Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
T he market square hummed with quiet activity as Lucy wandered through its familiar streets, her thoughts spiraling back to Romy. Periwinkle Shores, with its tidy storefronts and the faint scent of salt in the air, seemed to belong to another world entirely from the tangled emotions she carried inside. The sky stretched endlessly above her, its pale blue hue broken only by the occasional drift of clouds that reminded her of the paper boats she and Romy used to float in puddles after summer storms.
Lucy's boots clicked against the brick pavement, a rhythmic accompaniment to the snippets of conversation she caught as she passed clusters of locals. The baker chatted with a fisherman about the weekend forecast; the gallery owner adjusted a painting in her window display. Outside Mabel's Antiques, the brass bell still hung crooked—just as it had since the day she and Romy had accidentally knocked it loose, racing each other down the sidewalk. They'd been thirteen then, all gangly limbs and wild laughter, convinced they were invisible to the adult world around them.
Everything was perfectly ordinary, but Lucy couldn't shake the tension simmering beneath her skin. Each familiar sight seemed to hold a ghost of her past: the ice cream parlor where they'd spent countless allowances, the bench where they'd sworn to be friends forever, the alley where they'd hidden during their ill-fated attempt to skip school in tenth grade. Now these places felt like exhibits in a museum of what was lost.
She paused outside the market where Hannah had overheard Mrs. Baxter's gossip. The heavy wooden door stood ajar, revealing shelves stocked with colorful produce and handmade goods. The same bell chimed overhead—a sound that had once signaled afternoon adventures, sneaking penny candy and sharing secrets between the aisles. For a moment, Lucy considered going in, perhaps to lose herself in the comfort of routine. But she turned away, her gaze drifting toward the road leading out of town. Toward Cliff Road.
It had been years since Lucy had taken that route. Cliff Road had always held an air of mystery—the way it twisted and turned, flanked by dunes and tufts of wild grass, and homes so close to the edge you'd think they were about to fall into the ocean. It was the kind of road where secrets felt safe, where childhood adventures had played out like scenes from a novel. But those same turns carried shadows now, memories that tugged at her with equal parts fondness and regret.
Lucy leaned against the side of her car, keys dangling loosely in her hand. Her mind reeled with memories of her friend, vivid and unrelenting. She could still picture Romy’s confident stride, the way her laughter had once carried across the cliffs like music. The fearless way she'd scale the rocks to reach their secret cove, calling back encouragement to a more hesitant Lucy. They'd been inseparable, their friendship forged through countless adventures and whispered secrets. Until it wasn't.
The guilt sat heavy in Lucy's heart, a weight she'd carried for years. She thought she'd buried it beneath college textbooks and career goals, new friends and different cities. But Romy's sudden return had unearthed everything. Every unsaid word, every unresolved question. Every promise broken.
Before getting into her car, she sent a text to her sisters. I’m going to see Romy. Meet at Rachel’s after? She didn’t wait for their response, but she had little doubt they’d be at Rachel’s when she was finished with her visit.
Sliding into the driver's seat, Lucy started the engine. She passed familiar landmarks: the old oak tree where they used to tie rope swings, its bark still bearing their carved initials; the stretch of beach where they'd built bonfires on summer nights, giggling about cute boys, and sharing dreams and fears beneath star-scattered skies. The spot where they'd buried a time capsule in eighth grade—had anyone ever found it? Each memory felt like a breadcrumb, leading her back to a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to revisit.
The bend where they'd crashed their bikes racing down the hill, earning matching scars on their knees. The overgrown path to their makeshift fort in the dunes, where they'd hidden from the world during that terrible storm. The telephone pole where they'd posted a missing cat flyer only to find the cat asleep in Romy's garage. Each spot held a story, a moment frozen in time.
The Atlantic's relentless waves grew louder as she neared, crashing against the shoreline in a chaotic symphony. When the Winslow house finally came into view, Lucy took a deep breath. How many summer afternoons had she spent sprawled out on the dunes, sharing secrets and ice pops with Romy while salt air dried their sun-warmed skin?
She pulled onto the gravel driveway and turned off the car, sitting for a moment in the stillness, Romy’s car with New York plates parked in front of her. The rope swing still hung from the old maple tree, swaying gently in the breeze like a pendulum marking time. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face Romy, but something inside her urged her forward.
The wind tugged at Lucy's hair as her hand hovered over the brass knocker, hesitating. The steps’ boards still creaked in the same places—third step, right side. How many times had they carefully mapped these noises, planning their late-night escapes to watch meteor showers or sneak down to the beach? Memories of laughter and sun-drenched afternoons threatened to overwhelm her. Taking a steadying breath, she knocked, the sound sharp and final against the wooden door.
It opened moments later, revealing Pamela Winslow. She looked older than Lucy remembered, her silver-streaked hair tied back neatly, but her kind smile was the same. The one that had greeted them countless times after school, that had forgiven their muddy footprints and midnight raids on the cookie jar, that had comforted them through teenage heartbreaks and family dramas.
"Lucy Adams," Pamela said warmly, stepping aside to let her in. "What a surprise. It's so nice to see you."
"Hi, Ms. Winslow," Lucy said, stepping into the familiar house. The air smelled faintly of lavender and the sea, a combination that brought a rush of nostalgia. Fresh-baked something too—probably snickerdoodles, Romy's favorite. The recipe card was probably still stuck to the fridge with the sailboat magnet they'd bought at the pier that summer. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all," Pamela assured her, leading her into the living room. The room was a time capsule: the same worn leather couch where they'd spent rainy afternoons watching old movies, the coffee table still bearing the water ring from when they'd knocked over their sodas during a particularly intense game of Monopoly, the collection of seashells they'd gathered over years of beachcombing still arranged on the windowsill.
"It's been ages since I've seen you. How have you been?"
"I've been good," Lucy replied, though the words felt hollow. Her eyes roamed the room, taking in the familiar sight of shelves lined with books and trinkets. There was the clay pot Romy had made in art class, wobbly and misshapen but proudly displayed. The framed photo of her and Romy at their high school graduation, arms around each other, faces bright with promise and possibility. Before everything fell apart. A large window framed the ocean, its blue expanse stretching to the horizon.
"Is Romy here?" Lucy asked after a moment, her voice cautious. She tried not to stare at the stairs leading to the second floor, where Romy's bedroom door had always been plastered with band posters and polaroid photos. “You know how news travels in this town. I heard she was back.”
Pamela's smile faltered slightly, a shadow passing behind her eyes. "She's in her old room, resting. It's been a big adjustment for her, coming back here. I'll let her know you stopped by, though."
Lucy nodded, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over her. Was Romy really up there? Had she seen Lucy's car pull up? Were the same photos still on her door, or had they been stripped away like so much else? "I just wanted to say hello. It's been so long."
Pamela's eyes softened, and Lucy recognized the look—the same one she'd worn when patching up their scraped knees or mediating their rare but fierce arguments. "It has. And I think seeing you might do her some good. But give her a little time, Lucy. She's been through a lot."
"Of course," Lucy said, standing. Her fingers traced the familiar pattern of the armchair's fabric—how many secrets had this chair heard? "Thank you, Ms. Winslow. It was nice to see you."
Pamela reached out and squeezed Lucy's hand, her grip warm and steady. "Take care, dear. And don't be a stranger."
Lucy left the house, the sound of the waves filling the silence as she walked back to her car. She paused once more, looking back at the house perched on the cliffs before getting into her car.
Driving back toward Rachel’s house, Lucy's thoughts were a storm of emotions. She couldn't shake the feeling that Romy's return wasn't just a homecoming. It felt like the start of something bigger—a reckoning, perhaps, or a chance to finally confront the ghosts they'd both been avoiding.
She parked behind Rachel’s Jeep and then went inside. Rachel and Hannah were both sitting at the kitchen table.
“That was fast,” Rachel said, surprised to see Lucy so soon.
"What happened?" Hannah asked, her curiosity evident in the way she leaned forward, the same expression she'd worn through years of sisterly interrogations. "Did you see her?"
Lucy shook her head and then leaned against the kitchen counter. "Nope. She was resting. Pamela said she's still adjusting."
Rachel's brow furrowed, her protective instincts visible in the set of her jaw. She'd never quite forgiven Romy for how things ended, though she'd kept that opinion mostly to herself. "Adjusting to what? The house? Or being back here?"
"I have no idea," Lucy replied, wrapping her hands around the warm mug Hannah pushed toward her. "I didn't press. It didn't feel right, but something is definitely going on with Romy, something recent."
"Do you think she'll stay in Periwinkle Shores?" Hannah asked.
"I don't know," Lucy admitted. "But if she does, we're going to have to talk eventually. There's too much…unfinished. Something about the way Pamela didn’t want to divulge too much felt odd."
Rachel reached across the table to squeeze Lucy's hand, her grip firm and grounding. The same way she'd steadied Lucy through every crisis since childhood.
Lucy smiled faintly, grateful for her sisters' support. As the three of them settled into their familiar pattern of conversation, the storm inside her began to quiet. They'd been her anchors when everything else had fallen apart, and they were here still, steady as the tides.
Later that evening, as Lucy sat at her desk, she stared at the blank page of her notebook. The words refused to come, her thoughts too tangled to make sense of them. Instead, she closed the notebook and poured herself a glass of wine.
She began to question Pamela's reaction to her visit earlier. The slight hesitation in her smile, the careful choice of words. Did Romy see her car pull up and tell her aunt that she didn't want to see her? It wouldn't be the first time Pamela had played peacekeeper between them.
Lucy swirled the wine in her glass, staring out at the darkened street beyond her window. The question refused to let go: Had Romy really been resting, or was there more to Pamela's polite deflection? She could still picture the hesitation in Pamela's smile, the faint shift in her tone. The way her eyes had darted briefly toward the stairs. It didn't feel like the whole truth.
Maybe Romy had seen the car and chosen to stay hidden. Maybe she wasn't ready to face her, just like Lucy wasn't sure she was ready to face Romy. Their shared history loomed large, a shadow neither of them could outrun forever. Somewhere in that house, behind a door probably still covered in faded concert posters and photographs, Romy was either sleeping or avoiding her. Lucy wasn't sure which possibility hurt more.
The thought filled Lucy with equal parts dread and determination. If Romy was back, it couldn't be coincidence. Not here, not in a town where every street corner held a memory, where every wave carried the echo of their shared past. There were too many unanswered questions, too many words left unsaid, and all of it swirled around their friend, Jenna Fletcher.
Lucy set the empty glass on her desk and turned out the light. As she climbed into bed, her heart heavy and her mind restless, one thought clung to her: Romy was here, and one way or another, they would have to face each other. The past demanded it, and so did the future. Tomorrow would bring another day, another chance, another moment to bridge the gap between who they were and who they'd become.