Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Almost there, Harry.” Dahlia looked down at the empty water bottle on her seat. “As soon as we get there, we’ll get you a big bowl of ice-cold water.”
He leaned his whole body out of the opening as if he would leap at any moment.
“And don’t you think about jumping when we turn down her street. You hear me?’
Harry yelped with excitement.
“I mean it, Harry,” Dahlia said, trying not to smile at the sweet and eager face in the rearview mirror.
The pebbles crunched beneath her tires. A sure sign she had reached the Prescott Family Compound—or what was left of it anyway.
Through the years, whenever finances got tight, they’d sold a parcel of land or a house here and there.
The only things that now remained of this compound were Aunt Lil’s house and the stories.
She braked in front of the brick pillars and admired the perfectly groomed boxwoods, courtesy of their neighbor Bruce.
There was no longer a need to rush. Her smile grew, and her posture relaxed.
The breeze that grazed her neck and slipped under her hair felt invigorating.
It was the gentle nudge she needed to slow things down after that unexpected call.
But there was still a small part of her that was nervous.
This wasn’t just a house; it was Lil’s house, and Dahlia’s grandparents’ before that, and their parents’ before that.
She realized she’d never been alone here for more than a few hours. This time, it was just her.
She gulped hard and looked up at the rusted, crooked sign that read Meadow Lane. Squaring her shoulders, she drove through the stately opening.
The first cedar shake house on the property was built in the late 1800s and faced the bay.
It was the grandest and her favorite architecturally.
It had arched dormers on the third floor and an expansive wraparound porch.
Her great-great-uncle had lived there with his family after they came over from England.
It remained in the family until it was sold to a city family before Dahlia was born.
Although she’d never been inside, she knew, like many old houses, it was where secrets were kept.
The tennis court still looked pristine, as if not a single ball ever bounced on the surface.
There was a thickness in her throat and a quiver in her belly as she continued to drive.
The 1970s split-level to her left still didn’t belong among the backdrop of the more mature Nantucket-style homes, but Dahlia never lost sight of why her grandparents sold it.
“We had to pay for Rose’s extended education somehow,” her Gran would say of Dahlia’s mother as they passed it.
Dahlia finally made it to Lil’s house. She pulled into the long driveway with expansive views of the steely blue Peconic Bay and parked.
Her heart raced as she looked up at the regal New England facade.
It was beautiful, just as she remembered.
Well, minus the few shingles missing and shutters hanging on by a screw.
And the landscaping, geez, it was neglected.
She leaned her head out the window to get a closer look.
The blue hydrangeas that ran the perimeter, which were once Instagrammable, were now stalky and wild.
“We definitely have some cleanup to do. What do you think, boy?”
There was silence.
She looked to the back of the car, but Harry was nowhere in sight. Dahlia threw the car in park, flung open the door, and marched down the front lawn. “Harry!” She whistled through her fingers, prompting him to come back. “We literally just got here,” she muttered in defeat.
Just then, she spotted him next door. “They aren’t home!
” she shouted across the lawn as if Harry could understand why his favorite people weren’t outside, ready to greet him.
Bruce had been in touch with Lil before she died, letting her know they’d be in Italy for the summer, but Dahlia still hoped she’d see them before she left to thank them properly.
Bruce and Garrett were a lovely couple who lived right next door and had been like surrogate sons to Lil.
If it hadn’t been for them finding Lil after she fell down the stairs, she might have been there for days without food or water.
Breaking her ankle was the catalyst for her move to Greenwich with Dahlia.
As much as Lil didn’t want to leave her house on the bay, she didn’t have a choice after that.
The sandy shore called to Dahlia as Harry strolled back in defeat.
She made her slow descent to the beach as he trailed behind her, doing his best detective work.
The grass was dry, sparse, and tall in places.
She needed to get someone to cut it—it was probably loaded with ticks.
She winced at the thought, making sure to stay on the path.
Dahlia was hyperaware that the poppy seed–sized arachnid could wreak havoc on one’s health and mental well-being. Lil’s undiagnosed Lyme disease hadn’t helped her memory or her ability to fight the cancer, especially toward the end. The ovarian cancer had metastasized rather quickly to her bones.
Dahlia stood facing the water, her feet sinking into the cool, wet sand.
A gust blew, fanning her body as she stared at the catamaran in the distance.
Its size, sleek navy bottom, and cream USA sails were commanding.
Exactly like Spence’s dad’s boat. It took her back to the day she told him the news that would change the direction of her life forever.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” Spence dropped the anchor. “That you adore me and can’t wait to visit me at BC? You’re going to love Boston, Dahl. The football games, the parties, the city,” he said with his pretty-boy smile.
“I know.” Dahlia rolled her eyes. “My parents both went there, and I lived there, remember?” Did he ever actually listen?
“Then what is it?” He reached for her trembling hand. “We’ll be fine, babe. It’s not that far from RISD. Plenty of people have long-distance relationships and make it work.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Dahlia was woozy; she began to wane. This was a bad idea. She held back the urge to puke up her egg sandwich. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted, holding her stomach.
Spence froze; he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Are you sure?”
“Very.” She nodded.
“It’s mine, right? I mean, I’m only here on weekends, and we used a condom.”
What an asshole. She’d only ever been with him. Her eyes locked with his in disgust. Who’d made him so suspicious? So cynical?
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, of course it’s mine.
My father’s going to kill me.” He paced the deck, chewing his lip.
Dahlia watched his forehead wrinkle, a telltale sign he wasn’t in control anymore.
“You start college in two months, and so do I. Okay, we’ll take care of it before you go. It will be fine.”
She drew in her breath. “I don’t know what I want to do yet,” Dahlia said, looking at the birds that circled overhead. It felt like the moment in a movie right before something bad happened. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“You can’t just throw your whole life away. And I’m certainly not. For a moment that lasted all of five minutes in the back of my Rover?”
The seagull’s cry woke her from her memory, and with that, she walked back up to Lil’s house. She blew out a cathartic breath. It was time to let go of Spence, the bitterness, and the role that never suited her from the beginning.
Dahlia grabbed her purse and Lil’s box from the back seat and walked onto the front porch.
“Come on, boy. Let’s get that bowl of … ahh!
” She screeched as she lunged forward, her foot going right through the decking.
“Seriously?” she huffed, unable to move her foot, feeling the broken shards of wood stab her ankle.
Sweat pooled on her upper lip, and she had never been so glad to be neighborless at the moment.
The idea of someone seeing this blunder sent a rush of heat to her face.
She grunted, carefully pulling her tennis shoe from the large, gaping hole.
Lil, she thought, if you’re up there, please send a handyman ASAP.
Was she going to be able to handle this project alone?
That was quickly becoming the question of the day.
Thank goodness the flower pot was exactly where Lil had said it would be.
Dahlia didn’t need any more mishaps. She tiptoed to it, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on one spot.
With one hand and one foot, she leaned over and pulled the soiled key from underneath as if she were playing a game of Twister.
The stately colonial blue door stared at her as she brushed the hair from her eyes, trying to regain her composure.
Dahlia was numb, her heart heavy. Her hand wouldn’t move.
She was frozen, imagining a different reality, one where she was here with Lil this summer.
Without warning, another gust carried through the porch, this time wrapping her like a blanket.
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, feeling Lil with her in spirit.
Dahlia slipped the key in and turned the knob.
slowly pushing the door open. Harry snuck in as it gave a loud creak, grazing her leg.
“Glad you could make it,” she said, shutting the door behind him.
It smelled like must and mothballs. She stood there, feeling her shoulders finally relax, feeling the house’s presence.
It was a pleasing aroma for Dahlia’s old soul.
It reminded her of the best summers in this house by the bay with Gran, Pop, and Lil. “Don’t go too far, Harry.”