Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Carrie arrived at Excursion Park while the vendors were still setting up.
Trucks backed up to tent spaces along the path, crates coming off tailgates, the morning light warm and soft.
A coffee cart had claimed a spot near the entrance, and a couple walked past with beach chairs under their arms, already staking their claim on the day.
Marge was at the Saltmeadow tent, unloading crates from Frank's truck. "You're early," she said. "Good."
They set up together—strawberries first, then sugar snap peas, zucchini, fresh herbs bundled with twine. Marge showed her where everything went, which bins to keep full, how to arrange the display so customers could see the best produce first.
"I'm going to check on the honey guy," Marge said once the display was set. "You good here?"
Carrie hesitated then nodded.
By eight, the market opened and customers started trickling in. Carrie answered questions, made change, chatted about the weather.
Around nine, Mrs. Dougherty arrived for her strawberries. She came every week, seventy-something and sharp-eyed, with opinions about everything and a voice that carried.
"These look good," she said, examining a quart of berries with the focus of a jeweler. "Better than the last batch."
"We got lucky this week," Carrie said, straightening the display.
"You're new." Mrs. Dougherty selected two quarts and set them on the counter. "You weren't here last summer."
"First time. I'm staying in Sea Isle for a few months."
"Lucky you." The older woman pulled a twenty from her purse. "A whole summer at the shore. That's something."
"It is," Carrie said. She believed that now.
After Mrs. Dougherty left, the morning continued. Customers came and went, questions she was learning to answer. By midmorning, the rush had tapered off.
She was restocking the strawberry display when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
She almost ignored it. The morning was too good to interrupt with whatever fresh anxiety was waiting in her inbox. But habit won out. She set the crate on the counter and pulled out her phone.
Gayle Brown. Her divorce attorney.
Business valuation came back. Your contributions were significantly higher than Richard claimed. This changes everything. Call me when you can.
Carrie stared at the words. Read them again.
She didn't cry. She'd thought she might, if this moment ever came.
A voice nearby was asking about tomatoes.
"Excuse me? The tomatoes?"
She blinked. Turned. A man in a fishing hat was pointing at the nearly empty tomato section.
"Not yet," she managed. "Another few weeks."
He nodded and moved on.
She put the phone back in her pocket and finished with the strawberries.
When Marge stopped back by, she stood watching for a moment.
"You look different," she said.
Carrie smiled. "Good different?"
"You tell me."
"Good different," Carrie said. "Definitely good different."
Carrie sat in her car after the market ended, parked in the shade on a side street, and called Gayle. For twenty minutes she'd listened to numbers that rewrote the story of her marriage. Not dramatically. Just enough. Enough to matter.
By the time she pulled into the driveway, the conversation was still replaying in her head.
The front door was unlocked. She stepped into the entryway and heard voices from the living room, but not the usual sounds.
These voices were tense.
Carrie stopped in the hallway, keys still in her hand.
"I don't understand why this has to be so difficult." A man's voice, smooth and practiced, already impatient. "All I'm asking for is a conversation."
"We had a conversation." That was Ethan. Lower, harder, the anger barely contained. "I said I'd think about it."
"That was two months ago."
Carrie moved toward the living room, her footsteps soft on the hardwood.
The scene arranged itself as she reached the doorway. Kevin stood near the windows, dressed in expensive casual clothes. She hadn't seen him since Lori's divorce, but he looked the same—polished, confident, filling the room with his presence whether anyone wanted him to or not.
Tom was on the couch, playing the host while watching everything. Ethan stood near the kitchen doorway, jaw tight, arms rigid, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.
"Carrie." Tom's voice broke the tension, or at least redirected it. "Good timing. Can I get you something? Iced tea?"
"I'm fine." She stayed where she was. "What's going on?"
Kevin turned to her with a smile he probably practiced in mirrors. "Just a family discussion. Nothing to worry about."
"It's not a discussion," Ethan said. "You just showed up. Without telling anyone."
"I told your mother I was coming."
"You told her you might come this weekend. It's not the weekend."
"Plans changed." Kevin's composure was impressive, Carrie had to admit. Like a politician smiling through a scandal. "I had some free time, and I thought, why wait? Why not drive down and see my son?"
"You thought wrong." Ethan didn't blink.
The room went quiet. Carrie could hear the ocean through the open windows, the distant sound of kids on the beach, the everyday summer sounds that suddenly felt very far away.
Tom stood slowly. "Maybe we should—"
"Stay out of this." Kevin's voice hardened. "This is between me and my son.”
"I'm only your son when it's convenient." Ethan's hands curled into fists. "You can't just appear and expect everything to be fine."
"I'm not asking for that. I'm asking you to be in my wedding."
"Same thing." Ethan didn't look away.
Kevin took a breath. "Ethan. I'm still your father. When I get married, I want my son standing next to me."
"You mean Tessa wants everyone smiling for the cameras like we're one big happy family."
Kevin's face flickered. "That's not—"
"I heard you on the phone with her. 'It'll look better if he's there.' That's what you said." Ethan's voice cracked. "You don't actually care if I'm okay with it. You just need me to show up so everyone thinks we're fine."
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." His voice rose. "You think I wanted to spend every other weekend pretending I'm fine with your girlfriend making me smoothies? You think I didn't figure out the timeline? You introduced me to her three months after you left."
Kevin opened his mouth. "If your mother hadn't—"
"Don't." Ethan's voice went hard. "She didn't do anything. This is just how I feel. You moved on. I didn't. And you can't make me."
Silence.
Tom stepped between them. "Maybe this isn't the time. Everyone's emotions are running high. Give it a few days—"
"A few days?" Kevin turned to him, the smooth facade cracking. "So my son's mother has more time to work on him? So he can have more therapy sessions to convince him I'm the villain?"
"That's not what I said."
"You don't get to tell me how to handle my family." Kevin stepped toward Tom, close enough that Carrie's pulse spiked. "This is between me and my son."
Tom didn't move. "Ethan's a minor, and he's clearly upset. That concerns everyone in this house."
"He's my son." Kevin's voice dropped.
"And he's asking you to leave."
The standoff held. Then the front door opened, and Lori walked in with grocery bags in both hands.
She stopped just inside the door, taking in the scene. Carrie watched her shut down.
"Kevin." Her voice was flat. "I didn't realize you were coming today."
"I had an opening." He didn't take his eyes off Tom. "I came to talk to our son. Apparently that's not allowed anymore."
Lori set the grocery bags on the floor, moving slowly. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened." Kevin finally turned to face her. "I came to discuss the wedding, and I got a lecture from him"—he jerked his head toward Tom—"about how to parent my own child."
"I didn't lecture anyone," Tom said mildly. "I suggested we all take a breath."
"And I'm suggesting you stay out of it."
Lori looked at Ethan. He nodded slightly. Then she turned to Kevin.
"Ethan's allowed to have feelings, Kevin. That's not me. That's him."
"Right. Because nothing that comes out of his mouth has anything to do with what you've been telling him for three years."
"I haven't told him anything."
"You didn't have to. You made it clear with every silence, every sigh, every time you looked at me like I was something you scraped off your shoe.
" Kevin's voice had gone sharp, the polish falling away.
"You think I don't know what you've been doing?
Turning him against me piece by piece? Making sure he picks your side? "
Lori's voice stayed level. "There are no sides. There's just Ethan."
"There's always sides. And you made sure he picked yours."
Lori stood perfectly still, giving him nothing.
"If that were true," Lori said, "why would he be standing here listening to you instead of walking away?"
Kevin had no answer for that.
"Just go." Ethan's voice had steadied. "We can talk when you actually want to hear what I have to say."
"I came here to listen."
"No. You came to get what you want. Like always."
Kevin glanced around the room, at the faces watching him. For a moment he seemed almost human—hurt, confused, realizing he couldn't charm or argue his way to the outcome he wanted.
Then it was gone.
"Fine." He straightened his collar, a gesture so practiced it was probably unconscious. "We'll figure this out later. But this isn't over."
He walked to the door, pausing long enough to look at Lori one more time.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Him choosing you over me. Congratulations."
The door slammed behind him—harder than necessary, whether by accident or on purpose.
Nobody moved.
Ethan dropped onto the couch, pulling out his phone without looking at anyone. Carrie gathered the groceries and retreated to the kitchen; Tom waited, then settled on the opposite end of the couch, saying nothing.
After a minute, Ethan stood. "I'm going to the pool," he said to no one in particular.
Tom nodded. "Max is out there."