Page 75 of Sometimes You Stay

“But...” Cretia pulled back only far enough to stare up into his face. “I know I only met your dad once, but that doesn’t sound like him. He’s so proud of you.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just surprised that I haven’t failed yet.”

Eighteen

The next three days flew by, and Cretia stuffed as many memories as she could into every moment. She captured many of them on her phone—Joe Jr. leading a parade of furry black dogs through the tall pasture grass, Abner rolling around in the sunshine, and Sonny and Cher prancing around the barn.

Some she couldn’t record—like the smell of the harbor as she and Finn walked Joe and the Fab Four down the boardwalk. The way it was easier to breathe in the island air than any other place she’d visited. The way the faces and greetings of the locals had become familiar and welcome.

Some memories, though, were only for herself—the smell of Finn’s aftershave, the strength of his embrace, and the safety she felt at his side. Even if she could have recorded those, she wouldn’t have shared them with anyone else.

She’d come to this island to share it with her followers. But some memories were only hers.

And some things would break her heart.

Like her love for Finn.

So when Jack yelled up the stairs that a box had arrivedfor her, Cretia could barely pluck up an ounce of excitement at the news. Yanking the quilt over her head, she closed her eyes and prayed for a reprieve. Just another day. Another week. Another year.

It would never be enough. She would always hate leaving.

But just because she hated doing it didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing. She’d made that decision long ago.

Rolling out of bed, she ran a hand through her hair and then slipped on the same gray hoodie she’d worn the night Bella gave birth. She paused only long enough to duck into the bathroom and brush her teeth before slumping down to the kitchen.

Jack had disappeared, but Marie puttered around the kitchen, wiping down countertops as Jessie sat in a wooden high chair inspecting and then eating individual Cheerios from the tray before her. Her pudgy fingers were damp and probably sticky and ridiculously adorable as she jabbered in her seat.

Marie looked up as Cretia reached the bottom step. “I thought maybe you’d already gone to Finn’s this morning.”

Cretia shrugged as she reached the island and stared at the mailing label on the brown box before her. Someone had scribbled “CANADA” in black marker above an extra sticker or three. The corners of the box were a little roughed up, but she had no doubt that the white box inside it was still in pristine condition. The tech company always packed her equipment carefully.

“I’m not going to lie. I half expected you to hug that box when it finally arrived.” Marie began to chuckle at herself but stopped short.

Three weeks ago, she would have. Without a doubt, she’d have scooped it up, pulled together every meager thing sheowned, gotten a ride to Charlottetown, and hopped on the next plane to anywhere else.

“You don’t even look pleased that it’s here,” Marie said.

“I am.” The lie slipped out far too easily.

“Are you hungry? I can make you some frozen waffles or something.”

Her stomach threatened to mutiny at the very thought of food of any kind. “No thanks. Let me help you.” She marched to the dishwasher and began unloading it, never once having to ask where something went. A perk and a responsibility of kitchen privileges.

Marie shot her a smile as she put away a stack of plates. “We’re going to miss you around here.”

“No, you’re not.” Though she liked the idea of someone missing her more than she cared to admit. “Your guests will start arriving with the tourist season, and then you’ll be way too busy to think about me.”

“Oh, that’s not true.” Marie wet a washcloth under the faucet and wiped up Jessie’s mouth and fingers. “I guarantee you that guests don’t help clean up the kitchen.”

“So you just want me for my manual labor?”

Marie laughed. “Not at all. If I thought it would influence your decision, I’d offer to let you stay here as a real guest—with no manual labor—for as long as you wanted.”

The weight of Marie’s words settled heavily on her chest, and Cretia rubbed at the spot over her heart. “That’s very kind of you,” she managed to get out.

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

“Yes. I do.” Cretia pulled out the top rack of the dishwasher and grabbed a towel to dry off the plastic sippy cups and colorful plates. “But if it matters at all, this is the firstplace I’ve ever wished that wasn’t true. No place has ever felt quite so safe. And you and Finn—I’ve never had friends like you before.”

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