Chapter Nineteen

Elise, carrying a bag of muffins she’d picked up along the way to Tea by the Sea, spotted Fern sitting outside. The sight of her made her heart flutter.

She was still in love.

The first day the temperature crept above seventy degrees, Fern had run out and bought two wooden-plank garden chairs and set them just to the left of the stairs leading up to the shop. The plan had been that they’d wake up each morning and have tea in that spot, watching the early runners and bikers make their way up and down the street. Then Mira arrived, and Elise had spent only one night above the tea shop.

In that moment, looking at Fern, she experienced the events of the past few weeks from her wife’s perspective. She just hoped it wasn’t too late to convey that and find some common ground. “Hey there,” Elise said.

Fern looked up from the book she was reading and smiled, although with less warmth and enthusiasm than Elise would have hoped.

Elise leaned down and kissed her and slipped into the chair beside her. “I picked up some breakfast,” she said, passing Fern the bag of muffins.

“Thanks. I didn’t expect you this early.”

“Are you kidding? I got here as soon as I could. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said.

“I wish you’d come to Shell Haven last night.”

“Well, I’m not comfortable being there. We rented the house to Ruth Cooperman. Enough is enough.”

She was right, of course. “I know,” Elise said. “But…we gave her the money back for this month. It’s not ideal, but I think she’s fine with it.”

“She’s not fine with it. You know how I know that? Because she came here and told me she wasn’t fine with it. Her daughter is visiting, and she needs privacy. And you know what? So do I.”

Elise felt her stomach tighten. This was not how she’d wanted their reunion to go. And she hadn’t even told Fern the worst of it—that people were asking questions about the baby. She wondered who had called the police department. None of their friends would do such a thing. “Fern, you’re right. You’re right about this whole thing. But that doesn’t make it easy.”

“I know it’s not easy,” Fern said, her voice gentle. “But let’s be realistic, Elise. People are going to start asking questions.”

Elise nodded. They already have. She shook away the image of Brian Correia at the front gate. Now was certainly not the time to tell Fern about that. “I think,” she said slowly, “if anyone asks, we should just say we’re in the process of trying to adopt. That’s not even a lie.”

Fern shook her head. “I can’t be a part of this.”

“Fern, please. I don’t want to be childless, and I don’t want to lose you. Maybe I’m greedy, but I want what so many other people have. I want a family.”

Fern’s face softened. “Hon, I understand. But this isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“So we’ll find a solution we can both live with. I just don’t know what that is yet. But I do know that I love you. You’re my life. I don’t want to lose you,” Elise said.

Fern reached for her hand. “I don’t want to lose us,” she said. “I feel like we almost did once.”

Elise nodded, fighting tears.

“We need to be on the same side. The same team,” Fern said. “It’s the only way.”

“I know,” Elise said.

Two men dressed for the beach, one carrying a large cooler, approached the steps. Elise wiped her eyes.

“Is this place open?” one asked.

“It can be,” Fern said, standing up. “Follow me.”

“Is it your shop?” he asked.

“It’s our shop,” Fern said, smiling down at Elise. She reached for her hand, squeezed it, then headed up the stairs to open for business.

  

Olivia’s phone was out of reach and she couldn’t turn her neck to grab it. She didn’t know how long she’d been lying on the lawn. It could have been fifteen minutes; it could have been an hour.

The back problems always surfaced during times of stress. Three years ago, she’d wasted a lot of time and money visiting doctors and physical therapists. She went through bottles of Advil. Then her father told her about a book that said most back pain was the result of mental stress. The pain was real, the inflammation was real, but the source was her mind. It was a trick the body pulled; in order to distract you from emotional pain, it created physical pain.

Olivia hadn’t believed it. Only in desperation, after hobbling around for a month, weekends spent in bed, did she resort to reading the book. The solution, apparently, was to let your mind know that you were onto its tricks. She was to ignore the pain, not baby it with heating pads and stretching exercises. Because everything else had failed, she tried it. She read the book over and over until it sank in. And the pain stopped.

Now, it had returned.

Olivia heard the back door open. “Mother?” she called from the grass. She heard footsteps on the brick, saw her mother’s strappy sandals and the wheels of the stroller appear inches from her face, but she could not look up to see her mother’s expression. Maybe it was just as well.

“What on earth are you doing down there?” her mother said, kneeling beside her.

“My back went out,” Olivia said. “I can’t move.”

“Well, you can’t stay like this.” Her mother slowly helped her to her feet and into the house.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia said. “Obviously I can’t drive home right now.”

“I never asked you to leave,” said her mother.