The man’s smile was sincere. “It’s looking that way. Lots of work to be done, though. A bit overwhelming.” He furrowed his brow, as though he wasn’t sure if he should be telling her.
Before Janie could stop herself, she said, “I’m Janie. Janie Whitmore.” Because, maybe, she wanted him to understand that this property was her property, in a way.
Immediately, she knew she’d made a mistake. His face melted with surprise.
“Janie! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, staggering closer.
But Janie’s heart pounded with fear. She didn’t trust any of this. “We’d better go,” she said.
The man stopped walking and crossed his arms. He looked embarrassed. “I must have met you back in the day. I remember it. Vaguely.” He swallowed. “I was friendly with Jack.”
Jack, who may or may not be dead.
“I see,” Janie said. There was a pinching feeling behind her left eye. “It’s nice to see you again. But we’d better be on our way?” Janie turned and rushed through the grass and onto the sand. She could feel Chloe hot on her heels, eager to rid herself of this terrible place.
They were back. But what were they looking for? Benjamin was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Thirteen
July 1996
Nantucket Island
It was five days after the Solstice Party at the White Oak Lodge, and as though the universe wanted to remind her how unglamorous she really was, Janie was now up to her elbows in suds. The restaurant was closed for the night, and their dishwasher had quit out of nowhere—literally throwing in his towel and forcing Janie and Chloe to take over the scrubbing. It was good, honest work, and it allowed Janie plenty of time to think about that gorgeous hotel part—and Alexander Whitmore, that handsome man who mystified her.
As she scrubbed and scrubbed some ketchup off a dish, she thought back to the last moment she’d seen Alexander that night. She’d gone inside to use the bathroom, bubbly with new love, and emerged to find him soft-spoken and peculiar. His personality was entirely different. Nervous that he’d suddenly decided that he didn’t like her, she’d said she was going to grab a ride back home.
“Don’t do that,” he’d said quietly. “Come to the water with me.”
Janie had walked with him quietly, watching his face. The party was far back behind them by the Lodge, music and laughter, and clink after clink of drinks. She’d felt as though it was just her and Alexander, leaving the rest of the world behind.
Under his breath, Alexander had breathed, “I heard Chloe talking to someone near the Lodge.”
Janie had tilted her head. She’d realized that she hadn’t seen Chloe in a while, her new friend who’d brought her to the party in the first place. She felt a surge of worry.“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” he’d admitted. “But my father is angry with her.”
“Angry? Why?” Janie had wavered on the sand.
But after that, he’d made an excuse and fled, telling her that he’d call her as soon as he could. But something had rattled him.
When Janie returned to the party, she’d learned that Chloe had taken a taxi back home and left Janie behind. Janie had felt vulnerable and exposed. She’d taken a cab but had stayed up all night in bed, her heart throbbing.I met my husband tonight, she’d thought. Then she thought,Janie, don’t be ridiculous.
Now, as Janie scrubbed the dishes, Chloe entered the kitchen, wearing that beautiful and sneaky smile of hers. Since the party, Janie hadn’t felt brave enough to ask Chloe about why Alexander’s father might be mad at her. If Chloe didn’t bring it up, Janie guessed it wasn’t her business. Again, they were new friends, and Chloe was much older than Janie. Janie wanted to be respectful, especially of Chloe’s past.
“What a night, huh?” Chloe began drying the dishes, shaking her head as she complained about the dishwashers quitting out of the blue. It was typical restaurant talk. Janie embraced it and searched Chloe’s face for some sign that something “real” was wrong.
Suddenly, there were voices at the door to the kitchen. Masculine voices. When Chloe’s face drained of color, Janie cut the water and focused up. It was their boss and someone else.
“Just let me talk to her,” another man said. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Chloe looked petrified. Janie had never seen her like that.
And then, a man Janie recognized as Alexander’s father, Benjamin Whitmore, stormed into the kitchen, his face red and blotchy, his eyes urgent. He stopped short and put his hands on his hips, as though he was stunned speechless. Chloe took a tentative step toward him. Janie was reminded of magnets, drawn together.
Janie knew that Benjamin Whitmore didn’t see her. More than that, she guessed he wouldn’t know who she was. I was nobody, anyway, she remembered. Alexander hadn’t visited her at work. He didn’t know her number to call, so maybe she’d never see him again.
Benjamin Whitmore slid his fingers through his messy hair and asked, tenderly, “Can we talk?”
