Page 10 of The Summer that Changed Everything

“I’m talking about the future,” he clarified. “Let’s move forward with a renewed commitment to kindness—for the sake of our child,” he added, turning her own words back on her.

“That isn’t what our child needs. He needs both a mother and a father.”

“You don’t know it’s a ‘he.’” And a “he” wouldn’t tempt him back any more than a “she,” so she was throwing out another hook that wasn’t going to snag him. He’d love a child of either gender.

“I have a feeling it is.”

“Well, you’re mistaken if you think I have a strong preference.”

“You’re not interested in trying to make our marriage work either way?”

“Itcan’twork! We’ve already tried,” he said, and considering how long he’d suffered over the breakup, he was relieved to find he was truly done this time. He’d had enough.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Then I’ll just tell our child his father didn’t give a shit about him.”

“Christina—” he said, but she disconnected.

He sighed as he slid his phone back into his pocket. No wonder he’d enjoyed cleaning up the yard around the Smoot cottage. It was something hecouldfix. Nothing else in his life seemed to fall into that category.

The sound of a car turning into the drive caught his attention, and he quickly ducked behind a thick bush. He’d lingered too long. Now, if he didn’t want to be seen, he had to stay out of sight.

Was it Lucy? Or Dahlia, coming to see if Lucy had arrived and was getting settled in?

When the engine shut off and he heard a door open, he couldn’t help trying to peer through the leaves—and could immediately tell it wasn’t Dahlia. This woman was taller, thinner and had the same long, curly black hair he remembered Lucy having. She’d waited until the first of the month to move in, but she was here now.

She was in the driveway, and he didn’t have the best vantagepoint, so he couldn’t see her face clearly. The glimpses of her he did catch told him only that she was dressed in a white T-shirt, faded jeans and a pair of sneakers.

Her style hadn’t changed much. She still looked as if she preferred comfortable, casual clothing. But then... she’d been traveling. What he saw might not mean much.

He waited while she stood looking at the house. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of a smile—but the most he got was a look of cautious trepidation. Then she reached back in the car for several bags of groceries before jogging up the stairs to the porch.

He couldn’t see her after that, but he heard the spring of the screen door as she held it while trying to get inside. It took her so long he was tempted to see what the problem was.

She finally got in, at which point he was going to slip back over to Coastal Comfort, but she must’ve set the groceries on the counter and turned around right away, because she came back for her purse and a backpack.

He waited until she’d taken that inside, too. Then he grabbed his edger, because it was close, and left his other tools where they lay, figuring he could slip over and grab them after dark or when she went to town for something. He wanted to get away while he could do it cleanly. Her first moments here had to be hard enough; he didn’t want to make them any worse.

As he started down the dirt path leading to the beach, he couldn’t help turning back to look, with some satisfaction, at the landscaping he’d put in place. It was picture-perfect—unlike everything else.

4

The inside of the cottage was about what Lucy had expected—worn but functional with dated furniture and lots and lots of books. Lucy was hoping Sharon Smootwouldbe able to come home. The former librarian was kinder than most people, had brought over a casserole and homemade rolls after Mick was arrested. Sharon never specifically addressed the murders or Lucy’s father’s involvement when she stopped by that night with dinner. Lucy guessed she’d been as shocked as anyone, and yet she’d offered a scared seventeen-year-old girl a warm smile and a meal and didn’t rush to judgment.

That Sharon had shown some self-restraint and compassion was part of the reason Lucy had wanted to rent her cottage—it was one of the few places left in North Hampton Beach with which she had a positive association. She was also drawn to it for its location, of course. She liked that the cottage was sheltered and out-of-the-way. She didn’t want to attract too much attention.

But once the Clarks learned she was in town, they probably wouldn’t allow her to lietoolow, so maybe she wouldn’t be able to avoid it.

After she finished putting away the groceries she’d purchased, she went back out to get her suitcase. Whoever was taking care of the yard was doing a fabulous job, she thought, as she noticed the carefully tended bushes, shrubs and flowers. She didn’t remember the place looking this nice when she lived in town before and was surprised Dahlia hadn’t posted photos of the exterior. If she had, the cottage probably would’ve rented before Lucy could even inquire about it. It was tourist season, after all. North Hampton Beach didn’t get as busy as Virginia Beach and some of the other towns, but it still received an influx of people looking for sun and sand and a chance to get away.

Apprehensive about being seen, she took a furtive look around before hauling her big suitcase out of the SUV she’d rented at Ronald Reagan Airport, where she’d flown in. She felt safer inside the house. But there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the immediate vicinity, so she breathed a sigh of relief and used her key fob to lock the vehicle. When she’d first moved to North Hampton Beach with her father, most people didn’t even bother to lock their cars or their houses. Such precautions hadn’t seemed necessary.

That’d all changed with the murders, of course. Or maybe it’d been long enough that things had gone back to normal, but she guessedshe’dstill be a target for the vandalism and other acts of hate she’d begun to experience once her father was tied to the deaths that’d occurred here, so she was going to do what she could to protect herself.

As she dragged her suitcase inside, she noticed a roll of plastic lawn bags, some clippers, pruning shears and a rake at the side of the house. Apparently, the gardener had forgotten some tools. So she went to retrieve them and put them in the detachedgarage, which was full of storage anyway, to save them until he or she came next time.

After that, she tried to distract herself by becoming acquainted with the contents of the kitchen so the nostalgia—and the more difficult memories that kept bubbling up—wouldn’t overwhelm her. But staying busy wasn’t enough. As the sun started to set, her spirits began to sink, too. Had she been a fool to return here? What did she really hope to accomplish? How would she go about it? And how long would it take?

Thatwas probably one of the biggest questions because she wasn’t convinced she’d be able to last the entire summer.

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