Chapter 18
You want nothing but patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. —Sense and Sensibility
Elinor
The painting on the wall makes my office complete. Perhaps I should offer it to my sister, the only other descendant of Grandma Nora—but no, there’s no way I’m giving up this portrait.
I admire how perfectly it fills in the blank space on the wall next to the door. And then I begin to feel a little anxious. Is the painting a thoughtful gift—or a bribe?
Stop overthinking, darling! I can almost hear my grandma say as her black painted eyes watch me with amusement. A handsome man gives you an expensive gift. There’s only one way to interpret that.
“But grandma . . .” I say out loud and snap my mouth shut. What am I doing talking to an inanimate object?
***
When I finally leave the hotel, the sky is pink and purple with sunset. I delayed going home as long as possible. Not willing to risk a chance sighting of Edward—or worse, Lucinda—as I walk about the resort, I used the time to catch up on paperwork
As I wend my way home, I decide not to tell my mom and sister about Edward’s visit. I’m not sure who I’m protecting here—Edward or myself.
His motives are sweet, but what was he thinking? I value logic and sense, and promising that we could live in his cottage is, at best, impractical, however well meant—and it complicates everything between us in a way I don’t know how to undo.
Yet, if I tell my mom and Annie about it, they won’t see the conflict. They’ll view Edward’s offer as nothing more than romantic.
I find them on the front porch, snacking on a charcuterie board Annie put together.
I know my sister made it because it’s garnished with edible flowers.
I never eat them, but they do make her cheese boards so much prettier.
The sun has set, but full darkness hasn’t yet settled.
The sky is a soft gray blue, the pine forest behind our home a deep navy, and the mist rolling in a muted silver.
My mom has opened a bottle of wine, which is not the norm for a Tuesday evening.
She offers me a glass, and though I rarely drink, I decide that after my day, I could use one.
I’m surprised by how good it tastes. “This is really nice,” I say after my first sip.
“Edward brought it by,” Annie says with a sly smile.
“Did he?” I take another sip.
“Yes, he said he already saw you.” My mom looks at me curiously. “I invited him to dinner, and he said something that made me think maybe things between you two are . . .” My mom takes another drink as she searches for the right word. “Complicated.”
“That would be accurate.”
“What did you do to him?” asks Annie. “The guy looked heartsick.” My sister has a tendency to overstate things—especially when it comes to romance.
So I must assume this is also an exaggeration.
Edward can’t be too upset about his falling out with me.
We hardly know each other. I look to my mom for verification, even though I know she is only one degree more reasonable than Annie.
“He was his charming self, but a bit subdued,” says my mom. “He seemed a little forlorn—like his puppy just died.” Cat, I think to myself, Edward is a cat person. The thought makes me smile.
“What did you do to the poor man?” asks Annie.
“Nothing—that was just his guilty conscience. His boss visited me this afternoon.”
“Oh! I think I saw her!” exclaims Annie. She must be the lady who was talking with Edward and Brandon in the lobby. I hate her.”
“Really? I mean, I don’t like her either. But what makes you say that?”
“She was all over poor Brandon from the moment Edward introduced him. And she’s like mom’s age.”
“Weren’t you the one who called Brandon ancient?” I ask, momentarily distracted.
“Ancient compared to me. But he’s at least a decade younger than that woman.
And he looked so uncomfortable. She placed her hand on his chest and asked him about his fitness routine.
Can you imagine?” Yes, after meeting Lucinda Steele I could imagine.
She struck me as a woman who learned young to use her sexuality as a tool.
It’s not how I would want to go through life.
But perhaps at one time it was the only way she knew to survive.
“What did Brandon say?” my mom asks. “I have been curious—that man’s built, and considering his healthy appetite, he must be doing something.
” Brandon and Pepper have become regulars at the cafe.
My mom loves to spoil both of them, often throwing in a free cinnamon roll with breakfast or a slice of pie with lunch.
“He didn’t bother to answer her. Brandon would never go for a woman like that. He just called for Pepper, and the three of us high-tailed it out of there.”
Since the sea otter kayaking trip last weekend, Annie has been spending more time with Brandon and Pepper.
My mom has hopes that she and Brandon will fall in love.
It’s a match I could certainly get behind.
We all love Brandon and Pepper, but contrary to all the laws of nature, Brandon doesn’t seem that interested in Annie—which is just as well, since she swears up and down that she has no interest in him.
“Why did Edward’s boss come to visit?” my mom asks.
“To do what he failed to do—to tell me that Edward is the new owner of Bumble Cottage.”
“Oh yes, he told us when he dropped off the wine,” says my mom.
“And you’re not upset?”
“Why should we be?” she asks. “He’ll be a much better landlord than his mom.”
“And he brought us some morning buns from Tartine,” adds Annie.
“You guys don’t see the problem with him letting us live here rent-free?” I ask, taking a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs. Now that the color has faded from the sky, the ocean has turned from silver to lead.
“He said something about negotiating a reasonable rent,” says my mom, passing me the cheese plate. “But he promised it would be something we could afford.”
“I think it’s really sweet of him,” says my sister.
“It’s more than really sweet! It’s insanity. And I don’t think he can afford to do it.”
“Why not? He’s loaded,” says Annie.
“Compared to us he might be. But I don’t think he can really afford to keep this place. The property taxes alone would be more than ten grand a month—and that’s not even including home insurance, which is not cheap around here. That’s a lot of money to throw away out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I see what you’re saying,” my mom says slowly. “But don’t you think Edward can manage his own affairs without you telling him what to do?”
“No, I don’t think he can. The man is too nice for his own good. He made a foolish promise because we once built sandcastles together.” I pop a cube of cheese in my mouth.
“But that’s so romantic!” says Annie. “Now you have to go out with him.”
“No! It’s not like that. And even if it were, I don’t think it would be wise. I’m not sure he’s even interested.”
“You are such a liar!” says Annie. “Of course he’s interested. He’s obviously in love with you!”
“You’ve got to stop saying that. The man hardly knows me.”
“From what Edward told me about meeting you on the trail last fall,” says Annie, “for him it was basically love at first sight.”
“I very much doubt he said that.”
“He didn’t, actually,” she admits as she carefully stacks sharp cheddar on a cracker with a raspberry.
“I just read between the lines.” I can’t let myself believe any of this.
Because a part of me wants it to be true—and I know better.
Most of Annie’s observations are shaped by her romantic ideals, not rooted in reality.
“Did you know that a man determines if you are wife material within the first six seconds of meeting you?” my sister asks.
“What? Where did you get that? TikTok?”
“That doesn’t make it any less true. Back me up, Mom!”
“You know what your father said . . .” she says a little wistfully.
I know my parents’ first meeting by heart.
It’s the fairytale we grew up on. Mom was playing a fortune teller at a Halloween party in LA.
She pretended to read dad’s palm, and before she got two words out, he clasped her hand saying, “Don’t bother reading my future.
I can see it in your eyes.” Then he kissed her.
“I enjoyed the kiss a little bit,” my mom would chime in every time he told the story. “And then I slapped him.” That was always my favorite part as a kid. To think of my mild-mannered mom slapping someone!
“With that slap, I knew for certain,” Dad would say.
We heard this story over and over growing up.
My mom tearfully shared it at my dad’s memorial.
I know Annie expects her own love story to be much the same.
Poor Hunter is just a standby. My sister is still waiting for her “true love” to appear.
Annie is confident she’ll recognize him the moment she meets him.
I, on the other hand, have always been skeptical of the legend of my parent’s first meeting. I can easily believe my dad used that line on my mom. But that doesn’t mean he hadn’t used it on plenty of other women before her. These meet-cutes all appear more romantic in hindsight.
“Edward is going to find that he can’t save Bumble Cottage,” I say as I grab another cracker. “He’s going to need to sell it to make his mom happy, keep his job, and make a gazillion dollars. And that’s just fine. We’ll move and find something better.”
“We can’t move!” says Annie.
“Of course we can. People do it every day.”
“But if you were just a little bit encouraging,” she says. “I bet you could convince him not to sell.”
“Oh my goodness! You sound just as bad as his boss. I’m not going to lead Edward on.”
“But it’s not leading him on when you already like him. Just use your feminine wiles.”
“I don’t have feminine wiles. You inherited all of them.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving up on Bumble Cottage.” Annie stands up and hugs one of the pillars on the porch. “I love this place.”
“I do too. I don’t want to move. I’m just trying to be practical here.”
“And the most practical thing is for you to convince Edward to marry you.”
“That’s no plan at all. We’re just business acquaintances.”
“Don’t give me that!” says Annie. “Pepper saw you guys kiss.”
My mom turns to me, eyebrow raised. “Is this true?” she asks.
“Down at the cove,” Annie says sitting down on the porch right in front of me.
“We didn’t kiss,” I maintain.
“Are you saying Pepper made this up?” asks an indignant Annie.
“It might have looked like we were kissing,” I admit.
“How did it ‘look like’ you were kissing a mild acquaintance,” asks my mom.
“Fine—we almost kissed. We got swept away by the scenery and nostalgia. And at the last minute, Edward backed away, okay?” It still stings that he didn’t kiss me. That in that moment he was the reasonable one and I was not. “So I have no influence on the man. None whatsoever.”
My mom and sister go quiet.
After a few beats, Annie speaks up. “That doesn’t mean a thing. If he almost lost his head once, he’s certain to do it again. All you need to do is get alone with him in some romantic place.”
“No, no, no—I’m not seducing Edward. It’s laughable.”
“Let’s not call it ‘seduce,’” says my mom. “I’d call it ‘wooing.’”
“I’m not going to ‘seduce’ or ‘woo’ Edward. Or use my nonexistent ‘feminine wiles.’”
“Obviously you have an abundance,” says Annie, hugging her knees and laughing, “if he almost kissed you in the middle of the day—and in public! I’m truly impressed.”
My mom is also laughing.
“Mom! Why are you encouraging this? We need a serious plan. Why aren’t you more worried about this?”
“Oh sweetie! You worry too much.”
“Someone needs to worry around here,” I say, exasperated.
“Do you know why people my age sometimes look at young people with envy?”
“Because they regret the dumb mistakes they made in their youth and want a do-over,” I say.
“No.” My mom makes a face. “What a bleak outlook you have.” She refills my glass with Edward’s expensive wine before leaning back in her chair.
“Elinor, I may have made a few foolish decisions that I survived by the grace of God. But I don’t regret my mistakes nearly as much as I regret the energy I wasted fretting about the future. ”
“That’s easy for you to say when everything worked out for you. It’s a lot harder when facing the unknown.”
“Not everything worked out for me,” my mom says starkly.
And I’m immediately put in my place. How can I say everything worked out when we lost Dad?
“No, not everything works out,” she sighs.
“But most things do, eventually. That’s why we forget how hard it is to be young.
So many things worked out for us over time, it’s easy to forget how hard it is to live with uncertainty.
Looking at you, I can’t help but think of all the good stuff ahead.
Yes, life holds surprises—some good, some bad, some terrible.
But all in all, there’s still so much happiness ahead of you. ”
“I feel that,” says my sister. She jumps to her feet. “What we need is a group hug!” She pulls us both up to our feet and hugs me. My mother wraps her arms around both of us.
“I am so lucky to have you two.”
It feels good to have their arms tight around me, but neither this hug nor my mom’s words can completely quiet the panic in my heart.