9. Meredith
MEREDITH
I look up from the suitcase to see him standing in the doorframe.
It’s not exactly a surprise, I heard his truck pull up outside.
I heard him downstairs, yelling at Richard to find out where I was.
What’s surprising, though, is that he doesn’t say a word.
He just looks at me, chest heaving as if he ran most of the way here.
Every labored breath feels like a declaration of the worst kind of betrayal—the kind that slips out of the heart to puncture the lungs, barely keeping the oxygen flowing fast enough.
He looks at me but says nothing.
I look at him, and I have nothing left to say.
My fingers fumble with the zip. The sharp sound cuts through the tension like a knife.
“Let me drive you to the ferry,” he finally says, breaking the silence.
It’s not what I was expecting. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Maybe,” Eddie concedes with a shrug. “But I’m gonna take every second I can get.”
June 2025
It’s harder work than I’d probably ever admit—considering my career until recently focused on talking my way out of tricky situations—but finding a moment for myself at the barbecue drains me.
Not that it isn’t nice. Because it is.
It’s nice to share a beer and a slice of pie with Sophie while she entertains me with outrageous Hollywood stories, while I do my best not to ask about Trent.
It’s nice to catch up with familiar faces, though Marlene’s lined expression is a stark reminder of how much time has gone by.
It’s nice to hear kids racing up and down the beach as their parents watch on with half-drunk amusement—safe in the knowledge that these barbecues are a rite of passage for contained teenage rebellion.
By the time I dangle my feet off the end of the pier, it’s dark—dark enough that, hopefully, no one can see me from the beach.
Because, despite all the niceness, none of it feels quite right.
It’s like I’m a stranger here, hanging on to the coattails of a family name, at the mercy of those willing to forgive fifteen years of absence.
None of the emotions that surface under that kind of scrutiny feel remotely relaxing.
But here, away from the noise, staring out at the sea and sky, I can finally breathe. The clouds have thinned, revealing a generous spread of stars, their light bouncing off the waves in flickers of silver.
I set my empty beer bottle down with a soft thunk as footsteps draw near.
Bracing myself, I turn around with a tight smile—only to freeze.
“You look like you could use another.” Eddie smiles down at me, holding out a cold beer. He’s in one of his usual plaid shirts, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms.
I’d seen him earlier. I wasn’t exactly avoiding him. There had been plenty of people, distractions, and excuses—take your pick—that helped in delaying a proper greeting.
But now, alone at the end of the pier, there’s no more running. Whether I like it or not.
Judging by the glint of mischief in his eyes, I imagine he planned it this way.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for the bottle.
“Small talk getting to you?”
I take a sip, turning back toward the water. “No one does small talk around here, Eddie. You should know that.”
“Big talk, then.” There’s a pause, long enough that I wonder if he’ll leave if I don’t answer.
“Is that why you're here?” I say anyway.
“I wanted to clear the air,” he admits, taking a seat beside me. Not too close, but close enough for it to feel familiar. “I wasn’t all that nice to you the other day.”
“You didn’t say anything to me.”
“Exactly. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Didn’t think you’d actually be there, you know?”
Yeah, I do know. I never thought I would be back here, either. Never thought my life would change so drastically in such a short time. But then again, I was never good at handling change unless it all happened at once.
“I should’ve called you. Let you know I got to Boston okay,” I say, despite it being fifteen years too late. Since my conversation with Sophie, the need to apologize has become increasingly incessant. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you should have,” he says flatly with just a breath, as if it’s simple small talk. “But I’m not mad about it anymore. What’s that saying? Time heals all wounds?”
“You were always too good for me, Eddie.”
“I know,” he says, smiling. “It took me a while to realize that. Getting over you, that is. I felt better once I made peace with it—knowing you were out there somewhere, making yourself happy.”
I swallow down the heartbreak of it all. “Eddie Jones, you’re such a smooth talker.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Some things don’t change.”
“I wanted you to be happy, too,” I say quietly. “God, I hope you’ve had the best life.”
He doesn’t answer, and somehow, that feels kinder than the truth. Instead, he asks, “How long are you staying?”
“As long as it takes.”
He turns his head to face me, but I don’t look his way. “To do what?”
“Take your pick,” I say, bitterness slipping into my voice despite my best efforts. “Fix up the Shack. Find a new job. Pay off my legal fees.”
“You don’t get those for free?” He nudges me playfully. “What’s the point of being a lawyer if you can’t pull a few favors?”
“Not when the lawyers you’d pull favors from are hitting you with divorce papers.”
The words land heavily between us, sharp as a blade.
Of all the people I thought I’d share this with, I never expected it to be Eddie. But there’s something so comforting about him, so familiar, that I can’t keep it inside. It feels terrible to burden him. But it also feels incredible to let it out. However, I immediately want to take it back.
He lets the silence stretch, absorbing the confession in his quiet way. Then, he clears his throat awkwardly and asks, “Do they know?”
I shake my head, hating that he knows me well enough—even now—to ask. “We’ve all got enough to deal with.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, but it sounds a lot like pity.
“Thanks.” I take a long pull of beer, desperate to cut through the tension. “I’m sorry, too.”
“You said that already,” he teases.
“I’m sure you deserve to hear it a few more times.”
He grins, offering his hand. “Friends, then? That way, you can keep apologizing. Maybe at Birdie’s next time you’re at the Shack?”
I take his hand, trying not to focus on how warm it is as I shake it. “Friends.”
Suddenly, a man’s voice cuts through the comfort that surrounds us. “Meredith?”
Eddie’s face darkens. We both stand and turn to see Richard stalking down the pier, his signature scowl in place and a binder clutched in his hands.
“You want me to stick around?” Eddie murmurs, his breath brushing against my cheek, sending an involuntary shudder down my spine.
I play it off by giving his shoulder a light shove. “Nah. Consider it an extension of my apology.”
He hesitates like he wants to argue, but Richard is already upon us, glaring at Eddie as if he’s no better than the algae clinging to the pier’s wooden beams.
“This doesn’t concern you, Jones.”
“That’s all right,” Eddie says easily, throwing me a final glance. “I have to go do literally anything else.” He walks away, and I find myself watching his retreating form a little too long.
Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to Richard. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I just got back from a meeting with my lawyers.” He thrusts the binder into my hands. “I wanted you to see this.”
Reluctantly, I flip it open, reading what I can in the yellowing pier lights. “Tax records?”
“I would have given them to you sooner, but I wanted to make sure I did this by the book.” Richard taps the page with his fingers. “These go back twenty years.”
“This is identical to what I found in the office,” I say, flicking through the pages, my frown deepening. “Why are you showing me this? We paid our taxes.”
“So you’ve already seen the late fees.”
I skim further back and feel a chill spread through me. “Yes, Richard. I was there when they happened. My father’s death was a mitigating circumstance for filing late.”
“I thought you were the smartest of them, Meredith.” Richard sighs. “Look at the dates.”
I squint in the dim light, struggling to make out the fine print. “If you have a point, just make it. I can barely read this.”
“Your father had been behind on payments for years before his death.”
My blood runs cold. “That’s not true. We’re not in debt—it says so right here.”
“His debts were covered by his life insurance. Your mother paid them off quietly.” Richard taps the documents again.
“The timeline is right there. Your mother didn’t want you to know.
I suspect she was ashamed of her husband’s reckless spending.
The Shack wasn’t making enough to support those local prices or his trips to the West Coast every other month. ”
Despite the chaos inside, my mouth moves automatically, rushing to defend my father. “He was a fisherman for twenty years. He wanted to hire locally. That mattered to him.”
Richard exhales, his voice dropping into something close to sympathy.
“His life insurance is the only thing that’s kept that place afloat for the last fifteen years.
You think your mother had any hope of doing that on her own without you?
” He steps closer, softening further. “His death was the smartest financial decision he ever made.”
Another argument, one that has been branded on my memory, pushes itself to the forefront of my mind. I can see it in the way Richard holds himself now, oddly demure as if he remembers the reaction to this accusation last time.
“That’s why you thought it was suicide,” I whisper.
None of it makes sense. My father—the man I remember fondly with warm smiles, dancing eyes, and whispered reassurances of being his greatest treasures—doesn’t match the version of him in these pages. Because I would have known if he was… If there was even a possibility that…
But there are enough years between then and now for something insidious like doubt to wiggle its way in and nestle around my heart. Tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“Despite what you might think of me, I don’t want to upset you,” Richard says, still in that measured, careful tone.
“I just want you to seriously consider what you’re doing.
You’re a smart woman, Meredith. Logical.
You know the Shack was never a viable source of income, even at its prime.
As much as your mother loves that you’re all here, she knows that, too.
It’s breaking her heart.” His exhale wafts past me.
“This needs to end. I’d hate for you to waste this time together on something that’s bound to fail. ”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and turn away, staring out at the water. “I need to think about it.”
Richard pauses, then clears his throat. “Of course. I trust you’ll do the right thing.”
“Already selling us out, are you?” June’s voice startles me, causing me to turn on my heel. She’s staring at us, swaying slightly despite the lack of breeze, her eyes ferociously challenging mine beneath half-lids.
How long had she been there? How much did she hear? How drunk is she?
“Is this why your guy didn’t turn up to fix the grill? Why you barely lifted a finger to help all week? You were always planning on siding with him, weren’t you?” Anger and betrayal are so tightly wound in every syllable that her accusation feels like a blanket smothering me.
“June—”
She pushes into me with enough force to make me stumble back a step. My hands instinctively reach out to hold on to her to find my balance again, but she snarls, “Get off me!” reaching around to grab at my wrists.
“Girls!” Richard shouts sternly, but his warning goes unheeded.
June’s weight presses and pulls against me as I struggle for a grip on something that won’t fight back. For a moment, we’re teenagers again, fighting over something trivial just to vent our frustrations.
“June! Stop!”
But then my shout turns into a scream as the pier disappears beneath my feet. June’s arms are still wrapped around me as we fall directly into the void.
I barely have a chance to catch my breath before we both plunge into the water.