Page 42 of Look on the Bright Side

She read and reread the messages till her tired eyes burned.

What was she going to do now? Confront him? She had to. And then what? Kick him out? She certainly wasn’t going to live in the same house. He’d go to his father’s. No, he wouldn’t be able to stand that for more than a day or two, because he’d actually have to do things with Robert if he was living there. No. He’d go to Addie’s, sleep in that beautiful guest suite and have more access than ever to their granddaughters.

That didn’t seem fair.

No. Let him stay in their derelict house. She would go somewhere better with fewer responsibilities. Maybe he’d fix the fucking lawn mower with his extra time.

She could go to her sister’s, but Grace’s husband was a pompous ass. Her parents? Hell, no. The kids? Addie’s guest room was truly beautiful.

Even if the kids would have her, it wasn’t practical. Or fair to them, because they all loved their father. But she didn’t have to tell them, did she? Even so, Nicole and Addie liked things a certain way, and that didn’t involve a mother-in-law staying with them. Winnie shared a tiny house with a roommate; Robbie lived in squalor; Harlow was seeing Grady and would probably be getting engaged soon. Lark lived in that teeny little guesthouse, so there was no room even if Ellie asked.

Hold on. Lark’s landlady, Joy…she had a huge house. And Joy was lonely, without family or many friends, if any. Ellie had noticed it, of course, the four or five times she’d met Joy. The woman adored Lark (everyone did, it was practically the law). That house…that sprawling, waterfront house, so beautiful only an out-of-towner could afford it.

Ellie grabbed her phone. She had Joy’s number somewhere in here, from a time when she’d invited Joy to Christmas, yes, that was it.

“Hello, Joy,” she said, her voice shaking. “I have a huge favor to ask, and you are absolutely free to say no.”

Joy did not say no.

EIGHT

JOY

Joy Deveaux was getting a housemate. Well, a guest. She did not have the words to say how happy that made her.

For nearly a year, she had lived in this vast, beautiful house on the water—a stranger’s house that technically, she owned—and for a year, she’d been so, so lonely. She had Lark out in the little guesthouse, and her tenant was amazing and beautiful and magical, like a unicorn that had wandered into the yard. But even Joy knew that, like a unicorn, Lark was a little unreachable, like if you looked directly at her, she’d disappear. What was that word, that fancy word that was so pretty but sort of magical? Something you couldn’t pin down? Ephemeral? Yes. That was it. Lark was ephemeral.

But her mother was quite real. Joy hadn’t really bonded with Ellie, though Lark had made sure Joy was invited to various holidays since they’d met. Ellie was so accomplished. Pretty and confident and fit, filled with busyness and security as a wife, mother, grandmother.

The idea that she needed Joy was bananas.

“You want to move in here?” Joy had asked when Ellie called just a little while ago, half a Hostess cupcake in one hand, the phone in the other.

“Yes. I know it’s unexpected, but—”

“Yes! Of course! I would love that, Elsbeth! You can come right now! Which bedroom do you want? You can have your pick!”

“Oh, gosh, Joy, thank you. Thank you. I’ll explain later.” There was a pause. “Actually, if you’re free tonight, I could come over around seven.”

“Yes! Sure! Whatever works for you. See you tonight! I’ll have wine.” She hung up, stuffed the rest of the cupcake in her mouth and practically ran to the kitchen. She had plenty of wine, of course she did, she had a wine fridge, after all. Ellie Smith, coming here to stay! It was so exciting. There was some cheese, too. Ice cream. Pasta. Eggs. Aging lettuce for a salad Joy hadn’t yet made. That was about it. Maybe she should order some food to be delivered. Did she have time to run down to Wellfleet Marketplace? She did. She’d go.

The Smiths were all so normal and healthy and fond of each other. The sweet old grandfather, the happily married parents, the healthy and employed children, the attractive, spoiled little girls. It was like watching zoo animals or something. Joy knew the invitations to Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve dinner were pity invitations, but she didn’t care. It beat spending those wrenching firsts all by her lonesome.

And now Ellie wanted to stay with her. Gosh! It was like having Joanna Gaines ask if she could hang out for a while. Ellie was Wellfleet famous…she was an artist, of course, and a good one (well, Joy liked her stuff because you could tell what the picture was, not like those smear-and-splatter or white-on-white types of things her brother, Paulie, had loved). She was naturally attractive like…like…like, well, Michelle Pfeiffer, maybe. Then there was her husband. Those two had the kind of love that was in the movies. The kind that didn’t look like Joy’s three and a half marriages one single bit. (The half marriage was to Carl, who’d proposed, set her up in an apartment, supported and slept with her, but had a wife and family the whole time. Live and learn.)

Joy didn’t even care why Ellie was coming. Maybe their house needed work and she was allergic to the smell of paint. Or no, that wouldn’t be right, because she was a painter. Maybe dust? At any rate, Joy had four hours to get ready. Her housekeeper had just been in, so there were clean sheets and towels.

This was just so exciting.

She’d never had a true girlfriend. Only her brother, Paulie, and his gang. In a lot of ways, Joy had always been Paulie’s costar, and that had been fine with her. Since he died, though, she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be.

As she reapplied blush and bronzer, adjusted her left eyelash and grabbed her giant Chanel sunglasses, Joy’s heart was soaring. Someone needed her. Well, her house, to be specific, but still.

Joy had always been expected to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Marry an overbearing, abusive little man; give up all your rights and freedom; have a few babies; steep in bitterness and fear but never call a divorce attorney because Jesus would hate that; and take all that misery out on your own kids. You’d think Mama would’ve wanted better for her own daughter. Not the case.

Joy—and Paulie—had wanted a better life even so. Not that Joy had ever been able to picture it. Her only plan was to be someone other than Gianna-Marie Moretti, the name she’d been born with. The truth was, she still wasn’t sure what her life was supposed to be about.

She’d moved to Cape Cod on impulse, six weeks after she lost her brother so suddenly, unable to bear the familiarity of life without him. He had been her best friend, her only sibling, the other survivor from their awful childhood. When she did have a job, it had been in his salon. When she was with friends, they were his friends. She’d married his lover, for heaven’s sake. Sweet Abdul, or Abe, as he asked to be called. Her favorite ex-husband.

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