This was Natalie’s week as the primary guest liaison at the Hargrave Hideaway, one of the hottest rental homes on Brookwell Island. Along with Celeste and their middle sister, Veronica, they traded off so no one was too overwhelmed with the business operation. Counting lightbulbs aside, Natalie considered this the best normal job to have, though everything she did at the Hideaway felt heavier since they’d lost their mom to cancer. People kept saying the grief would ease with time. Natalie wasn’t sure she believed it. Not entirely.
Everyone she met thought she was still herself—the carefree baby sister who was quick to deliver a big hug or sass, depending on the situation. All her life, her sisters relied on her to be the bubbly, outgoing Hargrave daughter.
That persistent and familiar pinch of resentment near her heart was frustrating. She didn’t really blame her sisters for anything. They were her closest friends. If they needed her to take the lead on the social side, so be it. She’d be utterly lost in this world without them.
Losing their mom had wrecked them all in different ways. Their father had left his medical practice and run off to Europe to recuperate. Celeste had thrown herself into creating the B&B. Veronica had similarly used work as a shield with her personal training and physical therapy clients. And Nat? Well, she’d taken her mother’s final words of advice and followed her broken heart into the art industry.
A risk, definitely. But thanks to Celeste’s lists and organization, she had the safety-net income from the Hideaway and the freedom to find her voice artistically. She was fair with paint and canvas, better as an art teacher, and she positively dominated in mixed-media sculpture.
She held tight to the assumption that her mother was proud of her for following her creative nudges into wonderful experiences. Although there were times when it felt like a grind managing all the details, it was rejuvenating and much easier than the effort needed to support their mother through a terminal illness.
That had been hard work of a different kind.
“It’s over now,” she murmured, pressing a hand to her midsection. Sometimes nothing more than a fleeting thought jerked her back to those dark and frustrating days when their mom couldn’t find relief.
They’d been without her for a couple of years and in that time had turned the family summer home their mother loved into the popular and profitable bed and breakfast. Since opening, they’d been testing and refining their business approach.
Natalie had been surprised at how much she enjoyed running the Hideaway with her sisters, trading off various responsibilities and guest relations. Now that they’d shifted from multiple guests to a whole-house rental model things were better than ever.
She finished the light bulb inventory and crossed it off the list just as the oven timer chimed. Pulling the two cookie sheets out of the oven, she set them on the stove top. After another minute or two, the cookies would be ready to transfer to the cooling rack.
After that, she would tackle the task she’d wedged onto the list: get outside and enjoy some fresh air and sunshine.
An irresistibly gorgeous day beckoned. Through the window over the sink, she watched the sunlight dance on the water, the rollers coasting gently to the shore. Ribbons of white foam rippled up and over the pale golden sand before sliding back to the ocean.
The constancy of it soothed her as much as it fueled her.
Way back in spring break of second grade, her parents had promised Natalie and her older sisters an entire week of new adventures. They’d been more secretive about the trip than they were about Christmas.
She and her sisters had piled into the van, indulged in the requisite arguing of close siblings, and wound up here on Brookwell Island.
Natalie had fallen in love instantly. Delighted to hear the ocean so close, she’d followed her sisters, dashing past the house with its pale green stucco, tall stairs, and white trim. Giddy, the three of them danced on a crescent beach her father said was justfor the five of them. When they finally went to explore the house, it felt as if the outside flowed in through windows taller than her father. The tile floors were cool under her bare feet, and soft coastal colors sparkled in every room.
“It’s our home away from home,” their mom had assured them over and over again. “We can come back as often as we like.”
And with a bedroom all to herself, Natalie could leave her window open and listen to the ocean all night long. It was pure bliss.
As promised, they returned several times a year, usually as a family of five, sometimes with friends or cousins. Their house and beach had held girl weekends with just the sisters and their mom. Sometimes their dad would take Veronica out for deep sea fishing trips. Neither Celeste nor Natalie enjoyed fishing, only the catch.
All of those wonderful, vibrant days had put an indelible stamp on the house and their beach. Those early years built up a solid foundation for the Hargrave family, one that endured through hard times too. And now new opportunities.
The timer went off, drawing Nataline back to the present. She transferred the cookies to the racks and set the baking sheets aside to wash later. She needed that air on her face, stat.
Needed to clear away the lingering memories—good and bad—to embrace what today offered.
At the edge of the sprawling deck they often used for breakfast or late-night cocktails, she slipped off her shoes and ran barefoot down the steps, past the fire pit, and through the path in the dunes until she reached the sandy beach.
The wind caught at her hair and she pulled the tie free, letting her ponytail fall and the wind have its way.
There’s my wild child. The memory of her mother’s voice whispered through her mind. That familiar pinch caught behindher heart. It seemed time was irrelevant, despite all the well-meaning people who claimed time could heal all wounds. Somehow, Natalie still felt caught in the grief, missing her mom desperately.
She took some comfort in the fact that none of them were over it. Cancer had been a brutal enemy. Their mom had been so brave, inspiring many fellow patients dealing with treatment. But at the end, this house was where she wanted to be, surrounded by family. Friends had come and gone almost as often as the doctors and hospice nurses.
“I have got to move on,” Natalie scolded herself.
She was going through the motions, sharing the vision and responsibility now that they’d turned the house into a B&B. All three of the Hargrave sisters were now permanent residents on Brookwell Island. Natalie was pursuing her art and finding success. She was proud as hell that the town had commissioned her for permanent art installations at various locations.
And yet, she still felt like a fraud with that grief lurking in her heart. Part of her worried that she would always be grieving, even here in this small-town paradise.
