chapter 36

After she mailed the package the next day, Brighton took Rory to the dog park. Even though it was a bright Saturday morning with a crisp hint of autumn in the air, she planned to spend the afternoon in her home office putting the finishing touches on a presentation on insurance premium trends. She checked her e-mails on her phone while Rory galumphed around on the grass, drooling and trying to play with a boisterous little terrier.

“Okay, boy, let’s go.” After Rory climbed into the car, Brighton buckled him into his canine safety harness. The massive dog submitted with world-weary patience while she snapped the straps into place. “I know you hate these, buddy, but rules are rules. Safety first.”

Her phone dinged and she glanced at the screen, expecting another e-mail about upcoming client meetings and conference calls. Instead, she saw a text from Lila:

Go look at the cover of the new issue of People magazine. CALL ME!!!

Brighton stopped at the nearest drugstore, hurried in . . . and almost fainted when she saw the cover. The headline read, STARTING OVER WITH STYLE, and the photo featured a gorgeous, glossy close-up of Clea Cole resting her chin on her hand . . . which was adorned with the diamond-encrusted poison ring.

So this is what it feels like to have a childhood dream come true. She couldn’t process all the emotions coursing through her, and there was only one person she wanted to talk to right now.

But she couldn’t call him.

So instead, after buying a copy of the magazine, rushing back to the parking lot, and doing a wild, flailing car-dance while Rory whined with concern, she dialed Lila.

“Oh my God,” was how Lila answered the phone. “Did you see? Did you see?”

“I saw!” Brighton launched into another bout of car-dancing.

“Did you read the article?” Lila pressed.

“No.” Brighton opened the magazine with such enthusiasm, she tore the cover in half. “What’s it say?”

“She talks about Black Dog Bay and why she decided to put the diamond dog on the ring. She mentions the Naked Finger by name!”

“Oh my . . . That is . . . I can’t even . . .”

“I know!” Lila was practically hyperventilating. “I’m already getting calls for new orders. Poison rings are going to be the new A-list breakup accessory.”

Brighton skimmed the article, her smile widening with every paragraph. “I’m so thrilled for you.”

“Be happy for yourself,” Lila said. “Like I said, the phone is ringing off the hook. I need you back here right now.”

“Oh, Lila.” Brighton was surprised at the depth of her regret. “I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.” Her throat tightened and she didn’t trust herself to say more.

“Will you at least help me find a new designer?” Lila asked. “I need someone with an eye for quality and really high standards.”

“Of course.”

“Great!” Lila responded with such speed and enthusiasm, Brighton had to wonder if she’d just walked into some sort of trap. But Lila would never do that. Lila was too sweet for any kind of ambush or trickery . . . right?

“I’m going to make some calls and ask for recommendations,” Lila continued. “I should be able to set up a few interviews this week. Will you sit in on them and give your opinion?”

Brighton thought about how it would feel to drive back down to the shore. The white clapboard sign with the black Labrador welcoming her to Black Dog Bay. The shops on Main Street. The smell of the ocean.

That huge, empty mansion by the beach.

“I’m really busy at work,” she said.

“Don’t give me that. You’re coming,” Lila declared. “And after we take care of business, we’re going to celebrate our soon-to-be fame and fortune at the Whinery, so wear something fun.”

Brighton looked down ruefully at her conservative outfit. “How about a button-down blouse and a knee-length skirt?”

“Let’s not get crazy,” Lila teased. “I don’t want to get arrested.”

Brighton smiled. “Hey, did you by any chance send me a clipping?”

“Like, a newspaper clipping?” Lila sounded genuinely bewildered. “No. Why?”

“Someone sent me an announcement from some fancy publication called the Wilmington Social Record.”

“Never heard of it, but it sounds like something one of the summer residents would read,” Lila suggested. “The only local who’s into that kind of thing is Hattie Huntington.”

“Ah.”

“What did it say?”

Brighton recounted the epic love story of Genevieve and Javier.

“She’d rather marry a stranger than get a job?” Lila marveled. “That’s dedication.”

“The woman knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to go after it.” Brighton dabbed Rory’s jowls with a tissue in an effort to salvage the leather seats. “There’s something to be said for that.”

“So Friday, two p.m.” Lila sounded threatening.

“I have a meeting on Friday morning,” Brighton protested.

“Skip it. If you’re not here, I’m sending my bounty hunter, aka Malcolm.”

Brighton hesitated. “Wait. Before you go, there’s something I have to ask you. Is, um, is Jake still in town?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since you left. He stopped going to the Whinery altogether. Jenna is in mourning.”

Brighton said her good-byes, then started reading the magazine article again. Before she made it to the second page, her phone chimed again. This time the text was from her mother:

GREAT NEWS, sweetie! So proud. Call me.

Brighton dialed right away. As soon as she heard her mother’s “Hello?” she launched into a breathless rush of words: “Did you read it, Mom?”

“Read what?” her mother asked.

Brighton deflated a bit. “The magazine article.”

“What magazine? What are you talking about?”

“I thought that . . .” Brighton frowned. “Isn’t that the great news you just texted me about?”

“No.” Now it was her mother’s turn to get excited. “The great news is, I got a new job.”

Again? Brighton braced herself. “That is great. Where is it?”

“Right here in town. I’m the set designer for the college’s production of Pippen.”

“Really?” Brighton decided this was not the time to point out that her mother had zero experience in theater.

“They heard about me from one of my old students.” Her mother sounded so thrilled. “They practically begged me to interview. See? See what happens when you follow your passion?”

Brighton tucked the magazine under her arm and watched the traffic zoom by. “I hope they’re paying you what you’re worth.”

“Oh, honey, money doesn’t matter when you’re an artist. Speaking of which, I just got a letter from the IRS and I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

Brighton froze. “The IRS?”

“Something about my tax return from last year.” There was a rustling of papers on her mother’s end of the line. “I know I have it here somewhere . . .”

“I’ll wait,” Brighton said.

“Maybe it’s in the other room. Anyway, can I send it to you? You always know just what to do with these things.”

Brighton closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Scan it and e-mail it to me right now. I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re such a good daughter. I never have to worry about you. Now, finish telling me about the article you were mentioned in. Did you get interviewed for one of those fancy business magazines?”

Brighton was still trying to recover from the mention of “IRS.” “Guess again.”

Her mother gasped. “The Wall Street Journal?”

“You’re getting colder.”

“Forbes? The New York Times?”

“Freezing. Ice-cold.”

“Well, give a set designer a hint!”

“Stop at the grocery store, Mom. Pick up People, look at the ring on the cover, and prepare to be prouder of me than you’ve ever been.”

“Why? What did you do?”

Brighton patted the magazine just to make sure all of this was really happening. “Something wildly impractical.”

“Ooh, I am proud of you.”

Brighton laughed. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“I trust you, honey. And it’s time you learned to trust yourself. What’s the point of being alive if you don’t take a few risks now and then?”