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Megan strode to the front of the house in a huff, convinced it was a local busybody snooping for some sort of belated gossip.
She was wrong.
“Oh,” she murmured, after tugging the door hard enough to nearly pull a muscle in her shoulder. “Hi.”
Matt Fiorillo stood haplessly on the porch. He was dressed like he was about to go golfing—at a par 3 out in the sticks. A frumpy polo, untucked, above the most casual of khaki shorts. Ankle socks and clean white sneakers gave way to tanned, muscular legs.
He raised a hand and scratched his dark hair as he met Megan’s gaze. “Megan?” he asked.
Megan had always liked Matt. Even after he and her sister broke up. She’d liked him in the way a girl admires a handsome distant relative. Perhaps, an uncle by marriage or a second cousin, twice removed—with fascination and a dose of envy.
If she was honest, Megan used Matt as a template, of sorts. He was the type of guy she wanted to marry. She’d always said that to herself.
And, in many ways, she was successful. Brian, too, was something of a puppy-dog type. Friendly and frumpy. Kind eyes. Gentle words. Brian, however, was more of an intellectual, preferring computers over cars and phone apps over fixer-uppers.
Of all the people in Birch Harbor who Megan had ever heard gossip about, Matt was not among them. Nor were any of the Fiorillos, really. It was a nice family. A lovable one.
“Matt? What are you doing here?” Megan glanced behind her, waiting for Kate and Amelia to appear at any moment.
He dropped his hand from his hair and tucked it into his front pocket. A deep sadness took hold of his face. “Megan, I’m so sorry to hear about your mom. I was at the funeral, but—”
“We were busy,” Megan replied on his behalf. “It’s okay. Thank you for coming, though.”
Just then, Megan felt the air change behind her. Matt’s eyes lifted.
She turned. Kate and Amelia stood there, both sets of their eyes frozen on him.
“Matt. Hi.” The voice belonged to Kate, but Megan didn’t recognize it. Her words came out pinched and high.
Megan cleared her throat and stepped aside. “Amelia, let’s go to the parlor and leave these two alone.”
Kate shook her head and pinned Megan with a look before glancing back to Matt. “No, no. It’s fine. Matt, come in.”
He thanked them and followed as Kate escorted everyone to the back porch, which was hitherto uncharted territory.
Megan was glad for the change of scenery, but even more, she was glad to be in on this little reunion, of sorts.
Things had not ended well with Kate and Matt. Megan was only in grade school when it happened, but she could remember the whole fiasco like the back of her hand. Kate’s sobs. Matt’s angry helplessness.
They’d both put up a good fight. One they thought no one had borne witness to.
But Megan had.
Twelve-year-olds were good at that sort of thing. Sneaking around and eavesdropping on their older sisters. Especially when a boy was involved.
But then, that memory extended far past the emotional night that pushed Matt away indefinitely.
That was the summer they went on vacation. All of them. Like a happy family. Their aunt’s house in Arizona. Far away from Michigan. Far away from everyone.
The walk to the backyard felt long. Megan had flashbacks to when they lived there, Amelia and Kate always striding ahead of her and Megan doing her best to catch up. She didn’t like to miss anything. And, usually, she didn’t have to.
However, now was not a good time to meddle. Standing and facing the lake added to the discomfort Megan sensed. Amelia must have felt it, too, because she tugged Megan’s arm lightly. “Come on. You were right. Why don’t we let these two catch up? You and I can walk the grounds. I haven’t been down to the lake in forever.”
Megan, again, felt Kate’s eyes bore a hole, but Matt smiled easily.
“Ten minutes,” Kate called after Megan and Amelia. “Just give us ten minutes.”
Amelia chuckled once they were on the far side of the lawn, stepping through the white wooden gate of the seawall and down to the little beach.
“What’s funny?” Megan asked.
As if guided by muscle memory, they both kicked their shoes off and stepped into the warm sand. It curled up between Megan’s toes, and she realized how much she missed it. The last time she’d sat out on the lake was years prior. Even then, when she had found herself on the shore, she hadn’t taken her shoes off. She hadn’t felt the sand on the bottom of her feet or sliding overtop. If she closed her eyes now, she could transport herself to Rehoboth or La Jolla.
Or, even better, she could transport herself to her childhood.
“This whole thing,” Amelia spread her arms out wide and twirled in a circle. “Being home. Like, home, home. Mom. The weird-as-hell will. Matt,” she lifted her chin up toward the porch. They were far enough away to be out of earshot, but Megan only stole a quick look.
“It’s not that funny,” Megan pointed out.
“Oh, it’s funny. Life is funny, Megan.”
They walked to the shoreline. Directly back from the property, a wide thatch of grass halted at the seawall. From there, lay a pristine sandy beach. But just yards off, in the direction of the harbor, spread a rocky outcropping. Though the waves of Lake Huron weren’t the crashing kind, every so often a boat would zoom past and push water up against the rocks. The resulting splash turned the cove and the marina beyond into more than a community by the lake; Birch Harbor became a small town on the water.
Megan stared out and up the shore, beyond the marina. Miles north, past the tourist fanfare, stood one of Lake Huron’s many lighthouses. Thoughts of her father and his parents washed over her—the grandparents that the Hannigan girls cuddled with, the ones who took them to the Detroit Zoo and the county fair. The ones who maintained the rickety old tower and the house beneath. She wondered who was running it currently. It still worked, after all.
“Why are you with Jimmy, Amelia?” It fell out of Megan’s mouth before she could swallow it back. Megan felt now was the time to nail it down. She knew her sister deserved better than Jimmy, but she needed Amelia to see it, too. For her own good.
By the seawall at the far corner of the property there sat a small wooden shed, its boards dead and gray.
Amelia pointed to it. “Let’s grab chairs and sit. They might be longer than ten minutes.”
Soon enough, the two middle sisters were sitting with their feet in the water, idly lifting the shore on their toes and splashing it gently back out to the lake.
“Jimmy is... ” Amelia began with a sigh.
Megan felt compelled to finish her sentence, but she refrained, trying to accept that it was far better for Amelia to find the truth on her own than for anyone else to thrust it at her.
After a beat, Amelia lifted her hands and slapped them back down on the arms of the chair. Megan winced. “Don’t get a splinter.” The wood of the chairs was sun-bleached and brittle.
A rumble of laughter caught in Amelia’s throat and spread across to Megan. They giggled together. It felt good.
“Jimmy is your boyfriend,” Megan said, her tone impartial as could be.
“Jimmy is my boyfriend, yes.” Amelia stopped for a minute and furrowed her eyebrows. “Wow. Boyfriend. Am I fifteen?”
Again, they laughed, but this time it wasn’t as light.
Megan kept quiet and picked at her nail polish. Little black flakes lifted up and carried off on the breeze. She glanced back toward the house. Kate and Matt weren’t standing there anymore. Maybe they’d gone in.
“What do you think they're talking about?” Amelia asked.
Megan shrugged. “I doubt much. Kate isn’t going to rehash the past. She’s too focused on what’s happening with the will.”
“Clara deserves more,” Amelia answered, her voice flattening. “You know that, right, Megan?”
Megan frowned. “Yes, I know that. But something doesn’t add up.”
Amelia didn’t answer. Instead, she changed the conversation. “Have you talked to Brian since you’ve been here?”
Another breeze, a stronger breeze, whipped across their faces. Though it was getting later, and the air was turning cooler, the sun still hung in the sky behind them, casting their shadows onto the water. Megan stood abruptly and kicked water at hers, but it reappeared quickly, like a long, lifeless blob. Not quite a reflection. Still, it was her own image, stretching out into the lake from her feet, indelibly attached. “No,” she answered.
“Does he know you’re on that app?”
Megan turned sharply to her sister and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not on the app. I mean I’m on it, but—it’s not what you think,” she replied. Her breath turned sour and her mouth grew dry. It was an internal struggle that she should be able to share with Amelia. With anyone, really. But she was too scared things might not pan out. She was scared it was a dead end. And then she’d look the fool.
“It’s not what I think? Then tell me, what should I think?” Amelia replied. Her voice was soft, but her words pushed Megan to the brink of revealing her little secret.
No. Another week or two. Then things might materialize. She might be able to share. It might be different. And anyway, they weren’t together in Birch Harbor for Amelia or anyone else to pick apart Megan’s life decisions. “I’m getting a divorce. And, actually, the dating app has nothing to do with it,” she spat back.
But as she walked away from Amelia and back toward the house, Megan felt a knot form in her throat. She couldn’t swallow past it. It stayed there, thickening, until she began to wonder if her plan was a joke. Who was Megan Stevenson to pursue her dreams?
As she crossed through the gate and up the sidewalk, Megan’s phone vibrated in her back pocket.
For the first time in forever, she hoped it was him.
Not any of the men whose in-app messages she’d always ignored.
She hoped it was him. Hers.
Brian.
But it wasn’t.