Maybe it was the exuberance of the holiday, maybe it was Lidia’s sangria, or maybe Olivia just wanted to feel what it would be like to wake up next to Marco. Whatever the reason, for the first time, she did not slip away in the middle of the night to return to Shell Haven.
Seeing the room in the bright light of early morning, she felt a heightened appreciation for its spare but elegant functionality; it was a perfect reflection of its inhabitant. The bedroom had an antique chest at the foot of the bed, a large ceiling fan, and wooden bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks spanning an entire wall.
Marco, beside her, stirred slightly and reached for her. She moved closer to him, pressed her lips gently to his cheek. She was eager for him to wake up so they could talk, but at the same time she wanted the moment to last forever. It was easy to pretend there was nothing beyond the walls of that room, their own private hideaway.
Until she heard a knock at the door.
Marco didn’t move. She shook him gently. “Someone’s knocking at the door,” she whispered.
“What time is it?” he mumbled.
“I don’t know—early.”
He sat up and kissed her.
“What lunatic is coming by at this hour?” he said. He pulled on his boxers and a T-shirt and made his way to the door. She watched him open it.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Lidia said from outside, her voice frantic.
Olivia sat up and pulled the sheet around her bare chest.
“I was asleep,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Can I come in? I don’t need the whole neighborhood hearing our business.”
Marco glanced back at Olivia. She widened her eyes. He turned back to the doorway. “Ma, it’s not a good time.”
“Not a good time? This is a family emergen—oh. Oh. You’re…not alone?”
Olivia found her discarded clothes on the floor and quickly pulled on her sundress from the night before.
Marco slipped outside and closed the front door behind him.
Olivia sat on the edge of the bed. This was ridiculous. She felt like a teenager who’d been busted sneaking into her boyfriend’s bedroom. And maybe she deserved to feel like that. Keeping their relationship a secret suddenly seemed childish.
She took a deep breath and, barefoot and with disheveled hair, walked out into the bright morning sun to stand beside Marco. Lidia, clearly surprised, said, “Oh, good morning, Olivia.”
Marco looked uncomfortable.
“I hope everything is okay,” Olivia said.
“It’s Jaci,” Lidia said. “She’s packing up and leaving.”
“Today?” Olivia said.
“Today! She won’t say why, and she won’t hear a word about staying the rest of the summer. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
“Ma, you have to calm down,” Marco said. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Your father is beside himself. She won’t listen to us,” Lidia said as if Marco hadn’t spoken.
“Maybe I could talk to her?” Olivia said. She still felt guilty for having been so cavalier with her advice, essentially telling Jaci to feel free to disregard her family and just live her life. This, of course, had been before Olivia knew her family. Before she’d fallen in love with Marco. And, yes, before the thaw in her feelings toward her own mother. “I’m just thinking, since I’m sort of an objective outsider, she might at least hear me out. She seems really interested in my, um, life in New York. I have a feeling a lot of this is coming from her confusion about balancing her life here with you guys and wanting to have a career someday.”
Lidia closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I’m willing to try anything at this point,” she said.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Marco said.
“It’s worth a try,” Olivia said. “Trust me.”
“Olivia, if you think it would help, then by all means, try. I’ll walk you over to the house right now,” Lidia said.
“Ma, give us a second, okay?” Marco took her by the hand, pulled her into the studio, and closed the door. “You don’t have to get involved in this,” he said.
“I want to.”
He shook his head. “I appreciate you wanting to help—”
“Marco, what harm can it do? I’ll go to the house with your mother, have a few words with Jaci, and see what happens.”
A look passed between them, something that had nothing to do with Jaci’s threat to flee Provincetown or the debate about who should talk to her. It was, Olivia felt certain, a mutual recognition that, despite their conversation the night before, whatever was going on between them was more than just “having a good time.”
“Okay,” Marco said. “Talk to my sister.”
What was Ruth going to do about the truth bomb that had been dropped in her lap?
During her restless night, she’d concluded that she would have to talk to someone—and there was no question who that someone would be.
The Beach Rose Inn appeared sleepy; no one was sitting on the porch and there was no sign of Molly the dog. Ruth climbed the front steps and found a handwritten sign on the door: Mosaic class, come straight to third-floor studio.
Ruth checked the time on her phone. When did the class usually begin? Certainly not this early. She was hopeful she had a window to catch Amelia.
The inn smelled like fresh coffee. White thermal carafes and Beach Rose Inn mugs were set out on a side table near the sofas. Ruth had been so anxious to talk to Amelia she hadn’t wasted time brewing her own at Shell Haven, so now helped herself to a mug and filled it. She carried it back to the kitchen, thinking she would find Amelia or Rachel there, but it was quiet.
Amelia might already be in the studio. Ruth took the back stairs up to the third floor. She felt like a burglar, padding up so quietly. It was the first time she’d gotten so far in the house without seeing another soul. It felt like she was walking in a dream, and she wished this whole situation with Jaci Barros were just a dream.
The studio door was wide open. Amelia sat at the large central table, arranging tiles on top of a sketch. Ruth knocked on the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.
Amelia sat back against her seat. “Not at all. Come in. It’s nice to see someone else able to rise and shine this early.”
“Well, I’m not sure about the shining part,” Ruth said, pulling up a chair and setting her mug down carefully to avoid any stray mosaic pieces. “We missed you at the Barroses.”
Amelia sighed. “My energy is not what it used to be. Rachel has been insisting I slow down. I hate to admit it, but I’m happiest when I’m in my bedroom by seven p.m. or so. I’m always up before dawn, and at least this way I have a productive day. Did I miss anything?” She smiled.
This was it. Why be coy? There was no avoiding the reason she had come to speak with her. And there was no question this was the right thing to do. Jaci had been correct about one thing—Ruth was an outsider. She didn’t yet understand all the nuances of this place or these people. She didn’t know the rules. But Amelia did.
“Yes, actually,” Ruth said. “We’ve all been missing something. I learned last night that Jaci is Mira’s mother.”
Amelia nodded. She looked back down at her sketch, swapped out a blue tile for an orange one. There was no gasp, no widened eyes. No alarm or outrage.
“Amelia?” Ruth said. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“My dear, these mosaics aren’t the only pieces I’ve been putting together all summer.”
It took Ruth a beat to realize what she meant. “Wait—you knew?”
Amelia nodded. “Not at first. But it started to come together in my mind fairly quickly.”
“But…how?”
“Well, for one thing, Jaci began acting strangely last winter. She refused to come home for Christmas, some story about spending the holiday with her roommate’s family. Lidia was heartbroken. And then Lidia offered to visit for Jaci’s birthday in February, and Jaci made excuses why that wouldn’t work. Lidia was certain that now that Jaci had gone off to a fancy school, she’d become ashamed of them. I couldn’t argue with that theory; things like that do happen. But then Jaci finally did come home—and on the same day that baby showed up on your doorstep.”
“Well, that could have been a coincidence,” Ruth said.
“It could,” Amelia said. “If the baby didn’t look exactly like Lidia.”
“I know! Once I saw it, I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it before. How no one else sees it.”
“We see what we want to see,” Amelia said.
“So…now what?”
“I’m working on it,” Amelia said. “I’m trying to find a way to minimize everyone’s hurt. And I’m getting close. But I need more time. So please—keep this to yourself for just a little while longer.”
It was not what she’d been expecting to hear. It was not what she wanted to hear. But Ruth would, of course, respect Amelia’s wishes. And yet, walking back to Shell Haven, she felt the secret burning inside her, settling uncomfortably in the middle of her chest. If she felt this worn out after carrying the secret for less than twenty-four hours, how could she continue like this for days? Or weeks?
Ruth did what she always did when faced with something troubling—she sprang into action. Back at Shell Haven, she set to work wrapping up the products that had piled up in the kitchen, tying them up with ribbons, and attaching small cards with personal notes. A bottle of lavender oil for Amelia; a sea-salt scrub for Rachel; more soaps for Lidia and Manny; and, finally, a lemongrass body wash for Jaci.
This was the most difficult note to write. And yet, while she crafted it, she realized that the desire to reach out with this message was the entire reason for the hour spent wrapping gifts.
She placed all of her packages in a tote bag and headed back out. Her first stop would be the boatyard.