| |
That afternoon, Rhonda knocked on Elise’s door to report that one of the larger rooms toward the other side of the bed and breakfast, the one with the huge bay window, had been cleaned and was fully unused.
“I just thought of you while at my desk and wondered what the heck? Wouldn’t she rather have another office, all for her writing?” Rhonda said with a big-toothed smile.
Elise thanked Rhonda profusely and headed toward the other room. Although it was another rainy day, the room was steeped with light. She set up shop on the desk, opened her laptop delicately, and then fell back into the scene again. Occasionally, Rhonda appeared beside her with a platter of cookies, a cup of coffee, or a cup of tea. As Elise was the only guest, Rhonda seemed overly willing to dote on her.
“Dean Swartz told me point-blank to make you as comfortable as I could,” Rhonda said. “He’s been the kindest boss I’ve ever had. I don’t know where I would be without him. And because of that, I guess I have to overdose you with cookies until the sun goes down.”
Elise fell into a daze of writing. When she blinked up again, it was late afternoon, and she had written more than five new scenes. She cracked her knuckles and looked at her page count.
Already, she had written more than eighty pages, which translated to eighty minutes, approximately, for a film she wanted to be around one hundred minutes in length.
“Wow,” she breathed.
Elise turned back to her computer to send a message off to Courtney, her agent from LA. They hadn’t spoken at all since the incident back in August, when Rex had slighted her and told her they didn’t plan to make her movie but wanted to buy her screenplay for pennies, anyway. Courtney had been angry when Elise had turned him down. “We should have talked about this!” she’d said.
Courtney,
Long time, no speak!
I wanted to touch base with you and let you know I’m nearly finished with a new screenplay. It kind of just fell out of me. I’ve never felt more inspired in my life. I guess what other writers always say is true. When I changed my environment, I felt all these new sides of my creativity come alive.
In any case, I wondered if you would be interested in reading my manuscript as early as mid-October. It’s women’s fiction again, the same kind of thing with a little more spice to it, I think. You were the one who told me that middle-aged women need more stories out in the world, and I couldn’t agree more. I do hope we can continue to work together, as we discussed in August. In my mind, August feels more than a million years ago.
Elise Darby
Courtney emailed back about five minutes later. This was typical LA because everyone was attached to their phones.
Elise,
Oh my God! I was worried that I would never hear from you again. Yes, of course, I’d be happy to read your screenplay when it’s finished. I’ll start putting out feelers for potential buyers.
Let’s get this thing sold and filmed!
Courtney
Elise jumped from her chair. She felt like she could fly. She glanced again toward the window, where the ominous storm clouds of the previous days began to part, revealing a bright blue sky beneath.
I’m back. I feel alive again.
Elise grabbed a bottle of Merlot from her room and poured herself a celebratory glass. She tilted it up toward the sky and whispered, “Thanks for bringing me here, Mom. I wouldn’t have written any of this without you. Heck, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without you.”
Just as she sipped it—a dry and layered variety from a nearby winery, Rhonda rapped her knuckles on the door. When she opened it, she beamed and said, “You look happy!”
Elise laughed. “I guess I am.”
Even though it seems like Wayne has decided not to give me the time of day.
Maybe he’s just busy with work?
“Nothing as beautiful as a happy woman,” Rhonda said. “And it’s a good thing, too, because a very handsome gentleman has arrived to say hello.”
Elise’s heart jumped into her throat. “Is that right?”
“Indeed.” Rhonda rubbed her palms together, clearly excited. “I’ll tell him you’ll be right down?”
“Yes! Give me five minutes,” Elise said.
With that, Elise rushed back to her room, stowed her computer, and tore through her makeup bag. She tended to her under-eye shadows, added blush and mascara and a dash of lipstick, and then tousled her hair with her fingers. The mirror reflected back the very woman Rhonda had described.
She looked happy.
Wayne. I’m ready to do this.
I’m becoming the kind of woman I’ve always wanted to be.
I think it’s partially because of you. This island, these secrets coming to a head and the way you look at me.
Elise heaved a sigh, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door. Just as she gripped the doorknob, she had second thoughts about her outfit. She danced around, removed her jeans and sweater, and then added tights and a dress.
I feel like a silly teenage girl falling for the popular boy in high school.
By the time Elise arrived downstairs, it had definitely been more than ten minutes—maybe even more than fifteen. As she passed Rhonda at the front desk, Rhonda whistled and said, “There she is. Our California supermodel,” under her breath.
“Don’t be silly, Rhonda,” Elise said, grinning broadly.
“He’s outside, pumpkin. Enjoy your night,” Rhonda said, fluttering her fingers.
Elise opened the door to the front porch, turned left, and immediately froze.
There, seated on the porch swing, was Matt Gauthier.
Handsome, with dark blond hair and brown eyes, wearing designer blue jeans, a newly purchased jacket, and a gray V-neck T-shirt. His skin was tanned with that California sun, and his face was clean-shaven—so unlike many of the men on Mackinac Island.
He looked so foreign to her.
He was the first person from Elise’s normal life she had seen since she’d left.
“Matt, wow,” Elise said. She couldn’t help but hear the disappointment in her own voice.
I thought you were Wayne.
Why aren’t you Wayne?
Matt stood from the porch swing and extended his arms out on either side of him. “You refused to come back to California, so I decided to come to you.”
Elise had always been more of a people-pleaser than her mother. Allison Darby had never allowed anyone to say or do anything to her that she hadn’t wanted. Elise, on the other hand? She’d been married to a guy who hadn’t cared for her for a whole lot longer than any sane woman might have stayed.
“That’s so nice of you,” Elise said.
That was the kind of thing people said when they received fruitcake.
“You have got to be kidding me about this weather,” Matt said. He rubbed his left bicep with his right arm. “I had to buy a jacket at the airport in Traverse City. Everyone looked at me like I was nuts when I told them I was here from California.”
Elise forced her grin to widen.
“You get used to the chill, I guess,” she said. “I certainly have.”
Matt paused, dropped both hands to his sides again, and gave Elise this strange, dewy-eyed look.
“You look great, Elise. Absolutely stunning. I guess I haven’t seen you since before everything happened with your mom. My deepest condolences, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Elise bit her lower lip. Was it rude if she told him to get the heck off the porch, run down the street, and swim across the Straits of Mackinac if he had to if only to get him away?
“And despite all I said about the weather, I really can’t believe this island,” Matt said. He gestured out toward Main Street. “I’m dumbfounded. The place feels like it’s been frozen in time. Although I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised that it captivated you. You were always the most romantic woman. The way you write stories and scenes is so emotional. I can feel your heart behind your writing. And... well. I’m excited to see what you’ve been cooking up here.”
He looked so eager. Elise shifted her weight.
After a strange pause, Elise said, “How did you figure out where I was staying?”
At this, Matt just shrugged and said in a way that almost infuriated Elise, “I have my ways.”