Chapter One
MARLOWE
Saying goodbye to her sister in the Traverse City airport was hard for Marlowe Quinn. Christmas with her two sisters, Samantha and Izzy, along with their Aunt Cate had been wonderful. What fun they’d had reminiscing! In the past, planning a holiday together had never worked out. This year Aunt Cate had done some finagling. The accidental overdue reunion had brought back tons of good memories, the kind that keep families together. Their giddy New Year’s resolution to relocate to Charlevoix, Michigan, pointed to more excitement to come. Changes loomed on the horizon for everybody. But was Marlowe ready?
Turning away from Sam and heading for her gate. Marlowe was blinded by tears. How ridiculous. Their plans felt right. Difficult, but right. She’d upend her successful real estate career in Naples, Florida, and start over in northern Michigan. Sam and Aunt Cate would do the same. Izzy was already firmly entrenched in Charlevoix with her successful café, Coffee and Cupcakes.
Starting over.The words felt like cold coffee in her stomach.
As she sat staring out the window at the snow along the runway, Marlowe wondered if she could carry through on herpromise.What is stopping you? Wasn’t she the one who always forged ahead? Years ago she’d left her midwestern family to build a life in Florida. Her hard work had brought success. Was she ready to cast all that aside? Could she pull it off and build a new life at this age?
Taking the safety instructions from the seat pocket in front of her, she stared at the pictures. Maybe that’s what she needed right now. An oxygen mask. Her chest was heaving. Was she hyperventilating? Marlowe jammed the plasticized folder back where it belonged. This feeling in her chest sure felt like panic.
What was she afraid of? This year she’d turn forty. Marlowe was a far cry from the enthusiastic young woman who’d graduated from Florida State and decided to make the sunshine state her home. Looking out at the frozen mounds of snow, she wondered what she’d been thinking, cooking up those crazy plans with her family. It was twenty-two degrees in Michigan right now. Over the two-week vacation her tan had faded. Marlowe held out one hand. Were those blue veins new? Had they popped up overnight? Cripes, old age was bearing down. Where had she ever gotten the idea that she could start over at this stage of her life?
Travelers were piling into the plane. Overhead bins snapped open and closed. As they plowed past First Class, people unzipped jackets and tugged off scarves. They were all getting ready to land in warmer weather in Atlanta, where she’d grab her connection to Naples. That’s why she was dressed in her white jeans and light-weight turquoise sweater. The jeans had brought smiles in northern Michigan, where everyone dressed in warm layers and subdued colors, like forest green, classic navy and bark brown. When it came to her clothes, she hadn’t come prepared for all the snow.
Over the holidays she’d discovered her father’s old snow boots in the attic. They’d felt clunky but they’d been her dad’s.Her parents had been gone a long time but the oversized black boots brought everything back. How Dad sang off tune while he shoveled the steps. How he’d always left the wet boots in the mud room, where the snow dissolved into puddles. That mess used to make their mom so mad. “Eric Quinn, what are you teaching your girls?” Hands on hips, Mom would stand in the doorway, staring down at the wet boots and melting snow.
“Oh, Jo.” Dad would put his arms around Mom and nuzzle her neck until she giggled and swatted his hands away. Marlowe and her sisters would watch her frown melt like the snow. “I’ll clean up,” Dad would say. “You’re right. You always are.”
Dressed in her dad’s boots, Marlowe had shoveled snow off the long driveway with her sisters. Those light-hearted moments had been precious during her visit to Sunnycrest. They brought her parents back again. Maybe that’s why Marlowe had quickly supported this crazy plan of relocating. Sunnycrest was where the memories of her parents were always so happy. It had been a long time since she’d visited the family summer home. Now Marlowe’s toes curled in her Gucci ankle boots.
Her sisters and aunt wouldn’t believe the indecision tearing at her stomach. They saw her as the bold middle child who always found her way. After college she’d never returned to their Naperville home outside Chicago. But she’d been a lot younger when she started her career in Naples. Was Marlowe going to chuck all that grinding work to return to her roots in Charlevoix? The harsh reality of starting a career over in a small town pressed her into the cushy seat. Did she have enough of what it takes to begin again?
Maybe. Her family would be there. That is, if Samantha and Aunt Cate followed through. Just thinking about them brought a timid warmth seeping through her, right down to her frozen toes.
“Champagne? A soft drink?” A flight attendant appeared with a bright smile. How did she keep those shoulder length curls in place under that cap?
“Champagne would be perfect.” She’d celebrate her future, not shrink from it. Pushing down on the arm rests, she sat up.
Young and slim, the attendant pivoted and trotted back to the small kitchen. Her curls bounced past her shoulders with authority. Marlowe loved the untested spirit of the younger woman. Everything lay before her, while forty was looming for Marlowe. Wasn’t that the point in life when a woman should be comfortably settled with a husband and family? She wasn’t. Shifting restlessly, she ran her thumb over her empty ring finger.
On New Year’s Eve, the four of them had toasted their new plans in front of the fireplace at Sunnycrest. Marlowe needed to tap into that vacation energy. Tightening her grip on the armrests, she reached for new resolve. But she found only an unsettling vacuum. What the heck was she going to do?
Other travelers kept boarding, moving into economy class with bulging shopping bags. The First Class seats were almost filled. A well dressed older woman with a monogrammed carryon stopped at Marlowe’s row. Heaving her suitcase into the luggage carrier above, she didn't wait for help. The elegantly scripted monogram reminded Marlowe of her Aunt Cate.
The woman looked interesting. Marlowe loved her over-sized, red-rimmed glasses and an equally outrageous primary-colored necklace over her white turtleneck. Her silver gray hair was cut into a sassy short hairdo. This seatmate might be better company than a paunchy male business executive who might hit on her after a couple of drinks. That had happened more than once. Shrugging off her tailored three-quarter length black cashmere coat, the woman folded it neatly and stowed it above with her suitcase. By that time the flight attendant had returned with Marlowe’s champagne.
“I'll have one of those too, please,” the woman said crisply, taking the aisle seat and turning to Marlowe with a broad smile. “Good morning.”
“Glad to leave the ice behind?” Marlowe never waited for someone else to start the conversation.
“Absolutely. San Diego can be very pleasant this time of year.” The diamond flashing on her left hand was huge and, like her smile, seemed genuine. “Gabby Driscoll,” she said, as if that name had purchasing power.
“Marlowe Quinn.” Her shoulders relaxed.
The flight attendant quickly returned with another champagne flute, and Gabby lifted hers in Marlowe's direction. “Here's to the new year, Marlowe. May whatever you wish for come true.”
“To the new year.” If only this woman knew of the impossible dreams Marlowe had been spinning with her sisters and aunt, she might laugh.
“So what brought you to the frozen north for the holidays?” Gabby didn’t waste any time with small talk.
Marlowe's surprised laugh shot champagne up her nose. “How did you guess that I don't live up here?” She blotted her nose while the flow of passengers slowed. Marlowe remembered the days of economy and then business class. She’d worked hard for this spacious seat.
“I’ve lived all my life in Petoskey.” Gabby named a town just up the road from Charlevoix. “I know everyone, and you definitely are not local. First of all, there’s your tan.”
Marlowe chuckled. “Which is fading fast.”
