“Mom?” Her voice wavered, betraying her exhaustion.

  “Charlotte! Oh, thank goodness!” The words tumbled out in a frenzied cascade, so unlike the composed tone she was accustomed to hearing from Elsie.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Are you all right? Is the house standing?”

  “Mom, calm down. We’re fine. The house … it’s still here,” she said, glancing over at Alex, who offered a reassuring nod.

  “Of course it is. Did you find the generator in the shed?” There was a quiver in Elsie’s voice that Charlotte couldn’t place—a vulnerability that seemed foreign on her mother’s usually steady tongue.

  “Yes, you had everything we needed, but why aren’t you staying here?” Charlotte interjected, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she sat up straighter, the blanket pooling in her lap. “Where are you staying? I think we’ll be able to come and get you.”

  A heavy pause followed, the kind that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken stories and carefully guarded truths. When Elsie spoke again, her words were measured, heavy with an emotion that Charlotte could not quite decipher through the static of the line.

  “I’m at the high school in town, your old high school. When we were evacuated, this was one of the first choices, so I took it. Close to home, too.”

  She didn’t understand why she wasn’t here in her own home. “Why didn’t you come home? And another question.” Charlotte asked, not caring if the timing was right or not, “Why in the world are you living in that assisted living center? I know it’s a nice place, but you’ve made a lot of improvements to the house.”

  “I was lonely, Charlotte. Folks in this town haven’t forgotten my past, and I’m okay with that. I fixed the place up like I told you a few years back, and I rent it to the snowbirds when they’re in town. I have a great life now. I’m still young enough to enjoy life, but on the island, we’re all friends, we look out for each other. I’m not in a nursing home, Charlotte, you know this, right?”

  Charlotte’s grip on the phone tightened, a mix of confusion and concern threading through her thoughts. “Of course.” Actually she wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but it didn’t matter at this point.

  She shared a look with Alex, whose presence felt like an anchor amid the currents of uncertainty.

  “Mom, we can talk about this when I see you,” she said softly, her mind already racing with questions and the desire to understand the choices that led her mother to such a solitary existence away from the home that belonged to her.

  “Loneliness isn’t just a word, Charlotte.” Elsie’s voice came through, tinged with a sorrow that seemed to echo. “It’s a constant companion that sits at your table, sleeps in your bed, and fills up all these empty rooms.”

  As her mother spoke, Charlotte paced the length of the dimly lit kitchen, each step bringing resolution to the past. She stopped at the window, peering out at the remnants of the storm that had sent the town reeling, the sky still gray, with the promise of more rain. She switched the phone to her other ear, her heart aching with a need to bridge the miles between her and Elsie.

  “But you have friends here. Peggy—isn’t she still at the Post Office?” Charlotte’s voice trailed off as she traced the pattern of droplets streaking down the window pane, her reflection a ghostly blur.

  “Friends?” There was a bitter chuckle from Elsie’s end of the line. “The folks around here made it clear over the years. A widow with opinions isn’t exactly welcomed with open arms.”

  Charlotte felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing the gradual isolation that had crept into her mother’s life. She had reconnected with her when she’d been pregnant with Emma. That seemed a lifetime ago. She thought of the times Elsie had FaceTimed with Emma. How did she not notice that her mother was so lonely?

  “Mom, I’m so sorry—” Her apology was cut short by the clattering of something outside, a reminder of the turbulent world beyond Elsie’s revelations. She took a deep breath, steadying herself against the weight of her mother’s truth and the storms they had yet to weather together.

  Charlotte took a deep breath. “Tell me about Dad. You’ve never told me how he died, only that you hated him, and he was a terrible husband.” This wasn’t the time for this conversation, but she had her mother on the phone, and she seemed open to her questions, so why not? She waited for her mother to answer.

  “First, you’ve no reason to be sorry. And I never told you about your father, because … he was plagued by depression. He would drink until he passed out. Then we would fight. I told him to leave; I didn’t want you to see what a piece of crap he was. I used a lot of foul language back in the day, and crap wasn’t what I said. Shit, I believe I called him.” She went on, “He was always threatening me. He never actually hit me, but he scared the hell out of me when he was in those horrible depressive states. Now, I know he was most likely a manic depressive or a bipolar type. I read now, and I’ve learned a few things that had I known back then—well, maybe his life would have turned out differently.”

  “How so?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the truth.

  “There was medication he probably needed, but neither of us bothered to seek professional help. I thought it was an embarrassment, and he refused to admit he had any sort of mental health issue.

  “There is no other way to tell you this. Your father took his own life,” her mother said, her voice lowering. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  All these years, she thought maybe her mother did something to him, or he was alive and her mother didn’t want her to know his whereabouts. Knowing this changed so much of her past, yet it explained why her mother, crass as she was then, hadn’t told her. She was too young and angry to handle such horror.

  “Mom, I’m driving to the high school now. I am bringing you home. For good.”

  Navigating through the debris-littered streets, they found their way to the high school that had served as a shelter for those displaced by the storm. The building loomed ahead, a beacon for weary souls seeking refuge. They exchanged a look of determination before stepping out of the truck.

  The school gymnasium was buzzing with voices. Children were playing, unaware of the danger that drove their family to this haven. To them, it was all an exciting adventure.

  “Mom,” Charlotte called out, her eyes scanning the sea of cots and huddled figures.

  Elsie emerged from the crowd, her face etched with fatigue but eyes alight with relief. As she wrapped her arms around Charlotte, an unspoken promise was exchanged—a vow to rebuild not just the physical foundations around them, but the emotional ones eroded by time and neglect.

  Together, they would face the aftermath of the storm, anchored by the strength of family and the resilience of a new beginning.

  Epilogue

  Charlotte inhaled deeply, tasting the salt-tinged air that swept up from the undulating sea to mingle with the earthy fragrance of the rainforest. A cacophony of bird calls and the distant rumble of a waterfall provided an exotic soundtrack to the moment she had been dreaming of since Alex first kissed her under the canopy of stars in these very wilds of Costa Rica.

  With each step she took down the aisle—a simple clearing in the lush jungle—her heart drummed a rhythm that harmonized with the rustle of leaves beneath the gentle tread of her bare feet. The silk hem of her flowing dress brushed against the forest floor, leaving behind delicate whispers as if the earth itself were offering blessings for her union.

  Elsie, her eyes glistening with the pride only a mother’s love could reflect, looped her arm through Charlotte’s. Her presence was both a comfort and a poignant reminder of all the winding roads traversed to bring them here. Elsie had stood steadfast through Charlotte’s tempestuous journey of self-discovery, and now she was here to give away her daughter, not as a transfer of care but as an affirmation of Charlotte’s choice.

  To their right, Emma, clad in a dress that seemed to borrow its hue from the vibrant orchids around them, grinned widely, her role as bridesmaid taken with a seriousness that belied her young years. She clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers tightly, her commitment to her duties unwavering, her joy infectious.

  Ahead, Alex awaited, his gaze fixed on Charlotte with an intensity that seemed to bridge the distance between them. His suit was casual yet elegant, fitting for the untamed beauty surrounding them. The soft light filtering through the green canopy bathed him in an ethereal glow, as though nature itself recognized the solemnity of the promise about to be made.

  As they reached the makeshift altar, where vines curled lovingly around wooden posts, Elsie gently released Charlotte’s arm. There was a brief squeeze, a silent exchange of love and encouragement before Charlotte stepped forward to join hands with Alex. Their fingers intertwined, strong and sure, a physical manifestation of the bond they shared.

  “Ready?” Alex whispered, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken vows.

  “Always,” Charlotte replied, her smile a beacon of the happiness that radiated from within.

  Charlotte’s heart danced to the rhythmic whisper of the Costa Rican rainforest as she stood before Alex, the man who had captured her soul in this untamed paradise.

  The air, thick with humidity and scented with wild jasmine, seemed to pause for a breath as she glanced at Phil and Sally Baker. They were the best wedding gift. Her mother invited them, and in turn, they brought Lynette along. Their eyes were tear-filled when Charlotte saw them. She let her tears flow, too. Today was a new start, with all the people she loved.

  As the officiant spoke of bonds and eternal companionship, Charlotte’s gaze wandered momentarily beyond the congregation, out to the forest. It was amidst that raw beauty that her and Alex’s love had first blossomed. And here today she knew happiness unfettered by past regrets or future uncertainties. It was as if the very essence of the place—the chorus of exotic birds, the playful breeze, the vibrant tapestry of flora—conspired to celebrate with them.

  “Charlotte”—Alex’s voice brought her back, steady and full of promise—“do you take me …”

  The words were familiar, yet in this setting, they took on a weight that anchored her to the moment. She drank in the sight of him, his face etched with sincerity and love so palpable it seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the earth itself.

  “I do,” she answered, the words carving themselves into the sacred space around them. Her voice was a soft murmur, but it carried, clear and true, across the gathering—a testament to a love that had endured, blossomed, and found its perfect home in the wilds of Costa Rica.

  Later, as Charlotte and Alex celebrated their union in the home they’d shared as friends so long ago during a shoot, the laughter of their closest friends and family still echoed through the air as Charlotte caught her daughter’s eye. Emma, skipped up to her with a grin that rivaled the brightness of the Costa Rican sun.

  “Momma,” Emma chirped, tugging at the hem of Charlotte’s flowing gown, “I’ve been thinking.”

  Charlotte bent down, the soft fabric cascading around her like a cloud. “What about, sweetheart?”

  “I love Nanna and Alex so much,” she said earnestly, her small hands reaching out to include both her grandmother and new stepfather in her wide, sweeping gesture. Her eyes sparkled with a mischief only an innocent child could possess. “I want a brother or a sister. You and Alex better hurry up! You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  Her words were met with a ripple of laughter from those who overheard. Alex let out a hearty chuckle, ruffling Emma’s hair affectionately. Elsie smiled warmly.

  Charlotte scooped Emma into her arms, spinning her once before setting her back down. “I can’t make any promises, but we’ll see what the future holds,” she laughed, her heart full.

  Emma nodded, satisfied with her mother’s answer, and danced off to continue to enjoy the festivities. Charlotte watched her go, a luminous smile on her lips. She glanced at Alex, his hand finding hers, their fingers intertwining naturally. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, grounding her in the now—a reminder that whatever complexities life had in store, they would navigate them together, with laughter and love.

  Recipe

  Emma’s Favorite Pasta Pomodoro with Garlic Rolls

  Pasta Pomodoro

  1 lb dried pasta (such as spaghetti or penne)

  ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

  4-5 garlic cloves, minced

  ½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

  2 lbs fresh tomatoes (plum or Roma), chopped

  2 T fresh basil leaves, chopped

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Grated Parmesan or Pecorino Romano cheese, for serving

  1. Cook the pasta according to package instructions. Drain and set aside.

  2. In a large skillet, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add minced garlic and red pepper flakes and sauté until fragrant, careful not to burn the garlic.

  3. Add the chopped tomatoes to the skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes break down and release their juices.

  4. Add the basil leaves and season with salt and pepper to taste. Let the sauce simmer for about 10–15 minutes.

  5. Add the cooked pasta to the skillet and toss to coat evenly with the Pomodoro sauce.

  6. Serve the pasta Pomodoro topped with additional fresh basil leaves and grated cheese.

  Garlic Rolls

  1 pound pizza dough

  4 garlic cloves minced

  ¼ cup butter, melted

  ½ teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon dried parsley

  1. Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C) and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

  2. Divide the pizza dough into 12 equal portions and shape them into balls.

  3. In a small bowl, mix together the minced garlic, melted butter, salt, and dried parsley.

  4. Brush each roll generously with the garlic butter mixture.

  5. Bake the garlic rolls in the preheated oven for about 15–20 minutes, or until they are golden brown and cooked through.

  6. Serve the hot garlic rolls alongside the pasta Pomodoro for a delicious meal.

  Look for the next book in #1 New York Times bestselling author Fern Michaels’s adventure-filled series set in a picturesque seaside town where sister and brother Madison and Lincoln Wainwright are discovering a community filled with mystery and intrigue.

  THE BOAT HOUSE

  An unexpected inheritance from their late uncle brought Madison Wainwright and her brother Lincoln to Smuggler’s Cove. But it’s the quirky, close-knit locals who’ve convinced them to stay for the summer. The little town may be worlds away from the privileged existence the siblings knew before their father was arrested for fraud, but here, they’ve found a sense of belonging.

  After renovating the dilapidated boat house that once served as a local marina for crabbers and clammers, Madison and Lincoln are settling in for a true Jersey Shore summer, complete with the town’s famous Seafood Festival. Visitors love learning about the area’s history—the tales of pirates and privateers, cryptic maps and buried treasure. Those stories seem like harmless fantasy until a seemingly worthless map is stolen from their boat house.

  Could their uncle’s rudimentary map show the true location of Captain Kidd’s treasure? Or was there another, more sinister motive behind the theft? As Madison and Lincoln dig deeper, they learn that the legends underpinning Smuggler’s Cove’s history may also have the power to tear it apart, unless they can quickly separate fiction from fact, and guilty from innocent.

 

 

  Fern Michaels, The Final Storm

 

 

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