Summer Beach

Ivy’s two daughters, nicknamed Misty and Sunny. Misty had studied voice and acting, and she had a critical understudy role in a new theater production in Boston, while Sunny was backpacking across Europe after taking a year off from college after Jeremy’s death. The last postcard had arrived with a Venice postmark, so she was probably in Rome by now.
Once they were airborne, a flight attendant delivered two sparkling flutes of champagne. Lifting the glass, Ivy scrunched her nose to the bubbles. Was it too early to imbibe? She hadn’t done this since a vacation with Jeremy, long before the children were born.
“You’re going to love these.” Shelly’s green eyes that mirrored her own danced as she opened the pink bag and withdrew an assortment of cake pops. One was covered with swirls of white and dark chocolate and studded with slivers of peppermint. Another one sported gold sprinkles and tiny lavender fondant roses, while yet another featured a pink high heel.
Instantly, Ivy’s spirits lifted. “These are miniature works of art.”
“I knew you’d love them. And I couldn’t resist.” Shelly slid out one that sparkled with rock sugar along a flat rim and was topped with a yellow fondant straw. “And this one is a pistachio margarita.”
Shelly picked up her glass. “To our new lives,” she said, clinking Ivy’s glass. “Now, choose one.”
“A new life?”
“If only it were that easy. No, one of these dangerous little goodies.”
“Hmm. The pink high heels.” Ivy admired it before she took a bite. “These are delicious,” she said, savoring the sweet confection and sipping her champagne. “Completely decadent.”
Shelly chose a lavender rose cake pop. “And totally deserved,” she said between bites.
Ivy sighed. “I’ll say.”
While they indulged, Ivy’s thoughts returned to the house. “I told the real estate agent I’d meet him at the house in Summer Beach before we go home. I want to get this over with first.” With Shelly along for emotional support, she could face this situation now.
“Sure. We can call a ride-share service from the airport when we land,” Shelly said.
Ivy squeezed her hand, grateful that her sister understood.
For weeks after Jeremy’s death, Ivy had sequestered herself in their brownstone condo, trying to process her husband’s sudden death and the trail he’d left, which raised so many questions. Why had he drained his retirement account to buy a dilapidated house in Summer Beach without discussing it with her? Was the house to have been a surprise? An investment? Jeremy had always been impulsive and given to grand gestures, but this was far beyond his usual behavior.
She wouldn’t have known about the house at all except for their accountant, who’d asked her why funds had been removed from Jeremy’s retirement account. The taxes due on that transaction had forced her to sell the condo.
She took another sip of champagne. Evidently, the beach house was such an old monstrosity that it had lingered on the market without any takers.
Ivy also wrestled with suspicions that plagued her restless nights. She’d spent days in bed, reeling back scenes in her mind like an old movie and wondering what had changed in their last year. If anything, he’d become even more attentive toward her.
She’d gone through his phone looking for clues to his actions, but the mundane emails were conspicuous because of what she didn’t find—nothing about the house. Nothing. As though he had been extra careful not to leave a trail. Wouldn’t he have emailed a real estate agent, a closing officer, an attorney, an inspector, a banker—anyone? As an experienced technology security consultant, Jeremy was well versed in such tactics. He was always cautious about what he sent online, but in this case, he’d been too careful.
She was not just imagining this. And who could she confide in, aside from her sister? All of their friends and family were mourning Jeremy, too. Besides, one didn’t speak ill of the dead—wasn’t that the old cliché? She had to get these thoughts out of her mind—and that house out of her life.
Shelly loosened her seat belt and leaned over. “Any offers on the house?”
Ivy bit her lip and stared past her out the window. The fluffy clouds beneath them masked so many problems on the ground. “Not a solitary one.”
Shelly inclined her head. “It’s a shame you have to sell it. Have you thought of living in it?”
She met her sister’s question with a firm gaze. “Absolutely not.”
“You really don’t know what Jeremy intended to do with it.”
“I can’t even afford the property taxes.” Ivy had already made the toughest decision in selling the beloved home she’d lived in for most of her adult life. This decision was easy.
Shelly stroked her hand. “I’m sorry. I know you thought your condo was your forever home, and you loved the neighborhood. Maybe there’s something else in store for you. Another life than the one you’d planned.”
“But I loved my old life.” Ivy knew that sounded whiny, but it was the truth. She blinked back tears that still sprang, unbidden, to her eyes, even after almost a year. How long would it be until she woke in the morning without thinking of Jeremy?
“I know,” Shelly said with compassion.
Over the last year, Ivy had learned to be practical. Without Jeremy’s income as a technology consultant, what Ivy made from her work as a freelance art teacher barely covered her expenses, even after she’d sold their Back Bay condo—heavily mortgaged, another surprise—and rented a room in a professor’s home. She’d sold what she could and put the rest in storage, consoling herself with the idea that she was downsizing for more freedom.
Instead, she felt rudderless and inconsequential. A middle-aged woman—although she didn’t feel like it inside. Most of her adult life, she had been something to other people and always in demand. Wife, mother, teacher. Yet since her daughters had left for college, they didn’t need her much anymore. So where did she fit in now?
At the moment, nowhere.
Rediscovering herself now was frightening at times. And as much as she