Page 65 of Not Another Beach Read
I nodded, my mind already turning over the possibilities. This wasn't some stranger's marriage—this was Allison, who'd become part of our extended circle. Who trusted Holly with her son.
"Thanks for telling me," I said finally. "I won't go full Nancy Drew, but I'll keep an eye out. Maybe Holly's noticed something during her babysitting."
Cat squeezed my arm. "That's all I'm asking. Just... awareness."
After she left, I stood at the counter, tapping my fingers against the wood. The old Elyse would already be plotting surveillance and background checks. I was considering Drew's and my friends' words, especially now that Holly was living with us, but as I returned to my cleaning, I couldn't help but wonder what was written on that note. And who would leave it for Allison. And why.
27
HOLLY
Iwasn't eavesdropping, not exactly. I was just organizing the teen section at Aunt Elyse's bookstore when Cat came in looking all serious. They moved to the reading nook, voices low, but sound carried in that old building. Something about Allison and notes on her car.
It stuck with me the whole afternoon, even as I pushed Noah on the swing at the park across the street while his mom finished her shift at the café. Noah was different that day. Quieter, glancing toward the café door every few minutes like he was checking for someone.
"My grandma says I'm staying home with her while mama works at the cafe this weekend," he announced suddenly, knocking over the tower we'd spent twenty minutes building.
"That sounds fun," I said automatically, helping him gather the scattered blocks.
He shook his head, lower lip jutting out. "I don't wanna. Can't I stay with you?" He looked around and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Mama is extra sad at Grandma's house."
I tried to keep my face neutral, remembering what Aunt Elyse had said about not prying. "Oh? Why's that?"
Noah shrugged with the dramatic flair only a four-year-old can manage. "Grandma yells when she thinks I'm sleeping. Says mean things that make Mama cry. I don't think grandma likes my mama very much."
My stomach tightened. I knew that feeling—pretending to be asleep while adults fought, the helpless anger of being too small to do anything about it.
"Did you tell your mom that you heard?" I asked carefully.
Noah shook his head again. "Mama pretends she's not sad. I pretend I don't hear the yelling." He ducked his head and lowered his voice to a whisper. "We have secrets."
The matter-of-fact way he said it broke something inside me. I'd had those same "secrets" with my mom. That unspoken agreement to pretend everything was fine when it so clearly wasn't.
"Hey Noah," I said, stacking a red block on top of our rebuilding tower. "You know how your mom takes care of you?"
He nodded, adding a blue block.
"Well, sometimes grown-ups need people to take care of them too. If you're worried about your mom, it's okay to tell someone."
"Like who?" he asked, his eyes wide and serious.
"Like Miss Elyse. Or Miss Cat." I handed him another block. "We care about your mom a lot."
Noah considered this, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Grandma says Mama doesn't know how to be a good mama without Daddy. That's why Grandma has to watch her all the time."
My chest tightened. I'd heard similar things growing up: how my mom couldn't handle being a parent, how she needed to be "monitored." But it sounded like what Noah had overheard hadn't been about helping; it had been about control.
"Your mom is a great mom," I said firmly. "She works really hard and makes sure you're safe and happy."
"And she makes the best peanut butter sandwiches," Noah added seriously. "With the crusts cut off and in triangles."
"Exactly. The very best triangles."
The café door opened, and Allison stepped onto the patio. Her smile looked strained around the edges, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
"Ready to go, buddy?" she asked Noah, her voice forcibly bright.
Noah ran to her, wrapping his arms around her legs. "Can we have mac and cheese for dinner?"
