7. June
JUNE
Pulling up to the Shack for the second time this week is no easier than the first. But this time, I at least had the forethought to bring coffee. And rubber gloves.
I push my sunglasses to the top of my head as I step through the creaking door, ready to face whatever the day might bring—strangely optimistic after the disaster that was dinner with Ashton. Although, airing out a little bit of dirty laundry might be good for the soul…or whatever.
What I’m not ready for, however, is seeing Meredith and Sophie giggling over the register counter. Their faces are practically pressed together in their excitement over whatever they’ve found.
The picture looks wrong to me. Sophie is too tall, and Meredith is too put together. It feels uncanny to watch them both. Adults now, instead of children. So much so that I’m momentarily stunned.
Then the betrayal hits.
“Look at this one! It’s from your birthday, remember?” Meredith says.
“Look at my face!”
Amusement dances in Meredith’s voice. “You were so mad Dad made you have your party here.”
Sophie rolls her eyes—all smiles and good-natured humor. “I had every party here. You can forgive a girl for wanting to go to the mall for a change.”
“Look how young you look!” Meredith gasps in both shock and awe.
And it is a betrayal. Because the last time I spoke to Sophie, we were on the same page. Meredith wasn’t someone we wanted to smile at or laugh with, either of us. Meredith was someone who had hurt us both.
Now, after apparently a couple of nights staying with Mom, they are suddenly best friends again. What is this?
I stomp toward them and cross my arms. “What are you doing?”
The two turn to me instantly, as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t be. At least, Meredith looks that way.
Sophie just grins, seemingly unaware of my sour mood. “June! Look! We found a bunch of old Polaroids.” She shows me the square photos fanned out in her hand.
And I do remember that summer—I’d gotten that camera for my birthday, and we hurriedly snapped all the pictures before realizing how costly the film was.
Still, Dad taped up all our blurry photos on the back wall and grinned like a maniac at the shot of him taken from below. Clear view all the way up his nose.
But the nostalgia of it all doesn't mean I have the time or patience to untangle whatever emotional breakthrough Sophie and Meredith have had. No, I don’t have the energy to deal with any of that.
Not when the Shack is still a disaster zone.
Dust clings to every surface, the windows are clouded with grime, and the smell of stale fryer oil and mildew hits like a hard, musty slap.
I clap my gloved hands together. “That’s cute and all, but we should get to work.”
Sophie nods, game as ever, and rolls up her sleeves. “What do you need me to do?”
I point toward the storage closet. “Start with the dry goods. Check for anything that hasn’t turned into a science experiment.”
Sophie salutes me like the little overachiever she is and gets to work.
Then I turn to Meredith, who’s staring at me with her hands folded across her chest, looking about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Her kitten heels and pale blouse won’t last two seconds. “Meredith.”
She blinks slowly, as if I’ve just interrupted some deep, important thought.
“Since you seem to be above manual labor, why don’t you start in the back? The quicker you get the books in order, the quicker you can leave.”
“I’m not above manual labor,” she sneers back. “There’s no point doing inventory until we know what we’re dealing with out here.”
God, it’s grating to keep a neutral expression on my face. “Fine. Then work the floor. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She shrugs. “Fine by me.”
“Good,” I say, returning her shrug but in a more mocking manner.
Her lips pinch into an incredulous smile. “Great.”
Unwilling to keep playing this game with her, I march through the swinging door to the kitchen without looking back. Maybe if I don’t have to look at her, my headache will go away. Sophie, meanwhile, is already knee-deep in expired ingredients, calling out dates like a bingo announcer.
“Uh, this flour expired six years ago.”
I grimace. “Toss it.”
“This bag of sugar is basically a brick.”
My feature pinch even more. “Toss it.”
“There’s a can of tomato sauce from—Jesus…1998.” She puffs out her cheeks and pretends to gag, lurching her chest forward and everything.
However, I find it entertaining. “Okay, now I’m just impressed. But also, toss it.”
I can hear Meredith snorting through the hatch. A glance up tells me she’s sourced a bucket from somewhere and is contemplating how to rid the grime from the windows. I find it amusing, considering I didn’t think she’d risk her manicured nails.
“Something funny, Mer?”
She looks over at me, her mirth already fleeing her face. “Nope.”
“You gonna actually wash those windows any time today?” I point toward the filmy glass lining the front.
She glares at me. “I was about to.”
“Oh, by all means, don’t let me rush you.”
She mutters something under her breath but finally—finally—starts actually working.
We settle into a rhythm, but as the day drags on, my patience thins out.
Sophie is busting her butt, I’m running on caffeine and spite, and Meredith is still acting like this is some quaint little field trip instead of real work.
By the time I’ve emptied four freezers, she’s still on the same window.
By noon, I’ve had it.
I slam the swinging door open with more force than necessary and turn to face her. “You know, if this is too much for you, you can just go.”
Meredith, who has spent the last five minutes tapping on her phone screen, raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I cross my arms. “If you don’t actually want to be here, then don’t.”
Sophie, ever the peacemaker, sighs. “Guys?—”
But Meredith has already launched into a defense. “If you must breathe down my neck, you should know that I’m actually?—”
Sophie slams a can onto the counter, cutting her off. “Enough!”
I blink at her. Meredith does, too.
Sophie exhales and drags a hand through her blond hair. “We’re all tired. Let’s just keep going, okay?”
For a second, I consider pushing back. But the look on Sophie’s face stops me. So, I bite my tongue, swallow down my irritation, and get back to work—begrudgingly.
We take turns having lunch breaks, and I use my half hour to vent my frustrations to Sarah through numerous text messages, which become increasingly longer with each reply. She responds diligently and sarcastically enough to lift my mood by the time I’m back to polishing what’s left of the cutlery.
I’m so preoccupied that I don’t realize we have a visitor until I hear Meredith through the hatch. “Roland?”
Sophie and I share a glance before bursting into the front.
The older man’s eyes twinkle at Meredith’s gaping form, leaning heavily on the cane he’s been using for the better part of a decade.
The beanie I’d sent him last Christmas covers his bald head; he doesn’t bother taking it off now that he’s inside.
The man is prone to chills even in the summer.
“Hey, kiddo. Eddie said you all might be here.” He smiles softly at Meredith. “Come here.”
Hesitantly, Meredith drops her bucket and wraps her arms around him gently. By the time she pulls away, she doesn’t look any less bewildered. “Roland, you look…”
“Like crap, I reckon,” he says good-naturedly, kicking his cane with his foot. “Knees have been playing up since forever, and I couldn’t keep up the six-pack.”
“You never had a six-pack,” I counter, stepping in to break their reunion with a hug of my own without much care. As far as I’m concerned, Meredith owes Roland as much of an apology as his son. Though to be fair, the Joneses need to get in line.
“This is why I never got remarried,” he nudges me in the stomach. “I already have too many women in my life as it is putting me down. No room for more.”
“I’d offer you a stuffie, but I think if we turn on the grill, we’ll burn the place down.”
Roland peers over my shoulder with that familiar excitement in his eye as he tries to spy the beast of a grill through the hatch. “I could take a look at it for you if you want?”
“I’ve just been messaging someone to come take a look at it tomorrow,” Meredith says before shooting me a smug sort of look. “He’s ferrying over from the Cape.”
Well, that’s not annoying at all. “I had a guy lined up to do it Friday.”
As if sensing the rising tension, Roland raises his voice. “Tell ’em both to stand down. I got it.”
But Sophie is standing in front of him a second later, blocking his path. “We can’t afford the hospital bill if you break your hip, old man.”
“You’re as bad as Eddie. Can’t get anything past him these days.” Roland nods over to the window at the bar across the road. “He’s working the late shift tonight if you girls wanna grab a drink at Birdie’s later. Think he could use the company.”
I want to roll my eyes at the way he so pointedly looks at Meredith.
But the way she flounders is kinda worth it. “We’ve gotta lot of work to do here, but…”
“We’ll think about it,” Sophie saves her.
Roland shrugs it off easily. “I was just stopping by to let you know the barbecue is this weekend. It hasn’t been that big of a turnout the last few years, but I reckon a few more folks will show up if they know you three will be there.”
The Sconset Beach barbecue had been a yearly tradition growing up.
It was all predictably charming—potlucks, chatty neighbors, and late-night bonfires.
If the boys had too many beers, they’d be jumping off the pier and racing until someone responsible managed to get them to settle down.
Most of the time, we slept in the bed of Eddie’s truck all night, watching the stars while cuddled under the comforters we’d stolen from the beach house.
Mom was never too annoyed as long as we hid the bottles afterward and sent Sophie home on time.
As if reading my mind, Sophie laughs. “As long as I get to stay out all night. Maybe we could persuade Mom to come, too?”
“How’s she doing?” Roland asks. “I’ve not heard from her in a few months.”
I watch with a jolt of surprise as Meredith and Sophie exchange a look. Since when did they do that?
“She’s good, you know. Figuring out retirement,” Sophie replies easily.
“Good, well. Send her my love and prayers, won’t ya?” He reaches to give Sophie a quick hug before making his way back out the door.
“Will do.”
“We’ll see you Saturday!” Meredith shouts after him, albeit a little belatedly.
We all watch as the door swings shut again—the silence that follows feels too charged to break with anything as simple as returning to our previous tasks. There was something just a little bit too normal about talking with Roland, discussing the barbecue like no time had passed.
The reality is, despite Ashton’s words, I’m still grappling with the shame of abandoning the Shack, no matter how hard I force myself to get rid of year-old fish meat.
It feels wrong to pretend that no time has passed at all.
I don’t feel like I deserve to fall back into old habits and conversations.
And if I don’t deserve it, then Meredith definitely doesn’t.
“If we manage to get the grill running by Saturday, maybe we could cook something for the potluck.”
I turn to look at Meredith with my mouth nearly agape. Apparently, all it takes is a hug and an invitation, and everything is back to normal for her. “Shouldn’t you be on the ferry back by then?” I find myself asking with a small amount of venom in my tone.
Meredith frowns. “What?”
Because that’s what it comes down to, really. There’s no real reason for her to stay. We’ve all moved on without her.
“I’d hate for this little side project to interfere with the rest of your life.”
Offense colors her cheeks and narrows her stare, which I find to be a bit ironic. Out of everyone here, she’s the last one to be offended by anything. “This isn’t a side project, June. I meant what I said—I’m sticking around until we get this place functioning again.”
I let out a sharp exhale, turning to face her fully and squaring my shoulders. “You’re telling me you’re happy to just uproot your entire perfect little life to clear out fish gunk and pretend you never left?”
“June, come on. We’ve done this already,” Sophie interjects, her voice weary.
However, from the way Meredith crosses her arms and pins me with a glare, it seems she isn’t done. “I’m not uprooting anything. I thought you’d be grateful for an extra pair of hands.”
“Not yours,” I snap.
Her jaw clenches tighter. “I hate to break it to you, June, but I’m staying in Nantucket until things are back up and running. That’s the difference between me and you—when things get hard, I actually see them through.”
The air goes still. My unfinished art degree hovers heavily in the space between us.
Like she never denied being jealous of me going to college in the first place.
My words come out low and bitter. “Is that before or after you’ve run away from them?”
Wordlessly, Meredith turns on her kitten heels and marches out the front door.