Page 87 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

When they finished showing most of Jacob’s work, Remy took Greg on a walk to show him the property.

“This place is unbelievable,” he said when they returned to the cottage. “You should Airbnb it.”

“We’re going to go down to the village to grab something to eat for lunch,” Remy said, grabbing her purse. “Want to join us?”

Meredith shook her head. “I think I’ll stay and finish up a few things here.”

She wanted to go through some more of the basement.

“We’ll be back,” Remy said as she closed the door behind her.

Meredith walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. With her water, she meandered into the dining room and stood next to the piano. She opened the cover, hitting F sharp, and listened to its magical sound fill the room and slowly disappear.

She set her water down on the table’s placemat and turned to the piano. She listened to the empty house. Then, carefully, she pulled out the wooden bench and sat down at its keyboard. With her heel anchored on the floor and the ball of her foot on the pedal, she closed her eyes and began to play.

The song had been one of her mother’s favorites from her days of being a little girl playing for her own mother. “Till We Meet Again” was the title, but Meredith had never seen the sheet music for it. She had only memorized it by heart from hearing it over and over throughout the years. Once, as a little girl, she had played it one day for her mother, and it had made her cry.

After that, Meredith loved seeing people’s reaction to her performing music. She enjoyed seeing the emotions it brought out in her and others. The days of performing at school, then college, and finally her dream job at the Boston Symphony Orchestra, had been her whole world.

And when she’d had Cora, she hadn’t wanted to give up her career, because stepping down from the orchestra to take care of her children would end it. And she’d known that. The last concert she had performed in Boston, she’d cried. She had blamed it on the pregnancy, but she hadn’t stopped crying until she had fallen asleep that night. Phillip had never even acknowledged her sacrifice. Why only now did she see the problem with that?

Meredith finished the song and let the quiet settle around her, listening to the soft crashing of the waves from outside.

She got up, walked to the back porch, and stepped outside, looking out at the foaming whitecaps on the waves’ crests. The endless blue sky didn’t have a cloud in it, just a flock of birds floating above the water’s surface.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She picked it up, hoping it would be one of the kids, when she saw it was Phillip.

She tried to calculate the age of the baby and couldn’t. How old was she now?

A month? Six weeks?

She silenced it and stared at his name. Months ago, she would have been relieved to see that he was still calling, and she would have taken the call immediately. She’d have listened to his complaints, like always, and would have eased his worries about everything. Then she would have hoped and prayed he’d changed his mind and come back to her.

She pulled open the screen door and walked inside, back to the piano, and sat down in front of it.

She turned on the screen of her phone and called Gordon.

“Hey, sugarplum,” he answered.

“Hey, Daddy,” she said, tears immediately stinging her eyes.

“What are you all up to today?” he asked.

She took a second, collecting herself before answering, and said, “I wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing great,” he said. “Just waiting for my buddy Bill to come and pick me up for a round of golf.”

“That sounds nice,” she said.

“Yes, it does,” he said. “How’s it going up there?”

“Remy has her art collector friend here today,” Meredith said.

“Is he there to help with Jacob’s paintings?”

“Yeah, he suggested we have an auction and invite collectors to come here and see his collection,” she said, wishing she could just get to the point.

Her whole life, she had tiptoed around Gordon when it came to Jacob and his paternity. Never once had she ever asked Gordon his feelings about her real father or his wife’s first husband, because she had thought Gordon wouldn’t want to talk about it, but it had been her who hadn’t wanted to talk. Gordon had always talked about things.

---