Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

With a stone blocking his windpipe, all he could do was nod, grabbing his keys on the way out of the apartment. “Cookies are in the cabinet,” he called, walking out into the sunshine, welcoming the way it blinded him.

Chapter Five

Hannah came to a stop outside her grandmother’s door and removed her AirPods, silencing her “Walking Through Westport” playlist. It mainly consisted of Modest Mouse, Creedence, and the Dropkick Murphys, all of which reminded her of the ocean, whether it be pirates or a hippie playing harmonica on the docks. As soon as the melody cut out, she knocked, pressing her lips together a moment later to stifle a laugh. Inside the apartment, Opal was muttering to herself about morons who let solicitors into the building, her footsteps ambling closer.

At what point would having a grandmother on her father’s side begin to feel normal? Opal’s existence had been kept from Hannah and Piper growing up, but they’d discovered her—by mistake—last summer. And the woman was a delight. Fierce and sweet and funny. Full of stories about Hannah and Piper’s father, too. Was that the reason Hannah had taken four days to come for a visit?

Sure, she’d been kept very busy on the set of their first location. On top of Hannah’s other duties, they’d needed her on set for the filming of the high school lovers’ reunion scene between Christian and Maxine outside the lighthouse. Getting it right had taken the full four days—but during the night she’d gone home to Fox’s empty apartment, instead of going to see Opal. Piper had been out of town those four days, having taken her in-laws for a side trip to Seattle, so Hannah decided she should just wait. That way they could all visit together. There was more to her stalling, though.

Hannah pressed a hand to her stomach to subdue the bubbles of guilt.

Now that her sister was back in town, she’d called and asked Piper to meet her at Opal’s this afternoon. Where was she?

Hannah was still craning her neck to see the end of the hallway when Opal answered the door. The older woman blinked once, twice, her mouth falling open. “You’re not selling magazine subscriptions at all. You’re my granddaughter.” Hannah leaned in, and Opal enveloped her in a back-patting hug. “When did you get into town? I don’t believe this. All I can make you is a ham sandwich.”

“Oh. No.” Hannah drew back, shaking her head. “I already had lunch, I swear. I just came to see you!”

Her grandmother flushed with pleasure. “Well, then. Come in, come in.”

The apartment had changed drastically since the last time Hannah was there. Gone was the outdated furniture, the combined scents of lemon cleaner and must that left a sense of solitude hanging in the air. Now it smelled fresh. Sunflowers sat in the center of a new dining-room table, and there was no longer a plastic protector on the couch. “Wow.” Hannah set her tote bag on the floor and unzipped her Storm Born windbreaker, shrugging it off to hang on the peg. “Let me guess. Piper had something to do with this?”

“You guessed it.” Opal clasped her hands near her waist, her expression pleased and prideful as she scanned the new-and-improved living space. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Affection for her sister wiggled its way in next to Hannah’s guilt but did nothing to eclipse it. Over the last seven months, she’d spoken to Opal only a handful of times on the phone. She’d sent a card at Christmas. It wasn’t that she didn’t adore the woman. They got along very well. She’d made Opal a Woodstock-themed playlist last summer, and they’d totally bonded over it. Even now, the welcoming vibes of the apartment wrapped around Hannah and warmed her.

It was when the stories about her father—Opal’s only son—inevitably started rolling that Hannah got uncomfortable.

Hannah flat out couldn’t remember him. She’d been two years old when the king crab fisherman had been sucked to the bottom of the Bering Sea. Piper could remember his laugh, his energy, but Hannah’s mind conjured nothing. No melancholia, no affection or nostalgia.

For Piper, restoring Henry’s bar had been a journey of learning about herself and connecting with the memory of Henry.

For Hannah, it was about . . . supporting Piper on that journey.

Of course, seeing the finished product after weeks of manual labor had been satisfying, especially when they changed the name to Cross and Daughters, but the coming-full-circle feeling never happened for Hannah. So whenever she came to see Opal and her grandmother brought out pictures of Henry, or stories were told about him over the phone, Hannah started to wonder if her emotions were stunted. She could cry over a Heartless Bastards song, but her own father got nothing from her?