Hank Everett felt the loss of his beloved wife so deeply, he was rarely able to talk about her, not even with Riley. That was why his insistence that she accept Nora’s invitation had shocked her—particularly after his response to Nora’s message was, “Well, your mom always said she was an only child, and an orphan. But maybe you should look into it.”
Riley had been living with Hank for months, helping him cope with the loss, and suddenly, he was strong enough—hell, eager—to send her away? Didn’t most fathers make it their goal in life to keep their daughters off Dateline? Then again, maybe Hank thought Riley would use up all her questions and conversations about Ellen with this over-helpful stranger, and he would never have to relive those painful memories.
Leaning against the wall and bracing her hands on her knees, Riley felt Alice pat her shoulder. When a thrum of electric discomfort shot through her, ricocheting into her chest, she thought maybe it came from the act of discussing her mother with a stranger. She wondered what Ellen Everett would think of Riley traveling all the way to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to meet her aunt Nora. Probably not much, considering Ellen had never told Riley that Nora or Starfall Point even existed. Maybe that was contributing to Riley’s sense of unease? Knowing that her mother hadn’t wanted her to know about this part of Ellen’s life, her history?
Riley’s relationship with her mother had always been distant, something she’d attributed to her parents having Riley later in life and not being used to her generation’s insistent communication. Now, she wondered if Ellen just didn’t trust her to handle the family history.
Could it really be so bad? Starfall Point had looked so charming in the photos—aggressively quaint houses, fudge shops, and island-wide garden shows. Riley had found one website claiming the town had a negative crime rate, as in the good deeds done there outstripped the bad, but Riley couldn’t confirm such a thing existed.
Riley realized she’d been silent for so long, Alice probably thought she was either going to throw up again or start crying. She wasn’t sure which Alice would consider preferable. She looked up to find Alice holding out a can of ginger ale. “Try this. I don’t normally take the ferry myself, so I never know how I’m going to handle the motion. I always get one at the dock, just in case… Not to be indelicate, but I didn’t want to put more pressure on my bladder.”
“Thanks,” Riley sighed. Cracking it open, she drank down the cold, sugary bubbles and was grateful. She noticed Alice squirm in discomfort as Riley glugged down most of the can and realized the other woman was probably thinking of the inevitable consequences of consuming liquids.
“Hey, there are people out here, waiting!” Riley yelled, pounding her fist on the bathroom door again, her hand stinging at the repeated angry impact. But her bravado seemed to drop through the bottom of her stomach as the boat tipped over a particularly high swell. She braced her arm against the wall and clutched her middle. “Sorry, Alice, the bathroom hog seems impervious.”
“Oh, I think I like you very much,” Alice told her. “I also think I might be slightly afraid of you.”
“That seems like a reasonable response,” she whimpered in return.
“They say staring at the horizon helps,” Alice told her gently. “Look, there’s Starfall.”
Slowly, Riley poked her head out of the alcove to see a coastal postcard come to life. Storybook houses formed a sort of wall at the front of the island’s craggy stone hills with tiers of similar buildings rising behind them. Dabs of bold color dotted the houses’ front porches in the form of hanging flower baskets. But her eye was drawn high on the point where Shaddow House stood, as if the rest of the island was meant to sit at its feet. The house where Aunt Nora had lived and worked for decades looked metastasized, like it was originally built as a quaint Victorian family home with a turret tower and rather theatrical front porch, then grew unbidden into its current disarray of random additions and chimneys. The robin’s-egg-blue siding stood out from the pale grays and yellows typical of the other houses. The dreamy color seemed at odds with its somewhat ominous name.
For just a moment, a strange dark gray mist seemed to shroud the house between blinks of the eye. Riley shook her head, fluttering her eyelashes rapidly and downing the rest of her soda. Maybe she was sicker than she thought?
“I’ve lived here for most of my life, and I’ll never get used to the way it just seems to rise out of the water like that,” Alice sighed, smiling gently. “Like some friendly sea creature.”
“Oh, you grew up here?” Another strange thrum bolted through Riley, a bit of sadness. She’d thought maybe Alice was an outsider too, and that they would both approach the island as strangers to it. But now she was alone again.
Alice nodded, her smile faltering a bit. “I moved here when I was nine. I spent a lot of time roaming around unsupervised, until my grandparents decided it was time for me to work in the family antiques store. I probably know every inch of the island, except Shaddow House, of course. It’s never been open to anyone, tourists or locals, for that matter. The family prefers their privacy. They don’t want a bunch of fudgies traipsing through their rooms. And honestly, I can’t blame them. Sorry, I tend to overshare when I feel that my internal organs are in danger of bursting.”
Riley hummed in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine what her aunt Nora did at Shaddow House if she wasn’t organizing tours. Maybe she was something like an estate manager or a housekeeper? That seemed like a lot of work for a woman who was sixty-eight years old. Also, she was very curious as to what a “fudgie” could be, but she was afraid to ask.
Alice shrugged. “People tend to act like public places are disposable when they’re on vacation. Or if they start to take a privilege for granted. Or if it’s a day ending in Y.”
For the first time in a while, Riley grinned. She hadn’t connected with another person in so long; she didn’t want this peculiar kinship to be over so soon. Maybe if she asked her aunt nicely, Riley could sneak Alice in on a special private tour of Shaddow House? But she didn’t want to make any promises or set Alice up for disappointment. For all she knew, Aunt Nora was going to hand Riley a box of Ellen’s old CDs and softball trophies, then boot her back onto the ferry.
And then Riley realized that she’d neglected to mention that she was Nora’s niece, and now it felt like the moment had passed. It would be weird to bring it up now, right? After Alice had made comments about Riley’s family, wouldn’t that make Alice feel uncomfortable? Great. She used to be a lot better at this, the “talking to people” thing. Hell, she used to work as a telemarketer. People hated to talk to telemarketers, but somehow, she’d managed to make a living at it even while she hated it.
“Starfall Point, docking in five minutes,” a cheerful recorded voice announced over the PA system. “Feel free to gather your belongings, but please don’t stand near the gangways. You’ll be enjoying our beautiful island before you know it. Thank you for choosing The Loyal Retriever on the Perkins Ferry Line, the finest and oldest family-run ferry service operating on Starfall Point.”
“Maybe I can get off this boat without having to relieve myself off the side,” Alice muttered, making Riley snort. She liked Alice’s strangely formal way of speaking and wondered if it was a result of living on the island. She raised her hand to beat on the door, hollering again in Alice’s defense, when suddenly, the door opened. A slumped form appeared in the doorway, and Riley’s fist froze in midair.