“Do you love him?”
The question hung in the air, and she felt her heart constrict. She had been avoiding putting a name to her feelings, but hearing it spoken aloud made it impossible to deny.
“Maybe I do,” she admitted softly. “But sometimes, loving someone means doing what’s right for them. And right now, Mark has things he needs to figure out.”
“Like the literary festival and dealing with his late wife’s memory?”
“Exactly.” She picked up another towel, focusing on the task at hand. “He’s still wrestling with his grief and trying to find his way forward. It wouldn’t be fair of me to add to that burden.”
“But what about your happiness, Gran? Don’t you deserve a chance at love too?”
She smiled sadly. “Of course I do, dear. Everyone does. But sometimes, the timing just isn’t right. Mark needs space to sort through his feelings and make decisions about his future. And I need to respect that, even if it means putting my own feelings aside for now.”
She smoothed the wrinkles from a pillowcase with practiced precision. “And I suppose I have my own issues to work through too.”
“You mean Dad’s father? Dean?”
The familiar ache spread through her at the mention of her ex-husband. She set the pillowcase aside, her hands falling still in her lap. “Yes. Dean left before your father was even born. I was so young, so excited about the baby, about our future together.”
“What happened? You don’t really ever talk about it.” Felicity asked, sliding closer on the bench.
“One day he said he was going to the store for cigarettes.” Her voice caught. “He never came back. No note, no explanation. Just… gone.”
She picked up another towel, needing the distraction. “I kept thinking I’d done something wrong, that if I’d been different somehow, he would have stayed. It took me years to realize it wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, Gran.”
“The truth is, Dean’s leaving changed everything about how I approach relationships. I built this B&B and made it my whole world because buildings don’t walk away. They’re constant, dependable.” She gestured at the walls around them. “But people? People leave. Your father moved across the country.”
“And now I’m leaving for California.” Felicity’s eyes filled with pain.
“That’s different. You’re not abandoning me.”
“And I’ll come visit all the time. And after Brent is finished, we’ll be back.”
“I know that, sweetheart. In my head, I know. But my heart?” She pressed her hand to her chest. “My heart still expects everyone to leave eventually. And with Mark…” She shook her head. “He has his own life waiting for him back in the city. His publisher, his career. Even if things were different between us, even if the timing was right, he’d still leave now that the island has given him his words back.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“The point is, I’ve let that one moment with Dean color every relationship since. I’ve used it as an excuse to keep people at arm’s length, to protect myself.” Darlene picked at a loose thread on the towel. “Maybe it’s time I dealt with that.”
“I just feel like it’s the wrong time to leave you.”
“We’ll have no more talk about you staying. You’ll have a grand time with Brent. I’m sure we’ll find time for frequent visits.”
Felicity got up and hugged her tightly. “I just want you to be happy, Gran. You’ve spent so long taking care of everyone else. It’s time for you to focus on yourself too.”
Darlene returned the embrace, feeling a surge of love and gratitude for her granddaughter’s support. “I know, sweetheart. And I will. But for now, I need to give Mark the space he needs and work on my own issues too. Make peace with what happened with Dean and not let it color my decisions.” She pulled back. “Now, you run along. Go find Brent. Or I’m sure you have packing to do.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Felicity asked softly.
“I will be. Don’t worry.”
Mark sat at the small writing desk in his room, staring at his laptop screen. The words came easier now, but something felt off. He’d taken to working upstairs instead of on the wraparound porch where the ocean breeze and familiar creaking of the wooden boards had become part of his writing routine.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. The story was there, but his mind kept drifting to Darlene’s smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. He’d caught glimpses of her moving through the B&B, but they’d barely spoken since Savannah’s visit.
“You would have liked her, Sarah,” he whispered to the empty room as guilt settled heavily in his chest. Sarah had been his lighthouse, guiding him through the darkness of writer’s block, celebrating each published book. Now Darlene had somehow slipped past his defenses, showing him a different kind of light.
