Forever Summer - Melody Grace Page 0,27

new voicemail, setting it to play as she rifled through her suitcase for some pajamas.

“Hey, it’s Starr.”

Evie froze at the familiar voice. It was Glen’s younger sister.

“I tried earlier, too, but I guess you’re busy. I just thought you’d be around to talk tonight. Anyway, I hope you’ve been OK, today was kind of rough for me, but … well, I guess it has to get better eventually, right? I miss you. Call me.”

There was a beep, and then the message stopped.

Today …

Evie grabbed her phone and frantically checked the date. And there it was, staring back at her. The twenty-third.

Glen’s birthday.

Evie sank down on the cot, her giddy haze melting clean away in an instant. How could she have forgotten? She’d been so wrapped up in things with the inn, she hadn’t even remembered her dead husband’s birthday.

So wrapped up in Noah’s kiss.

Evie felt terrible. She talked to Starr on all the big holidays: birthdays, Christmas; each one a painful anniversary of another year without him. She’d known Starr so long, she felt like an honorary big sister—one who knew the pain she was going through without her brother around. They would share memories and commiserate, make sure the other was doing OK. But this year, it hadn’t even crossed her mind …

… because she’d been kissing some other guy.

The guilt rolled through her, hot and sharp. How could she overlook something like this? And all for some silly prank. A ruse. Noah wasn’t even seriously interested in her, but she’d just been so excited to be flirting again—to feel that hot rush of desire—that all her good sense had gone rushing straight out of the window, leaving poor Starr alone, right when she needed Evie the most.

Evie called Starr back immediately. “I’m sorry to call so late,” she said, when the girl picked up. “But I’m here now. Do you want to talk?”

7

Evie stayed up late reminiscing with Starr—and then up even later, tossing and turning with guilt in her sleeping bag. By the time she dragged herself out of the cot the next morning, she was tired, stiff-necked, and felt even worse about the whole thing.

“What are you talking about? You’re not a terrible person,” Jules exclaimed over speakerphone as Evie drove up the Cape.

“I forgot my husband’s birthday,” Evie said, gloomy. “Only a terrible person would do that.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not around to be mad at you,” Jules cracked.

“Jules!” Evie tried not to smile at the terrible joke.

“In fact,” Jules continued, “he’d probably prefer it this way. You were always terrible with gifts. Remember the time you got him that sweater with the periodic table on the front?”

“He loved it!”

“He exchanged it for new socks the minute your back was turned,” Jules corrected her. “And that home brewing kit? The poor guy had a closet full of useless junk from you. Believe me, forgetting his birthday would have been a blessing, even when he was alive.”

Evie couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re the terrible person,” she said, giggling.

“I know,” Jules agreed sunnily. “And I’m extra-cranky today. Rory met some hotshot social media guru and wants to bring them on to manage his accounts.”

“But that’s your job,” Evie exclaimed.

“Exactly. You’d think he’d be more grateful.” Jules sighed. “Whoever heard of a famous cartographer before I got ahold of him? I put him on the map—pun intended. I think I’m going to quit.”

“The job, or the relationship?” Evie asked.

“Both. Neither,” Jules replied. “We can talk about it when I get on the road later. I can’t wait to see this famous inn of yours in person!”

“You mean, the inn that’s distracted me so much I’ve become completely self-centered?” Evie asked, still feeling a little guilty, despite the jokes.

Jules made a tutting noise. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know Starr made you feel bad, but it’s actually healthy you forgot. It shows you’re finally moving on.”

“Do you think?” Evie asked, hopeful.

“Absolutely! Glen wouldn’t want you sitting around moping every time his birthday comes around. Would he?”

“Well, no …,” Evie admitted. They’d even joked about it when they were signing the life insurance papers: how they were supposed to mourn for a small, appropriate period and then go take up with a sexy gold digger in some exotic European location.

Or a sexy fireman …

Evie gulped at the memory. “Still, there’s a difference between just forgetting and spending it making out with some other guy.”

“Ah yes, the famous make-out,” Jules said, sounding excited. “Was it hot? Was he good?