It was easy for Olivia to decide she liked Jesse. On the long walk as he accompanied her home, they never ran out of things to talk about, like they had known each other forever. By the time they had reached Millionaire’s Cove and the McGovern house where her family was staying, they agreed Jessie would gradually introduce her to the ocean in such a way that she could overcome her fear.
Olivia cast a glance to the handsome young man beside her. Yes. She definitely liked him. She liked his laugh and the way he made her feel safe and protected. Olivia took in his profile as they walked along, her swinging her arms, him pushing her bike. His wet hair had dried in clumps that landed on his shoulders. Back at the Tiki Hut, she’d watched with newfound interest as he rubbed his bare chest with a large colorful beach towel. He was good-looking, about six foot tall, well built, strong jaw, great smile, straight white teeth, and in the low light he appeared to have green eyes. He’d be a great study. She wished she had her sketchbook. Olivia’s passion was art. As they walked on, she continued to inspect him with her artist’s eye. And Jesse didn’t seem to mind. Tomorrow, she’d meet Jesse again. And one day, she’d draw him.
Chapter Four
Present Day
Angela
The doorbell rang, and Angela brushed the hair from her face. She’d been on her knees in the kitchen and her joints groaned as she rose. “Coming,” she yelled, as if the visitor could hear her from the distance. It had been a week since she and her friends had hauled out her furniture. A week of cleaning, scrubbing, and repair work in The Reclamation, as she had begun to refer to it. She was reclaiming her home. And in doing so, she was reclaiming her life. Each morning was a little easier. The first day after her girls had left, Angela walked down the stairs to the living room she’d emptied, and she cried. Day #2 of The Reclamation, she’d only offered a pensive glance to the cavernous and lonely rooms on her way to the coffeepot. But Day #3, well, it was Day #3 she’d listened to each echo of her footfalls as she’d descended the stairs. At the bottom, she’d given her house a long, meaningful look. And then, she’d laughed. She laughed like a crazy woman and before the day was over, Angela had scrubbed every wall and corner of the sprawling entryway and living room.
“I’m coming,” she repeated to the persistent knocker at her front door. Before she could get there, Angela stopped dead in her tracks. Was the cavernous room playing tricks on her ears? She swore she heard a key turning in her front door lock.
Her keys were hanging on the wall, and Jesse had left for the evening to go visit his mother. Was someone breaking in? The place was empty, a lot of good it would do them. The sound vanished and she decided she must have imagined it.
After the cleaning, she had called in a painter to freshen the downstairs. Honey butter for the walls in the main living spaces, and warm and inviting mocha for the library where dark woods welcomed visitors. The rest of the house had bright white trim and crown moldings. She’d decided to spring for a fresh coat on the trim work too. It looked fantastic. Like an altogether different place. Her place. She’d also chosen new light fixtures. Jesse, along with two boys from Bayside, had installed a contemporary chandelier in the entry where an ugly, ornate antique beast had presided over the foyer for years. She’d also added other fixtures supporting the whimsical design sense Angela had never known she possessed. Several times over the last few days of cleaning and painting, she’d tried to ask Jesse about the photo she’d found in his wallet. The photo of Olivia. But before she could get the words out, she always lost her nerve. Who was the mysterious young girl in the picture, a girlfriend? Had they been in love? If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Boundaries, his boundaries, she’d have to respect that.
She had just turned to leave the room when the jingle of keys in the door lock returned. Angela grabbed a fireplace poker from beside the mantle and held it like a weapon. Whoever was coming in would be sorry.
She heard a woman mumbling on the other side of the door as the intruder struggled with the latch that always seemed to stick. Angela herself knew the trick to opening the door, but her evil side had never allowed her to share it with Brice. It was like the house was letting him know it never really wanted him there. Brice couldn’t be on the other side of the door, could he? If so, his voice had morphed into a woman’s.
Then, the door flew open to reveal Lorene Baker as she stumbled over the threshold. Brice’s mother wore a pale green designer suit, and an alligator skin bag dangled from her forearm. Her frown poisoned any attractiveness she once possessed, and right now she directed all that venom at Angela.
Until, of course, she realized the house was empty. The sound emanating from her ex-mother-in-law was first a gasp and then a screech. A mind-numbing screech sending icy nails down Angela’s back.
“What have you done to our beach house?” The sound became a voice … with actual words. The shrill tone sliced straight through Angela. No doubt her ears would hemorrhage. Angela’s first instinct was to explain.
Lorene took an accusatory step toward her. “And what do you plan to do with that poker?”
Angela glanced down at it. “I thought you were an intruder.”
Lorene scoffed. “Intruders don’t use keys, Angela.” She’d always said her name with such contempt.
A thought occurred to her. She didn’t have to put up with Lorene’s condescension. She was, after all, no longer any relation to the horrible woman. Angela had always liked Brice’s father. How Cogburn Baker survived in the family of elite snobs, she had no idea. But he’d always been kind to her. She glanced past Lorene. “Is Cog with you?” Hopeful. Too hopeful.
“No, Cogburn is not with me.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m glad. He’d be crushed to see what you’re doing with our home. Our wonderful winter home,” she whined.
“My home,” Angela said, but it was only a whisper and too low for Lorene to hear. It was Brice who’d decided at the last possible moment that he wasn’t willing to give up their home in Connecticut. It was Brice who agreed to give Angela the beach house in the divorce. He’d never cared about it—even if it had been in his family for decades. But what he did care about was uprooting Angela from her home in New Haven. He’d been shocked—she’d seen it in his eyes—when she agreed to give him the Connecticut home in exchange for the beach house.
“I arrived just in time.” Lorene disappeared from the front door and before Angela could breathe a sigh of relief, she reappeared with a suitcase.
There were moments in everyone’s life when they knew they were certain to die. Moments when all of life flashes through the mind, numbing the senses and creating a sort of haze of acceptance. For Angela, this was not one of those moments. It was, in fact, just the opposite. Instead of accepting her fate, a new sensation sprung forth, one that fought, one that wasn’t above having a knock-down-drag-out with her ex-mother-in-law. “You’re not staying here.” The words burst unchecked from Angela’s mouth. But if she had checked them, she would have stamped USDA Prime on them and still let them fly.
Lorene waved a hand in the air. “Of course, I am.” One tattooed brow arched.