I wanted to believe what Dad had told me was true, but the fact of the matter was my heart hadn’t told me a thing in a very long time.
Brooke
Blackstone Island, Massachusetts
Living on an island had its perks, but the hour-long commute on the ferry into Boston wasn’t one of them. There were other reasons for being here, though. Good reasons, I reminded myself as I pulled my coat a little tighter against the autumn chill breezing over the water.
My nan needed me now, and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for the woman who’d taken me in at fifteen after Mum and Dad were killed. I don’t really remember a great deal about when I first came to live on the island with Nan. I must have blocked it out due to the terrible shock of what had happened to my parents and being so suddenly uprooted. The high-end, touristy retreat called Blackstone Island couldn’t be more dissimilar from the place I’d previously called home. From the suburbs of London to a swath of colonial America separated from the mainland by Massachusetts Bay. Well, at least the language was the same.
Sort of.
“Oh, you have an accent.” No, you’re the ones with the accent.
“You’re from Australia, right?” Wrong hemisphere.
“Hey Brooke, say something in your English accent for me.” Something.
I had heard every joke and had been asked nearly every question imaginable, but it didn’t bother me. Not really. I knew people were merely curious about how I’d come to be here and tried to be friendly.
In time I came out of my shock. I went on to finish what they called high school here on the island, and then later attended university at Suffolk where I earned my degree in interior design. I didn’t realize it then, but those were the happy times.
Then I met someone and made a terrible mistake, and had to leave Nan on the island while I lived far away in Los Angeles. I suffered through my terrible mistake for a year and a half until the day came that I didn’t have to endure the suffering anymore. Not physically at least. The sorrow was still with me and probably always would be, but I was determined to keep moving forward in a positive way. And I’d made a promise to myself not to let the bad parts of my past hurt me anymore. It was a goal and I planned to stick to it.
Five months ago I left LA and came back to Boston and then went about the process of getting my life back. Nan was still in her darling cottage on Blackstone Island where she had come to live all the way from England as a young bride. Many a time I’ve heard the locals tell the story about how my grandfather had brought home an English girl for a wife, as if she’d come from an alien planet. Nan and I had our citizenship in common—both British born but called America our home.
I’d lived in the US for so long now it was home in my mind.
“Penny for your thoughts, young lady.”
I turned toward twinkling blue eyes that regarded me kindly and smiled. Herman was a dedicated flirt. Since he had to be pushing seventy and was also the mayor of Blackstone Island, I gave him a pass. He was rumored to own most of the property on the island and to be worth millions. You’d never know it, though. He lived what appeared to be a modest life in a small house, with a really big oceanfront view—probably what constituted the millions he purportedly had—and was one of the most cheerful people I’d ever met in my life. He always greeted me warmly and asked about Nan. I’d wondered if he might be a little in love with my nan, actually.
“Good morning, Mayor. What has you heading off-island today?” I asked, suddenly curious. I’d never seen him on the morning ferry to Boston before.
“County council quarterly meeting in the city.” He looked out at the view of the shoreline and seemed pensive as he studied it. “One of the few reasons left to get me to leave, otherwise I wouldn’t.”
“Ahh, well I don’t blame you a bit. I’d choose the island over Boston any day.”
“Why don’t you then?” he asked quickly.
“Herman, you are the mayor so I know you are fully aware there is no thriving interior design business on Blackstone Island for which I might be employed.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully before replying, “I’ll have to work on that one then, but you never answered my question.”
“What?”
“I offered you a penny for your thoughts, but I guess you’ve raised your rates.” He pretended to sulk. The man could still flirt like a champion and his handsome features hadn’t been erased by the years, either. He must have been quite a specimen in his younger days, breaking hearts all over the place. I’d have to ask Nan about his past sometime.
“For you, no charge.” I nodded toward the trees rising majestically along the rock cliff and the rocky beach below as the ferry moved around the horn of the island toward the open bay. “I was thinking about how happy I am to be back here. I do love that view so much.”
He admired the scene along with me for a minute. “Glad to have you back, too. I know your grandma is thrilled.” Was that a flicker of something I just saw pass through his deep-blue eyes? I waited for it. “By the way, how is your grandma doing since her surgery?”
As dependable as clockwork, dear Herman Blackstone was when it came to my nan.
“Thank you for asking. She is recovering well, but between you and me, I don’t think she was ready to retire from Blackwater when they closed the house. She loved her job, and now I think she’s a bit bored.” There were other things I left unsaid because I didn’t want to offend Herman in any way. It was his family who’d employed my grandmother for more than three decades before abandoning the property two years ago. Nan had been the housekeeper at the Blackwater estate for thirty-five years when it was boarded up for good and now sat empty along the western cliffs of the island. The family didn’t come here anymore. I’d heard it was only the father who loved it so much, but after he became ill they didn’t return again.
“A lot changed while you were away.”
“As things do,” I replied softly, sensing his sadness but not wanting to pry.
“Yes indeed, but that doesn’t mean there’s no room to improve the situation,” he said, “and remember where you’ve come from.” Clearly he was unhappy with his family giving up on the island.
I put my hand on his arm. “I am so sorry for your loss, Herman. Nan told me about your brother’s passing.” I’d heard Mr. John William Blackstone had died of cancer not long before I returned five months ago. “I only met him one time when Nan first took me in, but he was always a very good employer to her and she thought the world of the family.” That was mostly true. Nan never said a word against her, but I don’t think she held Mrs. Blackstone in the same esteem as her husband, and she’d stopped coming to the island for holidays years ago, once her children were grown. I guess not everyone could love the rich beauty of the island in the same way.
He turned his wise eyes on me and covered my hand with his. “I’m sorry for your loss as well, Brooke. Your grandma told me when it happened. She was worried sick about you, and she needed—well, I think she needed to talk to somebody about it at the time or she would have lost her mind.”
Kindness can induce an outpouring of emotions I had found. This wasn’t the first time it had happened to me, either. My friend Zoe’s heartfelt condolences had done the same thing when we first met up after I returned. Same with Eduardo. When someone showed they cared about you and expressed it in a kind way, that very kindness held the power to bring all of those experiences and hopes and dreams and memories rushing right back up to the surface again like they had happened yesterday. Even when I believed I’d buried it deep, my hurt was really just hovering at the surface, barely covered by the thinnest of sheets ready to blow away in the breeze.
My eyes filled with tears before I could stop them. I gave in and let them fall. Sometimes I was weak and couldn’t help remembering what I’d lost . . . and I cried.
“Oh, hell, I’ve upset you—I’m so very sorry, Brooke,” he sputtered.
I could tell Herman wa
s absolutely horrified by my outburst, the poor man. I heard it in his voice. Awesome! I’d freaked out a sweet old man, and the day was barely underway. I’d bet money he’d go straight to my nan and tell her about it the minute he returned from his meeting in the city. Then she would be worried. And she didn’t need to be worrying about me right now as she healed from her knee replacement. I was fine. And nothing would change the past no matter what people said or didn’t say to me. The whole experience of grief was rather an unending cycle, and so damn exhausting; I just wanted off the ride at this point.
I shook my head and stared down at the decking below my feet. “It’s okay, please. This happens to me sometimes and I—do this—” I used my knuckle to brush away a tear and took in a slow, deep breath to help bring my emotions back down to a functional level. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, Herman.”
“Don’t you apologize to me when you’ve every right to grieve,” he scolded. Then he presented a pristine white handkerchief to my hands. I took it gratefully as Herman drew his arm around me and pulled me in against his shoulder. The soft leather of his jacket cushioned my cheek as I accepted his offered comfort. “Of course you’ll be fine, Brooke. You have your whole life ahead of you and wonderful things will come, you’ll see.”
We stood like that and watched the island grow smaller and smaller until the ferry turned southward and she slipped out of sight. I knew I’d be back to this same exact spot in the ocean when I returned on the five-thirty after work. I’d wait for that moment when the island appeared on the horizon, after the captain made his northward turn. I’d breathe a sigh of relief when she came into view, and my heart would settle. It was a weird ritual with me, but it happened every time I came and went from Blackstone Island. It hurt a little to leave her each time, but the tiny thrill I experienced when I returned had never failed me, either. The safety of the island provided sanctuary for my troubled heart.
As I pulled myself together and indulged in my Zen moment with Herman, I thought about what he’d said . . . about wonderful things being ahead for me.
I wanted it to be true.
I so wanted it to be true.
Brooke
Harris & Goode was tucked away on Hereford Street where it was a bit quieter than the foot traffic of Newbury Street. It didn’t matter that the location was quieter, though, because clients looking to hire a designer in this neighborhood usually weren’t walk-ins. The interior-design business relied on word of mouth, mostly the coveted referrals from prior clients to their friends with the money to pay for such services.
When I felt like walking, I got off at the Copley Station and followed Newbury Street down to where I worked. If the weather was unpleasant, I took Hynes because it was a lot closer. Today wasn’t unpleasant, though. A sunny and dry autumn day was always appreciated.
My small emotional breakdown on the ferry this morning with Herman had strangely helped.
In a way.
So I had let my guard down and remembered my sadness for a moment.
I’d become emotional.
I’d cried and scared poor Herman.
But we both survived it, and when the flurry of my sadness had passed, I’d felt much better. And I think Herman did as well. It wouldn’t be weird when we saw each other next time because now we’d sealed our friendship. That, as I pondered further, was a good thing.
I stopped at Starbucks to repair my makeup, and more importantly to supply my coffee addiction, before heading inside Harris & Goode at the next doorway. God, I loved that we had a Starbucks next door. One of the nicest perks about my job. There was a queue for the loo so I checked my messages while I waited. The one from Martin was unexpected. He wanted me to work a reception cocktail party this evening, six to nine.
My side job serving for Jonquil Catering was not my favorite, but it paid pretty well when I could fit a job in. I loved working at Harris & Goode, designing rooms for clients based on their visions, but couldn’t quite make the ends meet on a junior designer’s salary. Not yet anyway. So I took jobs serving on weekends and evenings if I had proper notice. Nine hours wasn’t enough time for me to arrange anything, and Martin knew that. I had to have a place to stay the night for one thing, because the last ferry left the dock at 8:30 p.m. on the dot, and if I wasn’t on it, then I was stuck in Boston for the night. I’d stay over with Zoe, but my friend was out of town for her sister’s wedding for at least another week. I didn’t have clothes for the following day of work at Harris & Goode or my black-and-whites for serving. There was no way I could work for Martin tonight.
I texted him my reply: Sorry, can’t do, Martin. I’m already on the mainland for the day. I need some notice to arrange where to stay, clothes, etc. –B
He’d be pissy with me now, but what could I do about it? Living on an island made for some challenges and I couldn’t control the ferry schedule. There wasn’t a lot of demand for a boat to Blackstone Island in the middle of the night.
I fixed my face in the mirror at Starbucks and thought I’d pass for normal. If Eduardo didn’t notice I’d been crying, then I’d call the whole thing a success. Straight blonde hair and very light brown eyes—that I’d been told were amber—had been inherited from my mum. Nan reminded me frequently that I looked just like her. I thought my mum had been very beautiful, so when Nan told me I could be Mum’s twin, it made me feel good inside.
I studied myself thoughtfully and came to the conclusion that I didn’t look bad, just a bit . . . sad.
Because I was.
It was no coincidence my favorite character from the movie Inside Out was Sadness. She was necessary—an important part of your life—and if you tried to keep Sadness out completely, and didn’t let her in once in a while, then the rest of the parts of you started to break down from the pressure of trying to deny yourself the right to be sad. It all made total sense to me. Maybe I’d watch it tonight after I visited Nan at physical therapy.
“Good morning!” Eduardo lambasted me with his standard greeting. “Looking very sexy today, mi condesa. Those boots are screaming ‘do me ’til I can’t take it anymore’ you know.”
I set my coffee down on the reception counter and unbuttoned my coat. “Good morning to you, too, and they are not screaming anything of the kind.”
“They so are, darling. I bet you didn’t notice the hunk in the sunglasses checking you out either, hmm?” Eduardo waved toward the full-glass front doors of the building where a hunk was indeed peering in as he took a call. Six-two, maybe six-three, with dark hair, a very nice wool coat in camel over an expensive gray suit, and aviator sunglasses was all I could make out through the window. But even through the glass and shadows, his handsomeness was apparent. There were men like him everywhere in Boston’s business center, though. I saw them every day, hurrying from one corporate deal to another. Trying to get ahead just like everyone else.
“He’s talking on his phone, Eduardo, not looking at me, you tit-head.”
“He did. You passed by and he checked you out real good, honey. He liked what he saw, mmm-hmm,” he informed me with a straight face, “and I love it when you talk dirty English to me.” It was all I could do to keep from laughing at him outright. Eduardo Ramos was good for my soul. I’d only known him since I’d started working at Harris & Goode four months ago, but we had clicked right away. He knew all about my past, and was nothing but supportive and compassionate about my situation. He loved the fact I was British and called me condesa most of the time—Spanish for countess. The thing with Eduardo was you had to overlook the outrageous and inappropriate comments he made on just about any off-limits topic for a place of business—and always at the most inappropriate times—because it was simply part of the package. A gorgeous Puerto Rican gay man with a mouth, and absolutely, perfectly lovely.
I shook my head at him slowly. “Do Jon and Carlisle know that you fantasize about the foot traffic when you should be working?”
He sniffed and frowned. “They do the same thing when they come throu
gh the front. But it’s right there, Brooke, right in front of me.”
“What is right in front of you?” I looked back toward the glass and noticed the hunk had moved on.
“Man heaven,” Eduardo sighed dreamily. “Big . . . hard . . . cocks . . . just walking—walking past us all day long. Ay, Dios mío!” He fanned his face with both hands flapping.
I lost it and had to either laugh out loud or explode. “Probably not so hard as you imagine if they are walking. I think it would be quite painful to walk around with a stiff cock all day.”
“You have a point there, condesa, and please say stiff cock for me again in your pretty accent.”
“No, I will not say it again, and you can stop being cheeky with me.”
Eduardo knew I wasn’t annoyed. It was a game we played for fun. Jon and Carlisle, the owners, didn’t give a toss, either. It was part and parcel of working with three gay men who were interior designers. It came with the territory, and the setup worked for me just fine.
“MARTIN, I’ve already explained why I cannot do it. I do not live in Boston. I have no place to stay overnight nor do I have clothes to wear tomorrow. If you want me to work for you, then you will have to give me at least twenty-four hours’ notice next time.”
Seriously, the man was dense. What did he not understand about the situation? More likely he just didn’t care.
“Why can’t you stay the night with your friend?” Martin suggested.
“Zoe is away, and even if she was here, there’s still the matter of clothes.” I wanted to smack him.
Eduardo, who had the habit of listening in on all conversations in the office if he was at all able, spoke up. “You can stay with me if you need a place to go tonight.” Too bad he said it rather loudly.
“I heard that,” Martin informed me. “So it’s settled, then?”
I stayed quiet and glared at Eduardo. He would get payback in a minute.