Mostly. She was doing mostly just fine on her own.
Her business was all-consuming, and she was determined to make it a success—not just to prove Eric wrong, but to prove to herself she had it in her. She worked hard, harder than she ever had when she was punching the hotel clock, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
She’d been right—creating experiences for her clients, the kind they would never forget, the kind that would rank as the best of their lives, was fulfilling in a way her work hadn’t been before.
Who cared if there was no man to celebrate her? She was a legitimate businesswoman. She was almost even a success. But she still had something to prove, and she knew it.
So the anniversary party was important. Fifty years was a long time for a couple to be married, especially nowadays. The Timmons family was counting on her—surely Maggie would understand that.
But one glance at the old woman’s face told her that she was officially on lockdown.
“You want to talk about it?” Maggie asked.
“No.” Louisa looked down so she wouldn’t have to see Maggie’s disapproval.
“Are you going to call your parents?”
“No.”
“They might find out. Your dad still reads Nantucket news, and you know it’ll show up online.”
Louisa groaned again.
“Should I make you something to eat?”
“I had enough seawater to keep me full for the rest of the day, but thanks.” Louisa glanced at her unwelcome guest.
“You keep cracking your jokes, but you know this isn’t funny.”
“I know.” And if she forgot, there would surely be someone else to remind her. She didn’t know how to respond to all these people who seemed to actually care about her well-being. She didn’t like feelings. Admitting there was a trove of buried emotions underneath her happy-go-lucky exterior simply wasn’t good for her.
“If I’d lost you, well, that just wouldn’t do, now would it?”
Maggie’s gray hair was cut short, and she wasn’t fancy or elegant. She was down-to-earth and real. Maybe that was why Louisa liked her so much, why she’d been so drawn to her when she moved back. “Real” was hard to find these days. The older woman had always prided herself on speaking her mind.
Some of that had rubbed off on Louisa, and she was glad it had. It came in handy sometimes to be able to say exactly what she was thinking. Though it occurred to her she could never put into words what she was thinking about this morning’s events. Still too many feelings.
“Want to talk about your birthday party?” Louisa would love to talk about anything but her near-death experience.
Maggie grew quiet.
In the silence, Louisa heard the words the other woman didn’t say. This would likely be her last birthday, and to that end, Louisa had proposed a big bash—a fish fry down on the beach, maybe, or a clambake. A party to end all parties—a celebration of the life of Maggie Fisher.
“I haven’t thought much about it,” Maggie said. “And I don’t think now is the time for working. You need to rest, and that means turning off your brain.”
Louisa sighed. Sometimes she feared that if she turned off her brain, she wouldn’t get it to come back on.
There was a knock at the door, but nobody who visited her ever waited to be let in. Seconds later, Alyssa was standing in the living room.
“Is it true?” Louisa’s friend asked breathlessly.
“That she almost died today? Yes, it’s true.” Maggie harrumphed in the wicker chair, and it occurred to Louisa that she should get new cushions just to freshen up the room a little. It had been at least two years since she’d done any redecorating.
Ally waved the old woman off, pushed Louisa’s feet over, and sat down on the end of the couch, dropping her neat black purse onto the white wood-plank floor.
“Was it him?”
Louisa’s eyes widened in an effort to communicate to her friend to please shut up right now, but Ally wasn’t so great with nonverbal cues. Or shutting up.
“Was what who?” Maggie asked.
Alyssa picked up her bag and rummaged around. Ally was notoriously well organized—it was what made their business partnership so perfect. That was the reason Louisa had called Ally before she turned in her resignation at the hotel and pitched the idea of The Good Life to her college friend. As soon as Eric listed off everything Louisa wasn’t thinking about, she knew she couldn’t do it alone—but she wasn’t about to ask him to help.
Alyssa was a much better choice. While Louisa loved all things creative, Ally thrived on order. She was a numbers girl, an everything-in-its-place girl.
Knowing this didn’t stop Louisa from uttering a silent prayer, a last-ditch effort, that her friend’s purse had eaten whatever it was she was about to pull out—which would, no doubt, tell Maggie more than Louisa was ready to share about her accident and the man who saved her.
She and God must not have been on the same page, though, because seconds later Ally took a sheet of paper from her bag.
“‘Brant Point Coast Guard officer saves local woman during this morning’s brutal storm,’” Alyssa read aloud.
Louisa tried to snatch the paper away, but Maggie beat her to it. For someone so old, the woman had crazy-fast reflexes.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alyssa asked matter-of-factly. Ally wasn’t a romantic, but Louisa could’ve sworn her friend’s question had been punctuated with a swoony sort of sigh, the kind reserved for older women who’d lost all their self-respect.
Louisa recognized the sigh because it was the same one that silently accompanied every thought she had regarding being rescued by Cody Boggs and his ridiculously strong arms.
“He still looks the same as he does in those pictures you keep hidden in the desk drawer.” Alyssa looked at Maggie. “She thinks no one knows they’re there.”
Maggie only frowned.
“You know me, Lou—I’m a pragmatist—but even I can admit this is romantic. The same guy you made that pact with all those years ago. Arguably your first love. The one that got away. Now back only a couple of months before the golden birthday, and not only is he here, he’s a hero.” Ally made these statements like a newscaster, listing off facts.
These were not facts. There was nothing romantic about throwing up salt water onto the lap of the aforementioned man.
Louisa stood, picked up her tea, and walked into the kitchen, aware that Maggie was reading whatever blog post Ally had printed out. Also aware that overzealous bloggers typically included critical details like names of heroic Coasties who rescued drowning women from the ocean.
Sigh.
“Louisa Elizabeth Chambers?”
Louisa grimaced. “Mary Margaret Fisher?”
But Maggie wasn’t in a joking mood. She now stood in the doorway, and Louisa resisted the urge to remind the older woman that she was there to take care of her—not threaten her life.
“I knew it was him.” Alyssa appeared at Maggie’s side. “And back just months before your thirtieth birthday.”
“You mentioned that already.” Louisa glared at her friend.
“It was worth repeating.” Ally remained unwilling to read Louisa’s nonverbal cues.