14. Bella’s Second Night – Molly and Family Arrive
Chapter fourteen
Bella’s Second Night – Molly and Family Arrive
I’m halfway through reorganizing a supply cabinet in the very late afternoon when someone knocks on the clinic door.
Which, at this point, feels suspicious.
“Coming,” I call, wiping my hands on my medical jacket as I head down the hall.
Charlie is already there, tail wagging like we’ve been expecting company all day. I open the door and blink. This is going to be good, Bella!
Because Molly stands there with a casserole dish in one hand, a tote bag slung over her shoulder, and two kids pressed in close behind her.
“Hi,” she says brightly. “I brought dinner.”
I stare at her.
“You … brought dinner.”
“Yes,” she says. “Because you look like the kind of person who forgets to eat when things get busy. And you’re already busy here.”
“That is wildly accurate.”
“I know,” she says, stepping past me like this is already decided. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve seen your type before. Plus come on, it’s a welcome dinner. You’re new and I’m curious,” she laughs. “I brought wine!”
Her kids slip in after her, eyes lighting up immediately when they spot Charlie.
“Oh my God, is that your dog?” the older one asks.
“Yes,” I say automatically. “That’s Charlie.”
Charlie, thrilled to have a fan club, immediately drops onto his back like a traitor and offers his entire tummy.
I am beloved by the community, Charlie announces proudly from the floor. Small humans are excellent for morale.
“Charlie!” the younger one giggles. “I met him in the coffee shop this morning.”
Charlie looks ridiculously happy.
“He loves you, that’s for sure. He doesn’t give his tummy to just anyone,” I say with a smile as they tickle him.
“It’s mutual. They love dogs and have been begging me to get one,” Molly calls over her shoulder as she heads upstairs towards the kitchen like she owns the place.
I close the door slowly and realize this is the first normal thing that’s happened all day. I follow Molly upstairs, and so do Charlie and the kids.
By the time I catch up to her, she’s already opening cabinets.
“How do you know where anything is?” I ask.
“I don’t,” she says cheerfully. “But I’m committed.”
She sets the casserole down, starts pulling out plates and silverware.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” I say.
“I absolutely did,” she replies. “You’re new. You’re overworked. And you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’m handling it’ look,” she says. “Which usually means you are not, in fact, handling it.”
I lean against the counter and laugh.
“I like you,” I say.
“Good,” she replies. “You’re stuck with me now. I suspect we will become good friends.”
We settle at the big dining table like it’s always been used this way.
The kids eat fast, because of course they do, then migrate to the living room where Charlie becomes the center of their universe. They are throwing him a ball and playing.
I hear laughter. Actual, normal laughter. It feels strange. And nice.
Molly takes a sip of wine and leans back in her chair.
“So,” she says. “Doctor from the city.”
“Guilty.”
“What brought you here?” she asks.
“Bad timing and worse career planning,” I say. “Med school bills, hospital burnout and downsizing, and an urge to actually help people in a community. Have my own medical practice and know my patients, that kind of thing.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense.
“Then this is the place for you,” she says. “The island. You’re going to know everybody here.”
“What about you?” I ask. “You said you grew up here?”
“Born and raised,” she says. “Left once for university. Came back.”
“Why?”
She shrugs, but there’s something softer under it.
“It’s home,” she says simply.
“And your husband?” I ask.
She doesn’t flinch.
“He died a few years ago,” she says. “Boating accident.”
I wince. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” she says, but not bitterly. “Me too.”
After a moment, she smiles again.
“But life doesn’t really stop, does it,” she adds, looking at the kids. “It just keeps going. Whether you’re ready or not.”
She pulls out some cakes she brought from the coffee shop and serves us. The chocolate is delicious.
She waves her fork toward me.
“Okay, your turn. Any tragic backstory I should know about?”
“Not tragic,” I say. “Just … messy.”
“Perfect. That’s the best kind.”
I laugh again, shaking my head.
“Long hours, bad relationships, too much coffee,” I say. “Only child, parents gone. Life moving too fast. Nothing dramatic.”
“Give it time,” she says. “No boyfriend?”
“Med school and then work at the hospital didn’t leave much time. I had some yummy boyfriends in college, though. Justin for two years.”
“What happened?”
“He took a job on Wall Street and I went to Med school in Boston. Separation, different plans. I hear he’s married and divorced and married again with two kids,” I laugh.
“Well that’s some drama.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is there drama on this island?”
“Sure. Probably.”
She smiles like she’s getting away with something or has an inside joke.
“Listen, I gossip,” she says. “And thanks to the coffee shop, I know everything that’s going on. So my gossip has become a personality trait. It’s entertainment. Makes things exciting.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I laugh.
“Let’s go sit on the couch and bring that wine.”
Molly curls one leg under herself on the couch, glass of wine balanced in one hand like she was born specifically to deliver gossip.
“Okay,” she says. “Since you officially live here now, there are things you need to know.”
“Excellent,” I laugh.
“It’s community information.”
“Sure.”
She points toward me dramatically.
“First: never trust Mrs. Pembroke when she says she’s ‘just dropping something off.’”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll stay for three hours, tell you about her bursitis and daughter who lives in Chicago, try to set you up with her bald son who lives in Pittsburgh; then she’ll give you details about her favorite soap operas on tv, and leave with your snacks, and possibly your blood type.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
“Second,” Molly continues, “the harbor master, Glenn, has secretly dated half the island.”
“That feels statistically impossible.”
“You haven’t met Glenn.”
“Fair.”
“He also lies about the size of every fish he catches.”
“Isn’t that required for fishermen?”
“Practically.”
I laugh again, warm now, relaxed in a way I haven’t been since arriving.
“And if you hear loud opera music near my shop?”
I blink. “What?”
“Apartment over the shop next to me. Mrs. Costa. Eighty-two years old and very committed to dramatic suffering.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“She once threw a wine bottle at her television because a tenor disappointed her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
One of the kids calls out, “She did!”
I’m laughing hard enough now that my eyes water.
“And lastly,” Molly says, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Lucy Lennox absolutely knows every secret on this island. More than me!”
“The herbal shop owner?”
“She pretends she doesn’t,” Molly says. “But if the world ended tonight, Lucy would somehow already have notes.”
“That’s mildly terrifying.”
“You say that now,” Molly replies solemnly. “Wait until she starts diagnosing your emotional state through tea leaves. She does people’s fortunes and reads Tarot cards, too. I’m pretty sure she’s psychic.”
I lean back against the couch, laughing again as Charlie lifts his head from the rug like he’s personally invested in the conversation.
“Speaking of gossip,” she continues, leaning forward slightly, “you’ve already met Darius Hunt, right?”
Here we go, says Charlie.
I freeze for half a second.
“Briefly,” I say.
“Briefly,” she repeats, amused. “That gorgeous man doesn’t do anything briefly.”
I try to keep my expression neutral. Fail, probably.
“He’s on the Town Council. Been here forever. Family has a name, the founders, you know. Women drool over him left and right but he never seems to notice. He’s single, that I do know.”
“He lives up on the hill?”
“People down here don’t go up to The Cliffs much,” she adds. “Not unless they’re invited.”
“Who lives up there besides Darius?”
Molly hesitates. “We rarely see them. Wealthy, reclusive types, big estates. All of them are quite beautiful, like thin models, rarified types. Darius and sometimes his assistant Charles are the only ones that come down here to Hunt’s Harbor.”
She hesitates and says, “He might invite you up one day.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re already more interesting than most people who land here,” she says.
She shifts topics easily, like she does this for a living.
“Bella, there’s no spa or salon on the island,” she says. “If you want your nails done, Lucy does them in the back of her shop.”
“That sounds perfect,” I admit.
“It is. She’ll probably tell your fortune the whole time. Or use her abilities to tell you about a past life.”
“I see.”
“Oh, it’s very entertaining.”
The kids burst back in, breathless.
“Charlie can sit!” one of them announces.
“Charlie has been able to sit for years,” I say.
“Yes, but now he did it for us. When we asked him to.”
“That’s because you gave him snacks.”
“That’s how friendship works,” Molly says.
It’s an enjoyable evening. Talking. Laughing. Trading stories and gossiping like we’ve known each other longer than a day.
And for a little while I forget. About the mystery with the patients. About the odd blood. About the feeling that something is wrong just beneath the surface of this place.
I just exist.
“Sunday,” Molly says suddenly. “We take the boat out.”
“What?”
“I have a little boat, cute thing down at the harbor. We’ll take a little ride around the island, part of your island orientation,” she says. “Kids, dog, fresh air. My shop’s closed anyway.”
“That sounds… really nice. If I can get away of course.”
“You can. I already told Finn so he’ll be here,” she says.
“I might be able to swing that. And I think I should get the city to pay Finn more.”
“Good idea. He’s a treasure. And I’ll hold you to the boating, Bella.”
Suddenly, the bell in the town square rings. Deep and low and sudden.
Molly freezes.
“Oh no—shoot,” she says, standing quickly. “We lost track of time having so much fun. I didn’t realize it was that late.”
The kids freeze too, instinctively. Subtle. But real.
“You can’t go back out now,” I say, automatically. “If what the mayor told me is correct? Or it is just an old fairy tale?”
She hesitates. Just for a second. Then looks around the house.
“There are guest rooms here,” she says. It isn’t a question.
“Oh yes. This place has too much room,” I say. “Stay. You must! I’d love it.”
She hesitates, then says, “Okay. Thanks Bella.” Relief flickers across her face.
“Adventure, kids!” she calls out to them. “Sleepover.”
They cheer like this was the plan all along. Charlie wags his tail.
Excellent, Charlie says. The pack expands. Proper household chaos, Bella. He trots back with the kids to chase a ball and get treats for sitting.
“Okay,” I say, setting my fork down. “I have to ask. What’s with that bell?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just takes another sip of her drink. Buys herself a second.
“It’s just … a town thing,” she says finally. “Old tradition.”
“That everyone has to be inside by sunset?”
She shrugs, but it’s not casual. Not really.
“Safer that way.”
“Safer from what?”
Another pause. Longer this time. The kids are still laughing in the other room, Charlie thumping his tail against something, and it all feels very normal.
Except for the bell, on it’s second toll.
Molly glances toward the window.
“Listen, islands can be weird,” she says lightly. “People hold onto things. Superstitions, old legends, routines…”
“It doesn’t sound like superstition, exactly,” I say.
“It used to be dangerous to go out after dark here. Maybe it isn’t anymore but it’s just part of the island now.”
I look confused.
“You’ll get used to it,” she says. “Everyone does.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time.
“It’s not meant to be.”
The third toll of the bell echoes again, softer now. Fading.
--
Molly and I get the guest rooms ready. It’s kind of nice to have company in this big house. We watch a movie all together, and then everyone goes to bed.
Later, after the house settles—
after the kids are asleep, sprawled across guest beds—
after Molly disappears down the hall—
I stand at the window for a moment. Looking out at the dark towards the edge of town. At where The Wilds begin.
And for a second, I feel like something or someone is waiting and watching.
But I turn away. Because tonight, I choose this instead.
Warmth. Voices. Life.
Even if it doesn’t last.