Brenda laughed then. “Mrs. Ivey made sure it did.”
Mrs. Ivey’s eyes sparkled over the rim of her teacup. “One of my former students is a features producer at WABC in New York. She was delighted to help.”
“That first year we raised enough money to pay off the children’s overdue accounts,” Kaye continued. “The next, we raised enough to pay for all meals for every kid in that school for the whole year.”
“That’s incredible,” Jill said.
“It was, so we kept it going.” Betty glanced at Kaye. “We have a few smaller fundraisers during the summer, but the biggest of the year by far is Light Up the Bay.”
“When does it start?” Jill had seen the banner stretched across the street but couldn’t recall the dates.
“This weekend,” Brenda said. “The live auction happens on Friday. We already have photographs of the pieces up for sale. The artists provided them, and Ryan—Kaye’s son-in-law—put them on the website, ready to go. But the page needs something more. Right now, it looks as if the auction could be held anywhere. We want a more local feel, photographs of the shore, the town, the community setting up the festival venues. We realized we need a full-time photographer to make that happen, and that’s why we tacked the card on Danny’s board.”
“Danny’s board?” Jill was momentarily confused.
“The Dewberry Deli,” Mrs. Ivey offered. “If you’ve been here for any length of time, you must have eaten there. It’s one of the only restaurants in town open during the off-season.”
“Oh, I have. I didn’t recognize the name ‘Danny.’”
“Danny Esposito and his brothers own the shop now. They bought it from their mother, Mary Ann. She still works there sometimes, as does her mother. Nonna’s salads are legendary in Dewberry Beach.”
Jill remembered the pesto and bit back a smile.
“The art auction is what will generate the most money,” Kaye continued, lifting a slice of spice cake from the plate. “But the Light Up the Bay Festival spans the entire weekend. It’s evolved to what we hope is a family event. A banquet and the art auction are held on Friday at the Yacht Club. Saturday morning is the Pumpkin Run, followed by a pancake breakfast at the fire station. Saturday afternoon is the Halloween carnival, with the community cook-off and then lanterns across the bay at night. Sunday is the boat parade and milk carton race. I think that’s everything.” Kaye’s brows knit together. “We want pictures to show the mood, to draw in online bidders. Make them remember how wonderful Dewberry Beach is.”
“Something to give summer residents a chance to reconnect,” Jill offered.
“Exactly,” Brenda said with a smile. “What’s tricky is that there’s a lot going on this weekend, in a lot of different places.” She glanced at Betty. “Betty, do you have any extra flyers?”
“I think so.” Betty rose from the table and rummaged through a box of auction material until she found what she wanted. “This is the last of them.” She laid the flyer on the table, then settled back into her chair. “The rest are up. The banner’s been strung across the road near Mueller’s Bakery too. The firefighters brought out their ladder truck and hung it the week before last.”
“Can I keep this?” The schedule of events would be useful. Jill studied the page.
“Ideally, we’d like a variety of photographs from every venue—or as many as you can get to. We realize you can’t be everywhere at once,” Brenda explained. “You do the best you can, and we’ll make it work.”
“I think Jill is just what we need,” Mrs. Ivey put in, with that same knowing smile. “She knows what’s important. She’ll do the right thing.”
“Right.” Kaye reached for a spiral-bound notebook and flipped through it. “We haven’t told you what the job pays yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it anyway,” Jill said, and Kaye glanced up, confused. Jill explained, “It’s for a good cause—a great cause actually. The money you save from not paying me can be put toward school lunch accounts.”
Jill had known hunger when she was a kid. It was frustrating not to be able to focus in school and humiliating to have to ask for food. Jill wanted better than what she’d had for the children in that school. She’d figure out the money later; maybe lower the house price even more, or work two jobs instead of just one, to make up the difference.
“Nonsense,” Brenda said sharply, though her expression was soft. “We can afford to pay you. In fact, we insist on it.”
They spent the next several minutes discussing the logistics of getting Jill’s pictures to Ryan. She’d been given free rein to photograph anything in Dewberry Beach that looked interesting, so long as the images were natural. The work paid surprisingly well, better than anything Jill would have gotten from a temp job, and the best part was that she’d be allowed to keep copies of her work for her portfolio.
For the rest of the meeting, Jill positively glowed, feeling her luck had finally changed.
With their business concluded, the meeting adjourned. Brenda rose to clear the table while Betty filled the sink. Kaye and Mrs. Ivey walked Jill out and paused at the front door.
“Starting tomorrow won’t be a problem?” Kaye asked. “I realize this is short notice, so we’ll try to make it easier for you. Parking at the Yacht Club is limited, I’m afraid, and the building itself can be difficult to find. We’d be happy to pick you up if you tell us where you’re staying.”
“Oh—I’m staying with a friend.” Jill waved a breezy hand through the air. “I’m sure she knows where it is.” She hated lying to these women, especially after they’d taken a chance on her, but she didn’t feel as if she had a choice. They’d made their feelings about The Monstrosity very clear and might not have offered her the job if they knew she owned it. And she really wanted the job.
“How nice.” Betty commented, out of interest. “Is your friend anyone we know?”
Mrs. Ivey laid her hand gently on Betty’s arm.
“Alright then,” Kaye continued. “We’ll be there early. See you tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Jill shrugged on her jacket as Kaye returned to the kitchen and was surprised when Mrs. Ivey saw her out.
“A great many people are counting on you, Jillian.” The older lady reached out to gently grasp Jill’s arm. “Please don’t let us down.”
Jill shook off Mrs. Ivey’s strange comment as she made her way back to the house, focusing instead on everything the women had said about her photographs, committing each compliment to memory. Brenda had remarked on Jill’s instinct for capturing texture and light. That was something she’d been working on, so to have that encouragement from someone as accomplished as Brenda? Well, that was everything.
Marc had called her passion a hobby for so long that Jill had almost begun to believe it. But not anymore.
And although she still entered the house through the garage, so as not to be seen by the neighbors, she would not spend the night in her car again.
Those days were over.
Eighteen
The chirp of an incoming text woke Jill before her alarm did. Bleary-eyed, she pushed herself upright, squinting against the screen’s light as she skimmed the message.
Client I mentioned is interested. Wants to see the house as soon as possible. Hoping for this morning?
Now fully awake, Jill composed a quick reply and sent it off.
This morning is fine. I’ll be out all day.
Heart thumping, she stared at the three pulsing dots on the bottom of her screen, waiting for a reply. Could it really be this easy?
Great! We’ll be there around nine. Shouldn’t take long.
Excited, Jill pushed away the blankets and headed for the shower. It seemed that her luck had changed after all.
Before leaving the house, she gave it a quick once-over, plumping pillows and running the vacuum once more. Satisfied the house was show-ready, she stocked her camera bag and let the excitement of the day propel her forward.
She was ready with her camera when a gust of autumn breeze swirled a handful of crimson leaves across the sandy beach steps. And when the wind spun the leaves into a vortex, Jill slowed the shutter speed to blur the image. The result was a wash of fall color against a canvas of sandy beach. On the dunes, she found another scatter of wild roses and photographed the jagged green leaves, edged with lacy frost and dotted with frozen dewdrops. Then, her attention drawn to activity on the beach, she switched to a telephoto lens and captured the foamy churn of seawater as a black Lab frolicked in the surf. Further out, she saw a lone surfer on a faded green surfboard, waiting for the perfect wave.
As she made her way from the beach into town, she saw again that everything had been decorated for the festival and paused to look closer. Every shop had something out, even tourist shops closed for the season. A rusty wheelbarrow overflowing with lumpy gourds was parked outside the T-shirt shop, a tier of haybales stacked beside the ice cream stand. Even a web of fake cobwebs had been stretched across the doorway of the beach-pass office. She took several pictures for the festival website then continued into town.
Even from two blocks away, she could see a flurry of festival activity in front of the fire station. Work crews unloaded long tables from a flatbed truck, delivering them to the lawn, where another crew were busy erecting tents for the cook-off. Hurrying forward, Jill pulled out her camera and went to work. She found a group of bleary-eyed volunteers awaiting the morning’s instruction, and captured expressions of excitement and exhaustion. Moving to the green, she watched a man set up his grill for the cook-off, noting his expression as he scooped wood chip from the bowl of water. The man reminded her of Uncle Barney, who would not even consider starting the grill unless he had a packet of soaked mesquite chips ready. Jill lowered her camera and watched the man tuck the wood into his foil packet, feeling a thread of warmth expand in her chest as she remembered Uncle Barney doing the same. He would have loved this place; they both would have.
Eventually, Jill crossed the street to the bakery, drawn by the need for freshly brewed coffee with cream. A rustic scarecrow reclined on an Adirondack chair near the entrance, casually dressed in a neon-pink Dewberry Beach sweatshirt, faded jeans, and dingy white sneakers. Someone had laid a copy of the Dewberry Beach Trumpet on the scarecrow’s lap and opened it to the weekend schedule for the festival. Jill snorted in appreciation; Uncle Barney would have laughed at that.
Inside, the shop was loud and busy as numbers were called out and customers placed orders. Jill pulled a paper number from the dispenser and waited for it to appear on the neon board behind the counter. There were a few customers ahead of her but no one Jill recognized. As she waited, she peered into the glass case at the platters of Danishes, Italian cookies, and cupcakes. Behind the counter were trays of golden-brown muffins the size of softballs. And over by the wall were baskets of crusty, fresh bread. How long had it been since she’d had a real corn muffin? Or had allowed herself to have any kind of muffin at all?
“Number forty-five?”
Jill raised her paper, and the woman pulled the cord to advance the number, then pushed the sleeves of her gray cardigan up to her elbows and offered Jill a weary smile, as if it had already been a long day. “What can I get for ya?”
“She’ll have a plain green salad, Irene—dressing on the side,” a deep voice behind Jill rumbled with laughter.
Jill turned to see the man from the deli, the one who’d taken her order. His dark blue volunteer fireman T-shirt fit him quite well, Jill noticed, as she searched for a retort.
It turned out that Jill didn’t need one because the woman’s eyes widened in delight the moment she spied him. She reached across the glass case to grab his hand in both of hers and her tone lifted. “Danny, honey. How are ya? How’s your mom?”
“She’s better. Dad’s taking her up to Foxwoods this weekend so she’s pretty happy.”
“Good. Good.” A smile wreathed her face as she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I grab you something? We have the cream-filled donuts you like, just made. On the house.”
“Nah, not for me, thanks. I’m good.” As he shook his head, he shifted his weight and Jill noticed a faint scent of cologne that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I’m just here to pick up our coffee order.”
“For the guys across the street?”
“Yeah. Roy said he called it in.”
“Lemme check to see if it’s put together.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Festival weekend is always a madhouse.”
Jill waited for him to apologize—or at least acknowledge that he’d pushed ahead of her in line—but he didn’t. He just stood, patiently waiting for his order as if Jill wasn’t even there.
“I was going to order a muffin, you know,” she said finally. If only to break the silence.
Danny turned toward her, nodding thoughtfully. “Good choice. The muffins are really good here. Blueberry’s the best.”
As he started to turn away, Jill blurted, “You were right about your nonna’s pesto. I liked it,” then immediately felt stupid for continuing a conversation he clearly had no interest in. “It was good,” she finished weakly.
“Here ya go.” Irene bustled from the back room loaded with an armful of flat pink boxes. “I got coffee coming too.” She jerked her chin behind her. “Darby’s making a fresh pot. You boys got enough cream and sugar over there? I know how you like your coffee sweet.”
“Yeah, I think we’re good.” Danny took the boxes, then offered a magnificent smile as he lifted his chin toward Jill. “Give the coffee to Green Salad over here. She can help me carry it over.”
“Is that right?” Irene’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest.
“No, that’s not right,” Jill snapped, annoyed at the assumption. She’d just left a terrible marriage and had absolutely no desire to date, or flirt, or meet anyone. Her life was her own now and she had no intention of sharing it. She lifted her chin and continued, “I happen to be working.”
“Oh sure, of course.” Danny nodded, though the smile remained stubbornly in place. “G’head with your order. What did you come for?”
“Coffee and a muffin please. A corn muffin,” Jill added defiantly. She’d entered the bakery with the intention of ordering a fat blueberry muffin, but not anymore. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’m sorry but Danny got the last of the corn muffins,” Irene said.
Jill pointed to the stacked metal trays behind the counter. “I see them right there.”
“Nah.” Irene frowned. “Sorry. Those ones are reserved for someone else… a big order at the Yacht Club.”
Danny lifted the boxes of pastry in his arms. “Got plenty of corn right here. In fact, they’re still warm. All you have to do is help me carry this stuff over.”
“That was a good batch, and fresh out of the oven too,” Irene mused. “Awful that you missed it, but you got Danny right there.”
“That’s fine,” Jill replied firmly. “I’ll have a blueberry instead.”
“Ooooh, sorry.” Irene’s wince seemed manufactured. “We’re out of those too.” She stepped to the side to block Jill’s view of the baking trays in the kitchen. “Sorry, honey.”
“Cranberry then,” Jill continued. Surely they had cranberry left? No one liked cranberry muffins.
Irene lifted her shoulder in a gentle shrug, but Jill didn’t believe her.
Danny lifted his boxes one more time. “There’s a couple of cranberry in here, if you want them. All you have to do is help me carry the coffee across the street.”
“Fine.” Jill slung her camera bag over her shoulder.
“You good with everything else?” Irene asked Danny as she produced an enormous urn of coffee and handed it to Jill. The urn was heavy, but it was warm, and the smell of fresh, hot coffee was heaven. Jill’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while.
“Come to think of it,” Danny answered. “I think
we might be low on cups—”
“Say no more.” Irene rounded the counter and tucked a fat tube of insulated cups under Jill’s arm. When she was finished, she patted Jill’s arm. “There ya go, honey. All set.”
Jill said nothing.
“Thanks, Aunt Irene.” Danny’s tone fizzled with suppressed laughter.
“You got it, sweetie,” she replied. “See ya for Sunday dinner. Don’t f’get to bring your brothers.”
Jill and Danny crossed the street to the firehouse where the crew waited eagerly for their morning break. Danny was swarmed almost immediately, which was fine with her because in the frenzy were interesting pictures. Coffee and muffin forgotten for the moment, Jill pulled out her camera and started work.
The shiny fire engine parked in the bay of the open fire station attracted waves of excited children, and it wasn’t long before the driveway and the green space beside it were filled with kids and their parents. And because firefighters are proud of the work they do, they soon abandoned their break to show people around.
Jill was ready with her camera. Slipping into the background, she captured some of the best images of the day. The excitement on a little girl’s face as she was lifted into the driver’s seat of the truck. The wonder in another child’s eyes as he listened to radio chatter on an oversized headset. Jill widened her range to include firefighters and photographed them restocking supplies and checking equipment. One shot she was particularly proud to have captured was a pair of women pulling the hoses from the rig to check them for wear. Their concentration reflected the seriousness of their work because a missed rip or hole would be disastrous at the scene of an emergency.
Jill might have stayed longer, but she had to get going. Just as she zipped her camera case shut, she noticed Danny walking up beside her.
The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner Page 16
