Page 52 of The Maine Event

I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from the image. “They really were,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “Your dad… He loved your mom with everything he had. And I can see that love reflected in everything he’s done here.”

Chloe smiles, leaning her head against my arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Rachel,” she says. “I know it means a lot to my dad to have you with us today.”

I wrap an arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I say, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

THIRTEEN

The warm glow of string lights illuminates the garden path as Dan and I slip away from the chatter of the guests who have now migrated into the house. A gentle breeze carries the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and crickets serenade us from the shadows. I’m grateful for a moment of respite with him.

We walk side by side, our shoulders almost touching, until the boathouse comes into view at the water’s edge. In the moonlight, it looks like something out of a painting—rustic wooden beams, large windows reflecting silvery ripples, a freshly painted exterior that will protect it from salt and age for years to come.

Dan goes inside and I follow, pleased to have the chance to see it properly.

“Dan, this is absolutely beautiful,” I say, running my hand along the smooth, wooden, paneled walls. “You renovated it all yourself.”

He nods, a wistful smile playing at his lips as he pulls the large swing doors closed. “It was her sanctuary. She loved being out on the water, feeling the wind in her hair.” His voice is tinged with both fondness and sorrow.

“I can see why. It’s so peaceful.” I turn to face him. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

Dan’s eyes meet mine, glistening with emotion in the low light. “Thanks. That means a lot.” He takes a shaky breath. “I wanted to have somewhere to feel closer to her. To remember our time together.”

I reach out and give his hand a gentle squeeze, hoping the gesture conveys my understanding and support. We stand there for a moment, hand in hand, the lapping of gentle waves the only sound.

Being here with Dan, in this place he created to honor his late wife, I feel a deep sense of connection, empathy, and there’s something else too—a spark, an undeniable pull between us. I know I should probably ignore it, but right now, it’s the most alive I’ve felt in a long time.

Dan turns to face me, his hand still in mine. In the moonlight, I can see the flicker of something in his eyes—longing, curiosity, a hint of guilt. “You know, I can’t help but think that you and Rebecca would have gotten along so well. She had that same drive, that same passion for her work that you do.”

I smile softly, feeling a warmth spreading through my chest at his words. “Really? What was she like?”

“Brilliant, for one. Always coming up with creative ideas, seeing possibilities where others didn’t. And kind, so incredibly kind.” His voice is wistful, but there’s a note of pride too.

“She was an artist,” Dan continues, his gaze softening as he looks out over the yard. “Not the paint-on-canvas kind. More… eclectic. She did graphic design for ad agencies, but on the side, she’d make these incredible mixed-media collages. Old photographs, bits of newspaper, fabric scraps—she’d blend them into something beautiful. She’d spend hours in here. It was her studio.”

I picture it for a moment—a studio bathed in warm light, Rebecca hunched over her worktable, bits and pieces scattered around her, totally engrossed in the transformation of chaos into art. I can almost feel the energy of it, like creativity itself is something you can touch.

Dan smiles, a little nostalgic, a little sad. “She had this way of looking at the world that made everything seem connected, like every random object had a story just waiting to be uncovered. It’s why her work was so good. Her clients loved her because she’d take these half-baked ideas and somehow turn them into something that made people feel something. She didn’t just make things look pretty—she made them… matter.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “She sounds like she was really talented.”

“She was,” he agrees. “And completely hopeless with technology.” He laughs, a low, fond sound. “We used to joke that if her laptop so much as beeped at her, she’d just give up and go make coffee until I could fix it. She once deleted an entire client presentation by accidentally pressing one button. Panicked, she called me on set, convinced she’d ruined her career.”

I chuckle. “Did you manage to save it?”

“Of course. Took me about five minutes to restore it from the recycle bin. But she was so relieved you’d have thought I’d just performed open-heart surgery.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by the memory. “She bought me a ridiculous ‘Tech Genius’ mug the next day as a thank-you. Still have it somewhere.”

His eyes turn distant again, and I can tell he’s wrestling with the ache of her absence.

I hesitate, not wanting to intrude, but I can’t help asking, “Was it hard for her to balance work and being a mom?”

Dan nods slowly. “Yeah, sometimes. She loved being with Chloe, but creating was like life itself for her. I used to worryshe was spreading herself too thin, trying to be everything to everyone. It didn’t help that I was away so much. But she never saw it that way. To her, creating wasn’t just a job—it was part of who she was. Even on the hardest days, she’d always find time to sketch something or pull a few colors together on a mood board. She didn’t like feeling stagnant, like she wasn’t moving forward.”

I can’t help but relate to that—always needing to be moving, producing, achieving.

“Sounds familiar,” I say with a wry smile.

He glances at me and smirks. “Yeah, I thought you might get that.”

I nod, feeling a little more connected to the woman I never got to meet. “She sounds incredible.”

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