Chapter 1
July 29
I’ve done it! I’ve finally made the decision to move to Coates Island, North Carolina. It has taken me more than a year to think about leaving Connecticut, and now that I’ve put everything into motion, I know I’ve done the right thing. Now it’s time I let my book club friends know.
Cherie Renee Thompson reread what she’d written. She’d begun keeping a journal at fifteen, a month before enrolling in the prestigious prep school where she’d been awarded a full academic scholarship. Days after moving into her dorm room, she’d found herself writing down her thoughts and reactions to what had become an entirely different lifestyle. After the first year, her entries decreased from one every night to three or four each week. And, most times, it was to release her frustration about having to live in two worlds: one when interacting with students who benefited from unlimited funds from their wealthy parents, and the other when returning to her old neighborhood, with low-income housing, where crime and poverty had become the norm rather than the exception.
Capping her pen, Cherie dropped it and the journal into the tote on the passenger seat. She started up her car and headed in the direction of the bridge connecting the mainland to the island, and five minutes later she maneuvered into the parking lot of the Seaside Café for the last time before returning home.
Home.
The word conjured up memories that had made her into the woman she had become. Connecticut was the state where she’d been born, raised, educated, worked, and lived; however, it had taken just two visits to Coates Island, North Carolina, for her to conclude she hadn’t been living but existing. She got up every morning to drive to the childcare center where she was the parent coordinator, and eight hours later, she returned to the two-bedroom condo in a gated development to read or watch television before readying herself to go to bed.
Alone.
It had been almost five years since her breakup with William Weylin Campbell III, and although she’d exorcised him from her life, she still found it impossible to purge him from her head. Cherie lost track of the number of times she’d wanted to call Weylin, just to hear his voice; however, after their last encounter, the two had promised never to contact each other again.
Their agreement would also serve to remind her what she’d sacrificed to give Weylin what he’d wanted because she’d believed she would always have a part of him. How wrong she’d been, because in the end, she had been the only loser.
She’d lost the only man she’d ever loved, and she’d lost the child they’d made together. And it wasn’t until she’d delivered her son—a baby she would never hold—that she realized she’d traded the child she’d carried for nine months, in a period of weakness and madness, for a lifestyle she’d always dreamed about. She’d made a deal with a man who had concocted a plan she’d been unable to refuse.
Shaking off the memories, Cherie walked into the restaurant. It was nearing closing time for the lunch crowd; two couples were still seated at one table, laughing hysterically. The Seaside Café, family owned and operated, the only eating establishment on the island, was a favorite hangout for locals and vacationers alike.
She spied Kayana Johnson-Ogden as she came out of the kitchen, and she had to admit, and not for the first time, that marriage agreed with the former psychiatric social worker who operated the restaurant with her brother, Derrick Johnson. Kayana’s chemically straightened hair, covered with a white bandana, ended several inches above her shoulders. Her nut-brown complexion was darker than it had been at the beginning of the summer season, which meant that, after leaving the café, she was spending more time outdoors with her husband.
Kayana stared at her. “I thought you left a couple of days ago.”
Cherie approached Kayana and looped her arm through her friend’s. “That was my plan . . . until I decided to go house hunting.”
Naturally arching eyebrows lifted. “House hunting where?”
Cherie’s smile grew wider. “Here on Coates Island.”
Kayana’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
Kayana studied the petite woman with a mass of black curls framing her gold-brown face. Her large, light-brown eyes with flecks of green shimmered with excitement, and the corners of her normally petulant mouth had curved into a smile. To say Kayana found Cherie Thompson complex was an understatement. She wondered what had happened to the young woman to sour her outlook on life.
“Come with me to the patio, where we can talk without folks eavesdropping,” Kayana whispered. She led Cherie through the restaurant’s dining area and slid back the pocket doors to an area where diners were able to take advantage of the magnificent views of the beach and the Atlantic Ocean. She sat and waited for Cherie to sit down opposite her. “What made you decide you want to live here?”
Kayana had asked because there weren’t that many young adults living on Coates Island, which had a recorded population of about four hundred permanent residents. Those born and raised there usually left once they graduated from high school or college, leaving their parents and grandparents to rent bungalows and cottages to summer vacationers to supplement their fixed incomes.
Cherie rested her hands on the tabletop and laced her fingers together. “There’s nothing keeping me in Connecticut. You know, I’ve quit my job and plan to go back to college to get a graduate degree in early childhood education. Rather than enroll in on-campus classes, I’ve decided to go the online route, and that is something I can do regardless of where I live.”
Kayana knew Cherie had resigned her position at a Connecticut-based childcare center and had mentioned she wanted to become an elementary school teacher, yet hadn’t indicated she planned to relocate. Perhaps, she mused, the beautiful young woman had finally gotten over her relationship with a man that appeared to have left her in a perpetual funk. There were times when she lashed out at her or the third member of their group, Leah, without provocation.
She wanted to ask Cherie if moving was what she needed to put some distance between her and her ex, but decided not to broach the topic. “Have you found a house?” she asked instead.
“Yes. The realtor wanted to sell me one of the new condos that went up several years ago, but when I told her I was currently living in a condo and wanted a structure where I didn’t have to see my neighbors coming and going, she took me to several properties like your brother’s. I finally decided on one with four bedrooms, three and a half baths, that’s approximately a five-minute walk to the ocean. It’s a lot more room than I’ll need, but I love the open floor plan concept, and what really sold me was the fenced-in backyard. Once I saw it, all I thought about was adopting a fur baby and letting it have the run of the backyard.”
Kayana smiled when she registered the excitement in Cherie’s voice. “It sounds as if you have everything planned out.”
Cherie cocked her head at an angle. “I hope so.”
There was a vagueness in the three words, and Kayana wondered if Cherie still had to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. She remembered when a developer had wanted to put up a string of condos and waterfront homes, but the members of the town council had voted down his original proposal. After a series of lengthy meetings and negotiations, the developer received approval to build condos with no more than eight units and a half dozen single-family homes. Generations of Coates Island’s residents were opposed to an influx of new people, other than the returning vacationers from late May through the Labor Day weekend, whose permanence would dramatically change their idyllic island.
“When do you think you’ll be able to move in?”
