Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lanie
Present Day
A low hum of conversation and the faint clatter of dishes drifted through the hotel lobby into the piano bar. Although it was only a tuning job, I had been asked for specifically—something that was happening more and more lately. Slowly, my mom was checking out of the piano business, and people sensed it.
I adjusted the tuning lever, giving it a slight clockwise turn as the note from the Steinway grand piano wavered, just shy of where it needed to be. The polished black wood reflected the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
I hit A4 again, listening intently. It wavered out of sync. I sighed, reaching for my tuning fork to check the pitch. Proper tension was everything. Too much and I’d risk overshooting the note; too little and each string would wobble.
“Lanie? Is that you?”
The familiarity of that voice startled me enough that I froze, my hand hovering over the strings. Turning toward the source, my stomach flipped.
A man stood near the lobby entrance, silhouetted against the bright sunlight pouring through the glass. As he stepped closer, his features came into focus: sharp jawline, faintly tousled hair, and a confidence that had only grown with time.
“Mark?” I blurted, the surprise clear in my voice as I set my instruments down.
Julian must have told him I was going to be Eliza’s maid of honor—and if he had accepted the position of Julian’s best man... it would make sense for him to seek me out.
“Lanie, it is you.” His tone was smooth, almost rehearsed. “When I heard someone tuning a piano, I had to check.”
Disappointment hit me like a cold draft. Okay, so either he didn’t come to see me, or we’re going to pretend he didn’t.
I forced a smile. “It’s been a long time.”
“It sure has.” He walked closer, and I waited for the warmth to soften his expression, for some flicker of the Mark I used to know. But it didn’t come.
The initial urge to greet him with an enthusiastic hug quickly evaporated. Instead, I stood rooted to the spot, my hands hooked in the front pockets of my jeans.
Things had been awkward after prom. My mother had forbidden me from hanging out with him. I fought her on it, but the argument was soon overshadowed by her sudden announcement: we were relocating to Portsmouth.
No discussion.
No debate.
Any resistance was met with near hysteria. She needed to leave Maplebridge—right after my graduation—and she needed us with her.
Mark and I had somewhat smoothed things over after prom, but nothing was the same. He became distant, and I was too overwhelmed by the idea of leaving everything I knew behind. When I moved away, he asked if he could visit.
I said no.
I had shut everyone out. Even Eliza. She came anyway. I wish I could say I had been more grateful at first, but I was angry—at everyone, at everything.
She kept coming anyway.
Looking back, I should have reached out to Mark. His senior year hadn’t ended the way he wanted either. Everyone was shocked when he stayed behind to care for his parents instead of leaving for college. That couldn’t have been an easy choice.
I shouldn’t have let my embarrassment over prom ruin our friendship. I should have called and explained how I felt, that shutting him—and Maplebridge—out all at once made the pain of leaving easier to bear.
He probably doubted I had ever cared at all for him.
He had every right to feel that way.
We both made bad choices that year.
No, he hadn’t come to my grandfather’s funeral, but I knew why. Did I call him to check on his father? No—but I should have. Selfishly, I had let my social anxiety stop me from being the kind of friend to him that Eliza had been to me.
It wasn’t something I was proud of.
“How have you been?” I asked, trying to ease the tension.
“Good.” His expression was closed off, guarded. Was there nothing left of the friendship we’d once had?
“How’s your father?” My words came out more tentative than I intended.
He blinked slowly before answering. “Same as ever.”
“So . . . he’s back home?”
“Yes. All good. And you? How have you been?”
God, I wished there was some warmth in his eyes when he asked that. I scanned his face, searching for some trace of the Mark I had once thought would always be part of my life.
“The past few months have been rough, but my mother’s doing okay, and that makes things easier.”
“And your grandfather?”
My throat tightened. “He died, remember?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. I was sorry to hear about that.”
Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. Had he actually forgotten? Or was that a dig?
Neither option felt like Mark.
Did I do that to him?
A sharp edge of defensiveness rose in me. Okay, maybe I hadn’t been the friend he needed back then. Maybe I didn’t know how to navigate suddenly becoming the joke of my high school. But nearly a decade had passed since then.
I shifted my weight, stalling before I met his gaze. The air between us was heavy, thick with words neither of us knew how to say.
The Mark I knew would have cracked a joke by now. He would have teased me for being so serious.
But this version of him?
He stood there, stiff and unreadable—like someone about to inform me I was past due on my taxes.
“So,” Mark exhaled impatiently. “How much longer will you be working on the piano?”
The question was casual, but his tone didn’t match his words. Maybe Julian hadn’t asked him to be his best man yet, and this meeting was just a coincidence. Was he waiting to use the piano bar with some friends? It didn’t normally open for another hour anyway.
I turned back to the keys, struck A4 again, and made a face. “Not too much longer.”
Beneath my lashes, I gave him another once-over.
The boy who used to haul syrup buckets with his dad, laughing loud and unrestrained even when he tripped, was gone. This man was polished. His hair was tousled but tamed. His clothes? Tailored enough to pass for a catalog ad.
Is there any of the Mark I once knew still in there? And why is he here?
I focused on the piano and asked, “Are you in town for vacation?”
“No,” he said. “We’ve been expanding our syrup sales to hotels.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Landed a big new client recently. Things are taking off.”
I peered at him over my shoulder. Was I supposed to be impressed? I would have been—if he didn’t sound like he expected me to be.
“Oh?”
Mark—or should I start calling him Corporate Mark—nodded, his expression brightening for the first time since he walked in. “Yes. Big distributor up north. This could mean nationwide distribution. It’s a game changer.”
I straightened and turned toward him. I wanted to be happy for him. He and his family were good people, and they deserved every success that came their way.
But something held me back.
An odd feeling twisted in my stomach—like he was lying to me.
Mark could be loud, and his humor could be over the top at times, but I had always considered him someone I could trust.
I didn’t feel that way about the man standing in front of me now, watching me with the eyes of a stranger.
“That’s great,” I said carefully. “Your parents must be so proud of you.”
“Right.” His jaw tightened briefly before he forced a more neutral expression. “It’s the topic of a lot of the notes my mother attaches to things lately.”
That brought a wistful smile to my face. “She still does that?”
I sighed, remembering the daily affirmations Mark used to proudly read to us at lunch.
“When you see her, tell her I think of her often.”
He nodded, but didn’t look particularly pleased by my request—which made his next words even more surprising.
“There’s a restaurant upstairs—The Coastal Table. Have dinner with me.”
I blinked. The Coastal Table. Of course, I knew it. It was one of those places where the appetizers cost more than a week’s worth of groceries.
“Oh,” I said apologetically, “I’m not dressed for somewhere like that.”
“The hotel has a boutique store. I bet they’d have an outfit you’d like. My treat.”
He really must be doing well financially.
“That’s a kind offer.” And oddly unsettling. “Technically, if I wanted to, I could head home and change.”
He frowned. “But you don’t want to?”
Confused, I put my hands on my hips. “What are we doing, Mark? What are you hoping for? An apology?”
My tone softened, and I let my arms relax at my sides.
“I am sorry. Senior year didn’t end on a good note for either of us. I should have kept in touch. I let life overwhelm me.” I inhaled slowly, my voice lowering. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
His expression was unreadable—irritation, maybe, but whether at me or himself, I couldn’t tell.
“What about tomorrow?” he asked suddenly.
“Tomorrow?”
“Are you free then?”
I started to say I wasn’t, but hesitated. There was something in his eyes—a sadness I’d never seen before.
An unexpected urge rose in me, to hug him, to tell him everything would be okay. Maybe something had happened, something I hadn’t heard about, something he was struggling with. Whether he sought me out on purpose or had just stumbled across me, we’d once been close friends.
If he needed someone to talk to, I’d be there.
“Yes. I could show you around Portsmouth, if you’d like. I also know several restaurant owners. I could introduce you...”
His eyebrows lifted just slightly. “Nice. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
“Ooo-kay,” I said, a touch of humor in my voice. “Sure. Eleven works for me. Wear walking shoes, and I’ll take you for a tour.”
He stepped closer. Too close. My eyes widened.
When his head dipped toward mine, I instinctively stepped back.
He was as attractive as ever—possibly even more so, now that he’d filled out with age—but whatever zing there had once been between us was gone.
Sadly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, putting more space between us.
He nodded, spun on his heel, and left.
I sank onto the piano bench, my fingers brushing the cool, ivory keys beside me. For a moment, the weight of my encounter with Mark pressed down hard, and I let myself slump forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the polished ebony of the Steinway.
The last time Mark had given me a gift, I’d been in a spot not so different from this one—perched on a piano bench, trying to hold myself together while the pieces of my life scattered to the wind.
It was after our high school graduation, and my mother was gone for the day, signing the lease for an apartment in Portsmouth.
I had been at home, trying—and failing—to pack. Frustrated, I turned to music for solace, but as I sat at the piano, my hands hovered over the keys, trembling, unable to play a single note.
I remember it like it was yesterday . . .
Mark burst in unannounced. “There you are,” he said, plopping down beside me on the bench.
“Here I am,” I answered weakly.
There was so much I wanted to tell him—so much I wanted to apologize for. He had stood up for me and taken a huge social hit because of it. I didn’t know how to thank him without circling back to what we had been doing in that garden outside prom.
“I brought you a gift,” he declared, dropping a wrapped box onto my lap.
I nearly burst into tears. “What is it?”
He chuckled, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Open it and see.”
I did, then held up a strange little device. It was sleek and silver, no bigger than a cellphone, with a tiny screen and a series of buttons.
“I love it?” I said, half amused, half confused.
“It’s a spectrometer,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “For ghost hunting.”
“Oh. Of course.” I laughed despite myself, the absurdity of the gift cracking through the fog of my sadness.
“To be specific, it’s an EMF detector,” he admitted, leaning casually against the piano, his mop of hair bouncing as he did. “It picks up electromagnetic fields, which is what ghosts generate. Or, you know, faulty wiring. Either way, it’s cool.”
I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it. “Thank you. Really, it’s a fun gift.”
“It really is,” he said, leaning in. “When you’re in Portsmouth and missing Maplebridge—or me—you can use it. Maybe you’ll find a haunted piano or something, and it’ll remind you that we’re all connected...”
He cleared his throat. “Lanie, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s okay.” My hand shook as I placed the spectrometer back in the box. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Rob is an asshole. Had I known he’d start rumors about you, I would have made sure I broke his jaw as well.”
A small smile curled my lips. “I’m surprised he said anything at all after the beating you gave him.”
Mark’s large shoulders hunched. “With his dad on the police force, he thought he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Thankfully, Julian’s dad is a lawyer. Otherwise, I’d have a criminal record.”
“He deserved every punch you gave him.” I looked down at the gift—part apology, part promise. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“Always,” he said quietly.
Our eyes met, and my teenage mind spiraled.
Mark and I had kissed—okay, and a little more than that—but it wasn’t like he was at my door the next day professing his love for me.
And I was leaving.
My mother needed this move. She needed me. She and Gramps couldn’t run the business without me.
“Mark . . .” My voice wavered.
There was something more than affection in his eyes, something I wasn’t ready for. His voice was deep and sure when he said, “I’ll come see you in Portsmouth.”
I wanted to believe him.
“It’s a long drive.”
“A few hours,” he said, his tone steady. “I care about you, Lanie, and I always will. That won’t change because you’re moving.”
But it had.
Not because of the move.
Because of me.
I sat back, staring at the piano keys. I still had the spectrometer. It was buried in the back of my closet in my apartment. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
And often, when I thought about it, I circled back to that moment—to him promising he’d always care about me.
I shook my head, scoffing at myself. The sadness in his eyes today—it couldn’t be about me. No one holds on to something like that for so long. Not when life keeps moving.
He probably had someone waiting for him back at the hotel. Maybe even at home.
I would know—if I ever let Eliza talk about him.
But he wasn’t married.
Eliza would have told me that much.
I turned back to the piano and struck a note again. It wavered. After a small adjustment, I struck it again, and the sound rang out true and clear.
I sat back, setting the lever aside, staring off in the direction Mark had left.
Tuning pianos made sense to me—a lot more than life did.
Mark had always believed there was more to life than we knew or could understand. He used to say he felt something calling to him, pulling him toward a discovery. It was why he dabbled in ghost hunting.
I pulled out my phone and texted Eliza.
Me: Has Julian talked to Mark about being in the wedding yet?
Eliza: No. Why?
Me: Just curious.
I didn’t tell her Mark was in Portsmouth because it was still difficult for me to believe he was.
And because I didn’t like what my gut was saying— This doesn’t feel right. Someone is lying to me.