Then the anger hit.
She welcomed it. She'd spent so long trying to understand, to forgive, to be the bigger person. And for what?
For a man who couldn't even give her the truth.
She picked up her phone again. Not Dan's texts this time. Michael's. She typed Hey, then deleted it. Set the phone down. Closed her eyes.
CHAPTER NINE
Carrie arrived at Excursion Park while the vendors were still setting up. Trucks backed up to tent spaces along the path, crates coming off tailgates, the morning light warm and soft. A coffee cart had claimed a spot near the entrance, and a couple walked past with beach chairs under their arms, already staking their claim on the day.
Marge was at the Saltmeadow tent, unloading crates from Frank's truck. "You're early," she said. "Good."
They set up together—strawberries first, then sugar snap peas, zucchini, fresh herbs bundled with twine. Marge showed her where everything went, which bins to keep full, how to arrange the display so customers could see the best produce first.
"I'm going to check on the honey guy," Marge said once the display was set. "You good here?"
Carrie hesitated then nodded.
By eight, the market opened and customers started trickling in. Carrie answered questions, made change, chatted about the weather.
Around nine, Mrs. Dougherty arrived for her strawberries. She came every week, seventy-something and sharp-eyed, with opinions about everything and a voice that carried.
"These look good," she said, examining a quart of berries with the focus of a jeweler. "Better than the last batch."
"We got lucky this week," Carrie said, straightening the display.
"You're new." Mrs. Dougherty selected two quarts and set them on the counter. "You weren't here last summer."
"First time. I'm staying in Sea Isle for a few months."
"Lucky you." The older woman pulled a twenty from her purse. "A whole summer at the shore. That's something."
"It is," Carrie said. She believed that now.
After Mrs. Dougherty left, the morning continued. Customers came and went, questions she was learning to answer. By midmorning, the rush had tapered off.
She was restocking the strawberry display when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
She almost ignored it. The morning was too good to interrupt with whatever fresh anxiety was waiting in her inbox. But habit won out. She set the crate on the counter and pulled out her phone.
Gayle Brown. Her divorce attorney.
Business valuation came back. Your contributions were significantly higher than Richard claimed. This changes everything. Call me when you can.
Carrie stared at the words. Read them again.
She didn't cry. She'd thought she might, if this moment ever came.
A voice nearby was asking about tomatoes.
"Excuse me? The tomatoes?"
She blinked. Turned. A man in a fishing hat was pointing at the nearly empty tomato section.
"Not yet," she managed. "Another few weeks."
He nodded and moved on.
