Page 38 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

“And we agreed to put the house on the market Saturday.”

Jenna swallowed hard, her throat suddenly bone-dry. She took a sip of water, which had slices of cucumber and lemon. Normally, Jenna might like that touch, but today it made the water taste like plastic. She didn’t want to have a fight with Rachel in their limited time together, so the pause gave her time to measure her words. It didn’t really work.

“We agreed?” She scoffed. “Let’s try you agreed. To seven days from now—that Saturday? You agreed to put the house on the market in one week. Even though you are leaving tomorrow and aren’t coming back to do anything else. You’re just dropping this in my lap and going?”

Jenna’s voice rose with every word until she realized that she was close to shouting. Rachel looked apologetic, but it was the kind of apology where she wasn’t sorry for what she had done, but sorry that Jenna was upset about it.

The waiter appeared with Jenna’s Caesar salad and a cup of lobster bisque for Rachel. He had the worst timing.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said when the waiter had disappeared. She put her hand across the table, but Jenna moved out of reach. “I knew it would be challenging, but I thought it might be a good thing to rip the Band-Aid off.”

“It’s not your Band-Aid.”

Rachel looked hurt, but also angry. “It’s both of ours. We’re in this together.”

“We are in this grief together, yes. But as far as the house? We’re only in it together this weekend. When you leave tomorrow, you’re leaving me in it. Alone. To do whatever all needs to be done on the list you made without me, on the timeline you decided without me. And you just expect me to jump because you say so.”

“I can’t be here, Jenns. I have a life to get back to.”

Jenna dropped her fork and it clattered against her salad plate. She was halfway to the bathroom before rational thought broke through. Her hurt and anger burned so deep that it seared her numb. When she reached the ladies’ room, she gripped the countertop and stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes darker than usual, a stormy sea.

They fought so rarely that Jenna didn’t know how to do it. Rachel decided things. Jenna agreed. That’s how it went, and she was mostly happy with it, or at least content to not have the weight of decisions fall on her shoulders. This was too much. The “I have a life” comment cut too deeply. The truth in the words made it hit harder and hurt more.

Rachel had all the things Jenna thought she would: the great husband, the kids, and the shared faith that kept them all together. Jenna had an ex-husband, which felt worse to her than never having a husband at all, no house, no job, no roots. Her faith had been shaken and her future felt like looking into fog.

But Rachel was right—these things made Jenna the only one of them who really could take on the project of their mom’s house. She had even agreed to it. Jenna knew this, but that didn’t dim her strong feelings about it. Right or not, Rachel should have asked. And she shouldn’t have said what she did. It was a low blow.

Though it was justified, Jenna’s anger felt ugly, the same way that it had when she said so many cutting things to Jackson over the last week. She didn’t want to be this person. Was it grief? Had it made her ugly and angry?

Jenna sighed out a breath and washed her hands, even though she didn’t need to. The cool water soothed her and the scent of the lavender soap made her feel fresh and lighter. Rachel would apologize. Jenna could let it go. And she could gather her strength together and get the house ready.

When she came back out to the table, there was a plate full of hushpuppies sitting in the center of the table that she hadn’t ordered. Clearly, a peace offering. Rachel’s eyes were full of apology.

“Two things,” Rachel said, chewing. “First of all, I’m sorry that I made the decision without asking you. We can totally call Kelly and shift the dates.” Jenna nodded, waiting. Rachel swallowed. “And second, you were completely right about the hushpuppies. They should be their own food group. How am I just figuring this out?”

“I’ve tried to tell you for years.”

“I should have listened.”

“You should have.” Jenna took one of the hushpuppies from the plate. It was still warm and just the right color brown. Sometimes they got over-fried, leaving them too-brown and burnt-tasting. When she took a bite, the inside was still soft, almost doughy. The flavor of herbs and onion in the mild cornmeal exploded over her tongue. She moaned.

“Yep. They can change the décor all they want as long as they keep this recipe. Still the best On Island.”

Rachel took a sip of water. “The other thing I’m sorry for is that comment. I honestly didn’t mean it how it came out. It was a horrible thing to say and an apology isn’t enough. Neither is a basket of hushpuppies.”

“Actually, I think the hushpuppies made it all good.”

“Are we okay?” Rachel asked.

Before answering, Jenna reached across the table and touched her sister’s hand. “Yes. Don’t bother calling Kelly to change the dates. I’ll finish things up this week. It will be a good challenge for me. Though you now owe me, big time.”

“Totally. One giant favor, owed to you. Done. Are you sure, though? I know this means rushing, but you can also make the closing date later if you need to. Kelly made a list of things she thought you could do before Saturday so they could have an open house. We can go over it if you want.”

“I’ll be fine. Remember I sell homes for a living? I know what to do and how to stage a house for sale. Let’s just enjoy dinner and not worry one bit about plans and packing and sad things. Okay?”

The waiter, finally timing this well, arrived with the main courses. The table was crowded with plates since Jenna had barely touched her salad and the plate of hushpuppies was definitely staying. She was relieved for a few minutes without conversation as they ate in companionable silence.

Seven days. This felt like another loss somehow, even though Jenna had known it was coming. Putting it on the market felt like a definitive ending. Not just to the house, but to her marriage and her mother’s life. To life as she knew it. It was an ending without a beginning on the other side. At least, without a beginning Jenna knew about. She wouldn’t need to move out right away. It might not sell quickly. But if it did, that didn’t necessarily mean a quick closing date. She still had time to figure out the rest of her life. Or, at least, the next step.

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