My boy hasn’t said it, but I know he misses being on the water. Now, knowing we might get kicked to the curb, the disappointment on his face knifes me in the gut.
One more letdown.
One more cruel punt from life, which hasn’t been kind lately.
“It’ll be cool. I bet we go camping,” he tells Sophie, tugging her toward the stairs to sit on the bottom step.
He knows it bothers her to stand for too long, so he sits to give her an excuse to sit as well.
Damn. They’re such good kids.
How do I figure this out when I’ve kicked a nest of bees?
The past few months have been hectic.
Difficult.
This was supposed to be our hard-earned break with the world.
Even that’s slipping through my fingers by the second.
A door closes and the sound of footsteps on wood announces Margot’s return to the kitchen.
I wipe the brooding off my face and go to meet her near the pantry.
One look at the expression on the cold, hard, annoyingly beautiful line of her lips says my fate is sealed.
Boned.
I don’t have the energy for this, especially if I don’t have a leg to stand on legally and this is her property now.
I’ve done enough arguing for one lifetime.
I clear my throat.
“All right, I get it. Nobody needs more trouble. This is your castle and you expected to find it empty. We haven’t even unpacked much yet—just give us an hour and we’ll hit the road. Deal?”
Her pale brows arch.
An oddly elegant gesture, more put together than the suitcases piled haphazardly in the front room suggests.
“Where will you go? You said it yourself, Bar Harbor’s booked like crazy this time of year.”
“There’s always somewhere. It’s not your problem.” I shrug.
“But… do you even live in Maine?”
“New York, Scarsdale. Long drive back, but I’m sure we can crash somewhere.”
Her face drops.
“Sounds pretty rough with kids.” Her tone isn’t unsympathetic.
The empathy catches me off guard.
Do we really have a chance?
I fully expected the ice princess treatment until the second we rolled down the driveway, and probably a parting ‘fuck you’ for treading on her little kingdom.
