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“Make sure to tell Ryan he has a big fan out here,” the Uber driver said. “You take care.”
Diana remained outside with her suitcases, watching the Uber car drive away. Her heart felt empty and shaky. On instinct, she reached for her phone, hoping to have a text message from someone who loved her. Instead, it was just a message from her new producer—reminding her they’d had a deal. Just because Ryan was acting the way he was and kicking up a fuss didn’t mean they wanted to halt forward motion and growth.
Diana responded right away.
DIANA: I’m on my way. Should be there by tomorrow.
The airline employee scanned all three suitcases and handed her a boarding pass. It was a straight shot to Boston. She’d arrive after ten at night.
At the airport bar, Diana people-watched for a while, grateful for the anonymity of sitting alone. She watched young mothers trying to wrangle their children. She watched lovers, hand in hand, looking for something to eat before their flight. She remembered how exciting it had been for her and Ryan when they’d started traveling for work. They hadn’t been able to believe it. Diana had been nervous about expensing her small sandwiches, while Ryan immediately fell into the luxuries—buying bottles of champagne and steak dinners. He’d laughed and said, “Come on, Diana. We don’t know how long this will last. Let’s just play along.”
Chapter Three
Aweek had passed since Rachelle’s restaurant had closed up shop with the promise to “reopen on April first with a brand-new chef.” Since then, Rachelle had spent hours a day killing time, eyeing her phone, waiting for a call from Frank. Any minute now, he’d call, invite her to his office, and ask her to take on the role of head chef. What was taking him so long?
It was Sunday, and Darcy had a day off from work after six days in a row at the beauty salon. From her bedroom, Rachelle heard Darcy padding around the kitchen and living room, making numerous cups of tea, vacuuming the rug, and watching television shows, laughing to herself. They were comforting sounds, even when Rachelle felt a little too sad and strange to join her. At eleven thirty, far past a reasonable time to get up, Rachelle wandered from her bedroom, still in pajamas, and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot. Darcy was scrubbing the countertops and listening to a podcast from a female comedian she adored.
“Don’t say it. I already know. I’m a lazy bum,” Rachelle said, rolling her shoulders back.
“Who cares?” Darcy said. “This is your first vacation in ages. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Rachelle sighed and slid onto the stool at the kitchen island. “That’s the thing. I’m not enjoying myself. All I think about is the promotion. I’m visualizing it constantly. I’m driving myself nuts.”
Darcy winced and folded up her rag. “What would take your mind off things today?”
“A lobotomy?”
“Why don’t we go to Mom’s place?” Darcy suggested. “We’ll make her order pizza and watch movies. It’s miserable outside, anyway.”
The weather had transitioned. A gorgeous early spring had now darkened to dismal gray clouds and ominous storms that shook the island. On the drive to The Jessabelle House, Rachelle clutched her knees tightly and watched the slick road, careful not to make a sound. If Darcy suspected Rachelle was judging her driving, she would only panic more. That was how they’d gotten into the fender-bender last summer—an event that had made them both cry, laugh, then cry again. Such was the life of having a sister.
“I still can’t believe Mom lives here,” Rachelle said as they wove up the long driveway to The Jessabelle House, a gorgeous Victorian on the bluffs of Siasconset overlooking the ocean. It had been a gift from their Great-Great-Aunt Jessabelle, a woman who’d adored their mother as though she were her own daughter. Growing up under Grandpa Roland’s roof had meant their mother, Sam, had taken refuge here, often crying to Aunt Jessabelle about not fitting in with the rest of her family.
Their mother met them in the driveway with a massive umbrella and guided them indoors. As thunder rattled outside, she shook the umbrella out across the stone steps and smiled at them as they removed their rain jackets and boots.
“You should have waited for the storm to calm down!” she said.
“When is that supposed to happen?” Darcy joked. “It feels like it’s going to storm for the rest of the year.”
Sam collected them in a big hug and led them into the kitchen, where she’d opened a bottle of wine and set out three glasses. A big pile of various types of chocolate—mint, caramel, sea salt, and even licorice—sat on the counter, awaiting their post-pizza sweet cravings.
“I don’t like to play by the rules,” Rachelle said with a laugh, taking a square of chocolate before it was time.
“That’s my girl.” Sam grabbed a piece for herself, too.
They agreed on two types of pizza—one with pepperoni and onion and another with feta cheese, black olives, spinach, and white sauce. They ordered from the fancy pizza place, the one that was Rachelle-approved. She’d once spent time with the chefs in their kitchen, happily discussing how they made their crust and sauces.
“How is your vacation, darling?” Sam asked as they settled on the couch to wait for the pizza and decide what to watch.
“She’s a nervous wreck,” Darcy answered before Rachelle could.
“Hey!” Rachelle cried. “That’s not fair.” She met her mother’s gaze. “I just really want that promotion.”
Sam grimaced. “Have you told Frank you want the job? I think that goes a long way.”
Rachelle’s heart dropped into her stomach. It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask her boss for the job she wanted. She’d assumed he would already know she desired it.
“That’s one of the great secrets in life,” Sam declared. “You have to tell people what you want. You have to put yourself out there.”
