16. June
JUNE
The pie fork clatters against my plate as the door creaks open. I watch with mild interest as Sophie returns to her seat, looking properly pink from where the frosty, Nantucket winds seemed to have nipped at her cheeks.
I wonder, vaguely, if there are many people Sophie would run out into a storm for without a jacket. Concluding that they’re all likely sitting around this table.
“You okay?” The question comes from Meredith, who’s glancing between a dejected-looking Trent and our youngest sister with concern.
Trent shrugs, hopping back into his seat and stabbing a fork into his own slice of pie. “Yeah, just Danny’s Dad can be a bit of a tight-ass sometimes.”
“Trent,” Sophie snaps in warning.
“I’m not wrong, though,” Trent presses. “He’s so strict, I’m surprised Danny even has a personality.”
“Yeah, well—” Sophie starts, but is interrupted by the door opening again.
We all turn, half-expecting Noah and Danny’s sheepish return and holiday well wishes.
Instead, Mark Perez steps into Birdie’s, brushing a dusting of snow from his perfect coat, scarf still looped neatly at his throat.
I blink. Then blink again. The two different worlds in my head are colliding at breakneck speed as I register that yes, this is actually happening.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, in that polished, courtroom voice of his. The smug smile he’s wearing only widens when he scans the room.
The table has gone still. Forks hover mid-air, laughter dies in throats. My jaw isn’t the only one on the floor, but I’m the first to recover.
“Mark?” My voice is half incredulous, half exasperated as I stand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
But he isn’t looking at me.
His eyes are locked on Meredith. Meredith, who’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie, their heads still bent close together from where they’d been sharing a private joke before Sophie returned.
Meredith, who I’m fairly certain has her fingers intertwined with her childhood sweetheart under the table.
Now, she straightens, her smile freezing on her face like ice catching mid-crack. She stares back at Mark, unwaveringly. Like a silent challenge.
Eddie’s arm reappears from under the table and drapes itself casually along the back of her chair, but I can feel the tension roll off him in waves.
Whatever dangerous game began the second Mark walked into the room, all three of them seemed to be preparing to play it.
Mark finally makes the first move, tearing his gaze away from my sister long enough to nod at me. “I was invited.”
“By who?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.
His eyes flick back to Meredith with a twisted smile on his lips.
Oh, boy.
“Right,” I say, a little too brightly, sweeping an arm like I’m the hostess of some demented game show. “Everyone, this is Mark. My lawyer. You know, the one who stopped me from jail time. I’m sure I don’t need to remind everyone.”
Trent perks up immediately, eyes wide. Whatever distress Danny’s swift departure caused has been replaced by curiosity. “You mean your lawyer as in Meredith’s?—”
“Ex-husband,” I finish for him, throwing Mark a meaningful look. Not that he’s looking at me anymore. “Mark, this is my brother, Trent. This is Sophie. At the end, there is Roland, he’s the?—”
But before I can finish the introduction, Meredith’s chair screeches back against the wood. She’s standing, arms folded tight across her chest. “I didn’t invite him.”
Mark’s smile only widens, shark-like. “Oh, come now, Meredith. Don’t be so cold. You told me to call the minute I had something. And I do. Thought, why not deliver it in person? Call it a Christmas present.”
That does it.
Eddie shifts beside her, straightening in his chair, his arm slipping from the back of hers. “That seems like a pretty big assumption to make.”
“It’s called taking the initiative, hotshot,” Mark fires back with a wink.
Eddie rolls his eyes, leaning closer to Meredith as he lowers his voice. But I hear it, we all hear it. “You saw him in Boston?”
Meredith’s lips part like she wants to speak, but Mark cuts across immediately.
“Of course she did. We do so enjoy your visits, don’t we, Mere? It’s always such a pleasure when we can work together again…” his voice dips, intimate, while his eyes never leave Eddie’s face, “and I so thoroughly enjoyed being… helpful.”
Meredith goes rigid, cheeks flushing with a fury she’s trying to hold back. Eddie’s jaw ticks, his hand curling into a fist on the table.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mark.” My voice cracks across the room like a whip. “Can you stop being a walking soap opera for five seconds? Nobody needs your innuendo. Just cut the dramatics, and tell us why you’re actually here.”
The smile falters. Just for a second. And then something shifts in his expression, a flicker of calculation. He looks away from Eddie, away from Meredith, to the others around the table who are regarding him with thinly veiled animosity. Then his eyes land squarely back on me.
His expression smooths out, and there it is. That strange, reluctant camaraderie we’ve been circling for weeks now, built on nothing but mutual sleep deprivation, exploitation, and unrelenting bickering.
His mouth tilts into a grin. “You always ruin my fun, June.”
“Someone has to,” I mutter, arms folded, refusing to let him see how relieved I am he’s redirected.
Across the table, Sophie’s watching with wide eyes, like she’s just tuned into a foreign show where everyone else speaks the language but her. I can feel everyone else’s confusion prickling at the edges of the moment. Our familiarity hasn’t exactly been well-advertised to the others.
But if Mark’s going to make this mess, then he can damn well make it to me.
“You can’t expect me to believe you were suddenly compelled by the power of Christmas cheer to come see your least favorite client?”
Mark sighs like the weight of the room has fallen onto his shoulders.
“You’re no fun,” he says, voice lighter, teasing. “I had a whole speech prepared. Something about miracles and Christmas wishes and how I’m basically Santa Claus if Santa billed by the hour?—”
“Spit it out, Mark,” I cut in, my patience shredded.
His grin tugs wider, boyish almost, “Fine. It’s a good job you’re the only one here who seems pleased to see me. I only got a gift for you.”
“I think we have vastly different definitions of pleased.”
“And I think you’re about to eat your words,” He leans a little closer, lowering his voice, though not enough to keep the room from listening. “I’ve found a way around the no-contact order.”
My legs threaten to collapse from under me.
I stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re technically still listed as a witness in Ashton’s trial.
Which means, under the right statute, you can file a formal refusal to testify.
If you’re not testifying, there’s no risk of tampering.
And without that…” He spreads his hands, elegant, matter-of-fact.
“…the barrier between you and him dissolves.”
I can’t breathe. I grip the table edge hard enough that my knuckles blanch.
“Mark—” my voice cracks. “You’re saying… I could… see him?”
He nods once. Crisp, professional. Thoroughly in lawyer-mode now.
“Nothing is going to get turned around tomorrow. But if you want me to, I can draft the motion the day after next. File it in Boston, expedite the request. Once it clears, we can set conditions for visitation. It’s a process.
But yes, if you want it, you could be in the same room. ”
The same room.
My chest caves in on itself. I don’t know if it’s relief or terror bubbling up in my throat, clawing its way out, but suddenly I’m seventeen again, clutching at impossible dreams of someone staying, and also thirty-six, gutted by betrayal and postcards and silence.
And suddenly. Suddenly. Being given the key to all the answers.
To finally know, for certain, what Ashton did and did not do. To be able to look him in the eye and ask him if he meant to ruin me like this.
I move before I can really think. I push my chair away and cross the space, throwing myself at Mark. My arms lock around him, tight, desperate. His surprise lasts a full second before his hands rise awkwardly, patting my back like he’s entirely out of his comfort zone.
“Thank you,” I choke out, again and again. “Thank you, Mark.”
My face is wet, my heart is a wreck, and I don’t even know if I mean it yet, or if I’ll ever come to regret it. But the words are all I have.
I finally peel myself back from Mark, stumbling a step, and when I finally look around, everyone’s staring. Meredith’s brow furrowed, Sophie’s lips parted like she was mid-thought, Trent gaping in wide-eyed fascination, Roland looking politely bewildered. Eddie stone faced, eyes glazed. Miles away.
I wipe my cheeks with the heel of my hand. Ignore them. Ignore the looks.
Meredith recovers first. She pushes toward us slowly, as if taking the time to organize her own thoughts. “You’re serious? You… you actually found a way?”
Mark’s mouth quirks as he turns to address her. “Of course I did. You asked for a miracle. I gave you one.”
The words land too heavily.
And I see it, the flicker in Meredith’s eyes, a shadow she can’t disguise fast enough.
What did you do? My heart rate suddenly picks up. Searching for the answer somewhere in my sister’s subtly rearranged features.
Subtle, but not subtle enough.
Because Eddie leans forward in his chair.
“Funny,” he says evenly, “you make it sound like she traded you something for it.”
Mark, of course, simply shrugs as if to say believe what you want.
“I deliver results. What my clients offer in return is their business. I’m sworn to confidentiality.” His eyes slide back to Meredith, locking her in place. “But this one… Meredith has always known just how to ask.”
Eddie is on his feet in an instant, Sophie not far behind, looking ready to throw herself at him should he get any ideas. Eddie, for his part, waves her away.
“Cut the crap,” Eddie says, low, firm. “You can imply anything you like, but if anyone at this table finds out that you’ve been manipulating Meredith, you’re going to need a lot more than a law degree to save your sorry ass.”
The table holds its breath.
Mark’s lips curve into that shark smile, unbothered. He doesn’t look at Eddie. Not once. He keeps his eyes on Meredith, drinking in her silence, her pallor, the way she won’t quite meet Eddie’s gaze now.
I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my throat. I know I should step in again. Save the night from sliding completely off the rails, rally behind Eddie, and stave off this interloper who’s clearly thriving on the drama of it all.
But…
But.
I need Mark.
I need Mark for as long as it takes to see Ashton.
Then I’ll give Eddie a hand kicking out the trash.
Until then… I can’t risk antagonizing him too much. Not when Meredith’s already… God, I hope she hasn’t done anything stupid… to get me in this position already.
“Now, now,” Mark smiles right back. “Threatening me isn’t very Christmasy, is it?”
“That wasn’t a threat.”
It’s Roland who speaks. His voice is grave in a way I’ve never once in my life heard it before. It’s enough to send a shiver down my spine. “I suggest you leave my family alone.”
Mark’s jaw ticks, but he bows his head respectfully to the aging patriarch.
“Of course. I was merely referring to how well our dear Meredith still knows me. A decade of marriage isn’t something that disappears overnight.
Forgive me for indulging in the rare joy of being known.
Divorce is, after all, such a nasty business. ”
“And whose fault is that?” Sophie leans against Eddie’s side as if to ground him.
Mark doesn’t blink. If anything, his smirk deepens.
“You’re right,” he drawls. “What do I know? But isn’t it funny that Meredith still came to me?
She called me for help. And while hotshot over here was pouring drinks and pining, I was getting results.
Loopholes. Miracles, apparently. So forgive me if I don’t bow out just because he’s got the home-field advantage. ”
“Enough!” Meredith finally finds her voice, stepping between them. “This isn’t about you or me, or anyone except June.”
Neither man moves.
Then Eddie cracks his neck. “You really think you deserve a second shot, huh?”
“Oooooh,” Mark croons, positively delighted. “Well, seeing as you’re getting one.”
And yeah.
I’ve had enough.
“Oh, for crying out loud. Two grown men, puffing their chests at Christmas dinner. What’s next, a duel in the parking lot?” I let the sarcasm drip like acid. “Here’s an idea: why don’t you both measure your egos somewhere else so the rest of us can finish dessert?”
That shuts them up. Both turn to me, blinking, like they’d forgotten I was standing here.
I cross my arms, lifting my chin. “Mark. Since you’re so determined to ruin my holiday, you might as well come ruin it at my house. At least there, we can talk through whatever legal gymnastics you’ve cooked up without the captive audience.”
Mark tilts his head, considering me. Then he grins, sharp and wolfish. “Charming invitation. How could I refuse?”
Meredith exhales like I’ve just sentenced her to hard labor.
“Fine,” she says tightly. “If you’re going to do this, I’m coming with you. Someone has to keep it from turning into a circus.”
“Perfect,” I shoot back. “The more the merrier.”
I glance back at the table, at Sophie’s worried eyes, Trent’s curious stare, Roland’s murderous expression.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” I say, mustering something that might pass for cheer. “Save me a slice of Roland’s cake, yeah?”
Then I grab my coat, push past Mark’s smug satisfaction, and lead the way out into the freezing Nantucket night.