Page 42 of Hearts on the Line

I press my lips together and hum, a pathetic response given there are a few follow-ups I should ask. I’m ready to open the car and fling myself out.

“We’ll have a good time tonight, Sloane. Not to worry. The girls and I have missed you.”

“Is that so?”

“Listen, we can’t all leave Merritt Point and become rich and famous.”

“Rich and famous?” I glance over at her and laugh. “I don’t think⁠—”

“I’ve read your work. Nice to see such good journalism out in the world still.”

“Are you stalking me, Gloria?”

She raises her eyebrows and hunches forward as we approach the familiar driveway, her attention suddenly melting into intense focus, and it feels like she’s trying to land a Boeing 747 at Logan with a stiff sea breeze.

We clip the curb, and the car jerks hard to the left, then drops before I even have the chance to grab the door handle. My head smacks into the window as we plow forward and swing a wide right into the turn around.

“There,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We made it.”

“Was that ever in question?” I ask with a small chuckle.

She glances at me, tilting her head. I’m waiting for her to crack a joke, but instead, she reaches out and grabs my hand. I peek down at her fingers, gnarled with age and covered with sunspots.

“I’m so very glad you’re back, Sloane. You have no idea how much you’ve been missed.”

I scoff and try to pull my hand away, but she holds on, her grip surprisingly strong. Her stack of gold bracelets clangs together.

“No one’s missed me. I’m pretty sure everyone here hates me, actually.”

“Hates you?” she repeats, her penciled-on eyebrows drawn down. “What makes you think that?”

“Before I left. You know… well.” I shrug.

Her eyes light up in acknowledgement, but she’s not going to be kind and help me. A knot tightens in my chest, and then I wonder if I’m just tricking myself when I blurt out, “Ethan lost his scholarship because of me. It’s my fault.”

“Sweetie, boys are dumb. That’s between Ethan and your brother, and that scholarship was his to keep or lose.”

Gloria releases my hand and pats my cheek.

“I’m not staying long.”

Her lips spread into a thin smile, drawing my focus to her overdrawn lips in a classic red. “Of course.”

I hop out of the car before she can taunt me further, even if it’s good-natured. I’m not sure why I’m even here, only that I didn’t want to spend the night alone with Ethan.

“I thought we were going to Bridget’s.”

“We are,” Gloria says. “She moved in with Kathleen and Richie when her husband passed. Too lonely.” She leans forward, dropping her voice to a staged whisper. “The forgotten turkey in the stove was strike three, and she refused a nursing home.”

I shake my head, frustrated at myself for not asking more questions earlier.

The Murphys’ dusty-blue Cape Cod house hasn’t changed. There’s still a pot of fire-red geraniums by the front door, a knotted rope welcome rug, and a navy whale sign that reads “whalecome” beside the butter-yellow door.

I quickly peek at the basketball hoop over the garage, the net now tattered and brittle. It doesn’t look like anyone has played for some time. But I remember playing and watching games between my brother and the Murphy brothers for hours. Nolan would swoop a little Annie up onto his shoulders and let her score a basket to stop her whining as the rest of the boys groaned, aggravated they had to wait.

And I remember a game or two of H-O-R-S-E between Ethan and me that was more than a little friendly that summer before my junior year.

“You made it,” Bridget cries, throwing the door open. “Come in, come in, before I get eaten alive by the mosquitoes.”