Chapter 24: On Purpose

At noon on Saturday, the whole harbor was on the pier.

The wind had dropped, and the water lay flat and bright under the boats.

Dot had set up the pie stand at the end of the planks.

It was the same red-striped table where I'd stood three years running to get my ribbon.

She wore her good dress, with flour still on one sleeve.

"I'm not crying," she told me. "It's the salt."

"You're crying."

"It's the pie."

Davis stood near the rail in a clean cardigan, with a folder under his arm.

He had been told to bring it.

Posy wore the yellow raincoat over a white dress.

She carried a basket of petals in one hand and her rabbit in the other.

"I'm in charge of the flowers," she informed me. "And the bunny."

"You're doing wonderfully."

"I know."

Declan stood at the other end of the pier in a gray suit with his hands clasped in front of him.

He looked as nervous as he had at City Hall seven years ago.

Margaret was not there.

She had sold the house in Boston and gone south.

She had not written, and nobody on the pier said her name.

The harbor had come for the pie.

And for me.

I walked down the planks with Posy scattering petals ahead of me, one at a time.

A few landed in Davis's hair.

He smiled at me when I passed.

It was a real smile, and a tired one, and I squeezed his arm.

When I reached the end of the pier, Declan took a breath.

"Steph," he began.

"Hush."

"You said I wasn't to ask."

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