Chapter 1
Under the beauty of the sun banking to the west in a brilliant May sky, Mia Franklin could almost, almost believe her life wasn’t about to fall apart. She grimaced and pushed harder on the pedals of her bike, the colorful two-child trailer attachment bouncing empty behind her.
In between the shops dotting Main Street on Jonathon Island, Mia caught glimpses of Lake Huron sparkling in the sun. If only each sparkle were a diamond, then her problems would be solved. She knew better though. Knew just how deadly that deceptive lake could be.
Patrick Kelley waved at her from the doorway of his bar and grill. “Hi, Mia.” The fifty-something’s wiry mustache curved up as he smiled. “Got Finn and Maggie back there? I just got a shipment of peanuts in the shell, and I know how much they like them.”
“Nope, sorry.” She slowed to a stop in front of Kelley’s. “I dropped them off at Mom and Dad’s.”
“Come by anytime. I’ll give them a bag. My treat.” He waved again before disappearing back into his building.
Sometimes her life felt like an art piece. She pictured a museum curator explaining to a tour group, “Observe this portrait of Mia Jonathon Franklin. Widowed two years ago at twenty-two, mother of two children…”
Everyone on this island had their own way of showing their pity for her plight.
Too bad pity didn’t pay the bills.
Her phone alarm buzzed; five minutes until her meeting at the bank.
A chilly breeze floated in off the water and between the buildings as she biked her way down the cobblestone street, ending up at a graying clapboard structure.
Her belly rumbled as she pushed her way into the bank. Crammed into the handbag slung over her shoulder were three months’ worth of overdue notice letters sent to her from Great Lakes National Bank. Three months where she’d needed to choose between paying the mortgage or clothing her growing kids. Three months of keeping the heat on. Three months of avoiding Mr. Michaelson on Sundays at church.
She hated that she even needed to make these choices. She shifted the bag on her shoulder, the strap rubbing her through her jacket. Dark paneling lined the walls of the bank’s interior.
“Mia, come on back.” Mr. Michaelson poked his head out of the office bearing his name.
Gray-haired, tall, and slim, he hadn’t changed much in the almost twenty years she’d known him. His thin lips didn’t curve into his normal, cheerful smile. Kyle, her sister’s husband, worked for this bank too. For a fleeting moment, Mia wished she’d scheduled this meeting with him at his branch in Port Joseph, but ferrying there and back would add so much extra time away from her kids. Not to mention the expense of the ferry ticket.
She hung her jacket on a coat hook in the corner and then settled into a chair in front of Mr. Michaelson’s desk. The cold plastic seat sent another shiver through her. The clean desk, organized within an inch of its life, contrasted sharply with the ratty, thrifted crossbody bag she set on it. Across from her, Mr. Michaelson tented his fingers.
“Look, Mia, let me just cut to the chase here. The board is pressuring me to foreclose on your loan.”
Mia sucked in a breath. It was one thing to know what was coming. Another thing altogether to have it said aloud. Her stomach clenched. “Please. You can’t do that.” She sat on the edge of her chair. Reaching into her bag, her fingers closed around a tattered envelope. Her last lifeline. She handed it to him. “Here, it’s not much, but I’ve been saving some back from my tips.” After Troy’s life insurance dipped into a four-digit number from the six it had started at, she’d taken a few shifts at Martha’s on Main. They hadn’t been able to give her regular hours, just some shift work when others had to be off island.
Mr. Michaelson flipped through the meager notes in the envelope. “This isn’t even enough to cover half a month.”
“You know how slow things have been around here since the pandemic.” Of course, things had never really recovered after the Grand Sullivan Hotel fire ten years ago. Mia’s heart squeezed as an image of that once majestic hotel flashed in her mind. They’d just recently broken ground on the project, and her cousin and best friend, Dani, had high hopes for a revitalized economy. But until then…“Martha has barely been able to give any of us hours. There’s just not enough tourists to support the work. Plus, it’s been so hard since my husband died. Now, the life insurance is running out—” She cut herself off, hating the whine that started to creep into her tone. She would not whine. Beg if she had to—she had her kids to think about after all—but never whine. This was her lot in life. She’d chosen it. She would live with it.
Mr. Michaelson nodded. “I’m so sorry again for your loss. I really liked Troy. He was on the track team with my son.” He fiddled with the envelope in front of him. “I certainly don’t want to be turning a widow out of her home. Especially one with little kids.”
She pictured Finn and Maggie’s sweet faces. Four-year-old Finn’s serious look, with his blond curls and brown eyes so like his father’s. And Maggie, two years younger, born just after Troy died, pixie-like with her darker blonde hair and blue eyes. She would do anything for them. Even beg.
“Just give me a few more weeks. Now that tourism season has started…” But what hope did she have, really?
Please, God. Let something come up. She thought back to the email she’d received from a friend in Traverse City offering her a job. She shoved the thought away. Last resort only. She wouldn’t tear her children from their home until it was her only option.
“Maybe you could ask your dad for help,” Mr. Michaelson said.
She stood abruptly; the chair rocked on its legs. “No. That is out of the question.” She hadn’t asked him for help since she’d arrived home, pregnant and unmarried at 19 years old, determined to show him that she and Troy could make it as teenagers with a child.
Even after marrying Troy, buying a house, and having two beautiful children, she couldn’t shake the disappointment that seemed to linger from him.
Mr. Michaelson held up a hand, palm forward. “Okay. Just a suggestion.” He rubbed his hand through his thinning hair. “Fine. I’ll give you one more month. I’ll hold off the board until…” He flipped a few pages on his desk calendar, “June 15th. Let’s plan to meet again then and see where you’re at.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Thank you so much,” she said and turned to grab her jacket. Behind her, she heard the scratching of a pen across paper. She kept her back to the banker for a moment, blinking back tears.
After composing herself, she shoved her arms into her jacket then turned back to the desk. “Your kindness means the world to me.” She picked up her purse and slung it onto her shoulder.
He shook her hand and she hurried out of the building. She put her purse into the bike trailer, then flung a leg over her bicycle and rode slowly down Main Street. So many of the storefronts closed and shuttered. Abandoned by their owners, the deterioration beginning to show. Some of the buildings had cracked windows, siding sagged, one even had plywood where plate glass used to be. Martha’s on Main was still open though, as was Good Day Coffee and Kelley’s Bar & Grill. The Kelley siblings—Frank, Patrick, and Jill—had pretty much a monopoly on the restaurants in town.
After dodging a few tourists, she paused outside a small storefront. Gray clapboard siding rose to a peak at the top of the structure. Large windowpanes let in the light. Closed now, the store once held Sampson’s, a small art studio and gift shop. If she squinted, she could almost picture her teenage self at the till, ringing up a customer and dreaming of the day she owned her own gallery.
A cold wet sensation in her hand startled her, and she looked down to see a scruffy Jack Russell terrier nuzzling her palm. “Hello, Jack.”
The dog lived on the streets of Jonathon Island. He belonged to no one and to everyone. Everyone fed him, and some gave him a place to stay overnight when he deigned to let them. Sometimes Mia thought he should run for mayor—the dog would definitely win.
She scratched behind his ears. “Do you have any idea how to raise enough money to pay a mortgage?” The dog gave a soft roo-roo and then trotted off. “Some help you are.”
Her phone buzzed with a text from her mom’s number.
Mom
Can you bring a loaf of bread? I forgot to pick one up.
Mia
Sure. Be there soon.
Better quit daydreaming and get back to Finn and Maggie. She pedaled through town and turned into the neighboring street until she came to her own. Hanging a right, she headed halfway down, then turned into the front yard of her little house on Lilac Lane.
The small two bedroom, one and a half floor craftsman sat nested between two much larger houses. The white siding was flaking off near the bottom of the walls. And one shutter hung askew alongside the living room window. These imperfections didn’t stop the rush of tenderness deep in her core every time she spotted the home she and Troy had worked so hard on.
They’d gotten plenty done on the inside, including updating the bedrooms and bathroom, but other than painting the front door, they hadn’t managed to spruce up the outside before the boating accident.
And now she might lose it.
She shoved the thought into a far corner of her brain—it was getting crowded back there—as she ran past the lilac at the front door and then inside to grab a loaf of French bread from the kitchen at the back of the house. In the kitchen sink, dishes from the morning’s breakfast sat waiting for her to scrub the dried-on scrambled eggs. She ignored the urge to move the laundry into the dryer. Being late for supper wasn’t an option. Back outside, she tucked the bread next to her purse and took off again.
A few miles of hard biking gave her time to bury the past hour deep into her heart before the weekly family dinner with her parents.
Her parents’ grand house with its sweeping porch and turrets came into view at the northern tip of the island. Jonathon Island had been named for her great-great something grandfather, Jacob Jonathon, who had established the first settlement in the early 1800s.
Kicking down the bike’s kickstand, she parked on the lawn. Along the front porch, Adirondack chairs waited for lounging guests. Near each support beam hung the baskets of flowers she and her siblings had chipped in on for Mother’s Day a few days before—a Mother’s Day she had spent at home with Finn because he had a fever.
She reached into her bag for a Kleenex and her hand brushed a ragged piece of paper. What the…? She pulled out her tattered envelope still stuffed full of cash. Across the front in a slanted script, Mr. Michaelson had written “for the children.” She pressed a hand to her mouth for a heartbeat then straightened her shoulders and walked up to the porch.
Following her nose, tickled with the scent of her mother’s signature spaghetti sauce, she headed straight for the kitchen.
Finn chased Maggie around the butcher block center island, and her dad, Liam, and Dani were talking over in the far right corner. At the stove her mom stirred a pot, and her big sister, Evie, was pulling plates out of the green-paneled cabinets on the other side of the kitchen.
Mia crossed the room and kissed her mother on the cheek. Her mom’s gray-streaked, dark, bobbed hair brushed her cheek, and the scent of her gardenia perfume wafted over Mia.
“Hi, honey.” Her mom didn’t look up from the pot. “We’re almost ready here. Can you take care of the bread?”
“No problem.” Mia took a place at the island, slicing the bread and giving it a generous coating of butter before adding some garlic salt, wrapping the whole thing in foil and slipping it into the oven.
Dani crossed the kitchen and gave Mia a hug. “Good to see you, cuz.” She pulled back a bit. “What’s wrong?” A crease formed between Dani’s green eyes.
Mia pasted on a smile. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
Dani raised one eyebrow. “I’m not buying it. We’ll talk later.” Her cousin moved to the silverware drawer and scooped up a handful of forks before heading to the dining room.
I’ll give you one more month. The banker’s words swirled through her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it with a burst when someone ran into the back of her legs.
Her eyes flew open. Finn blinked up at her. “Finn!”
“Sorry, Mommy.” He moved around her and dashed three steps before her dad swooped him up into his arms.
“He’s just full of energy today.” Her dad, every piece of his salt and pepper hair neatly in place, leaned over to pat her on the shoulder, but the timer for the bread began chiming and she whirled away. Behind her she heard her dad sigh and then set Finn on the floor. “Almost time to eat?” His deep voice cut through the chaos.
She nodded and then pulled the bread out of the oven and turned. Finn scampered away, chasing Maggie again.
Nora, her fifteen-year-old sister, slouched into the room, dressed in her standard uniform of leggings and a hoodie. Her dark hair hung loose around her face. “When are we going to eat?”
Evie’s three kids joined Finn and Maggie in squealing around the middle of the kitchen.
“Hi, Nora.” Her mom turned from the stove and bussed her cheek. “Done with schoolwork? Can you take these kids to the table? We’re almost ready.” Her mom pulled the pan of spaghetti sauce off the stove. Hopefully she missed the eye roll from Nora before the teen began obeying her mother.
The kitchen fell to near silence after Nora played Pied Piper to the kids.
Soon, they’d all moved to the dining room table.
After saying grace, they began dishing up. Mia tended to her kids’ plates while Evie helped fill five-year-old Cora’s plate. Eight-year-old twins Chloe and Chase didn’t need any help. At the end of the table, Dani and Mia’s dad continued deep in conversation.
“Where’s Kyle?” Mia asked as she cut Maggie’s noodles into small pieces. The toddler shoved the pasta into her mouth almost as fast as Mia cut it. “Slow down, baby. You’re going to get sick.”
“He had something come up at work, so he told us to come over without him.” Evie reached for a slice of bread. In her L.L.Bean top and her dark hair just brushing her shoulders, she looked like a cookie cutter version of their mom. Minus a few gray hairs, of course. “Mom, have you heard from Bash lately?” Their older brother, a lawyer, lived in New York City. He didn’t come home nearly as often as her mother liked, but that was the price he paid for being successful.
“He called on Wednesday just to check in,” Elise said. “He said to tell everyone hello.”
“We should find out if the town council is fully on board with your plan by the end of the day tomorrow.” Her dad’s voice boomed over the table.
Mia forked a bite of spaghetti into her mouth and glanced at Dani. Her best friend and cousin lit up at her dad’s words.
“What plan?” Evie asked.
Mia missed Dani’s reply because Maggie chose that moment to lift her plate off the table.
“All done,” the toddler said. Then she tipped the last of her spaghetti into her lap.
The table erupted into chaos. Evie’s kids took this as permission to resume their game of chase with Finn, her dad chose to continue his conversation with Dani, only louder, and her mom jumped up right away to catch the pasta before it all went onto her dining room rug.
“Kids, if you’re done eating come back and clear your plates!” Evie called.
Mia swooped her daughter out of the seat and took her to the bathroom. Even the cool blues of the room’s walls failed to calm her as she wiped Maggie off. Her daughter’s eyes lit with a sparkle, and her mouth turned up in a crooked grin.
“I messy.”
Mia’s chest loosened. Maggie looked so much like Troy. Her dark blonde curls flopped over her forehead, nearly covering her blue eyes. “Yes. You messy. You can’t dump your plate when you’re finished eating. We’ve talked about this.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Her daughter pushed her lip out in a fake pout. Mia laughed and kissed the top of her head. Fatigue tugged at every one of her muscles.
“Let’s go get Finn. Time to head home.” Hand in hand, they walked back to the dining room. Most of the others had finished eating, and her mom was stacking the dirty plates.
After corralling Finn and herding him and Maggie outside, she paused in the doorway.
Her mom tucked a Tupperware into her hands. “Some leftovers for later. You didn’t get much before cleaning up Maggie.”
“Thanks, Mom. Thanks for watching them today too.”
“I always like having them, you know that.” Her mom reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “How did it go at the bank?”
Overhead, dark clouds piled up in the sky. “They’re giving me a little time to catch up on my mortgage. So, you can pray that I find something steadier for work.” Just like she’d been praying for the past several months. Maybe she should start to listen to that voice in her heart that had started to whisper that God had abandoned her.
“I wish Troy had planned better.” Her mom pursed her lips.
A churning started in her stomach. The little spaghetti she’d managed to eat rolled over. “He was twenty-two years old, Mom. We thought we had plenty of time for things like mortgages. At least he had life insurance.”
Her mom sighed. “You’re right, of course. Let me know if you need help covering your next payment. Dad and I can write you a check.”
Not gonna happen. “Not necessary.” She began backing off the porch. “Please don’t say anything to Dad. At least not yet.”
“Okay, but?—”
“I gotta go, Mom.” The clouds covered what was left of the late evening sunshine.
A storm was coming. The kind that this time might just take what was left of everything she loved.
And she had less than a month to stop it.
* * *