Chapter 22
BILLIE
My day is going well until the letters start arriving. More than anything, I’m mad at myself for not seeing this coming.
We’re having a bit of a lull, so I’m busying myself with sweeping and cleaning out the tiny gap between the coffee machine and the wall. I don’t remember the last time we did this, and the dust buildup is telling me that it’s sorely overdue.
I’m also doing my best not to notice all the places where the paint is chipped and ugly, or the fact that the coffee machine sounds like it really needs help.
I could do the painting myself, but I don’t have the time, and I can’t exactly afford to close the cafe to redecorate.
And I definitely can’t afford to get someone in to do it for me.
As usual, all my options are bad ones, and I’m completely trapped between good enough and complete disaster. No doubt Jacob would offer to help, would want to sweep in with his billionaire cash and personal decorating crew, but the guilt of that would crush me.
He’ll never understand why I can’t allow something like that. To him, it’s simply money. To me, it’s a debt I’d never be able to repay.
But imagining the cafe freshly painted and reupholstered does squeeze my heart. I want it more than anything. Almost anything. I guess I don’t want it more than my pride.
Maybe if he really was serious about staying — if he did move here and mean those things he’s been saying about wanting to belong — maybe then I’d let him start helping.
Not in one big move, but in pieces. A new piece of equipment here, some new furniture there.
He would want to shut down the place for weeks to renovate, but those would be my terms. I’d accept the help if it was in small doses.
I take a second to imagine him doing the work himself, and that makes me giggle. The thought of him in painter’s overalls or building furniture is so opposite to who he is. Or at least, who he was.
Because he has been changing. It’s taking time, but I’m seeing it. He’s not who he was.
And if he keeps going in this direction, I’d even think about letting him stay.
The shop bell dings and I jump to attention, spinning around to greet my visitor. “Mrs. Richardson, good to see you!”
She doesn’t smile, which isn’t totally unlike her.
No matter how enthusiastic I am, she’s the type of person who can always find something to be grumpy about.
But she has no family, so I always welcome her with a smile and try to make sure someone spends time with her every few days.
She’s family in this community, and I’m determined not to let her forget it.
Her cane thumps against the wooden floor as she shuffles over, and when she finally reaches the counter, she slaps down an envelope. “What’s this about?” she demands.
Carefully, I pick up the letter. She’s torn the envelope roughly and crammed the pages back inside. I pull the paper from the envelope and smooth it out on the counter. It’s a single sheet, and the words at the top of the page, underlined and bright red, make my heart stop.
Eviction Notice.
I snatch up the page and scan it over — a lot of patronizing legalese and the threat of forcible eviction. The promise of it. Two weeks until they start coming down with an iron fist. Two weeks left to enjoy our lives.
He promised me. He swore that he had changed his mind.
Has he been lying to me this whole time? Using me?
All I can do is stare until the anger bubbles up into my chest and boils over, a fury like water exploding on a hot stove. It shoots through me, ice hot, makes my hands shake and my heart pound. Two weeks. Is that all we get? “Is this a joke?” I ask quietly.
Mrs. Richardson glares at me. “I don’t make jokes. Is this a joke to you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s a complete joke. It can’t be real.”
“It darn well is real. I got one. Siona across the street got one. My neighbor and their neighbor got one. I’m darn well sure if you go home, you’ll have gotten one. Is that handsome young man still staying with you?”
“Not anymore,” I say through gritted teeth.
If Jacob thinks he’s staying in my home, on my island, for a single second longer, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Richardson. I’m going to go and get this dealt with.”
“You are? How?”
I don’t answer her. I don’t have an answer.
What I am going to do is close the cafe for the afternoon and hunt Jacob Ford down. I’m going to march home right now, drag him out of bed where he’s no doubt lazing around, kick him onto the street and tell him to get the hell out of here. This place isn’t his. It can’t be. It never will be.
We’re not leaving.
I read the letter once more, my eyes skimming over the words as if they might have changed in the last three seconds. They haven’t.
“Come on,” I say to Mrs. Richardson, untying my apron and flinging it down on the counter.
“Where are we going?”
I usher her toward the door, taking care to go slowly so she doesn’t feel rushed even though I want to run. “I’m going to close up, and then I’m going home.”
“Home? What about the cafe?”
“This is more important,” I say. Without the island, the cafe doesn’t matter at all.
I manage to get Mrs. Richardson on her way home, lock the front door, and storm along the beachfront in the direction of home. The sound of my stomping feet is so loud that it’s the only thing I can hear over my pounding heart, and the only thought in my head is why has he done this to us?
When I turn the corner two blocks away from my house, I almost smack face-first into him. “What the hell?” I yell, partly from being furious with him but mostly out of shock.
“Billie?” he grunts, startling backward like I’ve zapped him with electricity.
“What the hell?” I say again, this time with the full force of my anger.
I shouldn’t yell at him in the street or make a scene.
I know that. But if he gets his way, there won’t be anyone left to care that I did.
A few houses down, I hear a shutter bang against a wall.
If I had wondered whether we’d have an audience, that just confirmed it.
Jacob holds up both hands like he’s surrendering or trying to tame a wild animal. “Please, Billie, don’t yell at me. Not yet. Give me a chance to explain.”
I clench my fists. “What is there to explain?”
“Everything!”
He takes a tentative step toward me, and when I don’t flinch or say anything else, he breathes out, the golden sun above dancing in his hair, catching his captivating eyes and making them shine.
This is how he got me the first time, by being gentle and pretending to listen.
I won’t let him do it again. I won’t be tricked into giving my life over to him.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that there’s nothing you need to say. I think you used me. I think you always wanted this island to yourself, and I think you didn’t care who you stepped on to get it. I think you never cared about me or any of us at all.”
“That’s not true,” he says, and I hesitate for a second.
It’s all he needs to blurt out his excuses.
“I never used you. I like you… no, honestly, I do. Yes, it’s true when I first came here, all I wanted was the land and I didn’t care about any of you, but then you showed me.
You showed me how beautiful it all is. You helped me understand that this community matters, that it’s not the land. It’s the people.”
“So why the hell are you evicting us?” I yell.
“I’m not,” he starts, and I let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
How can he dare to look me in the eye and say that? “You’re not? Explain this then?”
I thrust Mrs. Richardson’s letter in his face, the paper crumpling where I’m clutching it with my fist. His eyes dart over the word eviction, and his tanned cheeks pale, either in shame or horror. Hard to tell which. I hope it’s shame. I hope he has a human emotion left in his heart.
I wouldn’t trust that hope to keep me going, though.
His mouth opens and closes as he tries to form the words that are going to make me listen.
Of course, there are no words he can say that will make me believe he’s being sincere, but I’d like to hear from his mouth why he thinks he can get away with buttering us all up and then turfing us out the second the paperwork comes through.
“I’m waiting,” I snap.
“I forgot,” he says lamely. “I was so excited to be here. I was having such a good time with you… I forgot that I told my lawyers to expedite everything. I should have called them. I should have—”
“You forgot?” My own mouth drops open in shock. “You forgot?”
“I did,” he says softly. “This is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I’m so sorry. But I can put it right. I shouldn’t have let you all find out this way, but maybe…”
“I wish you’d never come here,” I snap bitterly, my vision blurring with tears. “I wish I hadn’t fallen for your stupid tricks, that fantasy you were selling me. I should have known better.”
“It wasn’t a trick,” he tries, but I hold up my hand, pushing him away.
“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. I want you to leave.”
“Leave?” His eyebrows crease in confusion.
“Yes, leave. I need you to leave now. I want you out of my house, off my island, out of my life. I never want to see you again.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again like that means anything.
Seeing him standing here, the sun in his hair, looking as gorgeous as he always has — it’s too much for me to bear. He’s full of pretty words; it’s how he managed to get all the way to this point. But I won’t have any more of it.
“Just get your things and go, all right?” I snap, and before he can get another word out, I turn on my heel and march off.
I don’t know where I’m going. He calls after me, but I don’t turn back. He doesn’t deserve me turning back. He doesn’t deserve a second thought at all.
As I turn the corner and head down a random street, I let out a shaky breath, and the tears pricking at my eyes flow down my face. I can’t do anything to stop them.