Chapter 8 #2
Isaac shrugged and gestured vaguely to the sofa in the next room. “I’m exhausted,” he said, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “But I’m worried about my sister.”
A moment later, thirteen-year-old Mallory and Landon appeared in the hall. Mallory’s face was a soft shade of green, and it was clear she’d been crying. “I don’t want to go, Dad,” she whined. “I’m going to be fine! I promise!”
But Landon was determined to take her to the doctor. “It’ll go fast, sweetie,” he said. “We need to get you checked out. It’s better to be…”
“Safe than sorry,” Mallory finished, imitating him. She hiccuped.
Celia guessed that Landon was cursing himself for not being here at home with his children, for tending to both business and personal matters while his daughter grew sicker and sicker.
Worst of all, he’d been with Celia, a woman who didn’t deserve his kindness or his attention.
Maybe his curiosity had gotten the better of him.
Perhaps he regretted asking her to watch over Isaac, too.
But it occurred to Celia now that in talking to Landon, she’d felt more like herself than she had in years.
She certainly hadn’t felt “good” with her sisters.
She’d felt needed, but she’d also felt like they wanted to reject any help she offered them.
Any help save for what she could do for the Bluebell Cove Inn, she thought.
“Call us when you know more!” Celia said as Landon and Mallory clipped past them. “I hope you feel better, Mallory!” Her voice sounded pathetic.
Landon gave her a final, panicked look before closing the door between them.
Just like that, Celia was all alone with his teenage son—the teenage son who’d been birthed by a woman Celia knew nothing about—in a house she hadn’t been inside since she was eighteen years old.
Her heart pounded. When she turned to look at Isaac, he trounced over to the sofa and collapsed.
Silence filled the living room. Celia was suddenly inundated with thoughts of what she still needed to do back at the Bluebell Cove Inn.
Her mile-long to-do list was growing by the second.
Celia hadn’t wanted to ask Sophie for her help when she arrived.
Celia wanted to let Sophie relax, think, and dream up her next steps in her career.
But now it seemed that Sophie would be doomed to a summer at the Bluebell Cove Inn, just as Celia once had been.
Because Celia didn’t know what to do with herself, she tiptoed into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for ingredients to make soup.
It didn’t surprise her that it was more or less chaotic.
Outside of high school lab and chemistry classes, Landon had never been very organized.
She found cheese, bread, candy, and moldy vegetables, all piled together in a fridge drawer.
Candy bars were slotted in next to the forks and spoons, and plates of all sizes were stacked in a crooked tower.
On the fridge were photographs of Mallory and Isaac through the years: Isaac with braces, Mallory with a broken arm wearing a tutu, Isaac in a basketball uniform, and a tiny Mallory with her arms around a beautiful woman’s neck.
Celia stopped short, a can of beans in her left hand.
Something about this woman’s smile yanked her back through the past. I know that face, she thought.
But it was then she realized that Mallory’s smile was the same as the woman’s in the photograph.
Celia’s eyes filled with tears she couldn’t control.
There was only one possible reason Landon would have the mother of his children’s photograph on the fridge.
She felt almost 100 percent sure that their mother was dead.
It took Celia about twenty-five minutes to make the soup, which she poured into a large bowl and lined with crackers.
When she tiptoed into the living room to find Isaac, he was still awake and starting The Mummy all over again.
Just as it had been for Landon and Celia, it seemed The Mummy was Isaac’s comfort film.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, she supposed.
She set the soup on the coffee table and watched as Isaac lazily drew himself up and looked at her. He clacked his spoon against the bottom of the bowl and took a bite. Satisfied, he ate several more spoonfuls, clearly hungry, before asking, “How do you know my dad?”
Celia’s ears rang. It was strange. Isaac’s mannerisms and the way he talked reminded her so much of his father all those years ago.
“We were friends in high school,” she said, repeating what Landon had already offered him.
“Yeah, but he’s never mentioned you,” Isaac accused. “Where have you been?”
“I live in Washington, DC,” she said.
“That’s far.” Isaac took another big bite of soup. “Why haven’t we met you before? I mean, people come home for the holidays and stuff, right? That’s what happens on TV.”
Celia smiled nervously. “When I left Bluebell Cove, I promised myself I wouldn’t come back.”
“Why?” Isaac scrunched his nose. “That sounds stupid.”
“It was stupid,” she agreed.
“So you regret it?”
“I don’t know. I think everything happened the way it was supposed to.”
Isaac nodded, his face stoic, sager than it should have been. “That’s what my girlfriend says all the time. That everything happens for a reason. That everything has been foretold. Sometimes she reads my Tarot cards, and it’s like, scary accurate.”
Celia bit her tongue to keep from smiling too big at this, the silliest thing she’d heard in ages. She was glad that Isaac was beginning to trust her. “You have a girlfriend?”
Isaac nodded. “Addison. She’s crazy cool. We dated for a while in middle school but got back together a few months ago.”
“Is it different this time around?”
Isaac considered this for a moment, placing his spoon back in his bowl and drawing his eyes to the window. “We talked about it a lot,” he said. “We both said why we thought it didn’t work out last time. We want to be really open and honest with each other this time around.”
Celia was caught off guard by the maturity of this very young man.
Back when she and Landon were scrappy fifteen-year-olds, they weren’t keen on “speaking their truth,” or whatever it was the kids said now.
Back then, she wasn’t sure she knew what the truth was.
Everything had felt hormonal and strange.
Not long after he finished his soup, Isaac fell asleep.
Celia cleaned the kitchen and put the leftover soup away.
She wanted to text Landon to see if he was all right, but she had no way to contact him, which felt odd.
She sat on the chair beside Isaac and watched The Mummy until she, too, fell asleep.
It was the most peaceful nap she’d had in years.
When she woke up, it was because Landon touched her shoulder and whispered her name. “Celia?” This time, he didn’t use her nickname. It felt too intimate, maybe. “Celia, we’re back.”
Celia opened her eyes to find that clouds had formed in the sky and cast the May afternoon in grays and teal blues. Mallory slunk down the hallway behind her and disappeared into her bedroom. Landon explained, “She’ll sleep till tomorrow. The doctor gave her something.”
Celia couldn’t find her voice at first. It was too bizarre to wake up like this, warm in Landon Brooks’s place, listening to the soft breathing of his sleeping son.
“What was wrong with her?” she asked, forcing herself to her feet.
“It’s a stomach flu thing,” Landon said, rubbing his forehead. “She’ll be out of school for a few days. How was it with Isaac?”
“He asked me some questions,” Celia said.
“I imagine he did.” Landon chuckled, gazing down at his son with love in his eyes.
“He’s wise beyond his years, though,” Celia said. “Much smarter than we ever were.”
Landon’s smile fell briefly. “He doesn’t show me that side of himself so much,” he said. “But I know it’s there.”
“We always give our parents a hard time. We give them the worst of ourselves, until it’s too late, maybe,” Celia said. She felt a stab of fear, wondering how much of her terrible relationship with her father had been her fault.
It wasn’t the same, she reminded herself, reaching for her jacket and walking to the door. James Harper and Landon Brooks have nothing in common. Landon is good. Landon’s heart was always in the right place.
“I’d better get back to the inn,” she said, although she was suddenly nervous to be alone.
“I’m really sorry about all this,” Landon said. “Honestly, I didn’t think today would go this way.”
Celia turned in the foyer and zipped her jacket to her chin. The air between them felt taut. From upstairs came the sound of Mallory’s speaker, playing a Sabrina Carpenter song that Sophie also adored.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Celia said, surprising herself.
Landon’s eyes were searching. “Did you want to see me again?”
Celia marveled at the heaviness of the question, a question that seemed to demand something romantic from her long-dried-out heart. This, although she and Landon had never been romantic. Not really.
“Of course,” she said. “You were my best friend, Landon. There’s so much we still need to talk about.”
Landon’s eyes seemed to ache with intensity. Celia had to force herself to turn the doorknob.
“Wait,” Landon said, desperation in his voice.
Celia turned back, half expecting him to clear the distance between them, half expecting the kiss they’d never braved back in high school.
“I don’t know if you know a thing about me,” he said.
“But I work as a marine biologist here in Bluebell Cove. I’ve devoted my life to upholding the safety and delicate ecosystem of the cove itself.
It’s been an uphill battle at times, but we’ve made headway.
The microbiome is intact. But now…” He glanced back at the sofa where his son slept.
“There’s a major development being built on the beach, forest, and surrounding cliffs.
It’s slated to destroy upward of 300 species in the area and wreak complete havoc on its ecosystem.
Honestly, it boils my blood. I can’t understand why anyone would put Bluebell Cove at risk like this.
Especially if you grew up here.” His eyes flickered.
Celia understood. Landon didn’t just want to catch up. He wanted to use her contacts and her journalism career to get the word out and stop the impending development. He expected her to care enough about Bluebell Cove and its ecosystem to help him save it.
It’s not that I want it to be destroyed, she thought, her mind reeling. But I don’t have time for this. I don’t have the contacts anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing in the journalism world. I don’t believe in it.
But before she could protest, Landon said, “It’s Hanson Smith, in case you were wondering. He’s the one building the luxury resort. He’s going to destroy it to get even richer. Please, CeeCee. Help me.”