Ruth climbed aboard Tito Barros’s boat in the middle of dense fog. She was uneasy with the fact that she couldn’t see any of the landmarks in the distance. Tito, taking her hand to help steady her, assured her the morning fog would clear.
“And even if it doesn’t, we’ll be fine,” he said.
The poor visibility was not the only thing putting her on edge; Tito’s sister, Bianca, had been hauling a bag of oysters on the dock when Ruth arrived.
“Hello, Bianca,” Ruth said because it was obvious they had seen each other.
“It’s early,” Bianca said. “The boat tours don’t start for another hour.”
“Yes, well, I’m actually…”
“Ruth!” Tito called with a wave, walking up the metal gangway bridging the dock to the boatyard. He was dressed in a navy T-shirt, khaki-colored shorts, and a pale blue and gray Long Point baseball cap.
Bianca crossed her arms and waited for him to reach them before saying, “Don’t tell me you’re spending the morning out joyriding. Doesn’t anyone besides me work around here?”
“Bianca, carrying the oysters Marco picked does not constitute work,” Tito said.
“Well.” She turned to Ruth. “I see you’ve helped yourself to my daughter’s house and now you’re helping yourself to my brother.”
“That’s enough, Bianca,” Tito said, motioning for Ruth to follow him. Eager to escape Bianca’s rancor, Ruth walked quickly, keeping pace with Tito down the metal gangway to the edge of the dock. What was that woman’s problem?
“Don’t pay her any mind. She’s gotten ornery in her old age.”
Ruth bristled. “Old age? I doubt she’s any older than I am.”
Tito put his hand to his chest. “My apologies. You seem much younger. It’s your lightness of spirit.”
“Well, your sister does always seem angry.”
Tito nodded. “She feels—well, I guess you could say she feels cheated by life. Her husband died when she was in her thirties. It was a blow, and she’s been bitter ever since. But her bark is worse than her bite.” Tito knelt down to pull on a rope attached to a small skiff tied to the dock. A very small skiff.
“I thought you said we were going on a sailboat,” Ruth said, trying not to sound panicked.
“We are. But she’s out on the moorings.” He pointed into the foggy distance.
A young man in a Barros Boatyard T-shirt and jeans was already on the skiff, and he helped Ruth aboard while Tito untied the rope tethering it to the dock. Ruth steadied herself, sitting on a small bench while Tito jumped on. The boat swayed heavily from side to side, and Ruth thought she was going to pass out from fear. Her shark-phobia anxiety level was at about a ten, cruising quickly to a twelve.
The Barros Boatyard guy started the engine and they sped out into the water. Ruth gripped the side of the bench like her life depended on it. Tito made small talk with the other man about whether or not the fog would burn off quickly and then he turned to Ruth and said, “Having fun yet?”
Ruth could only nod. He moved closer to her and knelt down.
“Don’t worry—you’re in good hands. I promise.”
By the time they reached Tito’s sailboat, the Maria, Ruth was in a sweat. The boat was outfitted with a dark-wood-paneled lower cabin that could sleep four or five people and had a bookshelf, a table, a sink, and a comfortable wraparound couch. This was where—to Tito’s consternation—she spent the first few minutes of the sail. It wasn’t until they were halfway between the dock and Long Point that she climbed the narrow stairs to join Tito on the deck.
“How long’s it been since you were on a boat?” he asked from his position behind the wheel.
“I took the ferry here from Boston last month,” she said.
“That hardly counts.”
“Well, aside from that, it’s been many, many years since I’ve been out on the water like this,” she said. In those days, she’d been more brave. What had happened to her?
They passed the lighthouse, and Tito cut the motor and raised the sails. Ruth hadn’t realized how much noise the engine made until it was stilled. She was able to hear the lapping of the water against the side of the boat, and she settled onto a shallow bench.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” she said from her perch.
“Isn’t it? I’ll tell you, when the town gets overrun in the middle of the summer, this boat saves my sanity,” he said.
“I see the flood of people on the weekends already. I can’t imagine it getting any more crowded.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet. Every year I think, This has to be the limit. And yet the crowds keep growing,” he said, glancing at her. “But you’re welcome aboard anytime you need an escape.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She looked out at the water, uncomfortable with the directness of his interest in her. He was an attractive man—that much was undeniable, as much as she would have liked to pretend otherwise. Something about his smile and his voice reminded her of Jeff Bridges, an actor she’d been infatuated with since seeing him in the film The Fabulous Baker Boys. It would make her life simpler if she didn’t find Tito attractive, but watching him at the helm of the boat, the way he divided his attention between watching the controls and looking at her, made her feel good.
Ruth hadn’t known what to expect of this phase of her life, but part of the motivation for moving had been finding solitude. With a fresh start, she wouldn’t have anyone to disappoint or be disappointed by. And then that baby appeared on her doorstep, like the universe extending a long, scolding finger: You can leave your marriage. You can leave your company. But motherhood must be reckoned with.
“Is your daughter still in town?” Tito asked as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, though she was certain she hadn’t.
“Yes, she is. But I don’t know for how much longer.” She tried not to think about—and certainly did not mention—that as of that afternoon, her ex-husband would also be in town.
It had been difficult to sleep the night before, knowing that in twenty-four hours she and Ben would be under the same roof. While it was true that over the decades, their relationship had mellowed into something amicable, she felt certain they both had unresolved feelings about the divorce. She suspected on his end, he believed she was to blame. For herself, it was guilt.
No matter how it happens, the ending of a marriage is like a small death. Ruth couldn’t remember a specific moment when she knew her marriage was over. It had been a gradual slide.
Part of the problem, and she could admit this now, was that her work was all-consuming.
Ruth traveled to New York City three times a week and eventually established a second office there. She spent one week a year in Bologna for the annual trade show, her favorite trip of the year. The show always drew the same people—her friends, colleagues, and competitors. In the 1980s and 1990s, the industry had been a close-knit group. It was her second family, one she began to relate to more than the one she had at home.
When Ruth got worn down and stressed, when she was grappling with a production problem or a demanding account, her impulse was to confide in Ben. But her husband didn’t want to hear it. She told herself that he had his own aggravations at work—more serious stakes, dealing with life and death—and so she tried talking only about her successes. He didn’t want to hear about that either. And she realized that while the company had been necessary and valuable in the early days, now that they didn’t need the income anymore, he resented it.
Their sex life dwindled to nothing.
She suggested couples therapy, and Ben agreed. It didn’t mend their relationship, but it did help her realize the issue wasn’t about her long hours or the fact that she was outearning him even though he was a respected anesthesiologist. It was the simple fact that she had found her passion in life and he had given up his. Ruth had tried talking to him about this, had suggested that he take time off, go to a writing retreat. “Get back to what you love to do,” she’d said.
“I’m a doctor,” he said.
He was afraid to try. And he resented her for it.
Olivia was ten when Ruth finally couldn’t live with the simmering tension any longer. She found herself avoiding coming home just so she didn’t have to deal with it, and that was no way to live and no way to be a parent.
When she told Ben she wanted a divorce, he reacted as if it had come out of nowhere.
“This can’t be a surprise to you,” she said. “And I don’t want our relationship to get to the point where we hate each other.”
“What do you think divorce is going to do for our relationship? Enhance it? And what about Olivia?”
“It’s better for Olivia not to grow up in such a tense environment.”
This reasoning was true. It was what a child psychologist had told her—you can’t stay in a marriage just for the child. But, looking back on it now, Ruth was eager to end the relationship because she was exhausted from trying to make it work. She hated the sense of failure she felt every day. She had a very difficult time in gray areas; either a relationship was working or it wasn’t. She was a fixer and problem-solver. And in her mind, the way to fix the relationship was to end it. To quit while they were ahead, for themselves, and for their daughter.
Over the years, her relationship with her ex-husband had mellowed, but her dynamic with Olivia had just grown more contentious. Until now.
No matter how awkward it would be to have Ben at the house, she would do it for Olivia’s sake.
The breeze lifted Ruth’s hair, and she patted it back into place. The haze had burned off to reveal the beautiful morning it had been hiding. Behind them, the Long Point Lighthouse. Ahead, water as far as the eye could see, reflecting the bright sunshine and creating the illusion that she and Tito Barros were the only people in the world.
“Do you have children?” she asked Tito, eager to keep the conversation going, not to lapse into longer silence that would allow the past to creep up on her.
“I never married, and I don’t have children,” he said. “But Manny’s two kids—Jaci and Marco—and Bianca’s daughter, Pilar, are like children to me. Bianca thinks I favor Marco; that’s why she’s angry with me. I gifted him my water grant a few years back and she was furious. So between Pilar selling the house and Marco taking over the water rights, she feels she’s gotten short shrift.”
Ruth could barely follow the story of his family drama; she was processing the news that he’d never been married. It was unusual, at least in her experience. “So, did you just never want to get married or was it more a matter of not finding the right one? Or is that too personal?”
“Not too personal at all. The truth is, the sea life is a selfish life. But now that I’m older and slowing down a little, I’m making time for other things. I’m in a place where I can think of someone other than myself, and I want to find someone and make that person a priority.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
Maybe she should allow herself to do the same. In the years following her divorce, she’d thrown herself even more fully into work. But she missed having a romantic partner. The reality was that when she’d met Ben Cooperman, she’d fallen in love the way you saw in movies. Love at first sight, if one believed in such a thing. She’d never experienced that again, and she wondered if that kind of passion was the exclusive territory of the young. It was interesting that Tito had said Ruth seemed much younger at heart than his sister. She hadn’t corrected him, hadn’t admitted that she felt she had aged ten years in the last one. Running to Provincetown had been an attempt to adjust to a new version of herself by reaching way back to a self of long ago. “Well, I have to say, I really appreciate this excursion. The house I’m staying in has become unexpectedly crowded. It’s starting to make Commercial Street look tranquil.”
“Too many guests? It’s the unavoidable by-product of having a beach house.”
She gave a little wave, dismissing her complaint. “It’s fine. But like I said, this little escape is just what I needed today.”
“And like I said—anytime.”
“Well, maybe our next get-together can be on dry land? I’ve been meaning to try that restaurant Joon. I pass it every time I walk to the boatyard. Care to join me one night later in the week?”
Now it was his turn to look surprised. She wondered if she was being too forward.
“I’m not much of a restaurant person, but seeing you’re not much of a boat person and you ventured aboard, the least I can do is meet you for a potentially overpriced meal.”
Ruth smiled as the boat rocked gently underneath her.
When Fern finally breezed into the shop three hours later, Elise was on edge.
She’d managed having Mira at the shop as best she could, leaving Cynthia alone behind the counter while she took the baby upstairs to feed and change her. When Mira fell asleep, Elise planted the stroller in an out-of-the-way corner. Now, Cynthia had clocked out. The store was quiet.
“How’s it going here?” Fern said. Her long hair was in braids and piled on top of her head, and she was dressed in a gauzy lemon-yellow dress with a matching chunky beaded necklace. She looked relaxed and lovely.
“Good,” Elise said, instantly forgiving her for being late. “How’d it go with the seaweed?”
“Lots of varieties. We’re taste-testing the day after tomorrow, so hopefully Cynthia can be here again in the morning?”
Elise nodded. “Sure. I’ll check with her.”
“How’d she do?”
“Cynthia? Great. She memorized a lot of the blends and has this way of talking to customers like she’s been doing this forever.”
But Fern was no longer listening. She’d spotted the stroller at the far side of the store. “I thought Rachel was babysitting,” Fern said.
“Just in the morning,” Elise said. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back here so I can take her home. But she’s sleeping now so there’s no rush anymore. I’ll stay for a bit.”
Fern didn’t respond. She walked behind the counter, checked the tins they used for retail service, and found a few nearly empty.
“We should always have Cynthia refill these before she leaves,” Fern said, her voice markedly cooler. Elise tensed. She didn’t want things to go off the rails between them again today.
“Maybe,” she said slowly, “on the day you’re doing the taste-testing, I can leave Cynthia here by herself for a few hours and join you.”
Fern raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you were that into the whole experiment.”
“Well, you’re into it. And the more I think about it, the more it seems like a good idea. Why not?”
“Thanks. But between Marco, Jaci, and Olivia, I’ll have it covered.”
“Oh. Okay.” Elise tried not to feel stung by the rejection.
“Speaking of Olivia, did you know her father is staying with her this week?”
“No. She never mentioned it. We really have a full house.”
“Yes,” Fern said. “A little too full. We need to move back into the upstairs of this place for the summer as we’d originally planned.”
Elise had known that was coming. And really, why was she fighting it? Fern was right; they couldn’t stay at Shell Haven. But something deep inside of her resisted. Yes, they could live with Mira in the one room above the shop. She was so little. Sometimes she just fell asleep in the car seat—preferred the car seat, actually. Elise could park her next to the bed and create a small changing station in the corner. It was not a feasible long-term solution, but they would have the house back in September. Elise supposed that her reticence, her fear, stemmed from the idea that living with Mira above the tea shop would make it seem like she didn’t fit into their lives—literally and figuratively. They would have less help without Ruth and Olivia under their roof. Elise would have to hustle Mira out the door every day. Fern would become even more impatient with the whole situation. But Shell Haven had room for a baby. Shell Haven had been bought with a baby in mind. Elise felt as long as they were in their own house, they had a reminder of the family they had planned.
She couldn’t say any of this, of course. While she searched for some practical reason to defend staying at Shell Haven, Bianca walked in with her dog on a leash. Her hair, with its distinctive white stripe, was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a black maxi-dress with cap sleeves. With her strong bone structure and the signature big dark eyes of the Barros family, she was really very striking. Sometimes it was easy to overlook that fact when dealing with her personality.
“Bianca, you have to leave the dog outside, please. There’s a water dish at the base of the stairs.”
“I find it interesting that you’re so concerned about every rule—except the rule of common decency,” she said, approaching the counter in a huff.
“What’s the problem now?” Elise said.
Bianca ignored her; she was laser-focused on Fern.
“I’m not going to dance around this any longer,” Bianca said, crossing her arms. “I was blindsided when my daughter sold you the house. I didn’t have the foresight or means to prevent it. But I am done being displaced. I want to buy it back.”
“Bianca,” Fern said, shaking her head. “We aren’t selling Shell Haven.”
“The house is filled with tourists! You have one foot out the door. Who are you kidding? I know you’re negotiating with that Ruth woman, and I can tell you, over my dead body.”
“It’s a summer rental,” Elise said. “It’s temporary.”
“That woman Ruth has her hooks into everything,” Bianca said. “I don’t like people who come to town and just take, take, take.”
And then, from across the room, a sharp cry. Elise tried not to react, to pretend like she hadn’t even heard it. (Crying baby? What crying baby?) The cry escalated to a wail.
Elise walked over to the stroller, picked Mira up, and ascertained that her diaper was warm and heavy. It was time to take her home, but she needed Fern’s help getting the stroller down the stairs.
Bianca walked over to Elise and peered at Mira. Slowly, she shook her head. “I see what’s going on at that house,” she said. “You’ve turned my ancestral home into a circus. You know my mother was born in that house?”
“Enough,” Fern said, stepping out from behind the counter. “Bianca, I’m sorry you’re unhappy with how Pilar handled the sale of the house. But it’s done. It’s our house now, and if we want to rent it out, that’s our prerogative. We are not selling it—to you or anyone else. And the guests that come and go are none of your business. So please, stay out of it.”
Bianca narrowed her eyes. “You two are up to no good,” she said. “I can smell it.”
She tugged on her dog’s leash and walked out the door. When she was gone, Fern wheeled around and marched over to Elise.
“You never should have had the baby in the shop,” she said.
“Fern, I’ve been waiting for you to come back all day so I could leave.”
Fern shook her head. “This isn’t good, Elise. That woman is a ticking time bomb.”