* * *
Mom insists on coming inside the airport with Maisie and me, instead of simply dropping us at departures. Anna and Keane have already left for Antigua. From there they’ll take a ferry to Montserrat, where their boat is moored. That kind of vagabond lifestyle is too unpredictable for me, but it seems to work for them.
Mom waits with us in the check-in line and hugs us one last time before we go through the security checkpoint. She watches until we’re through to the other side, then waves until she can’t see us anymore.
Maisie falls asleep on the plane, her head on my thigh, and three hours later we’re in Ohio. As we taxi down the runway, I turn on my phone to find a text from Mason.
I’m in the cell lot. Let me know when you’re out front.
A bubble of happiness rises inside me, and I smile at my phone, knowing full well I look ridiculous. I can’t wait to get back to Kelleys Island. I can’t wait to see Mason.
Our seats are in the bulkhead row behind business class, so Maisie and I are among the first people off the plane. I want to race through the airport, but I can only move as fast as Maisie can walk, so by the time we get to the arrival doors, my anticipation level is through the roof. I need to pump the brakes on this, but when his green pickup pulls up to the curb, I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, and it sounds like hope, hope, hope.
Ohio must have been experiencing a heat wave because when Mason comes around the back of the truck, he’s dressed in a pair of olive-green shorts and an untucked plaid shirt that is not flannel, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He’s even wearing brown leather flip-flops. The whole package makes me a little dizzy. Like when he dropped me off, his sunglasses block his eyes, but he offers me a cockeyed grin. “Glad you’re back.”
“Oh really?” I try to play it cool. I hope I’m playing it cool.
“The construction manager keeps asking questions that I can’t answer,” Mason says, hoisting the suitcases into the truck bed, and my heart does a little dip. “And being alone in the house was weird.”
And after the dip comes the swoop. “It was?”
“A little.” He shrugs, which is definitely not a declaration of his undying love, but it’s Mason Brown sweet. “Your mom settled in?”
“Pretty much,” I say. “She has to figure out where everything goes, but that’s the fun part.”
“I most definitely do not agree.”
“I wish I could say I’m shocked, but no … that’s very on-brand for you.”
He gives a short laugh and … God, I didn’t realize how much I missed that sound. How much I love that sound.
“Did anything exciting happen while I was gone?” I ask.
“The mattresses and bedding for the cabins arrived a couple days ago,” Mason says. “The taproom looks like a warehouse, so we might have to rent a storage pod or something if we’re going to open the brewery on time.”
“Mason,” Maisie pipes up. “My auntie Anna gave me a drum for my birthday.”
“What kind of drum?”
“It’s a steel pan.”
He glances over her car seat at me for clarification.
“My sister lives on a sailboat in the Caribbean.” I tell him about Ben’s death and Anna’s subsequent sailing adventure, how she met Keane.
“Keane is like a pirate,” Maisie says. “But he doesn’t wear the black thingy on his eye.”
“Oh yeah?” Mason says carefully.
She nods. “One of his legs only has leg on the top part. The bottom’s not real.”
“He wears a prosthesis,” I explain.
“Okay, I follow that logic.”
Maisie launches into one of her monologues about her birthday party, and I clock Mason to make sure she’s not stressing him out, but he nods and makes appropriate noises in all the right places.
We stop for pizza in Sandusky, and when we finally reach Kelleys Island, it’s dark and Maisie is crashed out in her car seat, well past her bedtime. Mason grabs the suitcases as I carry her into the house.
When I switch on the kitchen light, I see it.
The frat house is gone.
Instead there’s a plush goldenrod-yellow micro-suede couch tossed with colorful throw pillows, an armless leather chair the color of whiskey, and a teal velvet armchair. There are end tables and lamps. Plants and artwork. A large area rug that ties together the colors of the furniture. A bookshelf with not enough books. And in the space between the kitchen island and the living room, there’s a wooden dining table with ladder-back chairs.
“What—” I stop abruptly, shocked speechless.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s—How could I not? It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve been living on hold for the past year,” he says. “Like there was a chance Jess would come back and fill the place up again. But that’s never gonna happen. I’ve also been thinking that it’s selfish to expect you and Maisie to steer clear of me. You shouldn’t have to confine yourself upstairs because my head is a mess.”
“Are you sure?”
“After Jess left, I completely shut down,” he says. “Which is why the hotel isn’t finished, the beer didn’t get brewed, and the upstairs apartment never happened. Trust me, I know this arrangement is not normal, but we can’t keep living like it’s a temporary situation. If you don’t want to do this anymore, I can—”
“I want to stay.”
He nods. “Okay, then. Welcome home.”
I push away a tear with the heel of my hand. “Thank you.”
“You should probably get Maisie to bed.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say, impressed at how far out onto an emotional limb he’s gone. I don’t press him to go further. “I’ll leave the suitcases for the morning. Good night, Mason.”
“Night.”
* * *
In the morning, the suitcases are in the hallway outside my bedroom door and there’s a warm cup of green tea on the counter. I sip slowly as I walk around the new living room. It feels like every detail was mined from my own brain, or—
I call Avery. “Did you have anything to do with this living room transformation?”
“I might have stalked your Pinterest account and offered suggestions that had absolutely nothing in common with your preferences.”
“You knew?”
“Mason asked for our help, which he hasn’t done in an awfully long time,” Avery says. “So I went on a wild spending spree with his credit card and the three of us did all the work. It was like being part of the behind-the-scenes crew on a home makeover show.”
“Why would he do this?”
“That’s what we’ve been wondering,” she says. “For the past year, Mason has walled himself off from almost everyone. Then you show up and blast a hole in the brickwork, and things start getting done. But when we asked, he just shrugged and said the house needed to be finished.”
I can’t tell her what Mason told me about living on hold and hoping Jess would come back. It’s not my story to share.
“He wasn’t wrong about that,” I say.