Chapter 6
Thomas had been awake for hours as sleep proved elusive. The memories of the past and present-day concerns tangled up in his mind as the morning light filtered through the trees outside his bedroom window.
Today marked fifteen years since Sarah’s passing, and it was a date he always approached with quiet reflection rather than outwardly mourning.
He dressed in a clean button-down shirt and khakis, nothing formal but respectful of his annual visit to the small island cemetery, and he moved through his morning routine, automatically brewing coffee and toasting a slice of sourdough bread that Emma had brought from her favorite Atlanta bakery.
Emma.
He looked at the clock, wondering if his daughter would remember the day. She almost always did, though they rarely discussed it directly. Their shared grief had changed over the years into a more gentle remembrance, focused on honoring Sarah’s life rather than dwelling on her absence.
As he sipped his coffee on the back deck and watched the morning mist rise from the tidal creek, he found his thoughts drifting to Isabella and their unexpected connection during yesterday’s storm.
The moment when she’d steadied him, her hand so warm on his arm, her face so close to his in the candlelight - it had brought back feelings he thought were long dormant.
The sound of his phone ringing pulled him from the reflection, and he saw Emma’s name flashing on the screen.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he answered as he moved back inside.
“Hey, Dad.” Her voice was warm but definitely held a note of sadness. “I just wanted to check in, you know, see how you’re doing today. I wish I could…”
So she had remembered.
“I’m okay,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I’m going to visit the cemetery this morning.”
“I wish I could be there,” she said, “but this client meeting was scheduled months ago, or I would have come down for the whole weekend.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your mom would be the first to tell you business comes first on a day like this. You know how practical she was.”
Emma laughed softly. “You know, she really was. Remember when she made us all go to that Chamber of Commerce dinner on the night after her second chemo treatment? She’d said she felt awful either way, so she might as well be productive and support local businesses.”
“Oh, she was stubborn that way,” Thomas said, smiling at the memory. “So how are you doing today?”
“I’m all right. It gets a little easier each year, doesn’t it? I mean, not forgetting. You just… I think the sharp edges smooth out somewhat.”
“I guess that’s a good way to put it,” Thomas said.
They talked for a few more minutes about Emma’s upcoming meeting and her plans to visit the island again soon. As they were about to hang up, Emma paused for a moment and then asked, “Have you seen much of Isabella since I left? With the renovation?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied. “There was a minor crisis during yesterday’s storm. Part of the ceiling gave way in one of the bathrooms, but we worked together to contain the damage as best we could.”
“Oh, so just the two of you?” Emma’s tone was neutral, but he could hear a little bit of concern beneath the question.
“Luella was there, too. Well, for part of it,” he said. “Emma, it was strictly professional. We’re colleagues working on a project together.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, just be careful, Dad. I like her, surprisingly, but there’s still a lot of stuff unresolved between you.”
“I know,” Thomas said. “You go focus on your meeting today. Don’t worry about me.”
After they hung up, he got his keys and a small bundle of flowers he picked from his garden early that morning. White camellias. They were Sarah’s favorites.
The cemetery sat on the far side of the island, a peaceful patch of hallowed ground overlooking the salt marsh. Ancient live oaks draped in Spanish moss stood sentinel over generations of islanders, their gnarled branches creating a natural cathedral against the morning sky.
As he drove, he thought about the timing of Isabella’s return to his life and how curious it was, coinciding so closely with this significant anniversary.
Fifteen years since Sarah’s passing. Thirty years since he’d left Isabella. These markers of his personal history seemed to be converging in ways he would have never anticipated.
The cemetery was empty when he arrived, which suited his mood. Thomas made his way along the oyster shell path to her grave, a simple little marble marker beneath a spreading oak tree. He put the camellias carefully against the stone, then stood quietly, his hands in his pockets.
“Mornin', Sarah," he said quietly, still feeling a bit self-conscious about talking to a headstone after all these years. He’d created a habit during his first year of widowhood, finding comfort in one-sided conversations. “Fifteen years. Hard to believe sometimes.”
The gentle breeze stirred the Spanish moss overhead.
“Emma’s doing well - crushing it at work, as she’d say. Still single, still married to her career, but she’s happy.”
He paused, thinking about his next words.
“You know, I’ve taken on a new project - the old Wexley Inn. It’s a little complicated. Isabella Montgomery owns it.”
He fell silent, trying to imagine what Sarah might say if she were here.
She’d known about Isabella, of course, early in their marriage when they were still finding their way as a couple.
He had told her about his college sweetheart, though not the full circumstances of its ending.
Sarah, practical and direct as always, had just nodded and said, “Well, her loss was my gain, wasn’t it? ”
“Things were simple with you,” he continued. “Not always easy, you know - towards the end, it wasn’t - but simple. We understood each other.”
He sighed and looked over the marshland.
“I never told her the truth, Sarah, about why I left, and now she’s here and I don’t know if I should dredge up ancient history or just let it be.
I know I also didn’t tell you in life, but I’ve confessed it to you almost every year since you died.
I guess that makes me a coward. But what do I do?
Do I tell her the real truth? The one I couldn’t even tell you when you were alive? ”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. He stood in silence for several more minutes, remembering his wife - her strength during her illness, her unwavering support of his business when they were just starting out, her fierce love for Emma.
Although their marriage had started with a lie and blackmail, it hadn’t been a terrible marriage.
Sarah was his high school sweetheart, so there was affection between them.
It was a good partnership for a long time.
Passionate? Not really. Were they soulmates?
No. But Thomas valued loyalty above much else, and he’d been loyal to her once the commitment was made.
“I miss your advice. You always knew how to cut through the noise and get to what mattered.”
The sound of footsteps on the oyster shell path alerted him that someone was approaching, and he turned to see Emma making her way toward him with a small bouquet in her hand.
“Emma, what in the world? What about your meeting?”
She smiled, and she looked so much like Sarah in that moment that it tugged at his heart.
“Postponed. The client’s flight got canceled due to weather, so I rescheduled for tomorrow and caught the first flight I could. I was already here when we spoke on the phone. I wanted to surprise you.”
She joined him at the grave, putting her flowers beside his. Thomas pulled her into a tight hug, and then they stood together in comfortable silence for a few moments.
“I was just telling your mom about the inn renovation.”
“And Isabella?”
“Well, that too.”
“And what would Mom say about all this, do you think?”
Thomas considered the question. “Probably something practical and direct. You know, ‘Do what needs doing and stop overthinking it.’”
Emma laughed softly, looping her arm through her father’s.
“That sounds exactly like her. You know what struck me about Isabella?
She actually listens when you talk about the work, not just nodding along, but really understanding what you're saying about the building.
Most clients just want to know when it'll be done and how much it'll cost. But she gets excited about the same details that light you up. That's... that's pretty special, Dad."
“She’s a very intelligent woman. Always has been. My interests are the same as hers,” Thomas said.
They went silent again, both of them lost in their private thoughts. Finally, Emma spoke.
“You should tell her the truth, Dad, about why you left. She deserves to know, and you deserve to be free of carrying that secret.”
He sighed. “It’s been three decades, Emma. Does it really even matter anymore?”
“Dad, you're standing at Mom's grave on the anniversary of her death, asking if the truth matters, while the woman you never explained yourself to is three miles away bringing your dream project to life. I think the universe is practically shouting that it matters.”
He couldn’t argue with her logic. They said their final goodbyes and walked back to their separate cars.
“I think I’ll head to the inn to take some measurements I forgot yesterday,” he said as they reached the parking area. “What are your plans?”
“You know, I was thinking of stopping by the Wexley Country Club for lunch. Maggie Beaumont invited me last time I was here, and I might take her up on it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Beaumont? Since when are you two lunch buddies?”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I reached out to her about some historical information for a client project. She suggested lunch to discuss it.”
“Uh-huh,” Thomas echoed. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that Maggie is now Isabella’s closest friend on this island?”
“It’s pure coincidence,” Emma said. “Just being sociable.”