I smiled, remembering a honey-haired girl that used to throw it my way. “Someone I used to know.”
Josie
Reason #2872 I sucked as a mom: I promised whales, and we didn’t see a single cetacean while bobbing around the Casco Bay like teabags.
Reason #2873 I sucked as a mom: I spent the entire four-hour span puking.
Not delicate puking either, if there was such a thing.
It was lean-over-the-rail-and-spew-out-breakfast puking.
All witnessed by innocent families looking on in horror as I painted the sea with bacon and eggs.
Thankfully, Liv and Alex came along, so they kept Linc occupied while the whole thing went down. My only company was the first mate, who brought me water and nausea pills.
Eventually, I did the only thing left to do: I passed out. I’d gobbled down six pills as we seesawed with the sea, thinking I’d hurled each dose.
Nope. Surprise!
They all hit at once, and it was lights out for Mother of the Year.
I woke up on my air mattress a few hours later, vaguely remembering Alex carrying me to the car, and then into the house, clocking my shin on a porch post.
Alex and Liv volunteered to watch Linc for the night at her place while I slept off the meds. Linc was all about it, her apartment offering a dog and smelling great compared to our retirement home cottage. Even with the potent aromatic oils she pumped through the place.
Once the brain cobwebs cleared, I brushed my teeth a million times and opened every window I could to air the cottage out, not going down as a crap mom without a fight. Some stuck, but the ones I pried open let in gusts of salt air, the briny bite hopefully drowning out the funk once and for all.
Then I did what any sensible adult would do: I cried. Correction, I ugly cried, the first weekend in Briar finally getting to me. I missed my friends. My condo. My neighbors.
The moving container’s arrival cut the pity party short, and I had to answer the door mid-cry. The delivery driver practically ran to his truck after getting my signature, hollering someone would be by Friday to pick it up.
As much as I wanted to continue wallowing in misery, I put on big girl pants and headed outside, relieved to have kitchen supplies again, especially a coffee pot.
Working without caffeine sucked, and if I weren’t my own boss, I probably would have already had the pitchforks out for a strike.
Box by box, I carried things in, setting them down in the tiny living room. I’d move the furniture in later as planned, but the prospect of coffee again was too tempting to wait.
Afterward, I settled into the breakfast nook with my laptop and a freshly brewed cup of French vanilla happiness, my latest design almost complete. It took longer than most since paranormal wasn’t usually my thing. In the end, I loved the final product, one of my favorites so far.
As I checked in to the next project, a knock sounded at the door, plummeting my heart to my stomach. In San Diego, surprise visitors were no big deal, but living out on the inlet, they were terrifying. Especially in a creepy old house.
I was full of it when I told Linc it wasn’t scary. Being home alone amplified its creep factor, and if Linc suddenly had an imaginary friend that sounded remotely like a ghost, we were running out of there faster than you could say “ghosts aren’t real.”
I checked the time, seeing it was just after four, so it was probably Dan checking how we settled in. He seemed like a nice guy, though I wasn’t a fan of him hitting on me when I picked up the cottage keys. There were a time and a place for flirting, and it sure as hell wasn’t with my son next to me.
We weren’t in the same circle in school, but I saw him when I spent time at my second home across the street. I pounced on the opportunity when he replied to my Facebook post asking about Briar rentals, excited to live somewhere outside of town, blissfully unaware of the past still lingering nearby.
I yanked open the front door, needing nearly all my strength to budge it, revealing the very past I wanted to forget. A gray tee stretched across a broad chest, weathered jeans skimming powerful thighs.
“Need help?” he asked, a muscled arm perched on the door frame like Briar’s own tattooed to high-hell Gaston.
“With what?” I gripped the doorknob, ready to slam it in his face àla Belle. He had a lot of nerve showing up at my door.
“Carrying things inside.” He gestured at the moving container in the driveway, the hunk of white metal unmistakable.
“Nope.” I didn’t want him touching anything or coming in my house. I’d already scrubbed Luke Barrett from every inch of my life.
“I saw furniture...” he trailed, narrowing his eyes as he called my bluff. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
What the hell? He was watching me? Talk about needing to move, pronto.
“My parents are coming to help.”
“You’re going to make old people lift furniture?” he asked, raising a brow. “Isn’t that elder abuse?”
His lips twisted, the pale line slashing to his chin all-too-obvious, a reminder of our last night together. Just looking at it turned my stomach, remembering the battered face of the boy I loved.
The boy who betrayed me.
“They want to help,” I lied, looking away. I practically had to twist Dad’s arm to get him to agree, but Mom was happy to entertain Linc while Dad, Alex, and I moved things in.
“That doesn’t mean you should let them.” He ran his free hand through his beard, eyes softening. “Especially not Trish.”
I sighed, not about to be lectured on morality by a liar. Him just saying my mother’s name kicked up rage. “Is that all?”
He flinched, pulling his arm from the doorjamb to stand straight, looming
