Chapter 9
In this state of . . . spirits, a letter was delivered. —Sense and Sensibility
Edward
I stand outside Elinor’s room, terrified.
After tossing and turning most of the night, I’ve reached the conclusion that I need to come clean and tell her everything.
“Hi, my company plans to overhaul the park, and I’m on the team leading the project.
Oh, and have I mentioned I’m your new landlord? ” I sigh. Yeah, that will not go well.
I tap lightly on the door. The house is so still the only sound is a bird singing. I wait outside her room for a couple minutes. Again. I tap on her door. This time a little louder.
“Elinor?” My voice echoes in the empty hall. She did say 6:30? Is she avoiding me? I pull out my phone to text her. My phone alerts me that the message failed. The red alert feels like a bad omen.
I pad down the stairs leisurely, taking in the family photos.
It’s weird to think, as I run my hand down the polished wood railing, that I own this place.
It’s a heady thought. I’m already half in love with Bumble Cottage.
The only problem is that it wouldn’t be as magical without the Greenwoods—without Elinor.
Outside, everything is gray and green and silver. Clouds conceal most of the slate gray ocean. Water drips from the eaves.
“Morning!” Annie calls from the garden. The flowers’ bright colors pop against the foggy background.
“Morning!” I say as I hurry down the steps.
“Going for a run?” Annie asks as she trims the stalk of a tall blue flower.
“Yeah, just a short one.” I explain. “So, um . . . do you know where this trail is that your sister was bragging about?”
“It starts where our driveway intersects the road. You’ll see a sign that reads ‘Ralph’s Ridge.’ Take that. It connects to a main trail, so you could run twenty miles out and back if you wanted.”
“I’m not that ambitious. I’ll stick with four miles. Thanks!” I jog to the gate.
“Edward!”
I turn back. “Yes?”
“Elinor’s working at the cafe this morning. A server called in sick. She’ll be working until 10 or so.”
“Oh, good to know.” I suddenly feel so much better about the day. “Does she do that often?”
“Cover for people? All the time. She trims branches and smokes out hornets and runs the social media. She’s basically the most competent person I know.”
“I noticed.”
“Yeah, well, I figured you were wondering where she was.”
“I was wondering, thanks.”
She breaks into a brilliant, knowing smile. I’m beginning to understand why Elinor adores her little sister.
“Have a good run. We’re rooting for you!”
Annie’s words give me a little boost as I jog down the lane, then up the trail through the forest.
I recall something Elinor told me that golden summer.
She was always spouting nature facts like a junior forest ranger.
According to her, the dainty pine needles of redwoods absorb moisture from the fog.
I feel like I’m doing the same right now.
Something inside my soul is replenished, running up this misty trail of ferns and clover and little yellow violets.
Breathing in and out, I savor the simple pleasure of being alive.
The path opens to a clearing with a view of the coastline, and my heart does a little somersault.
Steep green hills break into cliffs as they meet a silvery ocean.
Wisps and tendrils of fog weave in and out of the hillsides, adding to the mystique.
This may be the most scenic running trail I’ve ever been on—and it belongs to my family. At least for now.
Norland Park isn’t just an asset. It’s a home, a business, a wonder. Is there any way I can convince my mom not to sell? She certainly doesn’t need more money. And the world doesn’t need another luxury resort . . .
What am I thinking? My job depends on this sale, and right now is not the time to be looking for a new job in real estate. My mom was right to warn me about the Greenwood women. One day with Elinor and I’ve already promised the impossible and am contemplating upending my career.
I need to rein it in. Elinor is a reasonable woman. It’s one of the many things I admire about her. There has to be some way that I can make this deal go through and still have a chance with her.
The sun crests over the ridge, and the slate ocean begins to shimmer. The glory of it all imbues me with an unaccountable optimism. I run back energized and excited, convinced that somehow I can make things work.
When I return to the trailhead out of breath, sweaty, and exhilarated, my phone buzzes.
It’s Elinor. The sight of her name on the screen makes me ridiculously happy.
Hi! This is Elinor. Sorry to miss the run and breakfast. I was called into work. If you’re still interested, I can give you the tour after 10
I text her immediately.
Yes! Looking forward to it!
The message is delivered and liked. Apparently, this location has cell service, which is more than can be said for most of the property. Another thing we’ll need to fix, I think as I lean against a stone wall to stretch my quads.
I step back and pause. Something about this spot feels familiar. My eyes follow the wall as it disappears into a thick tangle of overgrown morning glory vines. A patch of red stands out among the bright blue flowers.
Curious, I walk over to take a closer look. I gently pull back the vines and spot a half-raised metal flag. The sight of it floods me with memories. I pull away more of the morning glory, revealing a rusty mailbox.
Our mailbox.
I touch the cool metal and tug the stiff door open. A small white envelope, now slightly yellowed, waits inside.
My name is written in neat childish print: Eddie.
I open the note written in careful cursive.
Eddie,
Would you be my pen pal? ??
Here’s my address.
Please tell me all about your new house in San Francisco and if you get a dog.
Ellie
Does Elinor remember that she left me this? Is it a painful memory now, the fact that I never replied? Or is this note long forgotten, like this mailbox?
I would have written to her. Or maybe I wouldn’t. It’s hard to say. But I wish that I had. If I had, everything would be different. Better, I think.
I shut the door to the mailbox, tidying up my disturbance of the morning glory. Then I run back to the cottage with a new sense of purpose.
***
Every table is claimed at Mom’s Cafe, a squat building painted the same off-white as all the buildings at Norland Park. I’m surprised by the crowd at nine a.m. on a Thursday. I scan the busy outdoor eating area, searching for Elinor.
“Freshie!”
I turn toward the familiar booming voice and nearly do a double take. Standing there is the last person I expected at Norland Park—Brandon James, captain of my college lacrosse team and all-around great guy.
Brandon was a senior when I was a freshman, making him four years older than me.
His life experiences make the gap between us feel much wider, but that has never bothered Brandon.
He has always made me feel like a respected peer.
As captain of the team—and a full-grown mountain man (because as a senior in high school Brandon James could grow a better beard than I can now)—he welcomed me, a gangly freshman, to the team.
He saw me as an awkward kid who needed a place to belong, and he made certain I found it.
Damn! It was good to see him.
“What are the odds?” He pulls me into a hug. “Hey, Pepper,”—he gestures toward a girl with light brown hair and purple glasses sitting across from him—“meet one of my oldest friends.”
She glances up from the notebook she’s been scribbling in. “All your friends are old, Daddy.”
“Don’t be a sass,” Brandon replies fondly. “Pepper, this is Edward—or do you go by Ed now?”
“It’s Edward, but I’m kind of shocked you even know my name. Everyone on the team called me Freshie—even when I was a senior.”
“What do you expect, with a name like Frechette and that adorable boyish face? You haven’t aged a day—and here I am going gray.” Brandon points to a few flecks of silver in his beard.
I nod towards Pepper. “You sure don’t look old enough to have a daughter this age.”
“How old do you think I am?” Pepper asks, grinning.
I make a helpless gesture. “Twenty-five? Thirty?”
“No!” She giggles. “Much younger! ”
“Sorry, my mistake. Maybe three or four?”
“That’s just insulting. I’m nine. Almost ten.”
“Nine?” I look at Brandon. “Okay, now I feel ancient.”
“Welcome to my world,” Brandon laughs. “Hey, we haven’t ordered. You should join us.”
“I’d love to.” I take the open seat next to him.
“Pepper, Edward is the one who gave you the stuffed red panda as a baby gift.”
“Tobias? He’s my favorite—thank you! You have good taste.”
Actually, my stepmom does. I had enlisted her help when I heard about Brandon’s wife’s untimely death. It was all so sudden and tragic. I was out of my depth. My dad’s wife suggested I write my friend a note and give a gift to his baby daughter.
“I’m surprised you remembered.”
“Of course I remember. You were the only one on the team to send a gift to Pepper. It was really sweet. Especially because you were so busy with school at the time.”
“No busier than you.”
“I managed,” he says tersely. “So what are you up to?” he asks in a more cheerful voice.
“I’m at Steele Properties; it’s a development company primarily focused on—” I stop as Elinor approaches the table with a tray of drinks.
“Please don’t stop on my account.” She hands Brandon his coffee. “It was just getting interesting.”
“Um, Elinor, good morning.” She’s wearing jeans and a navy blue Norland Park T-shirt. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail. Somehow she looks even better this morning.
“Morning, Mr. Frechette,” she says as she places a mug of hot chocolate overflowing with whipped cream and marshmallows in front of Pepper. “Extra marshmallows,” she says to Pepper in a much sweeter tone than she used with me.