Page 1 of Meet Me on Lilac Lane

Chapter One

Under the beauty of the sun banking to the west in a brilliant May sky, Mia Franklin could almost, almost believe her life wasn’t about to fall apart. She grimaced and pushed harder on the pedals of her bike, the colorful two-child trailer attachment bouncing empty behind her.

In between the shops dotting Main Street on Jonathon Island, Mia caught glimpses of Lake Huron sparkling in the sun. If only each sparkle were a diamond, then her problems would be solved. She knew better though. Knew just how deadly that deceptive lake could be.

Patrick Kelley waved at her from the doorway of his bar and grill. “Hi, Mia.” The fifty-something’s wiry mustache curved up as he smiled. “Got Finn and Maggie back there? I just got a shipment of peanuts in the shell, and I know how much they like them.”

“Nope, sorry.” She slowed to a stop in front of Kelley’s. “I dropped them off at Mom and Dad’s.”

“Come by anytime. I’ll give them a bag. My treat.” He waved again before disappearing back into his building.

Sometimes her life felt like an art piece. She pictured a museum curator explaining to a tour group, “Observe this portrait of Mia Jonathon Franklin. Widowed two years ago at twenty-two, mother of two children…”

Everyone on this island had their own way of showing their pity for her plight.

Too bad pity didn’t pay the bills.

Her phone alarm buzzed; five minutes until her meeting at the bank.

A chilly breeze floated in off the water and between the buildings as she biked her way down the cobblestone street, ending up at a graying clapboard structure.

Her belly rumbled as she pushed her way into the bank. Crammed into the handbag slung over her shoulder were three months’ worth of overdue notice letters sent to her from Great Lakes National Bank. Three months where she’d needed to choose between paying the mortgage or clothing her growing kids. Three months of keeping the heat on. Three months of avoiding Mr. Michaelson on Sundays at church.

She hated that she even needed to make these choices. She shifted the bag on her shoulder, the strap rubbing her through her jacket. Dark paneling lined the walls of the bank’s interior.

“Mia, come on back.” Mr. Michaelson poked his head out of the office bearing his name.

Gray-haired, tall, and slim, he hadn’t changed much in the almost twenty years she’d known him. His thin lips didn’t curve into his normal, cheerful smile. Kyle, her sister’s husband, worked for this bank too. For a fleeting moment, Mia wished she’d scheduled this meeting with him at his branch in Port Joseph, but ferrying there and back would add so much extra time away from her kids. Not to mention the expense of the ferry ticket.

She hung her jacket on a coat hook in the corner and then settled into a chair in front of Mr. Michaelson’s desk. The cold plastic seat sent another shiver through her. The clean desk, organized within an inch of its life, contrasted sharply with the ratty, thrifted crossbody bag she set on it. Across from her, Mr. Michaelson tented his fingers.

“Look, Mia, let me just cut to the chase here. The board is pressuring me to foreclose on your loan.”

Mia sucked in a breath. It was one thing to know what was coming. Another thing altogether to have it said aloud. Her stomach clenched. “Please. You can’t do that.” She sat on the edge of her chair. Reaching into her bag, her fingers closed around a tattered envelope. Her last lifeline. She handed it to him. “Here, it’s not much, but I’ve been saving some back from my tips.” After Troy’s life insurance dipped into a four-digit number from the six it had started at, she’d taken a few shifts at Martha’s on Main. They hadn’t been able to give her regular hours, just some shift work when others had to be off island.

Mr. Michaelson flipped through the meager notes in the envelope. “This isn’t even enough to cover half a month.”

“You know how slow things have been around here since the pandemic.” Of course, things had never really recovered after the Grand Sullivan Hotel fire ten years ago. Mia’s heart squeezed as an image of that once majestic hotel flashed in her mind. They’d just recently broken ground on the project, and her cousin and best friend, Dani, had high hopes for a revitalized economy. But until then…“Martha has barely been able to give any of us hours. There’s just not enough tourists to support the work. Plus, it’s been so hard since my husband died. Now, the life insurance is running out—” She cut herself off, hating the whine that started to creep into her tone. She would not whine. Beg if she had to—she had her kids to think about after all—but never whine. This was her lot in life. She’d chosen it. She would live with it.

Mr. Michaelson nodded. “I’m so sorry again for your loss. I really liked Troy. He was on the track team with my son.” He fiddled with the envelope in front of him. “I certainly don’t want to be turning a widow out of her home. Especially one with little kids.”

She pictured Finn and Maggie’s sweet faces. Four-year-old Finn’s serious look, with his blond curls and brown eyes so like his father’s. And Maggie, two years younger, born just after Troy died, pixie-like with her darker blonde hair and blue eyes. She would do anything for them. Even beg.

“Just give me a few more weeks. Now that tourism season has started…” But what hope did she have, really?

Please, God. Let something come up.She thought back to the email she’d received from a friend in Traverse City offering her a job. She shoved the thought away. Last resort only. She wouldn’t tear her children from their home until it was her only option.

“Maybe you could ask your dad for help,” Mr. Michaelson said.

She stood abruptly; the chair rocked on its legs. “No. That is out of the question.” She hadn’t asked him for help since she’d arrived home, pregnant and unmarried at 19 years old, determined to show him that she and Troy could make it as teenagers with a child.

Even after marrying Troy, buying a house, and having two beautiful children, she couldn’t shake the disappointment that seemed to linger from him.

Mr. Michaelson held up a hand, palm forward. “Okay. Just a suggestion.” He rubbed his hand through his thinning hair. “Fine. I’ll give you one more month. I’ll hold off the board until…” He flipped a few pages on his desk calendar, “June 15th. Let’s plan to meet again then and see where you’re at.”

A wave of relief washed over her. “Thank you so much,” she said and turned to grab her jacket. Behind her, she heard the scratching of a pen across paper. She kept her back to the banker for a moment, blinking back tears.

After composing herself, she shoved her arms into her jacket then turned back to the desk. “Your kindness means the world to me.” She picked up her purse and slung it onto her shoulder.

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