18. Meredith #2
This is too much for her. I should have done a better job of protecting her from all of this. I promised I would make things up to her, but all I’ve done is take her for granted. I shouldn’t have just assumed she was happy because of her smile.
In the back of my mind, I’m relieved we had the foresight not to share the letter with her.
She swallows hard, then raises herself proudly. “I’ve spent the last month cleaning up after you two,” she says, eyes flicking between us. “Trying to patch over every passive-aggressive jab. Every time you make each other feel small just because you’re hurting.”
“Soph—” June starts.
“No. Let me say this,” she says, her voice wavering again.
“I didn’t come back here to be the referee in a game you’ve been playing since we were kids.
I came because I thought we had a chance to build something.
Together. To fix something. To be a family again.
I wanted to introduce you…” She hiccups slightly as tears stream silently down her cheeks.
She doesn’t bother wiping them away. “But now Mom’s sick.
And Richard is right. I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore.
Why are we fighting so hard for something that keeps falling apart? ”
She turns to me, and something changes. It’s not anger in her eyes—it’s exhaustion. A hollow, bone-deep fatigue that doesn’t belong to the smiling, carefree Sophie I thought I knew.
And for the first time, I don’t see the girl I left behind at fourteen, barefoot on the porch with salt in her hair and sand stuck to her popsicle fingers.
I see a woman who was forced to stay behind when the rest of us left.
A woman who didn’t need us to move to the other side of the country and build a life for herself.
A woman who doesn’t need us now.
“Soph–”
“You should go,” Sophie interrupts, finally wiping away her tears. “You two figure out whatever else you need to figure out. I’ll stay. I’m not leaving Mom. Not yet.”
The car door slams shut, effectively leaving us both to the silent mercy of June’s Land Cruiser. We both need a moment to mentally unpack Sophie’s outburst. To figure out what this means now.
With Sophie out and Richard giving us a day to come up with a strong enough argument to change his mind before selling…would it be awful to give up now? To quit while we’re still, at least, standing instead of dragging this out to the bitter end. Would anyone blame us?
“I don’t know what to do, Mer,” June breaks the silence with atypical vulnerability. “About any of it.”
I stare at the slight crack in the dashboard. “Join the club.”
She laughs, but it’s a breath too close to crying. “You were always the one with the answers. Even when we were kids. You were the one with a plan. I just…followed behind, trusting that brain of yours to keep us out of trouble.”
“I don’t have a plan this time,” I admit.
“I don’t know where Dad’s money is or how to fight the power of attorney.
And even if we found the money, I can’t guarantee the Shack wouldn’t drain us dry.
Richard was right; we’d always be one freezer malfunction away from bankruptcy.
What kind of investor would put up with that? ”
June is quiet for a moment, like she’s weighing something. “I could ask Ashton,” she says eventually. “But…”
I wait, but she doesn’t finish the thought. So, I swallow back what’s left of my pride. “I’m sorry about what I said on the beach. I know you’re not sleeping with him for his money. I was just…being a troglodyte—whatever that means.”
June smiles at that. “Yeah, you were.”
“Is he…” I trail off, unsure of where I’m allowed to tread now.
But June merely wipes her face and steels herself.
“I met him through work. He’s an art dealer.
A persistent one. Wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to date him, and ever since, it’s been…
well, he’s stupid rich, like yacht rich.
Yet he can’t seem to get over his Burberry obsession, and it’s infuriating because he looks so good in that thousand-dollar jacket and?—”
“I was going to ask if he’s good to you.”
June’s mouth closes. Then she swallows. And lets out a shaking breath.
“Yeah. I think I’m in love with him, actually.”
Oh.
Something deeply painful eases within my chest. An old wound, mistreated and discarded beneath layers of more pressing injuries—family, sisters, stepfathers, and Aiden Holloway.
Grief upon grief upon grief. But there at the bottom, buried and forcefully forgotten, is a whole different kind of hollowness.
Where the rubble of hope, the carnage of dreams, the something good that could have been great but instead faded into obscurity, begins to heal.
“June…” I breathe.
She’s crying again, so I hug her again. And that’s all we seem capable of doing today, but that’s okay. Because my little sister is in love. And isn’t that the most beautiful thing?
“I think he would,” she says when she finally calms down enough to speak without blubbering. “He’d give us the money in a heartbeat.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see what she’s feeling, clear as day—she’s scared.
“June…” I place my hand over hers. “I won’t ask you to jeopardize your relationship for this. It’s not fair.”
“But it could help, right?” She sniffs. “It could make the difference.”
I’m already shaking my head. “No, June. I think this time, it’s important that you put yourself first.”
I go back to the Shack alone.
The streets are quiet now. The summer sun has waned behind Nantucket’s signature cloud cover, making the ocean breeze feel colder than it should.
The Shack looks smaller without the busy energy of soft launch preparations. It’s just a weathered building with peeling paint and memories buried in the floorboards. I sit on the edge of the counter and try not to get overwhelmed.
It’s just one last goodbye.
The letter is still folded in my back pocket like a splinter under my skin.
I trust you’ll know where to find it.
Oh, Aiden Holloway. Why did you have to leave riddles and wreckage and a daughter trying to make sense of something that won’t ever make sense again?
I press my hand flat against the counter and sink into my bittersweet thoughts.
With all the cleaning, fixing, the stocked kitchen, and the traces of people all over the Shack, it’s never felt more like a time capsule—a perfectly preserved memory of a better time.
Or maybe it wasn’t; maybe everyone looks back at their teenage years with rose-tinted glasses. But I put them on willingly anyway.
Like a dream. Or a memory of a dream. I imagine Aiden Holloway pushing open the swinging door as he makes his way out of the kitchen toward me. With a battle-weary sigh, he throws an arm around my shoulder, bringing me in for a side hug. “You girls will be the death of me.”
“I thought I was your treasure.”
“You’ll always be my greatest treasures.” He presses a kiss into my hairline. “Except for the chest?—”
“You buried out in Wauwinet.”
“Well, there’s my backup plan blown. I’ll have to move it now.”
I snort lightly into his chest, breathing in his familiar, homely scent. I’d long since grown accustomed to the stench of fish and sweat. “Like I couldn’t find it.”
“Not if I hide it under the shucking station.”
And…
What…
Wait a minute.