Chapter Twenty-Two Marigold
The guest room door creaked open, and Hugo stuck his head in.
It was just before five a.m., but his long hair was damp and combed, a detail Marigold could spot easily because light had begun streaming through the blinds an hour earlier; this far north, the sun didn’t set for more than a few hours in the summer.
She’d seen it rise after a restless night—despite her physical exhaustion, it’d been almost impossible to fall asleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined Jonathan lying in bed alone.
She hadn’t answered when he’d called last night, terrified that some noise in the background would betray her true location: the crash of the waves, Humphrey’s nails skittering on the hardwood floors, the tread of Hugo’s boots.
When those thoughts dissipated, she thought about her mother, who surely hadn’t slept much, either, torn between anxiety for Marigold and frustration that her heedless daughter had created so much unnecessary chaos.
And then there was what Hugo had said to her on the beach: “We gave it a shot. Now it’s time to move on.
” The resignation in his voice had seeped into her, sadness spreading like mildew beneath her skin.
Was he that certain it never would’ve worked between them?
Did he remember those magical two weeks differently than she did?
“Time to get up,” Hugo whispered. To emphasize this point, Humphrey barreled in and jumped onto the bed.
“I’m up,” Marigold said hoarsely.
“Coffee’s ready. We should leave in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be out in a sec.” It wouldn’t take her long to get ready; she had nothing to pack, no outfits to choose from, no grooming to undertake besides brushing her teeth with the toothbrush Hugo had found for her.
When Hugo left, trailed by Humphrey, she reached for her phone, willing herself to ignore the dozens of texts and missed calls that’d poured in once news of her absence had begun to spread.
But there was one text she couldn’t ignore. She reread the first line, and her heart stopped. Flight 2891 Delayed.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
We regret to inform you that Flight 2891 from Charlottetown to Halifax, has been delayed due to mechanical issues. Your new departure time is 11:09 a.m. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.
“Motherfuckers!” Marigold shouted. Alarmed, Humphrey careened back to the room and leaped onto the bed, ready to defend Marigold against whatever had threatened her.
“What’s wrong?” Hugo called, appearing back in the doorway.
“My flight’s delayed until eleven.” Saying the words aloud was enough to fill her body with cold dread. “I’m screwed. There’s no way I’m going to make my connecting flight to Portland.”
“Oh, shit.” Hugo began to pace around the room. “Okay, don’t panic… Let’s see… can’t you charter a plane? Isn’t that an option for super-rich people?”
Marigold climbed out of bed, too distracted to care that she was only wearing a tank top and underwear.
“I can try.” She logged back into Bill’s NetJets account and held her breath as she entered her desired itinerary.
“No,” she said, on the verge of tears. “There aren’t any jets available within a thousand miles. ”
“Okay, don’t panic.” Hugo pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. “My friend James has a plane. It’s a small one, but I think it can get you to Halifax in time to make your connecting flight to Portland.”
“Really?” Marigold said, brightening. “Do you really think James would do that? I’ll pay for everything—fuel, a hotel if he wants to stay over in Halifax, whatever.”
“Should be fine. I’ll explain the situation.
Just give me a second.” Hugo pressed a few buttons on his phone, brought it to his ear, and stepped out of the guest room.
“Hey,” Marigold heard him say quietly. “I’m sorry for calling this early, but I have a friend in a right pickle.
” The rest of the conversation was inaudible; he must’ve gone into another room.
Marigold texted Natalie with an update on her travel plans. It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll make it back. Wish me luck. Then she brushed her teeth, slipped into her jeans, and went to find Hugo, who was pulling on his boots by the front door.
“All set. We’re gonna meet at the airfield.”
“Really?” Marigold squealed. “Oh my god, amazing. You’re the best! Your friend is the best.”
“You’re staying here, Humph,” Hugo said. He scratched the dog’s head while his tail thumped eagerly.
“Guess I need to say goodbye, then.” Marigold bent down to give Humphrey a pat.
“I’ll miss you, buddy,” she said, laughing as he licked her cheek.
When she went to put on her shoes, Humphrey began to whine, clearly aware that they were about to leave without him.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” she said, hoping his doggy heart couldn’t tell it was a lie.
The island looked even more beautiful than it had yesterday.
The road to the airfield curved along the ocean, which sparkled in the early morning light.
As they left the small town behind, the clapboard houses and fishing shacks gave way to patches of woods that opened up into fields of wildflowers.
Neither of them spoke. Perhaps it was the earliness of the hour. But it wasn’t an easy silence, the air in the truck heavy with everything they were too afraid to say.
“Why did you never tell Jonathan you were married?” Hugo said finally.
“I don’t know… I guess I was embarrassed.”
“Ah, right.” Marigold saw Hugh’s jaw tighten.
“Not by you,” she clarified quickly. “But who marries a stranger they met on the beach? After knowing them for two weeks? It’d just confirm all his fears about me—that I was too impulsive and unpredictable for him to take seriously.
But now I realize how ridiculous that was.
I feel like shit lying to him, and even worse about making Natalie lie for me.
” Marigold sighed. “I need to tell him before the wedding. He deserves to know the truth.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Marigold took a deep breath. “What’s your guess, then? How would you react if you were in his shoes?”
“I’m not sure. What kind of shoes do pediatric oncologists wear?”
“Hugo, come on! I’m being serious.”
“I’m treating this seriously! I’m trying to get into character.
” Hugo shook his shoulders like an actor preparing for a warm-up exercise.
“Okay, so I’m Jonathan, celebrated throughout the world for curing sick kids.
Especially the cute ones. People burst into tears every time I enter a room as they thank me for my service.
I’m not actually that good-looking, but my saintlike aura enhances my features. ”
“Are you done yet?”
“Sorry,” Hugo said with a smile. Then his expression grew serious.
“I’m Jonathan, and I feel like the luckiest man in the universe because I’m about to marry the most beautiful, funny, charming woman I’ve ever met.
Then right before the ceremony, she admits that she kept this huge secret from me.
And I…” His brow furrowed, and he pressed his lips together as if trying to sort through a jumble of tangled, uncomfortable thoughts.
“And I’m hurt that she didn’t trust me. And pissed that she waited so long to tell me.
But I can see the pain in her face, and I know she’s truly sorry.
And I know I’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel safe and happy again.
Does that help?” Hugo waited a beat and then turned to look at her. “Mare?”
“Sorry,” Marigold said, voice breaking as she blinked furiously. “Yeah, that’s helpful.” She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Hugo. For… everything.”
He nodded, not taking his eyes away from the road.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the private airfield.
Hugo drove straight onto the runway and pulled up next to the smallest plane Marigold had ever seen.
It looked like something that’d belong in a museum, not waiting to carry human beings thousands of feet into the air.
“So… your friend’s a pilot?” Marigold asked.
In her excitement and relief, she’d forgotten to ask who exactly would be flying her to Halifax—a professional aviator or a weekend hobbyist.
“Oh yeah, really experienced. She takes tourists up into the bush for hunting and fishing. She’s got thousands of hours of experience.”
“She?”
Before he could answer, a truck even older and louder than Hugo’s rumbled up, and a woman jumped out with more energy and a bigger smile than Marigold believed was humanly possible this early in the morning.
She was tiny—a good six inches shorter than Marigold—with creamy skin covered with a smattering of freckles that matched her reddish, goldish, brownish hair, that perfect, striking color people always spent a fortune trying to replicate to no avail.
Not that Marigold could imagine this woman spending hours in the salon every six weeks; she wore baggy jeans stuffed into muddy rubber boots, and a raggedy navy woolen sweater that set off her hair and matched her deep blue eyes.
She was stunningly beautiful in the most natural, effortless way Marigold could imagine, like Riley Keough cosplaying as Anne of Green Gables. With a pilot’s license, apparently.
“Hi,” she said, bounding over. “I’m James.”
“James,” Marigold repeated. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting…”
James’s smiled widened. “Yeah, I get that a lot. James is short for Jamesina. My mom read it in an L. M. Montgomery book when she was a kid, and now I’m stuck with it.
Nailed that one, Marigold thought. “Nice to meet you! Thank you so, so much for doing this. You’re a literal lifesaver. I’m not sure how much Hugo told you about my… situation.”
“He said you’d be right hooped if you didn’t get to Halifax by nine a.m.!”
“Sorry, what?”
“She doesn’t speak Canadian,” Hugh said. “Hooped is like screwed.”
“Oh,” Marigold said. “Yeah, I’ll be beyond hooped. I’m really grateful.”
“No worries! I’m happy to help. Can’t have you missing your wedding.” James turned to Hugo. “You coming with? We can spend a few hours in Halifax before we head back. Maybe check out that restaurant we tried to go to last time, the one that ended up being closed for construction?”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Hugo said. “I want to make sure Marigold makes her commercial flight.”
“I’ll be fine! You definitely don’t need to come.
” Marigold had inconvenienced Hugo enough already—she didn’t need to add to the chaos by making him fly five hundred miles round trip to escort her the half mile from the private airport to the commercial one.
Especially when he was supposed to leave for his camping trip the next day.
“I’m seeing this mission through,” Hugo said.
“I’m just gonna do my preflight check and then we’ll have you on your way.” James bounced off toward the plane, leaving Marigold and Hugo to wait by the trucks.
“You didn’t mention that James was a woman,” Marigold said in what she hoped was a light, casual manner.
“Does it matter? Women can fly planes, too, you know.”
Marigold ignored the sarcasm. “So you two went to Halifax? Together?”
“Would’ve been weird to travel separately. And expensive.”
“Hugo, come on. Why are you being so cagey?”
“Because you’re not entitled to full details about every aspect of my life. You can’t just show up on my doorstep after four years of radio silence and then demand full briefing on everything you missed.”
Marigold looked away, face flushing with shame. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Hugo let out a long breath. “No, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. James and I dated for a bit a while back. But we’re just friends now.”
“Oh, right. That’s great!” Marigold said, a bit too brightly. “I mean, the fact that you dated. Not that you broke up. She seems really cool. So… you guys took lots of trips together? Like to Halifax? Guess that’s the perk of a girlfriend with a plane.”
“That was for a friend’s wedding. We’d mostly head into the bush, spend the weekend camping and hiking.”
“That sounds fun.” In fact, it sounded like Marigold’s version of hell.
Her idea of quality time in the great outdoors was cocktails on a nice patio.
Or maybe a hot tub at a luxury spa where you could stare up at the stars for a bit, don a fluffy robe, and then head back to your suite to sleep on eight-hundred-thread-count sheets, as god intended.
She’d been such a fool to even entertain the idea of staying here with Hugo—she hadn’t just broken his heart; she was an impediment to the type of life he wanted to lead.
He belonged with that milk-fed, nature-loving, plane-flying woman over there.
(Or at least someone like her. If Marigold had her druthers, fate would hand Hugo someone equally nice but just a tad less striking.)
James jogged back over, auburn waves bouncing. “All set! You two ready to go?”
“Ready,” Hugo said. “Mare?”
Marigold glanced at the red cliffs that led down to the white-capped waves.
She could still smell the faint scent of the fields of wildflowers they’d passed mingling with the scent of the sea.
She thought of the comforting rumble of Hugo’s truck, of Humphrey waiting at home by the door, tail thumping in anticipation of her.
She took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale enough of the island to take some of it back with her. It was time to say a final farewell to the fantasy she’d been secretly harboring in her heart and return to real life.
To real love.
“I’m ready.”