Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“We can only hope. If not, we can try for a different school.” They definitely needed a fresh start.
“Maybe.” Maren stared out the window. Devy reached for her daughter’s hand and held it tightly. She would do whatever it would take to make things right for her little girl again. Her brother, Colt, would step up. He’d be a father figure, and her dad . . . well, he’d remind Devy how he’d told her not to follow some wannabe to college. Which was exactly what she had done. While she loved her job as an estate curator, she wasn’t rolling in the dough, according to Chad. And her income definitely wasn’t enough to continue the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to in Chicago.
As soon as she pulled onto Interstate 80, Devy turned on the playlist she’d put together for their fifteen-hour drive, turned the volume up, and started singing. When her favorite song came on, she danced in her seat and did everything she could to get her daughter to smile.
At the end of all this, Maren wouldn’t see what the affair had done to her mother. Devorah would mask everything until her child was tucked away at night. Then and only then would she allow her emotions to come through, allow herself to feel. She’d be brave for her daughter and for anyone else she ran into once she was back home. All she could hope for was that no one in Oyster Bay had seen the video—or, if they had, that they hadn’t realized it was about her. She didn’t need any more embarrassment in her life. Enough of that would be coming from those who had never left Oyster Bay, people who would be happy to see the “Pearl of the Ocean” four years running fall flat on her face.
They were only an hour into the drive when Maren started singing and dancing. Her smile was enough to keep Devy’s foot on the gas and moving forward.
It was after dinner the next day when they pulled into town. Antique streetlights and lamps kept the street lit, and the sound of the foghorn reminded Devorah how close they were to the water. Devorah pushed a button, sending her window down. She leaned her head out of the window and inhaled, almost gagging on the smell of brine. No one enjoyed the odor, but it meant home to her. They had Lake Michigan in Chicago, and while it was massive, she missed the ocean. She missed the constant ocean mist the air held from being this close to the water and the sound of fishing boats returning to harbor, along with the constant ting of the buoy bell wind chimes.
“How far does Grandpa live from the water?”
“Not far,” Devy said as she turned onto Main Street. “You can walk there in two minutes if you don’t get stopped by someone who knows you.”
“No one knows me here.”
Devy let out a small laugh. “Oh, sweetie, everyone knows who you are here. And by tomorrow morning, they’ll all know Tremaine Crowley’s only granddaughter is in town. Especially since the last time you were here, you were three.”
“Really?” Maren looked like she didn’t really believe her mom.
“Yep. Small-town living definitely has its drawbacks.” She pulled into the driveway and put the SUV into park. She stared at the yellow house and wide porch. The railings looked freshly painted to match the picket fence in the front. The house and subsequently the fence sat too close to the main road but had been built long before Oyster Bay ever became a town. Blue-and-white hydrangeas took up most of what little front yard they had, and she was surprised they looked well kept and weren’t growing over the fence.
To the left of her was a small road, leading not only to their backyard but to a few cottages out back. At one time, thanks to a social studies assignment, she’d learned that her house had been owned by Joe Updike, the founder of Oyster Bay. He’d built the cottages behind what was now her childhood home for his employees.
Devy sighed and shut her car off. She was ready to get out, stretch, and head to the beach.
“What’s the perk?” Maren asked when they met at the back of the car.
“This.” Devy pointed across the street, where if you looked through the somewhat empty parking lot, you could see the water and the masts of sailboats tied to the docks. Dev, her brother Colt, and all their friends had spent plenty of time on those docks back in the day. Doing things she’d rather not tell her impressionable nine-year-old daughter about.
“We can go there?”
“Yep. There’s a paved walking path over there.” She pointed in the general direction of where the pathway started, between two old buildings that had been there since the early 1700s. The one on the right of the path had always been a law office, passed down from one generation to the next. The building on the left used to be a bait-and-tackle shop, but from the looks of it now, it seemed to be some sort of gallery. “With a lot of spots where you can walk down to the water. We’ll go tomorrow.”