Pippa, her mother’s most recent housekeeper, had started the year Maisey left, so they didn’t know each other well. They had, however, communicated now and then over the past decade—usually when Pippa sent out invitations to Josephine’s annual Christmas party and Maisey replied with a note expressing her “regret” at being unable to attend. Pippa would invariably follow up with a Christmas card and an interesting summary of all that’d happened on Fairham that year. Although Pippa never revealed anything Josephine wouldn’t want her to, Maisey had always considered that update a kind gesture. Pippa had even sent a gift when Ellie was born. “She’s ill?”
“Not seriously,” Josephine replied. “She has a bronchial infection, so, for the past week, Clarissa’s been filling in.” She put down the teapot. “I might keep the girl on. There are times Pippa could use the extra help.”
“I’m sure Clarissa would be grateful for the work.” Because there was so much that stood between them, and Maisey had lost faith that they’d ever be able to breach the gap, she felt it was better to discuss the daily running of the estate than anything personal.
“She should be. She has no other prospects,” Josephine said.
Maisey twisted around to make sure Clarissa wasn’t in the hall, but her mother didn’t seem to care whether she heard or not. In the rare moments when Josephine chose to be honest, she could be brutally so.
“Tea?” Her mother gestured at the tray.
As Maisey picked up her cup and saucer, Keith walked over and popped two cucumber sandwiches into his mouth, one right after the other.
“At least put your food on a plate!” Josephine snapped at him, her voice harsh enough to send Athena skittering backward. “Or did you do that just to upset me?”
“I did it because I’m hungry,” he replied, sounding equally irritated. “And who else is here to see me? I’m supposed to impress you and Maisey? She doesn’t care.”
Maisey opened her mouth to agree. She didn’t want something as minor as eating cucumber sandwiches the wrong way to make this tea more uncomfortable than it already was. It didn’t take much to set off either her mother or her brother. But Josephine didn’t give her the opportunity to react.
“I care!” she cried. “Have some respect.” Josephine turned back to Maisey, but now there were pink stains on her cheeks. “Since you’re here, I take it you and Jack haven’t reconciled,” she said.
Those words proved that Josephine was no longer on her best behavior. Had she thought about it for even a second, she would’ve known that Maisey didn’t want to talk about Jack. But whether or not the recipient would be pleased by the topic she chose had never stopped Josephine before.
“No.”
“You don’t think you will?”
Maisey clenched her jaw but forced it to relax so she could answer politely. “He’s with someone else.”
“Already?”
Josephine knew this. She had to know it. Maisey had kept in touch with Keith and, more loosely, Pippa, even if she hadn’t maintained direct contact with her mother. No doubt they’d shared the basic facts of her life—and more information had probably come from Keith than Pippa. As close as Maisey felt to Keith, as loyal as he tried to be, he’d never been particularly adept at keeping his mouth shut. The fact that Josephine claimed not to know about Jack strained the bounds of credulity, but allowed her to act innocent while Maisey writhed.
“Jack was involved with another woman before he moved out,” Maisey explained. Was that what she wanted to hear? Did Josephine enjoy making her say it?
“I see.” Her mother had warned her that Jack, who’d been working as a lifeguard at the public beach in Keys Crossing when she met him, would be unlikely to support her “in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.” He came from decent, middle-class folk and had a business degree but no connections to help him get a start in the world of finance, which was his goal. Ironically, once they’d moved to New York, he’d managed to land a good job at Merrill Lynch simply by interviewing and had turned out to be quite talented with money.
Josephine must’ve been aware of that, too. It was something she would’ve questioned Keith about whenever he came back from New York. Where do they live? What kind of rent do they pay? Is their apartment big? Yet those two words—I see—sounded suspiciously like, So I was right. And you dared question me...
“Then your marriage is really over,” Josephine added, driving the knife deeper still.
“Yes.” Maisey wanted to point out that Jack had failed in a completely different area than the one Josephine had predicted. But, once again, she bit her tongue. What did it matter? Jack was out of her life.
Josephine’s cup clinked as she returned it to her saucer. “What’s on the horizon for you now?”
Maisey didn’t have any official plans. She just wanted to help support Keith’s recovery. Someone had to step in. He couldn’t continue the downward spiral that had led him to attempt suicide. And why not come here? She hadn’t been doing anyone any good in Manhattan—including herself. “Maybe I’ll change things up, get a job.”
She had to create some income unless she wanted to fall into the same vulnerable position as Keith and be dependent on Josephine for everything. It wasn’t as if she was getting any alimony. She’d been making as much as Jack when they split. Granted, there were still some royalties coming in, but that wouldn’t happen for another few months—and wouldn’t amount to all that much.
Josephine paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean? What kind of job? There’s nothing on the island that would suit you—nothing but menial labor.”
“Menial labor would keep me busy at least.” Even washing dishes would demand she maintain a schedule. She needed structure, some reason to keep moving so she could escape the inertia that had struck her down in New York.
“Writing and illustrating will do that, won’t they?”
Following Josephine’s cucumber-sandwich rebuke, Keith had gone back to his place by the mantel. Maisey could feel the weight of his stare. He was probably wondering if she’d tell their mother what she’d told him in the car, but she couldn’t face the backlash the truth would create. “I’ll put in a few hours here and there.” Or make the attempt, if and when she could bear to try.
“That’s the beauty of what you do.” Josephine brought her cup to her lips. “You can work from almost anywhere.”
Maisey realized she’d been drinking her tea without any sweetener and added a sugar cube with the silver tongs that had been in the family since before her grandfather had emigrated from France and purchased the island. Selling her children’s books to a traditional, well-known publisher was one of the few things she’d done right, according to Josephine. Josephine liked the respectability that went with being successfully published, and she liked the accolades Maisey’s books had received. That was what Keith had told her, anyway. Her first book was published when she was twenty-seven, married and living in New York.
“That’s one of the benefits,” she agreed. “But, at the moment, I don’t have any pressing deadlines. So...for the next few weeks, until I can find a job, I’ll
