The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner Heidi Hostetter (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📖

you too, Mr. Bennett.” Jill replied. He’d given nothing away and she couldn’t tell what he planned to do, if anything.

Stacy pushed open the back door. “We’ll go out this way. Shortcut’s through the back.”

Outside, Jill stopped.

“Oh my gosh,” she breathed as she took it all in. “This view…”

“Isn’t it great?” Stacy smiled at Jill’s reaction. “I never get tired of it.”

The backyard of the Bennett home bordered a salt pond with a bank of cattails growing from the muddy shore to frame the view. A mix of sturdy trees shaded the water from overhead sun, and delicate weeping willow branches provided a home for wildlife. In the shallows, fallen tree branches were left undisturbed, providing shelter for mallards and rest for turtles. The air was still this time of day, nothing but an occasional duck quacking or a fish splashing to break the silence. On the ground, water broke in gentle waves.

“This is magnificent,” Jill said finally. The front of the Bennett house was so unassuming. It gave no hint that this sanctuary lay behind it. What a treasure.

“I think the deck is the best part of the house, to be honest. My grandfather carved it by hand, as a gift for my grandmother because she loved to sit and watch the ducks on the pond.” Stacy touched the finished wood as they walked closer to the pond. “It took him an entire year of weekends to build it. I always remember that when I come out here, how patient and meticulous a man he was.”

Jill pointed to the nautical rope that served as a handrail, knotted at intervals and threaded through brass fittings. “The craftsmanship is unusual. These details…”

“My grandpa was a craftsman, a woodworker. He specialized in dock construction, and he loved being near the water.”

Chase pushed open the back door and called to his daughter. “Stacy, I can’t seem to find the molasses. Would you mind getting some on the way back?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Great. Just charge everything to the house account. I need a few more things for this weekend, do you mind getting them? I have a list.”

As Stacy crossed the deck to retrieve the list from her father, Jill realized that what she liked most about this house was its simplicity. Nothing was “curated for effect.” It was a simple house meant for family. And a family lived here.

“This deck is in such good condition,” Jill said when Stacy returned, “it’s hard to believe it was built so long ago.”

Stacy laughed. “Tell that to my brother—he’s the one who’s in charge of taking care of it. My grandfather was very exacting; he left detailed instructions on its upkeep.” She pointed to a small shed in the far corner. “That used to be his workshop. My brother Brad works there now; he runs his landscaping business from there.”

They continued across the yard and through a grassy lot that bordered the property. Overhead, ocean breezes had swept the sky clear of early morning clouds, leaving only a brilliant crisp blue. The air was fresh, touched with salt and filled with possibility.

“Do you live in Dewberry Beach full-time?” Jill started the conversation as they traveled a narrow footpath along the creek.

“Thinking about it,” Stacy replied as they fell into step together. “We’re staying with my parents until we decide. The kids are enrolled in school here and they seem to like it. It’ll be a big change from what we’re used to, but I think it’ll be good for us.”

“You all live with your parents?”

Stacy laughed. “We do. You know, if anyone had suggested that at the beginning of the summer, I’d have called them crazy. But yes, all of us—my brother’s here too—live with my parents at the moment. It’s tight, seven people and a newborn living in a small house with two bathrooms. Parts of it can get dicey, but it has benefits too. Mom and Dad are getting to know their grandchildren in a way they couldn’t have before, and I think it’s good for all of us. Ryan and I had been going in a million different directions where we lived before and we’ve slowed down. It’s nice. We’ve looking for a place in town, but I think my mom likes us all together in one house.”

“It seems like a sweet little town.”

“It is. My brother and I have spent every summer in Dewberry Beach since we were born. My parents met here as kids, in fact. They bought the house from my grandparents after they married, and we’ll probably buy it from them if they ever want to sell it. Well,” Stacy amended with a swish of her hand, “either my brother or I will. We haven’t decided, but the house will definitely stay in the family.”

“What a great legacy.”

“It really is. Growing up, I had a dozen mothers in this town, watching out for me, ready with a Band-Aid for a scrape or a popsicle on a hot day.”

“It sounds perfect,” Jill said, because it did. Her own childhood had been tumultuous, and it had been wonderful to spend summers with Aunt Sarah and Uncle Barney on the Cape.

To Jill’s surprise, Stacy laughed. “Not always. The same women who offered up comfort and reassurance did not hesitate to tell my mother if they saw me riding my bike too fast or crossing the street against the light.” She side-eyed Jill. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we don’t have a lot of traffic down here, but to this day, I still can’t bring myself to cross the street if the light is red.”

The path opened up to a residential street, another road lined with shady trees. The morning sun filtered through a tangle of bright autumn leaves clinging stubbornly to their branches, and the result washed the sandy street in shades of yellow and orange. The houses here seemed more like cottages, with shady porches and colorful front gardens. Almost every home had displayed carved pumpkins, and a few had taped