in, too. Will you come outside now?”
A feeling warmer than I’d ever known filled my heart. Thinking back, that was probably the exact moment that Justin Banks became my best friend. That was also the same day he first graced me with a nickname that would follow me through our teenage years: Patch.
CHAPTER 2
It was definitely the calm before the storm; I just didn’t know it yet.
The property was in good shape because the neighbor, Cheri, who was also Nana’s good friend, had been looking after it. Two weeks into my stay at Nana’s summer house—my summer house—I was knocking on wood that the peace and quiet would continue. No word from Justin. No word from anyone. Just me, myself and my books as I enjoyed a tranquil start to summer amidst the salty ocean air that surrounded me on the island.
Never in my life had I been more appreciative of this kind of peace. It was just over a month ago that it felt like my world had ended. Not only had Nana just died, but I’d also just discovered that Adam, my boyfriend of two years, had been cheating on me. The night I found out, we’d just had sex when he went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and take a shower. He’d left his phone by the bedside, and that was when I saw all of the messages from this bitch named Ashlyn. He normally always took his phone everywhere with him, even to the bathroom, but that night he slipped. I later looked her up on Facebook and saw that half of the pictures she posted were of the two of them. Over the six months prior, I’d been feeling that something was off with him. That was my final confirmation. Just before I left for the summer house, I found out that Adam moved to Boston to live with her.
So, this was a major time of transition for me. At twenty-four, I was single again and starting a new life in Newport for the summer. My teaching job in Providence afforded me summers off. My hope was to find a temporary job for the season, but for now, I just wanted to enjoy a few weeks of relaxation.
My day would start with coffee on the upper deck that overlooked Easton’s Beach. Listening to the seagulls, I would peruse Facebook, read my In Style magazine or simply meditate. I’d then soak in the tub upstairs for as long as I pleased before getting dressed and starting my day, and by that I mean curling up on the couch with my book.
By mid-afternoon, I’d make lunch and bring it back out to the upper deck. Before nightfall, I would drive down to Thames Street in Newport and browse the shops, looking at blown glass, trinkets and nautical artwork. Then, I’d stop for gelato or coffee.
The day typically winded down with a trip down to the dock for some freshly-caught lobster or quahogs. I’d take them home in a bag and steam them in a pot outside in the yard. Then, I’d sit down to dinner with a bottle of chilled white wine while enjoying the sunset over the Atlantic.
This was the life.
My routine stayed the same every single day for a couple of weeks until my rude awakening hit.
***
Returning from downtown Newport with my bag of crustaceans one night, I noticed that the front door to the house was wide open. Did I forget to lock it? Was it the wind?
My heartbeat accelerated when I entered the kitchen to find a tall, leggy chick with short, cropped platinum blonde hair. She looked like a young Mia Farrow and was stocking the cabinets.
I cleared my throat. “Hello?”
She turned around before covering her chest. “Oh my God. You scared me.” Walking over to me smiling, she held out her hand. “I’m Jade.”
With fine features, high cheekbones and that pixie cut, Jade could have been a model. I was the complete opposite from her physically with my long, dark hair and curvy figure.
“I’m Amelia. Who are you?”
“I’m Justin’s girlfriend.”
My stomach sank. “Oh…I see. Where is he?”
“He just went to the market and the liquor store.”
“How long have you been here?”
“We just arrived about an hour ago.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Not sure really. We’re just gonna see where the summer takes us. Neither of us were expecting this development…you know, the house.”
“Yeah…I know.” I looked down at the French-manicured toes peeking out of her heels. “Do you work?”
“I’m