11. Meredith
MEREDITH
Birdie’s was a dive bar, through and through.
It was the kind of place that was always a little sticky, a little musty, and either empty or completely packed.
Its prices never changed, the music was stuck in the eighties, and if you asked nice enough, the Holloway sisters might bring you over some oysters from the Lobster Shack next door.
It was a watering hole for men who dealt with water all day, every day, and they graced those booths as religiously as pews in a church.
However, Birdie’s is no longer a dive bar.
If I’d had the nerve to glance through those front windows even once since I arrived, it probably wouldn’t have been such a shock to the system. Yet here I am, once again blindsided by the passage of time.
The first thing that hits me is the light—warm, golden, and intentional.
Not a flickering neon beer sign in sight.
The long bar gleams with a fresh coat of varnish, its edge slightly worn, hinting at a few rougher years behind it.
The booths are still there—reupholstered in navy leather, stitched with white thread like the seams on a sail—but the tables are new, wide slabs of reclaimed wood polished to a gentle shine.
A mural of an old whaling ship covers the back wall, its sails full and the brush strokes purposefully loose, as if caught in motion. Nautical charts are framed and displayed proudly, not mockingly, and behind the bar, an old ship’s wheel hangs like a trophy.
Then I hear it. Def Leppard—or is it Bon Jovi?—fills the room from the old jukebox speakers. The machine barely looks functional anymore, but some tech-savvy kid has hooked up a tablet to the front of it.
It’s Birdie’s, but it isn’t.
It’s the bar that Eddie always dreamed it could be.
The man in question lifts a hand at me from behind the bar—completely at ease there—with a small smile.
He notices me the moment I walk in, but it seems less intense when he quickly shifts his focus back to the customer in front of him.
It’s a polite acknowledgment, and I don’t read into it.
We’re friends as long as I keep finding ways to apologize.
“Mer!”
My attention is drawn to my sisters sitting at our usual table, now positioned at a slightly different angle to block the view of the foliage in the corners of the room. There are already three beers on the table, one untouched and waiting for me. The sight of it gives me an oddly warm feeling.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say as I slide in next to Sophie. “I wanted to swing by the office to grab a few things.”
June offers a small smile across from me, sliding the extra beer bottle closer. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I take it, feeling oddly shy.
“You said you needed a beer in your hand before you would talk about it.”
My internal defenses flare up instinctively, and I have to remind myself that June isn’t on the attack. Getting used to the tentative truce between us will take a little longer than expected, despite her reassurances of forgiveness.
It still all feels a little too good to be true, that June might buy me a beer, and Sophie might throw her arm around me to greet me with a hug. There’s so much between the three of us, but we’re still sitting around this table, trying to make something work.
I take a long sip of beer before I begin. “It’s not great news, and I need you all to hold back judgment until you look at these.”
I hand out the tax records I just picked up from the Shack—the ones Richard had provided are somewhere in the Nantucket Sound along with my Versace sandals—as I tell them about the conversation.
Their expressions become grim, varying between anger, shock, and, surprisingly, doubt.
It makes me feel a little better to see that I’m not the only one struggling to reconcile the memory of our father with the accusations Richard was making.
“Okay, but…” June is raking her eyes over the documents once more. “These debts weren’t great, but there would have been other ways to deal with them. Dad wouldn’t just…you know, instead of selling the Shack. That couldn’t have been his only option.”
Sophie nods along. “He would’ve told us, wouldn’t he? If the debts were that bad, we could have helped him. We were all working.”
“You really think Dad would have accepted your modeling money?” I raise my brow in question at Sophie. “We were his greatest treasures, remember? I don’t think it would’ve crossed his mind to even ask.”
“That doesn’t mean he did it,” June counters.
That, at least, we can all agree on.
“But it doesn’t exactly bode well for our chances of making the Shack profitable,” I say between another swig of beer. “We need to get money from somewhere to even start putting orders in.”
June sighs as she waves at someone behind us. “Then we’re going to have to be honest with each other about how much we can commit to this. Not just with time, but financially.”
Someone approaches our table from behind me. “You summoned me?”
I try not to flinch as Eddie leans casually against the booth I’m sitting at, the flannel of his shirt grazing my arm.
“Yeah, we’re going to need some wine,” June says. “The white with the shell on the label?”
He blinks at her like she’s ridiculous. “You know it’s the house sauvignon.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to get you to ID me.” She shrugs and bats her lashes innocently.
Eddie rolls his eyes as he pulls away. “Three glasses?”
“Thanks, Eddie,” I say as he leaves, ignoring my heartbeat when he winks back at me.
“Thanks, Eddie,” Sophie mimics at my side once he’s out of earshot, causing June to snort out loud. “Does your husband know you’re out here flirting with your ex?”
I shove into her playfully. “That wasn’t flirting. I was being nice.” It takes a moment for her comment about Mark to even register, and then I down the rest of my beer.
“What was it you said to Mom the other day about the developers, Mer?” June asks suddenly.
It takes me a moment to remember. “There’s no way the square footage on the Shack is big enough to hold anyone’s attention unless?—”
“Unless the developers are looking at purchasing multiple properties,” Sophie finishes for me, nodding along. “I’ve seen that happen back in L.A. The gentrification is going crazy.”
June is already waving down the bartender again. “Hey, Eddie? Do you or your Dad know about any developers snooping around?”
The man appears a moment later, brandishing a wine cooler in one hand and three long-stemmed wine glasses hanging from the other.
“Yeah, a couple of suits propositioned us a few months ago. Something about vacation condos.” He places the glasses before us as June reaches over to pour.
“Told them where to shove it, but I think they got George next door. They’ve been quiet for weeks now. ”
“Like this place needs any more condos,” Sophie mutters as she snatches up her glass.
Eddie hands mine to me absent-mindedly. “I can ask around for you, see if I can find out what they offered George. You thinking of taking them up on it?”
“Shack’s ours,” June replies.
“Darn straight.” He smirks back. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
There’s a squeeze on my shoulder that vanishes as he walks off. I don’t bother hoping that the others miss it; they’re both staring at me with barely concealed smiles.
I clear my throat. “Don’t we have something important to discuss?”
That sobered us all up pretty quickly, so much so that we all drink in tandem.
“I’ll go first, shall I?” June says finally. “Obviously, I live here, so time shouldn’t be too much of an issue. I just need to balance it out with the gallery. I’ve got some money saved away, but I was hoping I could use it for a…well, a deposit.”
“For a house?” I ask, suddenly filled with excited curiosity.
“A lighthouse, actually.”
“Wait.” Sophie slaps her palms on the table. “The one on Tom Nevers?”
She nods, her cheeks flushing a little. “I was kinda hoping to turn it into a studio. Somewhere I could maybe get back into painting again.”
“That’s amazing, June.” The smile on my lips is painfully genuine.
“Okay, so you absolutely need to do that,” Sophie agrees. “But you’ve got the connections, right? The summer crowds love you; you can bring in the money if we need it.”
“Optimistic of you to think so, but sure.” June makes a rambling, self-conscious gesture. “What about you, Soph?”
Sophie takes a long drink herself before replying. “I’m probably the most useless. I have…people expecting me back in L.A. by the end of the summer. Plus, I made a pretty significant financial decision a few years back that’s still bleeding me dry.”
I frown at that, exchanging a look with June.
“You should’ve told me, Soph,” she says, because I have no right to. “I could’ve helped.”
“It was when we weren’t really talking,” Sophie admits with a helpless shrug.
This is news to me because I always thought that Sophie and June had stayed in touch. A fact I definitely make a note to ask about later.
“But I can work as much as I can while I’m here,” Sophie says, misinterpreting our worry. “I’m pretty handy these days, and I remember all the old recipes. Maybe I could train someone on the grill or something?”
“Is everything okay?” I ask her softly. “Back in L.A., I mean.”
For a moment, Sophie looks a bit like a deer in headlights. “Everything’s fine,” she says hurriedly. “Well, everything will be fine once I’m back and get a few things sorted. But I’m fine with money if that’s what you’re worried about. I just don’t have a lot to spare.”
I watch June bite her lip, as if physically trying to restrain herself from asking more. “Okay. Well, that leaves you, Meredith.”
Then, they’re both looking at me expectantly.
It suddenly hits me what they’re expecting. The oldest sister, who arrives in pantsuits and Versace sandals, with at least a decade at a high-paying firm where her father-in-law is a named partner. The one with money to spare and a point to make about rebuilding relationships.
My hand shakes as I put down my glass. “I…”
June is suddenly frowning. “Are you going to cry again?”
“Mer?” Sophie’s hand is quickly holding mine.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to soothe the surge of emotion rising inside me. I know it’s time. That doesn’t make it any easier to say it out loud, even though confessing to Eddie lifted a significant weight off my chest.
I try to smile. “Do you think there was any of Mom’s pie left after the barbecue?”
“What are you…” June’s face drops as understanding washes over her. “Oh.”
Sophie looks between us, clearly confused. “What? What’s going on?”
I look down at my hands, unable to speak.
June, thankfully, clears her throat. “You remember whenever I went through a breakup? We’d sit out on the beach on our comforters, and we’d get you to steal the pie from the Shack?”
Sophie goes quiet. Then her hand squeezes mine. “Oh, Meredith.”
“I’ve still got about a hundred days until it’s official,” I say humorlessly. “So you’ve got me for at least three months before I can run off with the next man who promises me he won’t sleep with his PA.”
They both react to that. June curses under her breath while Sophie asks me if I’m being serious.
Then, the truth comes out—the gentle “encouragement” to leave the firm, the no-fault court filing that cost me my dignity and most of my savings, and the new apartment that used up the rest of it.
My sisters listen closely, with nothing but contempt for everyone involved except me.
In a way, it’s validating. Many of my friends back in Boston had to pick a side in the divorce and chose Mark, simply because they knew him longer or because they worked with us.
Friends who offered me polite condolences but never showed anger on my behalf.
Seeing my sisters—women I’ve barely known for fifteen years—react so strongly puts those so-called friendships into sharp perspective.
June refills our wine glasses and takes a contemplative sip. “If we kill him, will you defend us in court?”
The laugh shocks me as it comes out. “I’m not that kind of lawyer.”
“We won’t need her because we won’t get caught,” Sophie adds with a thrilling kind of carelessness. “I know a few places we could dump a body.” She suddenly freezes. “I’m so sorry about what I said earlier, about your husband being jealous of Eddie.”
I shake my head at her big doe eyes. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s kind of nice for it not to be a big deal.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been going through that on your own,” June says. “Okay, new to-do list. Number one, fix up the Shack and make it all pretty again. Number two, find some money to throw at it. Number three, get Meredith laid.”
Sophie’s eyes go bright as she suddenly yells, “Hey! Ed?—”
I slap my hand over her mouth so fast it stings my palm. “No more wine for you.”
“Number four…” June glances down at the tax reports. “We need to figure out why Dad was so deeply in debt. This is more than just a dripping tap or the grill breaking down every month. The Shack was busy during those last few summers; there’s no way it wasn’t making at least some money.”
“It’s weird,” I agree as I finally deem it safe enough to release my hold on Sophie. “I’ll look into his expenses if I can find them, see if I can flag anything.”
“And in the meantime?” Sophie asks.
June raises a glass, prompting us to mimic the gesture. “We find that money and get the Shack up and running before the end of the summer.”