Even with the provisions in place, George had managed to burn through the trust by their tenth wedding anniversary with home improvement projects executed by the most expensive contractors in town. “This roof was worth every dime. It will last fifty years,” George had promised at the time, not anticipating Hurricane Sandy and other extreme weather events. Still, 4701 Water Street increased in value, as the whole town benefited from the explosion of wealth in the area in recent decades. The truth was that the house was their financial salvation—but they couldn’t list it for two more years.

Abigail prayed every night they could make it through the next twenty-four months, sell for over the asking price, and move to a resort community near Savannah. Or Hilton Head. Or anywhere with low taxes and an even lower cost of living. Abigail and George could leave the Nutmeg State with their heads held high, as if this were their plan all along.

This engagement had given her renewed hope that could happen. Maybe if she could convince Chase and Penny to have the wedding in Fair Harbor, there would be press and photos and the house would sell itself at top dollar. It looked gorgeous in the summer with the garden in full bloom and the view. No one would even notice the fading paint job. Until then, she would pinch her pennies, keep making excuses, and stash away those paychecks from the BRSC in what she thought of as her slush fund bank account.

She applied for the job as a front desk clerk as a combination whim and act of desperation. She needed a break from life at home with George and she couldn’t afford to go anywhere or do anything. The initial Conversational Italian class beget Zumba beget Morning Joe and Mojo, or Mojo Mojo, as the regulars called it, a class where they drank coffee, walked on the treadmill, and talked.

The more time she spent at the senior center, the more at home she felt. Her fellow seniors had so much to share, from unusual recipes to off-the-wall medical advice to stories about their personal lives that bore no resemblance to her own life whatsoever. These people had messy, complicated, loud lives, so different from the vanilla existence of her neighbors in Fair Harbor. And she loved being around them.

When Cecily, the sharp young director of the center, interviewed her for the front desk position, it was a match made in heaven. Cecily had confidence and credentials, and Abigail wanted to be in her orbit. Even if it was at fifteen dollars an hour for fifteen hours a week. In return, Cecily praised Abigail as a “steady, mature presence.” Exactly the role she wanted to fill.