If for Any Reason (Nantucket Love Story #1) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,115
He got to his feet. “Let’s go see what GrandNan has for us tonight.”
“Lobster rolls, I think.” She stood.
“You hope.” He gave one of her braids a soft tug. “And, Jolie?”
She looked at him.
“I love you.”
Emily’s heart raced as she made her way up the driveway toward the house. She’d planned to confront her grandmother with what she’d found in the newspaper—proof that her mother’s accident had happened on Cliff Road—but that didn’t seem important anymore, not with a photo that put Jack Walker at her mother’s funeral.
In Boston.
Hadn’t he only known of her mother? Did he leave the island to go to a funeral in Boston for an acquaintance? That didn’t make sense.
Emily passed Marcus on her way to the front porch. “Hey, do you know where Jack is?”
“You didn’t hear?” Marcus asked.
“Hear what?”
“Your grandma fired him, Emily,” Marcus said. “He’s gone.”
“What? She can’t do that,” Emily said, knowing full well that she absolutely could. Eliza Ackerman could take control of this project anytime she wanted to. The fact that she hadn’t done so before now was the real surprise.
“Said she hired a new guy and he’d be here tomorrow.”
Emily’s heart lurched. “You can’t be serious.”
“’Fraid so.”
“So he’s just gone?”
“Went home about an hour ago,” Marcus said. “We weren’t sure if we should keep working.”
“Yes,” Emily said. “Keep working. I’m going to go get Jack.”
“What about your grandmother?”
Emily groaned. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out. And no matter what, I’ll make sure your entire crew is paid for today.”
“And we should come back tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Emily said resolutely. “For sure.”
Marcus nodded. “You’re good people, Emily.”
“I try.” She smiled despite her frustration. “Do you know Jack’s address?”
“No, but he’s out on Cliff Road, near the bike path, I think,” Marcus said.
“Cliff Road?” Emily’s heart fell.
“Said the place had sentimental value.” Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy’s always talking about the old days. I can find the address and text it to you. I was out there not long ago.”
“Cliff Road.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She hoped that was true. “Text me the address. That would be helpful.”
“You got it, boss.”
Biking to Cliff Road would take too long, but she didn’t have her own car. She looked at her grandmother’s Lexus in the driveway. She raced inside, found the key fob in a small dish on the entryway table, and took it without a word.
“Grandma, you owe me this much,” she said under her breath.
The drive to Cliff Road filled her with anxiety. She told herself there were a lot of houses in that area. She told herself there could’ve been countless explanations for all the coincidences she’d uncovered. She told herself that Jack Walker was nothing more than a contractor who’d known her mom once upon a time.
But she didn’t believe a single word she told herself.
She glanced at Marcus’s text and found the address where Jack Walker was staying. How long had it been since he was on the island?
The image of his photo—sullen at her mother’s graveside service—floated through her mind.
If she hadn’t been driving, she would’ve closed her eyes, feeling every bit of the magnitude of the situation, the summer, the questions. But the worst part was feeling like nobody was being honest with her. Nobody was being genuine.
Nobody smiled with their eyes.
Mom had taught her to value honesty above just about everything else, and nobody in her life seemed to feel the same way. Not her grandma, not Jack . . . She stopped. But that wasn’t true, was it? Because she had Hollis.
Hollis was genuine and honest and good. And in spite of all this, when she thought about him, she smiled.
Her GPS told her that her destination was on the left, but she didn’t slow down fast enough, so she drove right past it. Maybe that was a sign she should keep driving?
No. She wanted to learn—no matter what it was—everything she didn’t know about the night her mother died.
And the only way to find out was to start asking hard questions.
To start doing hard things.
She’d spent so many years running away, convinced it was what her mother wanted for her—to live a life full of travel where she jumped around and never got close to anybody.
But she was tired. She didn’t want to run anymore. She wanted to settle down. To plant roots.
Did asking hard questions guarantee she could do that?
She’d turned around and now pulled into the driveway of a small cottage. With gray wooden shingles and white trim,