she got home. This”—he waved in Mira’s direction—“is a distraction.”
Elise fought the panic rising in her chest. “Are you talking about today? Because Jaci said she’d watch the baby for a few hours while I’m at the store.” If she didn’t show up for work, Fern would be furious—not a great way to reunite after a few days apart.
Marco looked at Mira more closely. “Whose baby is that, anyway?”
Elise was only slightly more prepared for this question after the encounter with Brian Correia. “We’re fostering her,” Elise said, not making eye contact. “We’re trying to adopt.”
“Oh—congratulations. I had no idea. Look, I know that this is a big undertaking but you’re going to have to look for someone else to help. We need Jaci on the water.”
Elise nodded, near tears. She was so tired, and Fern hadn’t come home last night, and she had to find a way to reset things between them.
“I’m sorry,” Marco said, his expression softening. “But I have to do what’s best for my family.”
Elise nodded again, biting her lip. “It’s fine. I was just up all night.” She rubbed her eyes. “I have to open the store in a half hour and I’m just—”
“I’ll watch the baby,” Ruth said.
“You will?” Olivia and Elise said in unison.
“You’re clearly leaving anyway,” Ruth said to Olivia. “What else do I have to do?”
“Thank you,” Elise said, unabashed in her relief. She looked at Ruth as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe having a tenant for the summer wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.