Page 290 of The Havenport Collection

Sam

I flew into town as quickly as possible, grabbing what I could from my apartment and figuring out the rest on the way. I needed to be with my mom.

I knew when the phone rang in the middle of the night. I knew it in my bones before I even heard her tears on the other end. Grandma was gone.

At first, I didn’t even cry. I just quickly and efficiently made my arrangements—coordinating things at work, packing and booking the first flight to Boston I could find.

It wasn’t until I was in a cab on my way to the airport that I remembered I should tell Elias. We were technically dating, but it wasn’t serious. However, we did have plans for the weekend.

My fingers hovered over my phone. I really didn’t want to talk to him, not now and not really ever. So I opted to text instead.

My phone buzzed immediately.

Elias: Very sorry for your loss. See you when you get back.

His abrupt reply told me everything I needed to know about him. I felt relief. There was no time to unpack that now. Instead I scanned my emails, trying to distract myself from the weight of my grief which was slowly crushing my chest.

Traveling back was a blur, not just because I was sleeping on planes, jumping around time zones, and getting interrogated by customs officials at all hours, but because my brain was elsewhere.

It was with my grandmother, teaching me to bake cookies, helping me with my homework, smiling as she clapped enthusiastically at my piano recitals.

When I finally got to Havenport, I was struck by how different things felt. It had been four years since I had been back here, and although it looked the same, it felt vastly different.

Instead of crushing boredom and conformity, I found a thriving community. So many small businesses had opened. I saw diversity everywhere I looked.

When I drove to the store to pick up some bread, I passed an evening farmers’ market bustling with families and local merchants. It was disorienting.

In my mind, Havenport had been the small town that trapped my grandmother and my mother and that I had narrowly escaped.

But as I got older, so many people I knew started to come back to build careers and raise families here. This place had a lot going for it, that I was either too young or too immature to notice before.

Most notably, community. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people here. Sending flowers, food, handwritten notes, photos of my grandparents, and sharing sweet anecdotes.

I was dazed and numb and tired, but even I felt the love pouring out of this place. It was jarring. I didn’t have the emotional energy to question every assumption I had made over the years about my hometown. I needed to get through this funeral and then get back to my life in Europe.

I had only been at Globe Bank for six months.

Still proving myself, I didn’t want to make a bad impression.

The boys’ club of international finance was a tough nut to crack, and my do-gooder resume almost disqualified me from the job.

But I persevered, working longer and harder than everyone else and earning my spot on the team.

Did I sell out? Maybe. But I had been itching for something new, something challenging, and the money didn’t hurt.

Still paying off school loans and barely scraping by while trying to save the world got old after a decade.

I missed my economic development work. I missed connecting with real people and helping them discover tools to improve their lives and communities.

But I was thirty-five years old, and I needed to get serious about my future.

So I traded in my hiking boots for killer heels and started my desk life.

And now, I regretted it. It felt like every day, my tiny family was getting even smaller. For so long, it had been the four of us against the world. The Sullivans—scrappy underdogs who got stuff done.

I was lucky. I grew up surrounded by three people who loved me unconditionally every single day of my life. I had a grandma who spoiled me, a grandpa who could never do enough for me, and my mom who pushed me to grow and change and be my best.

But the house was empty now. Grandpa died three years ago and my mom moved out when I went away to college, buying herself a lovely waterfront condo. Now, without Grandma, the entire place felt totally different.

The kitchen table where I did my homework, the freezer in the garage where Gio and I used to sneak popsicles in the summer—these memories were not a comfort; they were a reminder of how my ambition and lack of gratitude took me away from the people that loved me.

Grandma had been fastidiously organized, so there were carefully prepared plans for her funeral and burial. My mother followed her instructions to the letter, making sure everything was to her specifications.

She was buried with my grandfather, in a plot they had chosen and purchased decades ago. We laid calla lilies, her favorite flower, for them both and sang her favorite hymns. It was all as it should be.

Except for me. The numbness had fully overcome me. The need to be organized and friendly and polite to everyone pushed all my feelings down so far I wasn’t sure I’d ever find them again.

That’s the thing about death—no one prepares you for the logistics of it all. The endless busywork. We were lucky that things were prearranged, but I still had to do all the paperwork. I still had to send out copies of her death certificate, close bank accounts, and water the damn plants.

So I worked. I made lists and changed passwords. I welcomed kind neighbors and friends, and I drafted thank-you notes. But I didn’t grieve. I didn’t cry. Instead, I shut down.

As instructed, my mother and I hosted a postfuneral gathering at my grandmother’s house. I had hoped this would be quick—people paying respects and then getting the hell out—but alas, this was Havenport, so any gathering went on for hours and hours.

By evening, I was completely wrung out. I excused myself. I could not talk to one more person without losing it. I needed silence, at least for a few minutes. I did my duty. And now I wanted to be alone.

I headed into my grandparents’ room, breathing in the smell of grandma’s perfume that lingered in the air and taking comfort in the old oak furniture and the neat blue quilt. I sat on the bed and put my head in my hands, attempting to take deep breaths.

It was then I noticed a shiny silver frame on the nightstand.

It was me, my mom, and Grandma, all standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Grandma was wearing large sunglasses and had a silk scarf wrapped around her long neck, looking like a true Parisian. Her smile was bigger than the Eiffel Tower itself.

After Grandpa died, Grandma lamented that they never took the trip the Paris they had always dreamed of.

So I drained my savings account and bought tickets for the three of us to meet there.

We spent ten days traipsing around the Left Bank, eating croissants and soaking up every detail.

My grandma had been in heaven, so energized she didn’t want to go to bed at night.

I hugged the frame to my chest, trying to push back on the guilt that was washing over me. I should have visited more. I should have traveled with them. They gave me everything they could every day of their lives. I hadn’t given enough back to them.

The tears came fast and fierce, rocking through me as I lay on the bed with the picture frame in my hands. I would never get those years back. I ran out of this town at twenty-one, so desperate to get away that I left the most important people in my life.

And like the amazing humans they were, they were thrilled for me and encouraged me, never once asking me to compromise my dreams.

And so I kept crying. Letting everything out. The grief. The guilt. And the regret. It was pouring out of me, so much that I couldn’t control the sobs.

I heard a faint knock on the door.

I picked my head up and saw Gio leaning in. I lay back down, unable to speak, and he came in, quietly shutting the door behind him.

He sat on the bed and pulled me into his arms, letting me cry without saying a single word.

He just held me, steady and strong, as I processed and grieved.

Gio had been there every step of the way.

Calling me as soon as he heard, picking me up at the airport, and bringing over tables and folding chairs the night before.

He had been a rock, strong and silent, holding my mother’s hand and passing her tissues during the ceremony.

Like everyone else in my life, I didn’t deserve him.

We sat there for minutes, no, maybe hours. It wasn’t clear. But he held me until I couldn’t cry any more. Until all the feelings had made their way to the surface.

I blew my nose for the thirtieth time, and Gio tipped my chin up. “I think I need to get you out of here.”

I shook my head. “I can’t leave. Everyone is still here.”

“It’s been hours. They should go home already.” He looked at his watch. “How about this. We can sneak out to the tree house. I’ll steal some wine.”

I wiped the mascara from under my eyes. “What is this? High school?”

He winked at me; we had spent a lot of time in the tree house consuming stolen alcohol in high school.

“Besides, I doubt it’s safe. No one has been up there in a decade.”

“Not true. I fixed it up.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was over here cleaning the gutters for your grandma and I noticed some of the boards were rotted. You know me; I like to fix stuff, so I made some upgrades.”

My brain could not compute this information. “Wait. You cleaned the gutters?”

He shrugged.

“What else?”

“Not much.”

“Gio. What else did you do for Grandma?”

He looked at his hands. “Snow removal, planted some shrubs, rebuilt the deck, just small stuff.“

I stood up, reeling. Grandma needed help and I didn’t even know it. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this. I would have done something.”

“This is so not a big deal, Sam. Your grandfather taught me everything I know. He taught me how to be a man along with how to fix things and care for a home. After he died, I knew I had to step up and help your grandma.”

“Because I wasn’t here to do it,” I said. The tears started flowing again, and he pulled me close, stroking my hair.

“No. Because I wanted to. It didn’t matter where you were or you weren’t. I was going to help her out and I was happy to do it.”

I continued to cry, feeling even worse.

“And in the process, I fixed up the tree house. I had a feeling you might need it someday.”

I looked up at him, so grateful for his calming presence. “I need it now,” I whispered.

“So let’s get out of here.”

We crept downstairs, trying to avoid the townsfolk. Gio ran interference, distracting Jackie and Joe from the diner while I snuck out the back door. He met me ten minutes later, holding a bottle of Chardonnay and a bag of tortilla chips.

“Best I could do.” He shrugged.

“Looks good to me.”

I took off my black heels and climbed up the old ladder. In my black shift dress it wasn’t easy, but I made it up, taking the snacks and then watching Gio climb up with ease.

It was just like when we were kids—except now we were thirty-five.

“How did you do that so easily?” I gawked. Gio had always been athletic, but I couldn’t help but notice how obscenely broad his shoulders had become.

He shrugged. “I work out a lot with Matteo.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Gimme the wine, Rossi.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We sat side by side, passing the bottle of wine back and forth. We talked about everything and nothing. Laughing and reminiscing, until the fog of grief began to lift.

After a few hours, he gave me his jacket and pulled me close. I sat, with my head on his chest, protected from the world for just a brief moment.

I was overcome by grief and confusion and gratitude. For this man and this town and the wonderful life my grandparents gave me. I didn’t want to go back to Geneva. I didn’t want to go back to work. I wanted to stay here in Gio’s arms forever.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said softly.

I felt him sigh. At this point, he was used to me leaving. “Can’t you stay any longer?”

I shook my head. In theory I could. I didn’t need to be back at work right away. But I knew I had to get on a plane as soon as I could. I had to get out of here. Because if I didn’t get on that plane tomorrow, I might never leave.