I should be able to tolerate this. I should be able to walk through this town, sit down for a meeting with a lawyer I had flown in, and pretend everything is under control.
But I’m not under control. Not even close.
And the reason is walking three steps behind me, head down, hair catching in the summer wind like it’s trying to give away every thought she’s trying to hide. Roxy hasn’t said more than a handful of words since we left the house.
But I can feel something building around her—something tense, hot, brittle. Each time she glances at me, she seems to be weighing a decision, teetering on the edge of silence and confession. Is it another man? Or has she decided that she doesn’t want Andi seeing me again?
I should ignore it. I should keep my mind on the meeting ahead.
I can’t.
“Roxanne,” I say finally, without stopping. “What’s wrong?”
She hesitates. Her shoulders lift, then drop. “I need to tell you something.”
I don’t respond. Not verbally. But I slow my pace, enough that she knows she has my attention. Enough that she knows she can speak to me.
“Eric came by the house,” she says. “The deputy, I mean.”
Everything inside me stills.
“When?” My voice drops into that low, cold register I never use with her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looks away. “I didn’t want to start something. And it was just—he showed up. As a ‘neighborly visit.’ Deputy checking in on people living out in the woods.”
“Bullshit.”
Her eyes flick to mine at the force in the word, but she doesn’t disagree.
“He was looking around too much,” she says softly. “Like he was studying my life. The house. And Andi.”
A short, violent beat of silence cracks between us.
“Is she safe?” I demand.
Her surprise is immediate—her brows lifting, her mouth parting. As if she expected my anger first, not that question.
“She’s okay,” she says. “She didn’t understand what was happening. Though she definitely didn’t like him.” A small smile graces her lips at that, and a fierce fire of pride runs through me, catching me off guard.
“And if she had been hurt?” My voice is quieter now, but sharper. “If he had touched her?—”
“He didn’t,” she insists. “He didn’t go near her. He only caught a glimpse of her.”
I’m not reassured. Not remotely. I want to turn around, get in the car, and go tear the door off that man’s house. That excuse for a deputy. I’ve made a point to stay out of politics in Bar Harbor, not wanting to get involved in the games. But now, I want to make it very clear what happens to anyone who threatens my family.
My family.
The thought lands heavily, steadily, and right in the center of my chest. But before I can follow it, she keeps talking.
“There’s more,” she says, drawing in a breath. “You were right before. Eric… he’s my ex.” The argument a few weeks ago comes back to me—before I knew Andi was mine. When I foolishly accused Roxanne of fraternizing with him, of considering another man. Even looking at one.
The tourists around us become irrelevant. The heat in the air becomes irrelevant. It feels like the world stops to listen.
I turn fully toward her.
“Your ex,” I repeat, slow.
She nods, embarrassed. “From college.”
