Playing for Keeps in Starr’s Fall (Starr’s Fall #2)

Chapter 1

1

The turkey sat in the middle of the table, cooling and congealing and generally looking unappetizing. It wasn’t even a real turkey, just a pre-cooked turkey crown that had come with shrink-wrapped veggies on the side, an all-in-one Thanksgiving dish that looked like she’d bought it at a minimart. She should have done better, Maggie thought with regret. It was just that neither of them had really cared about Thanksgiving this year, and she hadn’t had the energy for anything more. But now that she and Ben were sitting in front of it, she wished she’d gone to a little bit more effort, tried to make this something like the Thanksgivings they remembered.

“Shall we say what we’re thankful for?” she suggested brightly, and her son simply stared at her.

Maggie opened her mouth, closed it again. The trouble was, she was just so tired , and all the truisms for this situation— time heals all wounds, it’s okay to feel sad —had been said and done to death. And really, that was what this was about. Death.

Thirteen months on, they still hadn’t gotten past Matt’s death. And why should they? Thirteen months, Maggie had learned, was pretty much nothing when it came to grief, especially when you had lost someone as vital to your life as your husband or your father. Thirteen months was just the beginning, the veritable tip of an enormous iceberg that stretched coldly and darkly miles below the ocean, seething with all sorts of emotions that were so utterly exhausting to acknowledge, never mind examine and process. Grief, she’d discovered, was far more complex than she’d wanted it to be.

“Should we just go?” she asked instead, her words falling into the silence of their yawning dining room like tiny pebbles into a pond. They were seated at one end of a table that could host fourteen, the house echoing emptily all around them.

Ben looked up, which Maggie told herself was a win. Hours, even days, could go by without her son looking her in the eye.

“What?” he asked.

“Should we just go?” Her voice came out stronger; she was getting into this. “Forget the turkey.” Turkey crown . “Let’s do something different today. We can drive to Starr’s Fall and check out the new house.”

Ben shook his head slowly, skeptical, even suspicious of such an idea. “But we’re not moving till January.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t look at it now,” Maggie argued. She had a sudden burning desire, a need , like an itch all over her skin, to get out of this house with its eleven-foot-high ceilings and cathedral foyer, its sweeping double staircase and its kitchen that was as big as a basketball court. Well, pickleball, maybe, but still, it was huge and full of Carrera marble and gleaming chrome, everything look-at-me shiny and unrelentingly hard. She’d loved the house, or thought she had… once. She didn’t anymore.

“Let’s go,” she said again, and for emphasis, she slapped her hands on the dining-room table, hard enough for her palms to sting.

Ben simply stared. Her son was good at staring. He had several different kinds. Like the blank-eyed I-absolutely-don’t-care look that made Maggie shrivel inside. Or the narrowed death stare of doom for when she was embarrassing him, which was, Maggie had discovered—to her regret, shame, and exasperation—very easy to do. And worst of all, the one that cut her to the heart every time, the silent swamped stare of misery, when she knew how wretched he felt and that there was nothing she could do about it.

Except she had done something about it. In the last month alone, she’d withdrawn her son from school and bought a house in what he’d insisted was his favorite place in the world, Starr’s Fall, Connecticut. She’d also sunk a hefty chunk of Matt’s life insurance into a business she really had no idea how to run.

Whether she should have done those things was another matter entirely, but she had, and now they were here, waiting out the rest of the semester before their real life in Starr’s Fall—whatever that looked like—could begin.

“Let’s just go,” she said again, and for the first time in longer than Maggie cared to remember, a light sparked in her son’s eyes.

“What… just drive to Starr’s Fall?” he asked incredulously. “Today?”

“Why not? It’s only an hour.”

“An hour and a half,” he corrected her, and she gave a grimacing nod of acknowledgment. Fine, an hour and a half. An hour fifteen if she drove fast, not that she ever would, considering how Matt had died, but…

“Let’s do it!” Now she was starting to sound a little manic, like an extra on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse , or maybe like she’d inhaled helium. Either way, she knew she needed to moderate her tone. “Seriously, why not?” she said in a quieter, more reasonable voice. “We don’t need to stay here if we don’t want to, Ben.”

“Isn’t Thanksgiving, like, the worst day of the year to drive?” Ben asked as he hunched his shoulders. “For traffic and accidents and stuff?”

“Well, yes,” Maggie allowed, because she was determined always to take her son’s concerns seriously, especially around driving. He hadn’t gotten into a car for weeks after Matt’s death, save for the limousine they’d taken to his funeral. “But I think it’s the Tuesday or Wednesday before, or the Sunday after, that are the trafficky days. On the day itself, most people aren’t driving. They’re eating turkey.” Cue them both glancing at the turkey crown in the middle of the table, uneaten and looking even more unappetizing. The once-golden skin on top had started to shrivel.

“We could be there before two,” Maggie continued as she glanced at her watch. If they’d left five minutes ago.

A minute passed while Ben simply stared. This stare was yet another in his repertoire, the vacant I’m-acting-like-I’m-not-really-here one that Maggie still hadn’t figured out how to handle. “Ben?”

“Okay.” He nodded slowly, his shaggy hair sliding onto his face once more. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

“Great.” Maggie jumped up from the table, glad to be in motion. She grabbed the turkey in its foil tray and dumped it, soggy veggies and all, straight into the trash. “We can get something on the way, your pick.”

“Really?” A faint lilt of interest in her son’s voice had her smiling.

“Absolutely.” Then she grabbed her coat, her shoes, her keys, while Ben stood by the front door, looking like he was debating whether he should actually get into this idea.

“What are we even going to do there?” he asked.

“Look around the town?”

“Everything will be closed?—”

“Check out the house,” Maggie suggested instead. “Choose paint colors. Walk up to the waterfall.” She was starting to sound desperate, but she really wanted to go now. “I don’t know, Ben. We’ll find something, I’m sure.”

And anything would be better than staying here, in a house that felt like a mausoleum, a testament to what had once been with no hope for the future. “Let’s go.”

* * *

It was, Maggie realized, a nice day. She hadn’t noticed the weather this morning—she’d tended not to notice a lot of things about life lately—but today was one of those late autumn days where everything was cold and crisp and clear. As they drove north toward New Haven, the highway sparkled under a wintry sun. When they turned off I-95 for Route 8, the scenery became more pleasant—trees and fields rather than the occasional eighteen-wheeler and endless billboards.

The very last of the leaves were clinging to the maples and birches that lined the road, ragged scraps of scarlet and ochre fluttering in the autumn breeze. The grass was tipped with frost, making the meadows rolling by glitter with silver. Maggie took a deep breath, letting her lungs expand along with her fledgling hope. She could breathe out here, under the autumn sky, with the world seeming so wide open, not like back in Greenwich, in a house that felt like a tomb, with all the memories pressing in on her all the time, which was part of the reason they were moving.

The other far bigger part was because of Ben.

Maggie slid her son a sideways glance, as ever trying to discern his mood. She took mental readings of his emotional state as circumspectly as she could because Ben hated it when she asked about his feelings. He called it creepy; she saw it as essential. Her son had been through too much, and had too many dispiriting and frankly frightening lows, for her not to do a daily, and sometimes hourly, check-in.

Now she kept her voice light, almost playful, as she asked, “Are you glad we’re doing this?”

Ben shrugged in reply as he turned to look out the window. All right, well, that wasn’t a no. Maggie turned back to the road. Ten more miles to Starr’s Fall. Was it silly, she wondered, far from the first time, to move to a place you’d only been to twice, three if they counted the day they’d looked at the house and bought it in the same afternoon? Was it stupid ? Her sister certainly had thought it was.

“Maggie, you don’t move to where you’ve vacationed,” she’d stated, like it was a universal principle that everyone instinctively understood and followed.

“Tell that to everyone who retires to Florida,” Maggie had shot back with a smile. Lynn was just about the only person who didn’t pussyfoot around her since Matt’s death, and she appreciated that. Mostly. “Anyway, I thought you’d be a fan,” she’d continued. “We’ll be closer to you in Boston.”

“Yes, but… you don’t actually know anyone in Starr’s Fall,” Lynn had replied. She’d always had a gift for pointing out the obvious.

“We’ll get to know them,” Maggie had insisted staunchly. Although since Matt’s death they had not been exactly the most social of people, but they would become such people… in Starr’s Fall. They’d have neighbors over for cozy suppers, and walk the dog they didn’t yet own down quaint, tree-lined streets, and invite friends over for a movie night, everyone curled up on the sofa with a giant bowl of popcorn, and generally live life like it was a rose-tinted montage on a soppy romcom. It was going to happen. She had to believe that, because otherwise what she’d done really was not just silly, or stupid, but certifiably insane.

And she was doing it anyway.

“Mom,” Ben said suddenly, “you’re going to miss the turn.”

Maggie came out of her reverie to find she was about to pass the right turn to their future. She hit the brakes with a squeal, causing Ben to inhale sharply as he clutched the door handle, his face paling.

“Sorry, sorry,” Maggie said in a rush, and she slowed down to turn onto the road at a more sedate speed.

Tall, straight evergreens stood like sentinels on both sides of the road, the Litchfield Hills rising up in dark green humps above as they drove the last few miles into town. They’d been to Starr’s Fall for two vacations—once, when Ben had been nine, that Maggie recalled with dreamy, rose-tinted fondness, when they’d taken long walks through the woods and gone to the nearby lake to canoe and swim. She remembered Ben lying starfished on the sand, giving her a gap-toothed grin. “Can we stay here forever?” he’d asked, and she’d laughed and ruffled his lake-damp hair and told him she wished they could, but three more days would have to do.

The second time had been when they’d gone back to Starr’s Fall two years ago, a vacation that she recalled with less rose-tinted fondness and more quiet regret. Ben had been on the cusp of teenaged angst and glumness; seventh grade had not been a great year. Matt had received his promotion a year before and had grumbled about being in Connecticut when they could have afforded the Maldives.

It was only after he’d left, four days in, to respond to a work crisis, that she and Ben had started to relax. They’d gone back to the lake and canoed all around, and once again, when they’d been sitting on the sand, watching the sun set over the placid water, Ben had asked her the same question, but this time sitting with his head lowered and his elbows resting on his knees, in a voice that had been touched with despair.

“Mom, can we stay here forever?”

Finally she was able to say yes.

Their third visit to Starr’s Fall had been two months ago, when they’d bought a house there in a matter of hours. It had been a snap decision that, Maggie hoped and prayed, had been the right one.

“Does it look the same?” she asked lightly and got yet another one of her son’s stares—the well-duh one which meant she’d asked a particularly stupid question that was usually undeserving of a reply.

“It was summer then,” he said, as if that explained everything, which maybe it did. Starr’s Fall at the tail end of autumn was, despite the bright blue sky and sunshine, not the same as in the high heat of summer. Now, the streets were empty, the stores shuttered, the planters that had been bursting with flowers holding only a few dead-looking chrysanthemums. The trees lining the street were devoid of leaves, their branches dark and skeletal against the bright sky.

Still, Maggie told herself, it was beautiful—it was cold enough that the lampposts were glittering with frost, and she passed a sign for Max’s Place, a pet store and bakery, that looked cute before she pulled into the empty space in front of their home and hopefully, one day, café.

“Here we are,” she sang out just a little too cheerfully. Ben scowled. Maggie knew what happened when she went too hard on the Pollyanna act; her son shut down. She took a steadying breath and then got out of the car.

A couple were coming out of the pet store a few doors down, balancing several pies as well as a small dog while the woman locked up. Maggie thought about saying hello, decided she wasn’t that brave— yet —and headed for their own forlorn-looking storefront, just as Ben finally slouched out of the car.

“Hello,” the woman sang out, and Maggie turned, startled. She still wasn’t used to people talking to her without knowing her history. She wasn’t used to people talking to her, period. Since Matt’s death, she’d gone into hermit mode, and the twin awkwardnesses—because that was how people viewed grief, she’d come to realize, as awkward —of Matt’s death and Ben’s difficulties had kept any well-meaning acquaintances away. She hadn’t minded that much, because she hadn’t been craving chitchat, and she’d never been particularly adept at it, anyway.

But now this woman—she couldn’t be more than twenty-five—was beaming at her, while the dark-haired man behind her tried to keep hold of a small, and very cute, wiry-haired dog.

“Are you new here?” the woman asked. “Are you moving in?”

Maggie glanced at the man, who smiled and waved. “Yes,” she said when she realized belatedly that it was her turn to talk. “We’re moving in.” She nodded toward the shuttered storefront. “We’re… we’re hoping to start a boardgame café here, actually.” There. She’d said it out loud, so now it had to happen, right?

“A boardgame café!” The woman sounded delighted, far more than Maggie might have expected. “That’s amazing.”

Maggie managed a smile. “Well, I hope so,” she said, mainly because she really did. She’d never started or managed a café, or even worked in one. She’d never so much as operated a cash register. She could play Scrabble and Monopoly when pressed, but not much else. Yet here she was, doing this crazy thing, this so very stupid thing, because it just might be the way for Ben to find his way back to himself. She hoped. Oh, Lord, how she hoped.

“I’m Laurie Ellis, and this is Joshua Reilly,” the woman continued, introducing them both. “I run the pet store Max’s Place, and he has the bookstore across the street.”

“Oh.” Maggie couldn’t help but be a little startled by so much overt friendliness. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Maggie Parker, and this is my son Ben.” She put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, a gentle reminder for him to actually speak, like pulling a string on a talking doll.

“Heynicetomeetyou,” Ben said, his greeting one long mumbled word that Maggie was pretty sure neither of her new neighbors caught.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Laurie Ellis looked between Maggie and Ben, her hazel gaze seeming to take in too much. Could she see how battered they’d been by life, how bruised they both still felt? Maggie had wanted to start her new life in Starr’s Fall as someone happy, healthy, and whole. At least, she wanted to give that impression, but she had an uncomfortable feeling she’d failed at the first test. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Laurie continued, sounding like she meant it. “Welcome to Starr’s Fall.”

“Yes, um, thank you.” Now was probably the time to admit they weren’t actually moving here until January, but Maggie couldn’t figure out a way to say it that made sense, and in any case, it was too late, because with a friendly wave, Laurie Ellis and Joshua Reilly had moved down the street, to their own car.

“Mom, it’s freezing out here,” Ben said. “Can we go inside?” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Yes, sure.” Maggie fumbled with the key and then unlocked the door, stepping into their new home. They’d settled on this place because it was right in the middle of Main Street, with some lovely old-fashioned details—a corniced ceiling, wide floorboards of golden oak, a deep bow window that was perfect for displaying boardgames. Plus, it was large enough for the sofas and tables they’d need for the café, and it already had a small kitchen in the back, for when they were ready to provide their own food. “Just the basics,” Ben had told her. “French fries and nachos and stuff like that.”

Looking around now, though, all Maggie felt was overwhelmed. Last May, she would have promised Ben anything—and she basically had. Starting over in Starr’s Fall, selling their house, and buying this place, agreeing that he could finish the school year online… she’d said yes to it all. Now she had to turn her rash promises into reality.

“Shall we look upstairs?” she suggested. Ben’s response was a shrug.

Maggie headed up the staircase in a separate hallway that rang alongside the store to the apartment above. The whole place was about the size of the kitchen in their old house, but the few rooms possessed a certain cozy, quaint charm. The second floor was just one big room, with windows at the front and the back and a kitchenette tucked into the back right corner, a fireplace at the front. Up another flight of stairs were two bedrooms, both small, and a bathroom, even smaller. Considering they were moving from a house that had twice as many bathrooms as bedrooms, all of them enormous, it was certainly a step down, but one they’d both agreed they wanted.

Now Maggie wasn’t so sure. Truth be told, she liked her sunken marble tub with its profusion of jets. And, reality check, she and Ben were going to be able to hear everything in each other’s bedrooms. Not something she’d relish, and she doubted he would, either.

Never mind. They went back down to the living space, and Maggie sat down in the window seat overlooking the empty street below. She could see herself curling up here with a book and maybe a cat. They didn’t have a cat, not yet anyway, but that could be on the list, maybe instead of the previously fantasized dog. Ben was more partial to cats, anyway, as she recalled. “What do you think?” she asked Ben, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking a little lost. “Family room sofa or living room sofa in this room?”

Ben glanced around. “Family room, definitely.”

Maggie gave a decisive nod. “I think so, too.” Their family room sofa was made of deep, squashy leather, while the living room furniture was modern, incredibly expensive, and even more uncomfortable. The interior decorator her mother-in-law had insisted she hire had told her it was how everyone who was anyone was styling their living rooms, and Maggie had been too meek to refuse. But now they could sell it all or leave it on the curb for the trash, because since Matt’s funeral her mother-in-law had more or less stopped speaking to her, and after sixteen years of a decidedly tense relationship, that was a somewhat welcome change. So really, no sofa and no mother-in-law could be considered a double win, although she hoped Matt’s mother stayed in touch for Ben’s sake. She knew it wasn’t a guarantee.

A sigh escaped her before she sucked it back in, not wanting Ben to see her falter for a moment. She could worry about her mother-in-law and their lack of relationship later. “We could move here early,” she ventured. They’d promised Lynn they’d go to Boston for Christmas, but nothing was keeping them in Greenwich except a sense of duty, or maybe propriety. Maggie hadn’t wanted it to look like she was running away, even if on some level she knew that was exactly what she was doing.

Ben looked tempted for a moment, but then he shook his head. “Nah, let’s keep it to January,” he said. “I’ve got the RQ Con, anyway.”

Maggie gave a mechanical nod. “Of course.” How could she have forgotten the weekend online conference, where Ben played the fantasy roleplaying game RainQuest for thirty-six hours straight? He’d done it for the first time last year, just a few months after Matt had died. Matt, Maggie knew, had been more than a bit dismissive about playing a game so obsessively, which Maggie sort of understood. But Ben didn’t consider RainQuest merely a game; it was something of a lifestyle choice, and it had become even more of one since his dad had died.

Maggie looked around their new home, the sunlight streaming through the window as the sky went white on its edges, the sun starting its inevitable descent to the dark horizon. “January it is, then,” she said, and her voice echoed through the empty room.