When Marlow had texted Walker earlier that evening, she’d been excited to see him, to put the past behind them and move forward in a more positive direction. She was grateful she’d had the opportunity to apologize and felt he’d truly forgiven her—or he wouldn’t have bought her a birthday cake. He’d even tried to give her father’s watch back to her.
They were truly friends now. He’d brought his bike to give her a ride. He’d provided a sweatshirt so she wouldn’t be cold as they drove home. He’d behaved perfectly.
And yet...she was disappointed.
Was she just maudlin over her father’s death? His loss hit her at odd moments. She’d be doing just fine and then something would trigger a memory and she’d realize she’d never be able to see or talk to him again. But if her sudden melancholy was strictly about her father, why did her thoughts keep circling back to what Walker had said about the women he was dating?
It also bothered her that he’d asked her to tell him when she got her period, as if that was all he needed to put an end to that brief interlude of intimacy. Granted, friends typically didn’t sleep together. But they’d already had several encounters. She didn’t see why they couldn’t keep things physical through the summer.
The engine of his motorcycle dimmed as he drove off, and she sighed as she trudged toward the guesthouse.
“An interior designer,” she mumbled and wondered what the woman looked like, what had drawn him to her and how much he liked being with her.
Instead of going inside, Marlow headed to the beach, hoping that the ocean would soothe her, as it so often had over the years. At a minimum, it would give her some solitude.
She was still wearing Walker’s sweatshirt as she approached the ocean. She’d offered to give it back to him when she got off the bike, but he’d insisted she could return it another time—or even keep it.
Lifting it to her nose, she breathed in, trying to find his scent on the soft fabric. But it had been freshly laundered. She dropped it and watched the waves while thinking back through her evening with him. She’d been hoping for more, she decided. And it was probably sex.
That was why she was so out of sorts. But surely this desire and disappointment would be fleeting. After all, she’d felt nothing lasting for any other man she’d been with. She’d settle into her new friendship with Walker, and all would be right. Better. Less awkward than if they were continuing to sleep together—and without the risk of causing hard feelings between their families.
Determined to accept that as her answer, she was on her way back to the guesthouse when she smelled the scent of marijuana and began to look for the source.
She found Reese leaning up against the garage near the door that led to the apartment, smoking a joint. He was wearing only a pair of holey jeans, no shirt, no shoes. Although she wasn’t attracted to him, he looked sleep-tousled and sexy. She was glad Aida wasn’t around to notice.
“Hey,” she said as she stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight.
He didn’t seem startled by her sudden appearance, which made her wonder if he’d seen her on the beach. Maybe he’d started down that way, spotted her and decided not to bother her. “Hey,” he replied.
“Having trouble sleeping?” she asked.
“As usual.”
“Does that help?”
“It relaxes me,” he said and offered her a hit.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Did you have fun at Walker’s?”
She froze. “What do you mean?”
He pointed at her sweatshirt. “That’s his, isn’t it?”
She felt foolish for forgetting that she was standing there in Walker’s college sweatshirt. Obviously, it was his. “Yeah,” she said, but didn’t elaborate. As far as she was concerned, the less said, the better.
He brought the joint back to his lips, and the end glowed red as he inhaled. “Are you two seeing each other now or what?”
“We’re just friends.”
“Right,” he said with a mirthless chuckle.
“It’s true.”
He hung his head as he scratched the back of his neck. “Walker could never settle for being your friend.”
“Because...”
“He wants you too badly.”
She frowned at him. “Not anymore.”
He peered up at her from beneath the hair that’d fallen over his eyes. “I don’t believe that for a second.” Finished with the joint, he tossed the butt away. “The surprise is that you finally want him, too. I never saw that coming.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“I’m glad, though,” he added. “Because you’d be wrong to let him go.” Then he murmured a good-night and went back inside.
Claire woke up in the morning to a text from Dutton: All packed and ready to go.
As she lay in bed, staring at those words, she began to feel sick to her stomach. How was she going to keep Marlow and Aida from running into him on this small island? He was coming for a vacation. It wasn’t as though he’d be willing to hide out inside the beachfront Airbnb he’d rented.
Closing her eyes, she let her breath ease out as she listened for movement in the house. She wished she could call him without waking her friends. She wanted to plead with him to wait a month, at least. Maybe by then Aida wouldn’t be feeling quite so raw. After the way she’d reacted when she heard that her high school friend had spoken to Dutton and learned of the divorce, Claire knew that Aida had a long way to go. She needed more time before she could gain any perspective on the failure of her marriage. The three of them had just gotten here last week. What was Dutton thinking?
Aida would say he was thinking of himself, as usual, but Claire felt disloyal to him even letting that thought crop up.
She started to message him to say she wasn’t ready for him to come—that no one was ready for him to come—but deleted the words. She’d tried to talk him out of it before, and nothing she’d said had made any difference.
Besides, he’d already made the arrangements. He wasn’t going to change them now.
She brought up her inbox and scrolled through her email until she found the itinerary he’d forwarded to her. He was due to arrive on Saturday at four. Marlow had mentioned that she’d be getting back from meeting with her father’s attorney at seven. There were three hours between his arrival and hers, and the Miami airport was a big place. But it would be disastrous if they happened to bump into each other.
Claire could only hope that his plane wouldn’t be delayed...
I’m nervous about this, she admitted.
You’re not excited to see me?
She wanted to see him, to be with him, but not now. Not yet. That’s not it.
There’s nothing to be nervous about, Claire. We’re going to have a great time.
Maybe he’d have a great time; she’d be a nervous wreck.
Where will you be when I get in? he asked.
No doubt he’d expect to see her right away. But she’d be shopping in Miami when his plane landed and barhopping with Marlow and Aida after that. He wasn’t going to like hearing that she wouldn’t be available until Sunday—that he’d spend the first night of his vacation alone—but she felt it would be better to tell him now, so he wouldn’t blow up her phone with calls and texts while she was with Aida and Marlow.
Marlow wants to show us around Miami.
What does that mean?
Did she have to spell it out? She pressed a finger and thumb to her closed eyelids for a moment before responding. It means I’ll be in Miami.
So...should we meet up there?
No way. I can’t.
Then how long will it be until you return to the island?
He wasn’t going to like this answer, either. It’ll be late.
You couldn’t have put her off a week until after I was gone?
Claire was so afraid her friends would catch on to the fact that she had something going on that she hadn’t dared suggest a delay. She could already feel Aida pulling away from her, beginning to distrust her.
I’ll only be there a week, he wrote.
She’d told him more than once that this wasn’t a good time to visit. But she didn’t throw that up to him. She knew it wouldn’t be well received. It’s just one night.
He didn’t respond.
I’ll say I have to go over to the club to meet with my new boss Sunday morning and come see you instead. Send me the address of the place you’ll be staying. He’d told her he’d spent a lot of money on an Airbnb, but he hadn’t given her the exact location. She hoped it wasn’t right next door. Part of her thought that would be just like him—to care more about reestablishing their relationship than protecting her from what would happen if Marlow and Aida discovered he was on the island.
Dutton?
Again, she got no answer. He could be at the hospital, she told herself. Maybe he was heading into surgery. He was an important man with a challenging job.
But she had the sneaking suspicion he was mad at her and that wasn’t a great way to start off their week together.
Rosemary was in the kitchen kneading dough for the rolls she planned to serve for dinner, along with a salad and grilled salmon, when she heard Eileen call out for her. After rinsing the flour from her hands, she hurried to see what her employer needed.
She found Eileen in the dining room, continuing to work on her scrapbook. Now that she’d started the project, she was devoting every minute she could to it—every minute she felt strong enough to be up and out of bed. She loved surrounding herself with memories of her late husband, and Rosemary could understand why.
“Yes?”
Eileen beckoned her closer. “Take a look at this picture I found when I went through Tiller’s desk this morning.”
Rosemary expected it to be an old photograph of him and Eileen when they were dating, or Tiller holding Marlow after she was born, or Tiller performing some aspect of his job. She wasn’t prepared to see a photograph of Tiller and Reese together when Reese was only five years old.
She took it and pretended to study it. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this before,” she lied.
“I must’ve taken it.” Eileen smiled proudly. “Isn’t it cute? Reese was such a darling little boy. Tiller loved him and Walker—but especially Reese.”
“He was very generous to both boys,” Rosemary heard herself say. What she didn’t admit was that she had seen that picture before. She could clearly remember the day it was taken, because she was the one who’d taken it, not Eileen. She was the one who’d given it to Tiller, too. And she had a copy herself.
“That’s our beach here at Seaclusion in the background, isn’t it?” Eileen asked.
“Looks like it.” It definitely was. Reese had wandered out while Rosemary was busy in the house. Walker was supposed to have been helping her watch him but got distracted. Once she’d realized her youngest was missing, she’d rushed out in a panic and found Tiller playing with him on the beach. Eileen had been gone that day, so Rosemary had felt free to watch them together for probably thirty minutes before Tiller put Reese on his shoulders and started to carry him back to the house. With the sun shining brightly overhead and a wide expanse of ocean behind them, they looked like an advertisement for some tropical holiday getaway.
The moment Tiller spotted her watching, he’d given her his poster-perfect smile, making the edges of his blue eyes crinkle, and she’d snapped the photograph on an old camera she’d run in and grabbed while they were in the surf together.
“I was going to put it in the scrapbook,” Eileen was saying. “You and your kids have been such a big part of our lives. But now I think I’ll have a few copies made first. Maybe you and Reese would both like to have one.”
Rosemary definitely wanted a better copy than she already had, but she was careful not to act overly interested. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course it’s not too much trouble. Marlow will be going to Miami on Saturday. I’ll have her find somewhere we can get it done.”
“There’s no need to bother Marlow. I can run the errand.” Rosemary hoped to get hold of the photo before anyone else saw it. Eileen might be blinded by decades of love and trust, but Rosemary worried that Marlow, who was far more astute than most people, would see what Eileen had obviously missed.
“She won’t mind,” Eileen insisted and set it aside.