Elizabeth of East Hampton (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

Lizzy wasn’t sure why she bothered opening the bakery on Tuesday. They had decided to close for the past couple of days, waiting for Mr. Bennet to return. But her father still wasn’t back from the city yet, and there had been no word on Mary. The entire town was still ignoring them, too. A rational person probably would have kept the bakery doors locked today, maybe even used the free day as an excuse to spend a few hours in the surf.

But surfing only reminded her of Montauk. How she had stood on the brink of something real and terrifying and perfect, and then it had fallen apart. She wanted to blame Mary or Tristan, but in the end, it still came back to her. She was the one who’d insisted on facing this alone. She was the one who drove away.

Lizzy felt off-kilter, like someone had picked her up and set her back in a place that should be familiar, but everything was slightly askew. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that nothing felt right.

So she did the only thing she could: she opened the bakery.

She walked through the back door at five a.m., flipped on the Open sign at eight, and by noon the Smiths were playing overhead, and Lizzy was leaning against the counter reading Oracle of the Damned , the new Susan Vernon romantasy she had been waiting to open for weeks. She was so lost in the heroine’s attempted escape from her shape-shifting kidnapper that she missed the sound of the bell above the door. But then Donna appeared in front of the register, smiling so broadly a bit of her red lipstick stuck to her teeth.

“Hello, dear!” she said in a singsong tone that made every syllable feel like the prelude to a musical number.

Lizzy jumped, almost dropping her book as her body bolted upright.

Donna didn’t wait for a reply as she barreled on. “I’ll have our regular order, please. But no coffee.”

Lizzy narrowed her eyes with the distinct feeling that she’d missed a step. “Okay…”

“I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake,” Donna replied, her voice suddenly low with the weight of the apparent hardship. “I read a recent study that said caffeine can be linked to an increased risk of anxiety. Can you believe that?”

It was all so normal that Lizzy wondered if she had imagined the last forty-eight hours, or if she had somehow woken up in a parallel dimension. She went through the motions of putting together Donna’s regular Tuesday order—four blueberry scones, two baguettes, and one loaf of banana bread—while Donna continued to pontificate on this week’s new dietary challenge.

“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” Lizzy said when there was finally a brief lull in the monologue.

Donna’s forehead creased. “Of course I came in. It’s Tuesday. I always come in on Tuesday before book club.”

“I just thought, with everything going on with Mary…” Lizzy said carefully, “…and Tristan?”

“Oh, that .” Donna waved her hand in the air as if batting away Lizzy’s concerns. “I’m just happy it all worked out.”

“What worked out?”

“The whole Mary thing, obviously. I told Hank it was a misunderstanding, and sure enough, some law firm contacted him this morning about reimbursing Tristan’s fee by the end of the week.”

Lizzy blinked. “Tristan is giving back the money?”

“Apparently. In any case, cooler minds prevailed. Tristan must have realized it’s not Hank’s fault that Mary has issues.”

Lizzy was struck dumb. Before she could find the words to ask Donna to elaborate, the woman was already distracted. “Oh! You still have sour cherry muffins! It’s my lucky day. Can I grab a half dozen of those, too?”

Donna kept talking while Lizzy completed the order, waiting for another moment to glean as much information as she could. But Donna only babbled on, and Lizzy continued to listen, so confused she almost missed the faint sound of her cell phone ringing from the office. By the time it registered in her brain, the ringing stopped. Then it immediately started again.

Lizzy was tempted to just walk back and get it—Donna was so involved with counting out change that Lizzy doubted she would notice her absence. But then the woman pulled a penny from her wallet with a flourish.

“There you go!” Donna announced, dropping exactly $38.71 on the counter. “Thanks, Lizzy. Oh, and can you ask Jane if she can help with the haunted hayride again this year? We need her students to paint the side of the trailer to hide the logo for Larry’s Lawn Service and make the whole thing look haunted. She can do that, right? Like a class project? Maybe I’ll just call your mother. I need her to pick up some of the pumpkins for the carving contest anyway.”

Donna was still talking as she walked out the door, balancing the cardboard box in one hand and pulling her phone out of her bag with the other. Meanwhile, Lizzy headed toward the back.

In the office, she pulled her bag out from under the desk. Her cell phone was ringing again, but by the time she found it at the bottom, hidden below a tube of sunscreen, it had fallen silent. The screen was still lit up, though, displaying the fact that she had eight missed calls and a litany of text messages from her sisters.

JANE

Did you disconnect the bakery phone?

KITTY

Is your phone on silent?

JANE

I’m at school until 3 but call me when you can!

KITTY

I can’t believe you’re missing this rn.

LYDIA

Bring home some sour cherry muffins im starving

Lizzy’s heart began to race. What the hell was going on?

The familiar chaos of the Bennet house welcomed Lizzy when she walked in. Laughing and yelling, pots and pans clattering, all happening over the sound of the ancient air conditioner clattering away in the front window. It was so normal that Lizzy stood for a moment in the foyer, hesitant to break the odd spell.

Then Kitty poked her head around the corner and saw her. “Lizzy’s home!”

Here we go , she thought.

Lizzy followed Kitty into the living room. Lydia was on her phone, deep in conversation on the sofa as Kitty landed beside her, listening intently to whatever her sister was saying. In the kitchen, Mrs. Bennet was filling a glass of wine with one hand and holding her phone to her ear with the other.

Lydia’s head popped up when she saw the white cardboard box in Lizzy’s hand. “Muffins!”

Lizzy deposited the box on her sister’s lap as she stopped next to the couch. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” Kitty replied, even as her eyes went wide, a telltale admission of guilt. Lydia, on the other hand, had no such tell.

“Where are the scones?” she whined.

Lizzy was too tired to answer as she headed for the kitchen. Her mother was leaning against the counter, deep in conversation and oblivious to Lizzy’s arrival. And behind her, at the kitchen table, was Mary, slathering a Pop-Tart with peanut butter. Scattered around her were piles of food wrappers—Oreos and Pringles and Sour Patch Kids.

“Oh my God,” Lizzy said, rushing around the table and embracing Mary’s blue pixie cut in a hug. “When did you get back?”

“A few minutes ago,” Mary replied, her voice muffled by the sleeve of Lizzy’s sweatshirt.

Lizzy released her and fell into a nearby chair. “And?”

Mary paused mid-chew. “And what?”

Lizzy’s eyes widened. “Mary, you were in jail yesterday and now you’re sitting at the kitchen table OD’ing on food with artificial preservatives in nonbiodegradable packaging.”

She held up a half-empty bag of gummies. “These are going carbon neutral by 2030.”

Lizzy sighed, pushing her hair away from her face. “What happened?”

“A miscarriage of justice.”

“No, I mean, why aren’t you still in jail? Did Dad post your bail?”

“No.” Mary took another bite of her Pop-Tart. “Tristan dropped the charges.”

Lizzy blinked. “Why would he do that?”

“Probably because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Mary, you destroyed an insanely expensive piece of art.”

“Yeah, but he deserved it.”

“Because he was securing the permits on Gretna Island for HamptonFest?”

Mary snorted out a laugh.

“Oh, please. He didn’t even try to secure those permits. He got Hank to pay him to come out here all summer and ‘consult’ or whatever, but he was just living it up without doing anything.”

“How do you know that?”

“Green Justice monitors all permit applications,” Mary replied, as if the fact was obvious. Then she took another bite of her Pop-Tart. “Hank had been hounding the office about HamptonFest for the past three summers, but this year? Not one permit application. Not even a phone call.”

Lizzy stilled as everything seemed to click into place in her brain. “Oh my God.”

“I know,” Mary said around her mouthful of food. “Capitalist pig.”

“Why didn’t you tell Hank?”

“He got a restraining order against me.” Mary shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, I didn’t want him to know and actually fix the issue. It’s not like we wanted the permits to go through.”

Lizzy shook her head. “If you were happy for Tristan to do nothing, then why crash his party and destroy that painting?”

“Didn’t you ever hear him brag about the fact that he only flies on private jets?” Mary replied, disgusted. “Those cause fourteen times the pollution of commercial planes. He’s a climate criminal.”

Lizzy had assumed Mary’s resentment toward Tristan had been because of the endangered island slugs; it hadn’t even occurred to her that it would be about anything other than that.

“Mary, I swear to God, if I hear you say the words ‘climate criminal’ one more time!” her mother hissed, holding her hand over the phone as if it would mute her voice. Then she removed it and her pinched face transformed into a smile again. “Oh, Barb, I told you it was nothing, so it’s not a surprise, you know?”

“Whatever,” Mary said, standing up with her Pop-Tart in one hand and the jar of peanut butter in the other. “I’m going to my room.”

It was dark by the time Lizzy headed outside to the sailboat parked on the lawn. She had fixed as much as she could—now it was time for answers. Or at least commiseration.

Her father was sitting at the small table in the galley kitchen. His head was down, focused on a letter in his hand, so he didn’t notice her until she was carefully navigating the narrow ladder down to the cabin.

“Hey.”

He looked up. The hard line of his brow softened slightly. “Hey, kiddo.”

She sat down on the bottom rung. “So.”

“So,” he repeated with a sigh. “Did you see Mary?”

Lizzy nodded. “She was eating everything in the pantry. I guess the NYPD doesn’t offer a vegan menu in jail.”

He chuckled, but it faded quickly.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. “What happened?”

“Good question.” He scratched at the stubble that had grown around his mustache. “It took a while to track down where she was being held. By the time I got to her this morning, they told us this Tristan guy had dropped all charges and she was free to go.”

“You’re sure?”

He didn’t reply, just handed over the papers in his hand. The words Affidavit of Non-Prosecution were emblazoned on the top, followed by a long block of text that she could only skim. The words “right to counsel” and “State of New York” jumped out, along with Tristan’s name and signature, and the capitalized statement: I DO NOT WISH TO PROSECUTE. Beside it, another signature from a law firm called Page, Lefroy, and Brandon LLP.

She stared down at it for a long moment. “But… why would he do that?”

“No idea. But I’m not going to argue. I guess that painting was worth over a million dollars, so it would have been a felony.”

Lizzy’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

He nodded.

“But I don’t get it. She admitted it. The video is everywhere.”

“I guess he changed his mind. Which would explain why Hank got an email promising to have Tristan’s entire fee returned this week, too.”

Lizzy looked down at the papers again. None of it made sense. But she also didn’t want to question it. They barely had enough money to cover the recent renovations to the bakery—she had no idea where they would have found the funds for a lawyer, and bail, and court…

She sighed, pushing her hair away from her face. “So, how long is she grounded?”

“Not sure I can get away with grounding a twenty-two-year-old. Besides, I can’t blame her.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “You can’t?”

“Well, I can blame her for the felony,” he said. “But I can’t blame her for being passionate about something. She’s doing what makes her happy.”

“Criminal trespassing and destruction of property?” Lizzy groaned.

He chuckled again. “No. Following her heart. Not getting bogged down by everybody’s expectations.” He looked down, his gaze sliding over the floor of the boat. “Not all of us are that brave.”

The words landed heavy in the small cabin, swallowed up only by the silence that followed.

“You’re telling me Mary’s your favorite?”

He smiled and stood up. “I’m going to bed. Bring in the lantern when you come in so the battery doesn’t run out.”

Lizzy didn’t move as he climbed up onto the deck and down the ladder to the lawn. And it was another minute after she heard the front door close before she pulled her phone from her pocket. Before she opened her email and went into her drafts.

The email to Columbia’s School of Journalism claiming her deferred spot for January was still sitting there, waiting.

If Mary could follow her heart, so could she. It was time.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pressed send.