Author: Kristan Higgins

They carried my bag upstairs and, like the innkeepers they were, showed me the amenities of Dry Dock, my suite. It was hard to pay attention. Sam and Trish. Trish and Sam. Their names had been linked together for so long that they still sounded normal. Now, Sam and Millie…that just sounded dumb.

My large suite had lavender-scented sheets, a huge arrangement of bright flowers on the bureau and a view of the water. I made a quick call to Katie, as I hadn’t wanted to talk to my parents, and told her briefly what had happened and where I was. Then, so tired I ached, I climbed into bed without even washing up. Digger came over for a little reassurance, and I petted him weakly until he gave up and went to lie before the fireplace. The only sound was the wind and the slap of the small bayside waves. Alone in the dark, my misery curled up with me, and a heavy weight seemed to press me into the mattress.

“Oh, Sam,” I whispered, and the endless spring of tears spilled over again. How would I do this? I asked myself. How could I handle this incredible sense of loss? That time with Sam was like a cruel trick. It was bad enough to love him, but to have heard those words from him, to have felt the way we felt, to have that incredible rightness taken away, was unbearable.

In the morning, Curtis and Mitch made me a huge breakfast. I ate the food, but chewing was such an effort. The boys tried to distract me by chatting about the Peacock. They were getting ready to close for the winter and had to do a final cleaning of all the guest rooms, paint a few rooms, make some repairs and the like. They would spend the winter tucked away on the third floor, happy and cozy and together. Not that I begrudged them that…it was just hard to see the contrast between their happy couplehood and my solitude.

Digger and I took a long walk out to the very end of Provincetown, where the huge rocks of the breakwater stretched into the choppy bay. Digger trotted along happily, sniffing at crab shells between the crevices, returning to nudge my hand with his nose. I felt dead inside, as flat and lifeless as week-old roadkill, my eyes barely seeing the lovely houses of Commercial Street, hardly noting the raucous calls of the gulls as they wheeled and glided above me.

The boys cooked lunch and dragged out an old game of Trivial Pursuit and even took Digger to the dog spa for a little pet pampering. And while I knew I couldn’t hide out here forever, I was glad for this little reprieve. Instead of waiting around for other people to decide how my life was going to turn out, I had at least taken action.

That night, as I lay listening to the sounds of the ocean, I tried to make peace with my situation. Digger crept onto the bed and licked my tears as I sobbed quietly for the love that I’d very nearly had, for the humiliation I felt, for the empty, hollow days that were waiting for me back home.

Somewhere in the night I resolved to go back to Eastham and face things. Sam would probably come over to break the news to me, and I’d have to be dignified and strong and somehow let him know that I would be just fine with everything. I’d start work and engross myself there. And someday, I’d find someone else.

But for now, I gave myself one more cry in the dark over Sam Nickerson.

THE NEXT DAY, THE BOYS PUT ME to work. In the morning, we draped and taped the salon, which was a vast room featuring a Steinway grand piano and a wall of French doors that led to the small beach. The boys had decided to go from hunter-green to royal-blue, and we donned our painting clothes and set to work. Actually, their painting clothes were on par with my best stuff, but that was just their way.

It was good to be focused on something as mundane as painting. It didn’t take a great deal of mental effort, but I had to pay attention, too. The guys gossiped about friends I didn’t know, taking great pains to tell me the whole background story so I wouldn’t feel left out. Dipping the brush in the pure white paint I was using for the trim, I wished my whole life could be repainted the pure, empty color.

“You know, princess, sometimes things really do happen for the best,” Curtis said rather abruptly, interrupting Mitch’s dialogue on a friend’s terrible taste in men. He gave Mitch a meaningful look.

“Yes, you’re right,” Mitch replied blithely. “Millie, don’t you agree?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” I asked, dragging my brush along the baseboard.

“Maybe you and Sam weren’t meant to be,” Curtis said rather smugly.

“I guess,” I said, my chest aching dully.

“He wasn’t good enough for you, anyway, dearest,” Mitch murmured gently.

I gave a choked laugh. “Not good enough for me? Sam—”

“He broke your heart, after all,” Curtis put in.

“He’s a good man,” I said, my throat closing up on the words. “Very, very good.” I dipped my brush back into the bucket and swallowed.

“Oh, I don’t know. I always thought he was a little dull,” Curtis said.

“No, he—” I started to break in.

“Yes, rather unremarkable in conversation. You’re right, darling,” Mitch agreed lovingly. “He may have looked good in uniform, but aside from that, he was rather ordinary.”

“Hear, hear,” Curtis sang. “Not like that arm candy you were seeing earlier this summer, Millie.”

I straightened up, bewildered. “Sam’s—”

“And of course, Millie, if he left you, then he’s obviously very stupid,” Curtis said almost gleefully.

“And he probably couldn’t kiss worth a damn. Officers of the law never can,” Mitch added, his lips twitching.

“Stop it,” I ordered. “Sam is the best man I know! He’s kind and smart and funny and thoughtful, and if he dumped me for my sister, then he’s only doing what he thinks is best for his family, which means he’s also unselfish and decent. And he’s a great kisser, not to mention fantastic in bed. So shut up.” I tossed my paintbrush on the drop cloth next to me and glared at them.

“There’s something else he is,” Curtis said, more gently.

“And what’s that?” I snapped.

“He’s here.”

I froze, staring at Curtis and Mitch. My heart stopped, then surged almost up my throat. I swallowed. Swallowed again. Very quickly, I sneaked a peek behind me. Yup. Sam. Standing in the doorway.

“He’s got flowers,” Curtis whispered. “And he’s smiling.”

I tossed Sam another quick peek. It was true. But still I stood with my back to him, my knees trembling violently. I folded my arms across my chest to hide my shaking hands.

“Hi, Millie.”

At the sound of Sam’s quiet voice, my eyes flooded with tears and I put my hand over my mouth. Curtis reached for Mitch’s hand.

“Fantastic in bed. That’s good to hear.” There was a smile in Sam’s voice. I heard his footsteps coming closer.

A bouquet of yellow roses appeared in front of me. Sam stood so close behind me that I could feel his warmth. “Turn around, Millie,” he whispered.

“What about Trish?” I managed to force out, my voice choked and squeaking.

“Turn around and I’ll tell you.”

I looked at Curtis and Mitch for courage. They were teary-eyed, too, clutching hands as if they were about to meet Russell Crowe on the set of Gladiator. Curtis gave me an encouraging nod.

I turned around.

Sam’s arms went around me and he kissed me hard, fast, and then just crushed me against him. He dropped the flowers to hug me tighter, and my heart flew so high and fast that I could actually feel it move in my chest. I heard a shuddering intake of breath from the other side of the room. Apparently so did Sam, because he looked up.

“Guys, come on,” he said. “A little privacy?”

“Oh! Of course. Terribly sorry.” Mitch, smiling a wonderfully huge grin, led a happily sobbing Curtis from the room.

Sam kissed my forehead and then stared sternly at me. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, a little smile creeping onto his face.

“You must be a lousy cop,” I said a little breathlessly. “I’m not that hard to find.”

“I had to take care of a few things first,” he answered. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

He led me to a sheet-covered couch and sat, pulling me down next to him. “This has been a hell of a week,” he said, running a hand through his graying hair. Then he sighed and gave me a smile that was half sad and half relieved, and my heart lurched. He took my hand and grew serious.

“In answer to your question, Trish is now over the Atlantic, on her way to Paris.”

From the kitchen came a muted whoop. Sam grinned and shook his head. I smiled back, still dazed at his presence. I was here with Sam. My mind couldn’t seem to get further than that.

“Millie, I’m sorry you were hiding out up here, thinking what you must have been thinking. But I had to straighten things out with Trish before I could take care of you. I mean, she did get a pretty big surprise, finding us like that. And she’s Danny’s mother…”

“I know.”

“That as**ole Avery dumped her, and she panicked. She didn’t think she had any choice other than coming back to the Cape. So she convinced herself that we should give our marriage another try.”

At that moment, Curtis came scurrying in with a beautiful tray of Brie and crackers, grapes, a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Pretend I’m not here,” he whispered, expertly pouring the wine. He flashed a brilliant smile and scurried back out.

“Good friends you’ve got there,” Sam said, watching him retreat. I picked up my glass and took a long sip.

“Curtis and Mitch saw you at the Forge—”

“Yes, we went there for dinner. It was too hard to talk about things at home, with Danny around, and we wanted to go somewhere where no one knew us. Your friends are crappy spies, by the way. Too bad they weren’t listening. They could have saved us a lot of time.” He smiled at me, and I cringed, remembering how I had ordered my friends not to eavesdrop. “Katie told me that you came here, and what you were thinking.”

“Well,” I said, looking down at the Persian carpet, “one does draw conclusions when one hears that one’s boyfriend is kissing his ex-wife, who also happens to be one’s sister.”

“Um, right. And I did kiss her. But I kissed her goodbye.” Sam leaned back against the couch and ran a hand over his face. “Trish said she wanted to get back with me, and I told her two things. The first was that I just didn’t buy it. I’d never made her happy before, and there was no reason to think that I would now. And after she’d calmed down, I think she could see that, too.” Sam sat back up and took my hands in his. He looked at me, his gentle eyes sad. “She just didn’t know where else to go. She’s never been on her own before.”

It was true. My sister, at age thirty-six, had never lived alone. A sudden stab of pity for her pricked my heart.

“Then there was the other thing I told her.” Sam’s voice broke my reverie.

“What was that?”

“I told her that I loved you.” His eyes were steady on me. Even as my heart leaped at his words, a trickle of sadness tempered my joy.

“That must have been hard to hear,” I whispered, looking down. Poor Trish. It was the first time in my life that I’d ever thought of her that way. Alone. Confused. Rejected. I took a deep breath. “So what is she going to do now? Is she really headed for France?”

“Yes. She’s always wanted to go there, always wanted to see more of the world than South Bend and the Cape.”

I nodded, thinking of Trish’s many tirades about how there was more to life than sand and salt.

“I sold the house, Millie,” Sam said quietly.

“Sam, no! Not your house!”

“It’s done,” he answered. “I sold it to the bank, not quite for market value, with the promise that Dan and I can stay until he leaves for college next year.”