3. News That Never Makes The News
Chapter three
News That Never Makes The News
Claire
After what could generously be described as brunch—peanut butter and stale crackers—I call June and ask if we can meet at the café instead.
The beach house can wait.
My stomach can't.
By the time I find my keys again, I've already made three separate mental lists.
Everything the house needs.
Everything I need.
And everything I'm absolutely not going to think about until later.
The third list is almost entirely Ben-shaped, which feels wildly unfair considering he's not here to help me wrestle a refrigerator away from the wall.
Or eat the rest of the peanut butter like it's an Olympic event.
I grab my purse, double-check that I have my phone, and head outside.
As I back out of the driveway, my eyes drift toward the neighboring house before I can stop them.
For one ridiculous second, I expect Jack Wilder to be standing outside again, looking like he personally disapproves of my existence.
The porch is empty.
Good.
I roll my shoulders anyway, like I can physically shake him—and his permanent scowl—out of my system.
Main Street comes into view, looking almost exactly the way I remember it.
The same little storefronts.
The same flower baskets hanging from lampposts.
The same sleepy coastal charm.
During the summer, the sidewalks would be packed with tourists wandering around in flip-flops, carrying melting ice cream cones and beach towels over their shoulders.
Today the town moves at its off-season pace.
No crowds.
No rush.
Just locals going about their day like everyone silently agreed there isn't any reason to hurry unless a storm is headed for shore.
The Harbor Cup comes into view near the center of town.
Its wide front windows are slightly fogged around the edges, and the faded sign somehow makes the place feel cozy instead of neglected.
Some buildings earn their wrinkles.
I park along the curb, realizing only after I switch off the engine that I've been holding my breath.
I let it out slowly before climbing out of the car.
The familiar scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon wraps around me the second I step inside.
"Take a seat anywhere you'd like," the young waitress calls from behind the counter without looking up.
I scan the room before spotting an empty booth near the front window.
Perfect.
Until I realize it's also the most visible seat in the entire café.
Too late now.
I slide into the booth anyway, turning slightly toward the window in the completely irrational hope that I'll somehow blend into the glass.
Then I pull out my phone and stare at the screen with great determination.
It's the universal signal for please don't make small talk with me.
Whether anyone else recognizes it remains to be seen.
"Claire?"
I look up.
"Goodness me! Claire Monroe... is that you?"
Of course.
I look up to find Maya Patel making her way toward my booth with a bright smile.
Unfortunately, she isn't the only one looking at me.
Half the café has turned in my direction.
Fantastic.
"It sure is," I say, forcing a smile.
I don't bother correcting her. I haven't been Claire Monroe in years, but around Tidehaven, I suppose I always will be.
"I'm meeting someone." I gesture toward it. "But you're welcome to keep the seat warm until she gets here."
She slides into the booth without hesitation.
"I had a feeling you might be back in town soon."
A knot forms in my stomach.
I'd hoped the reason for my visit would stay private.
Deep down, I know that's impossible.
Tidehaven has never been the kind of town where news stays with the person who hears it first.
Maya leans across the table, lowering her voice.
“Helena told me when she was at the clinic a couple of months ago.” Her expression softens. “I’m so sorry about Ben, Claire.”
“Thanks.”
The word comes out barely above a whisper.
I lower my gaze to my hands and focus on breathing.
One breath.
Then another.
Maya, bless her, doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She simply sits with me while I wait for the tightness in my throat to ease and make sure my eyes are going to stay dry.
When I finally trust myself to speak again, I look up.
“Does the whole town know?”
Maya presses her lips together. “You know Evie. She’s never been one to keep news-that-doesn’t-make-the-news to herself.”
A garbled laugh escapes me.
“Of course.”
“But from what I can tell, Evie didn’t give anyone specifics.” Maya reaches for the napkin dispenser and slides it across the table. “Only that there’d been a tragedy in your family. So at least there’s that.”
I take a deep breath.
“So just Helena and whoever she told, then.”
“I think—or at least hope—Helena only told me because she needed someone to talk to,” Maya says with a gentle smile. “And she only told me after I promised it would stay between us.”
I nod.
“I’ll have to stop by and thank her.”
And I mean it.
Helena and Mom were best friends for as long as I can remember. Even after Mom died, Helena never stopped caring about me like I was still the girl who grew up down the road.
I can’t really be angry that she needed someone to talk to after hearing about Ben.
At least the person she trusted was Maya.
For a few moments, neither of us says anything.
The café fills the silence instead.
A milk steamer hisses behind the counter. Someone near the register laughs too loudly. Silverware clinks against ceramic plates.
Ordinary sounds.
Comfortingly ordinary.
I curl my fingers around the edge of the table, letting the familiar rhythm of the café ground me until the tightness in my chest finally begins to ease.
“So you’re here to…” Maya begins, leaving the rest of the sentence open for me to fill in.
My gaze flicks toward the door again.
Still no June.
Of course.
“I’m selling the beach house.”
“Seriously?” Maya sits back like the words physically pushed her. “I mean, if it holds a lot of bad memories, I understand. But you grew up there, Claire.”
“I know.” I look down at the napkin in my hands. “After my parents died, I kept telling myself I’d use it more. That Ben and I would make it ours someday.”
My throat tightens.
“We just never got the chance.”
I turn toward the window and watch a gull hop along the curb like it has nowhere better to be.
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, exactly.
Just heavy.
“Helena didn’t say how,” Maya says.
The words are so quiet I almost don’t hear them.
My eyes flick toward the door again, almost pleading this time.
Still no June.
I can practically hear Nicole’s voice in my head telling me I should have ordered a hot chocolate and hidden at a corner table like a normal person.
Instead, I chose the front window.
Excellent planning, Claire.
“Car accident.”
My fingers tighten around the napkin I don’t remember pulling from the dispenser.
“I spend half my life weathering storms in a small coastal town, only to have my husband die because his truck hydroplanes during an inland rainstorm.”
Maya opens her mouth.
Nothing comes out.
I can relate.
“Am I interrupting?”
I look up to find June standing beside the booth, her gaze moving between Maya and me.
Maya clears her throat.
“Not at—not at all. I was, um—”
I give her a small, sad smile.
“We’ll talk later.”
Maya stands quickly, smoothing the front of her top like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
“Yes. Later. Absolutely.”
She hesitates before reaching out and giving my shoulder a brief squeeze.
“I’ll lock this up under doctor-patient confidentiality,” she says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Then she heads toward the counter, disappearing into the café bustle like she didn’t just crack me open in the middle of lunch hour.
June slides into the booth across from me without commenting on the heaviness hanging in the air.
I’m grateful.
She already knows why I’m selling.
She’s also witnessed me cry over Zoom more than once, so at this point, there isn’t much left to surprise her.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says, setting her bag on the seat beside her. “My GPS still had your house location pulled up, and I figured I’d at least do a quick drive-by on my way here.”
She gives me an apologetic look before glancing toward the counter where Maya disappeared.
“I can see now that coming straight here might have saved you from an unwanted conversation.”
I let out a slow breath and force my shoulders to relax.
“It’s okay. It would've happened eventually.” I manage a small shrug. “Might as well get it over with sooner rather than later, right?”
June’s expression softens for half a second.
It’s the kind of look that says she understands more than she plans to put into words.
I appreciate that.
I’m not sure I can survive another sympathetic head tilt today without completely losing it.
“Anyway,” June says, her voice suddenly—and very deliberately—cheerful. “It’s so good to finally see you in 3D.”
A laugh escapes me.
And for the first time since arriving in Tidehaven, it doesn’t feel borrowed.
Or forced.
“Agreed. And welcome to Tidehaven.”
June looks around the café with open curiosity, taking in the locals who look like they’ve been coming here since the sign went up.
Which, honestly, some of them probably have.
“It’s hard to believe I’ve lived less than an hour away for more than ten years and have never visited.” She smiles. “It has such a classic small-town vibe.”
I hold a finger to my lips.
“Careful how loudly you say that.”
June raises an eyebrow.
“That small-town vibe comes with absolutely no secrets.”
She immediately lowers her voice and leans across the table like we’re plotting something scandalous instead of preparing to order lunch.
“Does everyone know why you’re here?”
“Bits and pieces.” I trace the edge of the napkin with my fingertip, mostly to give my hands something to do. “I think there are only two people who know the full story. Or close to it.”
Helena and Maya.
At least, I hope it stops there.
Before June can ask another question, a cheerful voice cuts in.
“Hi, ladies.”