“You are incredible, more incredible than I think you’ve ever given yourself credit for.” He paused, looking into her eyes meaningfully. “But between Tansy being so far away and this prospective new venture, there are a lot of things you still have to figure out. I believe in you, Renee. I just want you to believe in yourself.”

With a final nod of his head, he stood and gathered his things. He set a piece of paper on the front desk and walked out the front door.

It was the word of the day.

Meditative.

Spot on, as usual.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

​Mommy? Look.” Lincoln tugged on the sleeve of Sadie’s T-shirt. “See dat.”

“Hmm?” She’d been only half listening to his chatter. It was hard to focus on anything outside her Weather Channel app. “What’s up, sweet stuff?”

Lincoln ran to the other side of the living room. “Watch!” he shouted, trying to contort himself into a somersault but tumbling right into her grandparents’ steamer trunk.

Shit. She hadn’t gotten around to babyproofing its jagged edges just yet.

She sprinted over. Lincoln howled and there was already a small egg rising in the middle of his forehead. “Shhh…shhh.” She held him against her chest, rubbing his back and kissing the side of his neck. “It’s okay, baby. You’re all right.”

She carried him into the kitchen where she used one hand to root through the freezer, finally finding his Boo Boo Buddy ice pack under a half open bag of freezer-burned spinach.

“No touch!” Lincoln flinched when she pressed it against his forehead. “Ouch, Mommy! Too cold. Stop!”

“I’m sorry but it’s going to help you feel better.” Ugh. His egg was probably going to bruise, a visible testament to her forgetfulness. “How does a strawberry smoothie pouch sound? And some Daniel Tiger?”

Lincoln nodded somberly and Sadie gently wiped away his remaining tears. She kissed both cheeks and helped him snuggle up on the sofa surrounded by his favorite stuffed animals with his favorite smoothie variety in hand. She draped their softest throw blanket over his lap, tucking its edges around him.

“Better?” she asked.

“Betta,” he said.

She returned to her phone to check the progress of a storm making its way up the East Coast. It seemed impossible for a hurricane to ever hit Maine, much less Cranberry Cove. But when she’d stopped into Shopper’s Corner this morning, the nervous chatter had her thinking otherwise.

“Feels an awful lot like the spring of ’eighty-five,” Dot Turner had said, hefting a pack of water bottles into her cart. “Remember the lines at the hardware store? It was like a ghost town. Everyone boarding their windows up.”