They played chess and then cards until it was late. Last night, they’d stayed in the living room on separate couches with the lantern on the coffee table to offer a soft reassuring light. Doing that had seemed more natural than going to separate bedrooms in such a large house, given the storm raging outside and the fact that the generator supported just the bathrooms and central living areas—the refrigerator/freezer, internet service, air-conditioning/heating, hot water, and TV. It made sense not to change their arrangement, and yet, tonight felt far more intimate to Ismay than the night before.
“Are you sure it’s okay to leave the lantern on again?” she asked.
“Should be fine,” Bo replied. “Weather report says the storm will be over tomorrow, and the generator should last a couple more days, even if I can’t get more gas for it, which really shouldn’t be a problem.”
She scooted down under the blanket that covered her. He’d told her a little about his days fishing near the small village where he’d gone to live after losing his mother, and his uncle Chester, who seemed like a version of Paul Hogan’s character in Crocodile Dundee—someone who’d spent his life living off the land. What Bo had shared made her curious enough to want to visit the village and see it for herself but she couldn’t show too much interest. When she did, he shut down. Clearly, there was pain associated with the place that made him reluctant to say too much.
Despite his reticence, or maybe because of it, she was tempted to tell him what she’d found in Remy’s bedroom. She thought he might be able to give her some advice on how to interpret the contents of that duffel bag. He knew Remy and the other members of the Windsor family, and he seemed like a wise, quiet observer, who took in far more than he ever shared. She wanted someone to tell her she had nothing to worry about, because as hard as she’d tried to put that stuff out of her mind, she only succeeded for short intervals. As soon as she wasn’t preoccupied with something else, the vision of that young girl staring back at her from the torn photograph rose in her mind.
“Do you ever watch true crime?” she asked.
“You mean like documentaries?”
“Yeah.”
After a few beats of silence, he said, “Sometimes. Why?”
“I was just wondering if there’s much crime here on the island.”
“Not really—at least not when it comes to violent crime. I’m guessing there’s plenty of theft. I had to chase off some drunk college boys who were trying to break in here once, but I doubt they would’ve done much more than help themselves to whatever alcohol they could find.”
“Is there a good police force on Mariners?”
Again, it took him a second to answer. He was obviously wondering why she’d chosen this topic of conversation. “I think they’re decent. They solved the Emily Hutchins murder, which wasn’t easy.”
“She’s the only girl who’s ever gone missing from Mariners?”
“That I know of.”
Ismay slid her hands under her pillow. If Bo knew anything about the contents behind the wall of Remy’s closet, he certainly didn’t let on.
“Ismay?”
She looked over at him.
“Are you scared of me?”
“No!” she said.
He started to get up. “Because I can go back to my own place—”
She motioned for him to lie back down. “If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have insisted you come here. Please don’t go. I feel safer with you here.” And she knew he was probably safer, too, what with the state of his house.
He propped his head up on his fist as he relaxed back onto the couch. “So...why are we talking about crime?”
If she was ever going to tell him, now was the time. The words were on the tip of her tongue. But she owed Remy more faith and loyalty than to raise such a potentially compromising question, didn’t she? What if he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and she made him look guilty simply by sharing her confusion?
She couldn’t risk that. What kind of a fiancée would she be?
“I read about Emily before coming here. It was all over the news.”
“As I said, that case has been solved. And even if that weren’t true, you don’t have anything to worry about—not while I’m here.”
“Right. I believe that. So...why do you think some serial killers and rapists keep mementos of their victims?”
“The police and other authorities in the shows I’ve watched say it’s so they can relive their crimes.”
“But it also raises the risk of getting caught. I mean, someone could stumble on a cache of those things and bust a case wide open,” she said, holding her breath as she waited for his response.
“I guess it shows how twisted they are that they’d be compelled to do it even if it’s at their own peril.”
She let her breath go. He didn’t know anything about the duffel bag. That was clear. His mind had gone in a completely different direction when she’d brought it up.
“Do you think you ever really know somebody?” she asked.
“Somebody who has good reason not to be authentic?” he said. “No. Those people show you only what they want you to see.”
“You’re probably right,” she said and couldn’t help thinking how good Remy was at doing exactly that.
The wind had a bite to it. Only Mariners could feel this cold in spring, Bastian thought as he took the early morning ferry to the island—the first ferry to be able to make it over in two days. If it was sunshine he was looking for, he would’ve been better off heading to Florida. But then his parents would’ve bitched at him for spending their money on an Airbnb when they had a perfectly good vacation home at one of the most desirable places to visit in America.
This wasn’t about a vacation, anyway. He’d heard that Remy had sent his fiancée to Mariners ahead of him and Bastian wanted to meet her when his brother wasn’t around. Whoever she was, he felt sorry for her. Remy could be a real dick.
He glanced up at the sky. At least it’d stopped raining. According to the weather report, the storm had left the island saturated and windblown, with fallen limbs, debris, and swollen gutters. But the worst of it was over. He supposed he could tolerate a little discomfort to get away from the city and out from under his father’s thumb. His parents had been putting so much pressure on him lately to party less and work more...
He wondered how Mort was going to react when he reached the office and found Bastian’s note on his desk. It simply said he hadn’t been feeling his best and needed some time off, a chance to gain back his full strength. He didn’t indicate where he was going, just that he wouldn’t be coming in for a week or two. He didn’t want them to tell Remy he was visiting Windsor Cottage. His brother would find out soon enough as it was. This might be his only chance to get to know his prospective sister-in-law—and to warn her about what she was getting into. If he screwed things up for his brother at the same time, even better.
The ferry swayed as it came into contact with the dock, and he went inside to get his suitcase from the table where he’d been sitting when they left Long Island and carried it down the stairs so he could disembark. He hadn’t brought a vehicle. He never used one in New York City and his parents kept a Jeep in the garage at the cottage. He just had to take an Uber around the island. Then he’d be set up for the duration of his stay.
He hummed the song playing on his AirPods as he ordered a ride, and a car was waiting for him almost as soon as he stepped off the wharf. When she’d called last night, his mother had told him the power had gone out at Windsor Cottage, but the generator was working, so he assumed he’d be comfortable enough until the power came back on. His future sister-in-law would probably be glad to see him. It had to be scary riding out such a big storm as a stranger to the island, with its temperamental weather.
His Uber driver had to go slower than usual and skirt around piles of driftwood, dirt, and leaves, and Bastian could see where more of the coastline had eroded since he’d been here last, but the cottage looked solid and unshakable in the dawn light. He hadn’t seen the renovations yet, so he was looking forward to that; anything his mother did had class and style.
He thanked his driver when he got out, grabbed his suitcase and took a moment to admire the sun peeking through the clouds over a sparkling ocean that was just beginning to settle down.
There was nowhere like Mariners. It was good to be back, he decided, and dragged his suitcase to the front door.
Bo had awakened early, as usual, but the sun hadn’t come up yet, so there was nothing he could do to fix his bungalow. He needed light and dry weather. He told himself he’d have to stay where he was for a bit and spent at least an hour studying the beauty of Ismay’s face before drifting off again.
It was the sound of the door swinging against the inside wall that jarred him awake and a booming voice that said, “Honey, I’m home!”
Shocked by the sudden intrusion, Bo jumped up, prepared to defend himself and Ismay, if necessary.
“Whoa! Calm down, Buckeroo,” the same voice said. “What have we here?”
One of the Windsor twins—Bo hadn’t seen them often enough to be able to tell them apart—stood in the doorway. With all the light coming from behind, Bo couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but the sound of his voice was a sneer.
Bo immediately began to gather up the bedding he’d been using as Ismay pushed herself up on one elbow, her eyes still filled with sleep. “What—what is it?” she said, blinking at their visitor. “Remy?”
“Yeah, it’s me, babe. How about a big wet, sloppy kiss before we head back to the bedroom?” Their visitor laughed uproariously, and she scrambled to her feet.
“You’re not Remy,” she said.
“Darn. You figured it out. You should’ve taken me up on the offer while you had a good excuse. After all, there is one marked difference between us, and all the ladies we’ve known can attest to it.” He winked before gesturing at the evidence of their sleeping arrangements. “Sorry to ruin your little campout. I had no idea you had company.”
“Bo’s not company,” she said, fixing her tank top since the strap had fallen off her shoulder.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. Bo saw Bastian’s gaze fall to her chest and knew exactly what he was looking at, because he’d been keenly aware of her breasts beneath that white cotton ever since she’d gone into the bathroom to change for bed. Fortunately, she was still wearing yoga pants, so he didn’t think the scene appeared too damning.
The Bastian he knew, however, would exploit it for all it was worth. That was the concern. What would he say to Remy? And to Mort and Annabelle?
Bo was as worried for Ismay as he was for himself. Remy had already made it clear, even to her over the phone, that he didn’t want Bo at the cottage.
“He’s not company?” Bastian said. “He lives here, then?”
“The power’s out at his house—and a tree fell and crashed into his living room,” she explained. “It’s currently flooded.”
“I see.” He looked between them. “Then how nice of you to take him in.”
“I would’ve taken in anyone who didn’t have a place to stay,” she clarified, obviously hearing the same suggestive tone Bo did. “And I assumed you and your family would want me to share the shelter of this beautiful house with the person who cares for it in your absence.”
“Of course, we would,” he said, feigning concern.
Bo felt his muscles tense. He hated being beholden to such a little bastard. But it was this bastard’s mother he worked for. He had to remind himself of that. And he had a good situation here on Mariners, couldn’t do anything to screw it up.
“What—what are you doing here, anyway?” Ismay asked, going on the offensive. “Remy didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I didn’t know I had to make him—or you—aware of my itinerary.”
She looked abashed. “I—I didn’t mean that. I’m just so surprised to see you.”
He laughed. “Obviously.”
“Why are you acting like this?” she asked. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and the insinuation is offensive.”
“Don’t mind me. I’m sure you’re both as innocent as the day is long. You just look guilty,” he added with a laugh.
Her mouth dropped open. “I... What?”
“I’m kidding.” Bastian waved away his words. “You actually look good enough to eat, if you know what I mean.”
His laugh was even louder this time. It was all Bo could do to hold himself back. There were guys in prison who’d heckled him, and he’d made them regret it—and they’d deserved to be hit less than this dude. Without Annabelle, Mort, or Remy around to rein Bastian in, Bo had a bad feeling about how the next few days would go. Would he be able to stop himself from decking the little prick?
“The past two days have been quite an ordeal,” Bo said, essentially trying to tell him that he wasn’t making things any easier. But Bastian didn’t care. Bo shouldn’t have even bothered to try to make that point.
“Well, fortunately, it’s about to get easier. The storm’s over, and I’m here now, so you won’t have to worry about Ismay’s safety. I can be in charge of that.” He checked his watch. “By the way, you might want to get started if you plan to remove that tree from your roof by nightfall, Bo.”
Ismay’s lips formed a firm straight line and her eyes began to glitter, but her voice was surprisingly even when she said, “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven,” Bastian responded as if it was noon or later.
Bo had been forcing himself to take the time to fold the blanket he’d been using. He would not let Bastian make him feel as though he had to run off because he’d been caught doing something wrong. But, probably due to the tension, Ismay took the blanket from him before he could finish. “I’ll do this,” she said. “And I’ll bring you some breakfast in a bit.”
“You’re going to serve him breakfast, too?” Bastian said. “My, aren’t you accommodating.”
“Would you like some?” she asked. “Since I have to cook for myself anyway, I don’t mind making extra.”
“I’d love some. What a woman,” Bastian replied with a grin Bo wished he could wipe off his face. “Remy always did know how to pick ’em.”
Bo wished he could stay. He didn’t want to leave Ismay alone with this asshole. He didn’t trust him. But considering the situation, there was nothing he could do. “Thanks,” he muttered to Ismay and stalked out.
Still uncomfortable with having Bastian appear out of the blue, he glanced back before he got so far that the house was out of sight. But he couldn’t see either of them through the window.
He’d been afraid the storm would cost him his job. With Remy’s twin’s arrival, the chances of that happening had just gone up exponentially.
Ashleigh had finally returned his call. She was coming to get her stuff this morning. Jack had spent almost the entire night boxing it up for her. It was a habit to help her whenever he could—a habit he had a hard time breaking even now. But there’d been a selfish element to it, too. Living in a house where everything reminded him of her was difficult. He wanted to remove the rest of her belongings from his sight as soon as possible, just as he wished he could erase her from his mind and heart. So he’d called his father to say he wouldn’t be in today, that he had some personal business, and his father hadn’t even questioned him. Buzz had said, “Right. See you tomorrow.” And then, just before he’d hung up, he’d asked, “Are you okay?”
Jack had claimed he was, but he’d never been in a worse situation. How could he excise Ashleigh from his life? They’d been together since their freshman year. He’d thought he knew her better than any other person on earth...
He winced at the sense of betrayal that welled up. Any thought of her brought fresh pain.
Hearing a vehicle outside, he went to the window and peered through the blinds. Ashleigh was driving the small Toyota he’d bought for her. How would she cover the payments on it? Would Jessica pay it now?
His breath caught in his throat when he saw the passenger door open. She’d brought Jessica!
A few seconds later, there was a timid knock at the door.
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He wasn’t sure he could do this, after all. He hadn’t expected to have to face the woman who’d replaced him.
A second knock rattled the door. “Jack?”
That was Jessica’s voice. He closed his eyes. Ashleigh had a key. She could come in if she wanted. This had been her house as much as his. That she was standing on the other side of that panel, waiting for him to greet her as if she’d never lived there with him, showed just how much had changed—in what seemed like no time at all.
Drawing a deep breath, he quit peering through the blinds before they could realize he was doing it and forced his recalcitrant legs to cross over to the door, which he unlocked and opened.
Ashleigh wouldn’t quite meet his gaze, but Jessica watched him warily. “We’re here to get her things,” she said.
He looked at Ashleigh again. Surely, this was just a cruel joke. Any second, she’d start laughing and fall against him, and he’d put his arms around her, press his lips to her head and breathe in the all too familiar scent of her hair.
But that didn’t happen. Silence fell until, awkwardly, he stepped back. “It’s all...it’s all right here.”
“You boxed it up?” Ashleigh murmured, her voice barely audible.
“I thought it would be easier for you,” he muttered.
“Thank you.”
The words were so softly spoken he could barely hear them. Jessica said nothing. She just lifted the first box she came to and started out of the house.
“Do you...do you want to walk through and make sure I got everything?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. “Since I... I didn’t get to pack it.”
“Did you want to pack it?” he asked.
“No. I—that would take too long.”
He thought about broaching the subject of the car. They needed to talk about it, but he felt such hostility coming from Jessica—as if she’d expected a fight so she’d come ready to have one—that he just stepped back to clear a path.
Ashleigh walked through every room and, after conferring with Jessica, asked if she could take more of their pots and pans. He thought he’d been generous in what he’d given her, but if she wanted more, he wasn’t going to fight over it. What was the point? He’d already lost everything he cared about. “Take whatever you want,” he said.
She blinked at him, surprised by his answer. Obviously, she was expecting anger, resistance. She’d brought Jessica with her just in case, hadn’t she? But he was too hurt for that. Had she come alone, he would’ve carried it all out for her, too.
As he watched the pile in the middle of the floor grow smaller, he couldn’t help thinking of Jessica’s kids. She was six years older than they were, so the oldest two were in school. But what about her four-year-old? Was she at preschool or with Jessica’s parents? Or with Jessica’s husband?
And if the situation were different, would Jessica have brought them for this? How were they feeling about what was going on?
The oldest was probably seven, old enough to understand that something terrible had happened to her family, even if she didn’t understand what it all meant and how it was going to change her life.
Donny, Jessica’s husband, wasn’t only losing his wife, he was losing 24/7 access to his kids. That had to be worse than what Jack was experiencing, and yet Jack couldn’t imagine anything being worse.
Ashleigh approached him with their popcorn maker. “Can I have this?”
He remembered when they’d gone to Walmart to buy it. They couldn’t afford to go out to a lot of movies, so he’d told her he’d make popcorn at home whenever they watched a series on Netflix. He typically used coconut oil. She liked that best...
“Jack?” she prompted.
He nodded.
“And it was my mother who gave us the drapes.” She pointed to the frilly pink curtains at the kitchen window. “Do you mind if I take those?”
What did he want with pink curtains? “That’s fine.” Normally, he would’ve taken them down for her. She wasn’t handy with a screwdriver. But Jessica said she’d brought a tool kit and went out to the car to retrieve it, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and stayed out of the way as Ashleigh’s new lover removed the drapes he’d put up and then carried them out of the house.
“Your dad doesn’t mind that you’re not at work today?” Ashleigh asked.
She’d told him she’d come get her stuff when he wasn’t there if he preferred it, but he’d said he wanted to be around. Apparently, some masochistic part of him was hanging on to every last second with her, no matter how terrible the experience was. “He didn’t say anything about it,” he said.
She frowned. “I’m surprised. He works you like a slave.”
“He works just as hard,” he pointed out but was suddenly tempted to blame how hard his father worked him for the split. Problem was the hours he worked had nothing to do with Ashleigh’s sexual orientation, and that was what this came down to.
“I bet he’ll have plenty to say about me,” she grumbled.
Buzz didn’t say much about anyone. He didn’t want to be guilty of gossip. But if someone disappointed him, that person typically didn’t get a second chance.
“How are your parents taking the news?” He’d thought he’d hear from his in-laws. They’d welcomed him into the family with open arms. But they hadn’t called, and he hadn’t known what to say to them, so he hadn’t, either.
“They’re upset, of course. They’re what got us into this mess. They think sexuality is a choice and that I’m going to hell for being my authentic self.”
“They’ll come around,” he said. “And your sister?” Leila was three years younger and still single. She worked at the only gym in town as a CrossFit instructor.
“Won’t speak to me.”
“This...this came as a shock to all of us,” he said.
Jessica walked back in. “Is that everything?” she asked Ashleigh.
Ashleigh sent him an apologetic look. “Yeah. Except my half of the furniture, but I don’t want to talk about that today. There’s no way I could fit anything else in the car, anyway.”
“You can have whatever you want,” he reiterated, which seemed to totally disarm her.
“Thanks for being decent about everything,” Jessica said. “Unlike Donny...”
Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at her, let alone respond. “I wish you the best,” he mumbled to his wife.
Ashleigh glanced at Jessica before meeting his gaze. “Thanks,” she said and walked out.
After the door closed, he sank down onto the sofa—which would probably turn out to be her sofa—and stared at what was left of the contents of the house. There wasn’t much, but that didn’t seem to matter because there was nothing left of him.