Page 35 of Summer Longing
Jaci leaned forward, looking her in the eye. “Elise, I’m not a kid anymore. I spent the whole year away, and believe me, I’ve grown up a lot. Whatever it is, if you need someone to talk to, I’m totally here for you. You guys were always there for me when my parents were driving me crazy. Which, by the way, they still are.”
Elise knew she’d said enough. “It’s fine,” she said. “It will work out.”
“Can I ask you a crazy question?” Jaci said.
“Sure.”
“Are you going to keep her?”
“That’s not a crazy question. That’sthequestion.” Elise stood, walked over to the stroller, and peered down at Mira’s tranquil face. Her mouth was making a sucking motion, signaling she would soon be awake and hungry. “I want to. More than anything. I just need to figure out the best way to make that happen.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, tell me. Seriously.”
Elise looked back at her with a smile. “You really will do anything to get out of working on that oyster farm.” She reflexively looked around to share the quip with Fern and missed her with a sudden wave of sadness. She picked up her phone and dialed, aching to hear her voice.
The call went straight to voice mail.
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia packed her bag as soon as she woke up. When she’d finished, she sat on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts against the background of loudly chirping birds.
Was it wrong to leave without saying goodbye? Probably. But she couldn’t endure one more conversation. Last night’s excruciating dinner and walk home had depleted her tolerance. Her mother, with her typical determination, just kept on talking as if she hadn’t been busted trying yet another self-serving maneuver in a lifelong line of them.
Her phone pinged. Last night she’d texted her father late:Just to let you know, Mother isn’t dying. She’s just manipulative. Is that fatal? LOL call you tomorrow.
His response had just come in:Try to make the most of your time. Remember, at the very least, it’s a much-needed vacation.
She didn’t need a vacation that badly.
She wheeled her bag quietly into the hallway, then picked it up to carry it downstairs. To avoid making noise across the hardwood floors, she carried it the rest of the way to the kitchen, where she quickly popped a coffee pod into the machine. Another few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. She could still be on the road by ten. She was surprised her mother was still sleeping. But then, she had consumed the better part of two bottles of wine last night. Olivia couldn’t blame her for that. She would have indulged in more herself if she hadn’t been stopped by the thought of having to make a five-hour drive with a hangover.
Leaning against the counter, she scrolled through her phone.
The plus side to her twenty-four hours in Provincetown was that the place was one big photo op. The waterfront restaurants, the tiny shop that sold only pink-frosted cupcakes, the pier, the Colonial Revival houses with fences draped in hydrangeas, the art galleries. She posted a photo of the view from The Red Inn across all her social platforms, drained her coffee cup and rinsed it, then wheeled her bag to the back door.
Goodbye, Provincetown. Thanks for the memories.
Halfway down the red-brick walkway, past the hydrangea bushes, she spotted a man opening the gate to the white picket fence. He wore jeans and a red T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. His hair was dark, thick, and wavy, and his well-defined arms were deeply tanned. When he looked up, he was just as surprised to see Olivia as she was to see him, and she noted that his eyes were nearly black. She could chisel a rock with his cheekbones. He said something but she completely missed it.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Her bag toppled to the ground. She hadn’t realized she’d let go of the handle.
“I was just asking if Elise is home,” he said, bending down to retrieve her suitcase. He handed it to her, and their fingers brushed in the exchange.
“I’m not sure you have the right place,” she said. “My mother is staying here. Ruth Cooperman.”
He grinned. “I’m pretty sure I have the right place. This is Elise and Fern Douglas’s house.”
Right. The keepers of the mystery baby. “Sorry—I forgot. I don’t know if Elise is here. I haven’t met her.”
“Marco Barros,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Olivia Cooperman. Do you live—”
Then she realized he was looking past her, at the house. She turned around and found her mother waving at them from the front door.
Elise woke, as she did every morning now, to the baby crying.
Fern preferred to have Mira sleep in her bassinet just a few feet down the hall in the office instead of right by their bed. But since Fern had stayed the extra night in Boston, Elise indulged in having a little roommate. Still, Mira’s company was no substitute for having her wife at home.
