Page 116 of Any Port in a Storm

I’m confident Ivy took losing our grandparents even harder than I did. Sure, I’d been extremely close with Charlie, but Ivy’s three years older, so she had more time with them. Also, before Ivy started kindergarten, Eleanor used to watch her during the day while her parents were working. When I got older, I would join her during our summer breaks, but Ivy had quite a bit more quality time with our grandparents.

Losing Charlie wounded Ivy deeply, I know, but she harnessed it by giving Eleanor double the love. She would make frequent trips to my grandparents’ house after work, often bringing books from the library and my grandmother’s favorite meals. Ivy visited every weekend without fail, and I think it was both for her and for our grandmother.

When Eleanor died suddenly, the autumn before I dated Nick, Ivy was devastated. Of course, she’d been going through a lot at the time—the loss of her two-year relationship with a colleague who, it turned out, had been cheating on her with another coworker; her parents’ equally unexpected separation; a lack of alignment with her role as a school librarian. And, later, a choice between three jobs, all of which felt right to her for different reasons.

The fact that she met Oliver last summer, and Maisie, and created a forever home for herself in Ogunquit, truly couldn’t have come at a better time.

All things considered, I think she’d be uniquely qualified to understand what I’m dealing with right now. And I also think it’s high time I start opening up to Ivy. She deserves more from me. She works so hard to keep our connection alive.

If there’s one thing living with Nick these last few weeks has taught me, it’s that I need to take better care of the people who take care of me.

I grab my phone and open a FaceTime call. I’m more than a little surprised when it’s Oliver who answers.

“Laurel,” he says, his bright blue eyes popping against the stark white wall behind him.

I guess Ivy and I really do have a type.

“Hey, Oliver. Where are you right now?”

“Beach Haven.” He spins the phone. “We’re painting your room.”

“My room?”

He turns the camera back on himself. “Yeah. Ivy wants to have it ready for whenever you visit next.”

Guilt trickles from my brain to my heart and beyond, until it’s swathed every cell of my body in regret. She’s been begging me to visit for ages.

I swallow hard. “What about the other rooms?”

“Oh, we already painted ours. And we’re thinking about turning the third one into a home office, but we want to put up some shelves in there. We have to pick the finish before we choose a paint color.”

“This is…shockingly domestic of you, Oliver.” When we met, I’d assumed Oliver was a bit of an asshole, honestly. But he swept Ivy off her feet, and I quickly realized he was actually just a sardonic guy who got dealt an incredibly challenging hand.

Even with my newfound appreciation for his softer side, though, I still can’t picture him being this excited about redecorating.

Oliver shrugs. “We’ve been going a little bit stir-crazy in here since lockdown started.” He lowers his voice. “Ivy’s missing Shoreline, and I’m trying to distract her with other projects.”

My heart melts. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I hear you’ve got a nice man yourself,” he smirks.

“Hey, is Ivy there?”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah. She’s reading on the porch; let me get her.”

Oliver walks the phone outside, and I can hear the whoosh of waves in the background. It’s like he turned on the tap to my childhood, because memories start pouring in. Running up and down the beach with Ivy; reading stories with Eleanor; splashing in the surf with Charlie. Shivering under a damp towel while enjoying soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, followed by warm showers and nights out for lobster rolls and ice cream.

There’s so much history.

“Hey, Laur!” Ivy’s face lights up when she sees me. “Was Oliver giving you a hard time?”

“The hardest,” I joke, then feel my cheeks immediately heat. “Sorry; I in no way meant it like that.”

Ivy giggles. “It’s okay. I know how it is.”

“How what is?”

She pushes her hair off her forehead. “Being stuck at home—it’s making me a little crazy. I’ve been saying and doing all kinds of weird shit lately.”