“Oh, of course.”Celia smiled.“My sisters and I have a plan to stay and work together till we’re old and gray.”
But it was a lie, one of the biggest and most ridiculous Celia ever told.The last thing she wanted in the world was to manage the Bluebell Cove Inn later in life.She sought big cities, intrigue, and powerful journalism that changed lives and the course of history.She didn’t want to be like her mother: trapped in a terrible marriage and dying here at the inn.
It wasn’t till later, after Celia made dinner for Juliet and Wren, did the dishes, checked on her father in the study back at the inn, and made herself a small cheese sandwich, that she got up the nerve to find her sister Ivy.As always, Ivy was alone in the bedroom she shared with Celia, reading, writing, or listening to music on her Walkman.She didn’t flinch when Celia entered, although Celia knew that Ivy dreaded it when she came in.Ivy was two years younger than Celia, fifteen, yet shyer, less adventurous, and less often noticed.Celia knew this made Ivy resent her, feel less important, less noticed, and less motivated.Recently, Ivy had begun helping to cook and clean at the Bluebell Cove Inn, tasks that suited her because they required less person-to-person conversation.She turned the page of her novel and cleared her throat.
Regardless of what Ivy thought of Celia, Celia loved her little sister, even if she mystified her.It was their lot in life to fight and fight often, something they’d done even as far back as before their mother had died.She knew that many other sisters were the same.But theirs was a far different story than most, as their little sisters looked up to them, and so much more felt at stake.
“I’m going out,” Celia told her quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.“Cover me if Dad comes in?”
Ivy let her eyes flutter up to Celia’s.Her expression was likewhy should I?But she shrugged and said, “Dad never comes looking for you.”
It wasn’t true, really.But it still felt sour to hear that from Ivy.
Celia sat at the edge of her bed and went through the clothes she kept piled on the mattress, searching for something edgier and cooler than her typical school day and work looks.Here was a black dress cut high on her thighs, plus a pair of high boots she’d bought at a secondhand store.Midway through her shift at the inn, Landon had called the front desk and told her about a little party at the docks later on, something that “all the seniors were going to.”Therefore, it felt essential to do during their final year.
“Where are you even going?”Ivy asked, not looking up from her book.
“It’s just a thing with Landon,” Celia lied.“We’re going to talk about the paper and stuff.”
The truth was, Celia didn’t want to go to the party at the docks.She wanted to stay in her room and brainstorm what the paper’s first issue would be about.But writer’s block was an ominous thing she desperately feared, something that seemed to press hard against the careers of countless of her favorite writers and journalists.She didn’t want to sit in this room and drive herself crazy with her fears that she wouldn’t be able to hack it.She certainly didn’t want to do that in the presence of Ivy, whose anger toward her felt like a cloud.
“He’s in love with you,” Ivy said.“I mean, I know you know that, but it’s annoying that you won’t acknowledge it.”
Celia rolled her eyes and shot to the door, glancing out at the dim hallway.She was only half tired of everyone thinking Landon was in love with her.But, she thought, if he really was in love with her, it couldn’t matter.They were less than a year away from college.One day in the future, they’d look back at their high school days and laugh at their silly selves.
Was she in love with him?The idea of it brought a smile to her face.Maybe in the spring, she and Landon would go to prom together.Perhaps they’d take silly photographs and slow dance until they burst with laughter.But their “romance” could never be.
“If the little girls need anything…” Celia began.
“I can take care of them,” Ivy snapped.“You’re not the only one who knows how to deal with the inn and the family and Dad.”
Celia winced and considered her sister: beautiful and meek Ivy, who hardly had a single friend, who’d never dated a boy (as far as Celia knew), and who remembered their mother as a heavenly angel who’d never done anything wrong.How I wish I had those memories, too!Celia thought.
Celia bit her tongue to keep from responding to her sister, then slipped out into the night, her heart pounding, scampering in her flat white tennis shoes across the sidewalk and into the woods that lined the cove.Expectation nipped at the back of her knees.She couldn’t help but feel that everything in her life was about to change.When she rounded the corner, she smelled the bonfire, roiling far down the beach along the cove.The fire itself was surrounded by other seniors drinking beer and crying out into the thick, churning dark clouds above them.Landon stood at the edge of the crowd, two beers in his hands, smiling down the beach at her.A shiver of electricity went down her spine.Hi, Landon, she thought, smiling back.Let’s go.
ChapterFive
Present Day
The little town of Bluebell Cove was founded in 1812 by a group of whalers who’d moved to New England from the old country.The Scandinavian, English, and German men had broad shoulders and an unfathomable knowledge of the sea and what it held.There had been a period of incredible economic development in the fledgling town, followed by a crash that left the place reeling until both heavy fishing and tourism swooped in—with all its complications—and reignited Bluebell Cove’s social standing.As a result of this, the Bluebell Cove Inn, that once-glorious Victorian on top of a craggy hill overlooking the frothing Atlantic, had been built at the tail-end of the nineteenth century.A Harper had been the one to make it; a Harper had been the first to open its doors and bring curious travelers into their midst.
Now, so many years after those previous days of optimism and cash flow, four Harper sisters stood on the sidewalk in front of that very same structure.Wind rippled through their coats and tore at their hair and chapped their lips.Celia stood at the far left of the rest of them, clenching her fists, cursing herself for not remembering her gloves.Twenty-four years in Washington, DC, had made her familiar with swampy summers and lukewarm winters.But a springtime in New England was something else and meant for the very hardy.
“When was the last time you went inside?”Wren turned to look at Ivy, who still lived in the house right next door, the house in which they’d been raised.
Ivy removed the large iron key from her coat pocket and sucked in her cheeks.“As I said, I’ve been busy.With Dad.”
A frigid gust of wind tore at them.
“Did Dad mention anything about this, um, stipulation?”Juliet asked.“An entire year of managing the inn?”
Ivy shook her head.“He wasn’t exactly with it at the end.”
“But you spent so much time with him,” Wren pointed out.
Ivy cast Wren a look, then walked up the crooked porch steps and stuck the key into the lock.Above them, lightning crinkled the night sky, and thunder followed shortly thereafter.Celia beckoned for Juliet and Wren to go first (always the eldest, watching out for them), then followed inside, where she closed the door and inhaled what felt like ten-plus years of dust.Immediately, she collapsed into a coughing fit, then hurried through the front room to open the windows and bring in fresh air.She could feel Juliet’s judgmental eyes on her.When Wren tried the light, nothing came on.Ivy found candles in their father’s office, which she set out on the front desk and lit.There was just barely enough light for them to grasp how devastating the space was.It looked as though teenagers had broken the windows, torn at the white sheets meant to protect the antique furnishings, and someone had swung from the chandelier.Beer bottles and trash were stuck in the corners, glinting in the candlelight.A sob crept up Celia’s throat.
“Goodness,” Juliet said finally.
