Chapter 1
“Good news. You’re not having a heart attack.”
Hannah Brewster felt equally embarrassed and relieved. At the age of thirty, she’d doubted she was having a heart attack, but her friend Lucy had insisted that she go to the ER and get checked out.
They’d been sitting in Hannah’s Brooklyn apartment, drinking tea and chatting, when Hannah’s literary agent, who was also her aunt, had called to let her know that Hannah had hit the New York Times list. Her first book, a beachy romantic comedy, had been out for a few months and it was selling reasonably well for a debut book, but over the past two weeks word of mouth had kicked in and it went viral on TikTok. That sent sales soaring.
After she and Lucy were done screaming, Hannah’s first impulse was to call her mother and share the news. But that wasn’t possible. And just like that, her mood deflated like a balloon that someone had stepped on. Her mother had died six weeks ago and even though they’d known the lung cancer would take her, it was still hard to believe she was gone. And she and Hannah had been so close.
As Hannah sat in her tiny Brooklyn kitchen, sipping her tea, she’d felt her chest tighten so much that it was hard to catch her breath. Her chest ached and when she turned she felt a sharp pain under her ribs. She’d also felt a little dizzy and light-headed. She ate a cookie, hoping that might settle things. Eating was generally her solution to every problem—they called it comfort food for a reason.
But Lucy could tell something was wrong. When Hannah described her symptoms, Lucy immediately tried to get her to go to the ER.
“I’m too young for a heart attack,” Hannah had protested.
“Probably, but it happens. Let’s go get you checked out. You don’t mess around with chest pain.”
Hannah insisted on waiting for a half hour to see if the pain calmed down. But the more she focused on it, the more anxious she felt, and her mind went to her deadline, which she’d been stressing about all day as well. She was so behind on this book. It was supposed to be a spin-off, another romantic comedy with the heroine’s best friend, but Hannah couldn’t figure out what to do with her. Her mind and her page were a blank and as she thought about it another wave of pain tightened across her chest as she breathed in. Lucy saw her face, stood and grabbed her car keys, and this time Hannah didn’t protest. She let Lucy drive her to the nearest hospital.
In the ER, as soon as Hannah muttered the words “chest pain,” they brought her in immediately and did an EKG and checked her vital signs. An hour later she was brought into a room, had blood drawn, and was sent for a chest X-ray.
An hour and a half later, the doctor came in and asked what had brought her into the ER. Hannah told him her symptoms and he nodded.
“Your EKG, blood work, and X-ray all came back fine. Have you been under any stress lately?” The doctor was about her age, and his eyes were sympathetic as he asked his questions.
Hannah nodded. “My mother passed away recently, I just ended a two-year relationship, and I have a publishing deadline hanging over me and I can’t seem to write.”
He smiled and his eyes were kind as he spoke calmly, his tone immediately reassuring. “That sounds like the kind of perfect stress storm that can lead to a panic attack. And to costochondritis—that’s the chest pain you are feeling. It’s from stress and the tightening of your chest muscles. It can mimic the feeling of a heart attack. So, it’s a good thing you came in. You should always be evaluated for any chest pain.”
Hannah relaxed and some of her chest pain seemed to instantly ease. “Will this happen again? What do I do about it?”
“It’s possible. The best way to make sure it doesn’t happen is to alleviate your stress. Do whatever you can to lower your stress levels. I can write you a prescription for Ativan. It’s a mild relaxer that will calm your anxiety and ease your muscles. You can use it as needed, and just take it when you’re feeling more stressed than usual.”
Forty-five minutes later, Hannah was discharged with a prescription for Ativan and Lucy took her to Duane Reade on the way home to get it filled.
“Do you want me to stay?” Lucy asked as she pulled up to Hannah’s building.
Hannah shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m going to go crawl into bed and watch Netflix until I fall asleep. Thank you for making me go and for taking me there.”
Lucy pulled her in for a hug. “Rest up and call me tomorrow. I’m so glad it was nothing serious.”
* * *
Hannah made her way up to her third-floor apartment. Her place was small, like most apartments in the city, but it was cozy and it had high ceilings, which made it feel a bit more spacious. It also had a tiny deck, with just enough room for two small chairs and a table between them. In nice weather, she spent a lot of time on that deck. She’d been in Brooklyn for almost ten years and it was home.
When she’d gotten her advance for the first book, it was large enough that she’d quit her administrative job so she could write full-time, and she’d gone shopping at Pottery Barn for furniture to replace her eclectic collection of thrift shop finds. Now everything in her apartment was creamy white, from the slipcovered sofa and chair to her bedding and plush area rug in the living room. She’d painted her walls a pale gray, which overall gave her home a spa-like feel that also reminded her of Cape Cod, specifically Chatham, where she’d grown up.
Once she was settled in bed, with her comfiest sweats and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s almond milk Cherry Garcia ice cream, Hannah called her sister, Sara, who still lived in Chatham. Sara was five years older and had married Tom, her college boyfriend, right after graduation. Tom was a tech company executive and Sara was a stay-at-home mother with four boys under the age of twelve.
“Hannah, is everything okay?” Sara asked immediately. It was later than Hannah normally called and they’d already talked that morning. Sara often called after she’d gotten the boys off to school and had a few minutes to herself. But before Hannah could speak, Sara hollered at her oldest, “Cody, go ask your father, I am on the phone!” She turned her attention back to Hannah. “Sorry about that, I haven’t seen Cody for an hour and the minute I answer the phone he comes running. It has been a day. What’s up with you?”
Hannah told her what happened and the doctor’s direction to lower her stress levels.
Sara immediately suggested that Hannah should come home to Chatham for a while. “We have a guest room you could use. And I’d love to see you. But I don’t know that our house will be the most peaceful environment. I live with five loud, messy men.”
Hannah laughed. “You do. I appreciate the offer though.”
“You could always go to Mom’s house. It’s sitting there, empty.”
Hannah sighed. That wasn’t an option. The house she’d grown up in would definitely be quiet. But she wouldn’t be able to relax or to focus there. They’d agreed not to sell their mother’s house for a year. Neither one of them was ready to deal with it. Even though Sara was older and in many ways stronger, Hannah knew that her sister was having a hard time processing her grief, too. They’d both been close to their mother. Their parents had divorced twenty years ago and their father had remarried soon after. They rarely saw him.
“I can’t do it. It would be too sad to be there, surrounded by all of her things. It’s just too soon.”
“I understand. I couldn’t do it, either. What about Aunt Maddie? I bet she’d love the company.”
“That’s a thought. It would be great to spend some time in Chatham,” Hannah said. Just the thought of it eased her tension a bit. She’d always felt energized and restored being near the ocean. And Chatham not only was a beautiful Cape Cod town—it was where she’d grown up. It was home.
“Call her,” Sara said.
Hannah hung up the phone and was about to call her aunt when her phone beeped and it was her aunt calling. She answered the call and laughed. It had often happened with Hannah’s mother— they’d be talking on the phone, and either Sara or Aunt Maddie would beep in. Hannah could picture Aunt Maddie sitting in her sunroom, which overlooked the ocean. Her aunt was always so put together. She’d been a top literary agent for years even though she mostly worked from home. She always looked so stylish with her wavy brown bob that just hit her collarbone and her beach-toned Eileen Fisher linen shirts and pants, and she almost always wore a gorgeous diamond necklace. It had been Uncle Richie’s mother’s engagement ring, which she left to Aunt Maddie. It was vintage and very delicate with an oval diamond surrounded by smaller ones. It made for a beautiful necklace.
“Your ears must have been ringing. Sara and I were just talking and I said I was going to call you.”
“Is everything okay?” Her aunt immediately sounded worried. Hannah filled her in on the trip to the ER and the panic attack diagnosis.
Her aunt immediately sympathized. “I used to get panic attacks. Haven’t had one in years, but they can be very scary. Totally brought on by stress, which you’ve had your share of. Why don’t you come here for a few months? I’d love the company. The change of scenery might do you good.”
“I think I’d like to do that, if you’re sure it’s no trouble?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll have plenty of room here and won’t run into me unless you want to. The main guest room is at the opposite side of the house and it should be nice and peaceful for you. Come as soon as you want.”
Hannah felt more of her tension ease as the decision was made. “How about a week from this Friday? I’ll head down that weekend.”
“Perfect! We’ll relax on the deck and solve all of our problems with the help of a good chardonnay and some steamed lobster. Sound good?”
Hannah smiled. It sounded perfect. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter 2
“Mom! Dylan won’t give me the remote!”
Sara Ellis had her hands in a bowl of ground beef, making meatballs for supper, when the latest fight started. She hollered at her sons for them to figure it out and finished what she was doing. Once the meatballs were baking in the oven, she washed her hands and headed into the living room to play referee.
Cody, her oldest, at twelve, was sitting in her husband’s favorite chair, while Dylan, her ten-year-old, was sprawled on the leather sofa. Both of them were quiet now, watching Stranger Things on Netflix, which they both liked. Her younger two—Brad, who was eight, and Sam, the baby at six, were in the den playing a video game. The house was relatively calm for the moment.
She went back to the kitchen and started the spaghetti sauce, sautéing garlic and onions in a big pot, then added a can of crushed tomatoes, spices, and a splash of wine. When everything was just about ready, she poured a glass of wine, sat at the kitchen table, and opened her laptop, jumping online for a few minutes until her husband, Tom, got home.
Now that the kids were all in school full-time, Sara had been keeping her eye out for a part-time job. Before the kids came, she’d been a librarian and had loved it. But she’d been out of the workforce for so long that she didn’t know anyone anymore at the local library. And she hadn’t seen any openings posted online. She looked regularly and had even stopped in a few times over the past year to ask if they might know of anything coming up. But it seemed like no one ever left.
A quick search of the local job listings didn’t turn up anything new. Tom had a good job, as a VP for a software company, so she didn’t need to get just any job. She could hold out to make sure it was something interesting. Ideally she wanted something book or publishing related, but the local magazines and newspapers seemed to be cutting back instead of hiring. Sara couldn’t help but worry that maybe she’d missed her window where she could easily get a similar job again. What if no one would hire her now? The thought made her anxious. She needed to find something soon.
Tom came through the door a moment later. Sara kissed him hello and went in the kitchen to bring the food to the table. Twenty minutes later, her hungry men had inhaled their dinner and resumed their positions in front of the TV. She didn’t allow video games in the evening, so they were all in the living room, including Tom. By the time Sara cleaned up in the kitchen and joined them, Tom’s eyes already looked heavy and she knew he’d be fast asleep on the sofa by seven.
Before he drifted off, she asked him if he wanted to go to dinner with friends Friday night.
“Courtney and Kevin invited us to meet them for dinner at the Squire. There’s a band playing there that he likes. It could be fun.”
Tom nodded. “Sure, if we can get a sitter?”
“I don’t need a sitter,” Cody said. He had a point. Sara had been babysitting at eleven. But boys were not as mature at that age and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving him to watch the others. Not yet.
“Actually, that might not work out,” Tom said. “I have to go into the office on Saturday. And I’ll probably be working late on Friday to get ready for this presentation. It’s a big one.”
Sara sighed. She’d been so looking forward to going out for an evening and catching up with friends. She hadn’t gone out in ages.
“You could still go,” Tom offered. “I can bring my work home and lock myself in the den.”
It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. She’d wanted a date night. But maybe she would go anyway.
* * *
Maddie sat in her office, gazing out the window and watching the white-tipped waves crash against the shore as she took a call from one of her favorite editors.
“Do we have a chance of getting her? I don’t want to jump through the approvals hoops and get everyone excited if she already knows she wants a different house,” Alissa asked anxiously. She’d been a bridesmaid on the last three auctions that Maddie had set up for her authors.
“I can’t promise anything. But you have as good a shot as anyone else. This is all new to her and she doesn’t have any favorites. If you are up for a Zoom call, I think that could help.” The video calls gave each house a chance to get to know the author and to share their excitement and hopes for the book. Usually several people from each publishing house would attend the call, an editor or two and often someone from marketing.
“Perfect. Let’s do it. Thanks for your help.” Alissa hung up and Maddie turned her attention back to her inbox, which was overflowing, as usual. She’d just opened her next message when her phone rang again. This time it was the main number of the literary agency in Manhattan where she worked.
“This is Madeline Sharp.”
“Do you have a minute to chat, Maddie?” It was Kathryn, the head of the agency and Maddie’s direct supervisor.
Copyright © 2024 by Pamela Kelley
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