When the rain ends, p.1
When the Rain Ends, page 1
PRAISE FOR MARY ELLEN TAYLOR
“Mary Ellen Taylor writes comfort reads packed with depth . . . If you’re looking for a fantastic vacation read, this is the book for you!”
—Steph and Chris’s Book Review, on Spring House
“A complex tale . . . grounded in fascinating history and emotional turmoil that is intense yet subtle. An intelligent, heartwarming exploration of the powers of forgiveness, compassion, and new beginnings.”
—Kirkus Reviews, on The View from Prince Street
“Absorbing characters, a hint of mystery, and touching self-discovery elevate this novel above many others in the genre.”
—RT Book Reviews, on Sweet Expectations
“Taylor serves up a great mix of vivid setting, history, drama, and everyday life.”
—Herald Sun, on The Union Street Bakery
“A charming and very engaging story about the nature of family and the meaning of love.”
—Seattle Post-Intelligencer, on Sweet Expectations
THE WORDS WE WHISPER
“Taylor expertly employs the parallel timelines to highlight the impact of the past on the present, exploring the complexities of familial relationships while peeling back the layers of her flawed, realistic characters. Readers are sure to be swept away.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A luscious interweaving of a spy thriller and a family saga.”
—Historical Novels Review
HONEYSUCKLE SEASON
“This memorable story is sure to tug at readers’ heartstrings.”
—Publishers Weekly
WINTER COTTAGE
“Offering a look into bygone days of the gentrified from the early 1900s up until the present time, this multifaceted tale of mystery and romance is sure to please.”
—New York Journal of Books
“There is mystery and intrigue as the author weaves a tale that pulls you in . . . this is a story of strong women who persevere . . . it’s a love story, the truest, deepest kind . . . and it’s the story of a woman who years later was able to right a wrong and give a home to the people who really needed it. It’s layered brilliantly, and hints are revealed subtly, allowing the reader to form conclusions and fall in love.”
—Smexy Books
OTHER TITLES BY MARY ELLEN TAYLOR
Winter Cottage
Spring House
Honeysuckle Season
The Words We Whisper
The Brighter the Light
Union Street Bakery Novels
The Union Street Bakery
Sweet Expectations
Alexandria Series
At the Corner of King Street
The View from Prince Street
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2023 by Mary Burton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542034531 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781542034524 (digital)
Cover design by Ploy Siripant
Cover image: © Alliance Images / Shutterstock; © NikonShutterman / Getty
CONTENTS
START READING
CHAPTER ONE DANI
CHAPTER TWO BELLA
CHAPTER THREE DANI
CHAPTER FOUR JACKSON
CHAPTER FIVE BELLA
CHAPTER SIX DANI
CHAPTER SEVEN BELLA
CHAPTER EIGHT DANI
CHAPTER NINE BELLA
CHAPTER TEN DANI
CHAPTER ELEVEN DANI
CHAPTER TWELVE BELLA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN DANI
CHAPTER FOURTEEN DANI
CHAPTER FIFTEEN BELLA
CHAPTER SIXTEEN DANI
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN BELLA
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN DANI
CHAPTER NINETEEN JACKSON
CHAPTER TWENTY DANI
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE DANI
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO DANI
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE BELLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR DANI
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE BELLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX DANI
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN BELLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT DANI
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE DANI
CHAPTER THIRTY JACKSON
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE BELLA
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO DANI
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE DANI
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR DANI
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE BELLA
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX DANI
EPILOGUE DANI
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Do not squander time. It is the stuff life is made of.
—Benjamin Franklin
CHAPTER ONE
DANI
Outer Banks, North Carolina
Friday, June 2, 2023
11:00 a.m.
Blue.
Describing the colors of the Currituck Sound had once been a complicated business for Dani Manchester. On sunny days, she’d have spoken of navy hues streaked with teal bands. Or traces of cobalt mingling with indigo. Sapphire marbling ribbons of cerulean. On overcast mornings, she’d have searched the greens on her mental color wheel for olives, emeralds, and jades. And then there were the undertones. Black. Gray. Avocado.
Blue was a fine color. Nothing wrong with blue. But as a descriptor of this body of water, it fell flat.
Today as she drove across the Wright Memorial Bridge toward her new life on the mainland, she scrambled through her adjectives, hoping to translate the clear sky and calm waters into the familiar. But today, all the magical descriptors escaped her. And the only word that came to mind was “blue.” No vibrant displays, no heart-pounding bursts, no exotic tints.
Just blue.
Light. Clarity. Vision. They were her stock-in-trade as an artist and gallery owner. And they were all fading.
Dani’s carefully curated future had been rewritten a year ago by a doctor in Norfolk, Virginia, who’d told her she was slowly losing her sight. Retinitis pigmentosa was what the doctor called it. A genetic disease that in her case had led to the slow narrowing and darkening of her vision. Her doctor had likened her field of vision to the interior of a pipe. For now, the cylinder was almost at full capacity, but it would narrow to the circumference of a straw. It could be years (number undetermined) before she lost her vision completely. Or it might all vanish next fall.
She’d made it through the tourist season last year at her Duck, North Carolina, art gallery because she was so familiar with every turn in the road, all the street crossings and speed limit signs and parking lot entrances. During last winter’s lull, for the first time in her life, she’d dreaded the arrival of the spring and summer tourists. The season always brought vacationers who crossed Duck Road without looking, cycled a knife’s edge from traffic, or didn’t anticipate cars pulling out of driveways like hers.
The air tightened as the radio played the most recent Taylor Swift song. A glance in her rearview mirror confirmed that her daughter, Bella, outfitted with wireless earbuds, was not listening as her head leaned against the window. Bella’s expression was lost and forlorn. The last link to her old life was ending. The child was convinced she’d never be happy again. Maybe it would take time, but Dani hoped that at some point they both would look back on this day as a good day.
Sitting next to Bella was their eighteen-month-old dog, Rosie, a shepherd mix who’d been pocket size when they’d picked her out. She now weighed sixty-five pounds. Rosie looked out the window, alert. This was her first trip across the big bridge and the Currituck Sound, and she was, as always, excited.
Bella had a right to believe her world was crumbling. And it had nothing to do with this move.
Her father, Dani’s ex-husband, had been killed in a car accident four months ago. A restaurateur opening two new establishments, Matthew Peterson had been working twenty hours a day and doing the work of five. Whenever they spoke, Dani always heard him moving around a restaurant kitchen, clanging pots and pans, and issuing orders to his staff. If he wasn’t in the kitchen, he was driving to the other location or a farmers’ market. All the scraps of his time went to Bella, and there was never a doubt that Matthew adored his only child. However, the time he cobbled together was often fragmented by tasks on a never-ending to-do list.
Just after 2:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, Matthew had been driving home from his Kill Devil Hills restaurant to his flattop house in Southern Shores. The drive was seven miles from end to end. No traffic. No rain. A clear night sky. But the police report assumed he’d fallen asleep at the wheel a mile from his house. The car’s black box indicated he’d never hit the brakes, and the car had veered off the road and slammed into a cement wall rimming a utility pole. He was killed on impact.
Bella had been crushed by Matthew’s death. The girl had adored her father, and his passing had turned her life upside down. Every day when they drove toward Bella’s school in Kill Devil Hills, they traveled through Southern Shores past the spot where M atthew had died. The third time Dani drove by, Bella burst into tears and was inconsolable. Dani had called the school and told them she was keeping Bella home that day.
Though Dani and Matthew had been divorced for over ten years, they’d remained friends. They’d married when he was nineteen and she was eighteen. She’d been four months pregnant with Bella. Neither of them had the first clue how to be married, let alone be parents. Fueled by frustration and fear, their immaturity resulted in a marriage fraught with fights, long silences, and finally separate beds. Thankfully, when they’d split, the distance and space allowed them to foster a friendship that enabled them to parent their daughter and give her a balanced, good life.
Dani had loved their house in Duck and her art gallery located two blocks away. She’d built a happy life for Bella and herself on that thin ribbon of land, and she’d always pictured herself staying until Bella went to college. Then, who knew what she’d do. Maybe explore some of that travel she’d longed for as a teenager.
The best-laid plans . . . as her father had used to say.
The roads on the mainland might have been unfamiliar, but at least they’d be wider, a little straighter, and wouldn’t transport heartbreaking memories.
Dani’s smile masked her unease as she glanced in the rearview mirror. “This move is going to be great, Bella.”
Rosie barked, but Bella continued to stare out her window.
When Rosie woofed again, Bella removed her earbuds. “What?”
“I said, this move is going to be good for us.”
“If you say so.” Earbuds reinstalled, she shifted her gaze to the waters whizzing past.
Dani gripped the wheel and pressed the accelerator. She hadn’t lost her mind. She had not.
Six months ago, on one of Dani’s frequent trips to the Norfolk eye center, she’d been driving up Route 158 toward the Virginia line. It was a trip she’d made countless times. But on that day, she’d noticed a FOR SALE sign planted in front of three grain silos and the adjoining farmhouse. For years she’d admired the property and considered it a charming nod to the past.
The FOR SALE sign had nagged and distracted her during her eye doctor’s appointment. On her return trip home on that cold January day, she stopped and pulled into the long graveled parking lot connecting the storage towers and the house. The wind whipped off the sound as she stared at the grain towers and gray-white house with faded blue shutters. She nestled deeper into her coat and walked the property, peeked into the house’s dirty glass windows, and then strode toward the silos, covered with tall vines and weeds.
She felt a connection. She loved the faded lettering painted on the silo, which read NELSON’S, and the wide patch of land that stretched to the house and the sound. Her heartbeat accelerated as she rattled the main silo’s door, discovered it open, and glanced into dark compressed air that smelled of fermenting wheat. She didn’t see ruin; she imagined a new art gallery on the sound.
It made no sense to buy the property. Purchasing the place would require a second mortgage on her house and gallery. Though the sale price could be negotiated down, the renovation costs could easily spiral out of control. Stupid idea. Foolish. Only a fool would leave behind the town of Duck for farmland.
Still, the pull was so strong she called the Realtor, Juniper Jones, who joined her on the property fifteen minutes later. Juniper was a bright young woman with a cloud of red curls framing her round face. Freckles arched over a pug nose. Full lips were quick to smile. Her eyes radiated an infectious excitement.
The farmhouse’s hardwood floors were stained, rose wallpaper peeled off plaster walls, the back windows leaked, and jade kitchen appliances dated back to the 1970s. The renovation costs ticked higher.
Stupid idea. Foolish.
Dani made a lowball offer that day, never expecting it to be accepted. But by the end of the week, the buyer agreed to a slightly higher price.
Juniper recommended a contractor whom Dani had never heard of before. And having grown up in her father’s construction business, she knew almost all the folks who wielded a hammer near the Outer Banks. Still, she met with the contractor, found him steady and direct, and called his references. Impeccable. Straight shooter. Gifted. The reviews glowed.
She accepted his bid, and suddenly panic, fear, and exhilaration spun into one ball. Her life was turning to an exciting page. Maybe this wouldn’t be the big-city living she’d once dreamed of, but it would be a step in a new direction. Managing two properties would be difficult, but she could do it.
And then Matthew had died.
After Bella’s meltdown in the car on the way to school, Dani had decided her daughter needed a change as much as she did. They’d move from the Outer Banks to the mainland as soon as the school year ended.
Dani and Bella had both lived all their lives on the narrow barrier island, and there was a time when weeks or months could pass before she “crossed the bridge” to the mainland. At one time, there’d never been a good reason to move away from the Atlantic Ocean’s breaking waves.
As Dani neared the end of the bridge, light glittered on the water as if tossing her a final wink. Bella shifted and twisted in her seat. Dani studied Bella’s stoic expression in the rearview mirror.
Bella’s outward calm worried Dani. A kid that age should be shouting, screaming, and voicing all the things she didn’t like about leaving the home she’d known. But Bella had never argued or complained when Dani told her she wanted to sell and move.
“That place is going to miss us,” Bella said.
Dani released a breath. Her daughter’s silence was more worrisome than shouting or crying. “We’re not going that far.”
As the crow flies, that was true. If they could sprout wings and fly from Duck to the mainland, it would have been less than five miles. But in a car, the trip in light traffic took nearly an hour.
“When will our furniture arrive?” Bella asked. “The truck pulled out last night, so it should be there by now, right?”
“They had another stop to make.” Some other resident leaving the beach would fill the remainder of the truck with their furniture. “Once they pack up and drop off the other people’s stuff, they’ll find the new house sometime tomorrow or the next day.”
“And tonight, we do the camping thing.”
Dani had brought two blow-up mattresses to go along with their sheets and pillows. They could’ve gotten a hotel room, but she didn’t want to bump around a strange space with a dog and child when the farmhouse was waiting. Best to minimize the changes to the single Big One.
“It’ll be fun.” Dani grinned, trying to hook Bella’s evasive gaze again. “We can order pizza tonight or get hamburgers. Roast marshmallows.”
Bella fiddled with her earbud and settled it deeper in her ear canal. “Yeah, sure. Sounds great, Mom.”
The car’s tires rolled off the bridge onto Route 158, and they passed a collection of restaurants, gas stations, and furniture stores. Dani kept smiling. “If that food doesn’t appeal, then we can do something different.”
“No, that all sounds good, Mom.” A smile flickered at the edges of Bella’s lips. “Seriously. That’s perfect.”
“I’m excited for you to see the silos. The place has changed a lot since the one time you saw it in January,” Dani said.
Dani had been back to the property multiple times since the renovations began, and in the last week, while Bella was in school, she’d driven each day with a carload of items. Wakeboards, a few lawn chairs, kitchen pots and pans, paintings, and the antique cash register from her gallery. All the trips had blurred into one endless car ride.
Dani had tried to talk to Bella about Matthew’s death. She’d lost her own mother when she was eight, not to a sudden accident but to a fast-moving cancer. She’d wanted to say that life would go on. That one day she wouldn’t cry daily, that she’d be able to pull in a full breath without it hurting, and that she could look up at a bright-blue sky and feel hopeful.
But each time she opened this line of conversation, Bella, with watery eyes glistening, would grin, kiss her on the cheek, and tell her she was okay.
Bella’s smile perfectly reflected Dani’s grin, refined after her mother’s death. Seeing as crying didn’t fix or change anything, Dani had reasoned that if she was smiling, she wouldn’t see pity reflected back in anyone’s eyes or suffer through awkward attempts at conversation. Her father and brother wouldn’t look as troubled. Just as her mother had been, Dani was determined to look happy, even if she was scared. Terror hid well behind pleasant expressions, makeup, and killer clothes.
