Holly spits toothpaste into the sink. “Well, we fell asleep at about five, so it felt like a good time to get up.”
“You hungry?” River folds his arms across his bare chest and tucks his hands into his armpits, squinting at her through sleepy eyes.
“We forgot to eat.” The water rushes over Holly’s toothbrush as she rinses it and drops it into her toiletries bag again. “And I think I skipped the last meal on the plane.” She re-ties the robe around her waist. “But,” Holly adds, remembering the woman she’d met at the baggage carousel, “I should probably skip a few more meals—I mean, if I’m going to be an international supermodel.”
River gives a confused laugh and reaches for his own shaving kit and toothbrush. “Come again?”
“I met this lady at Heathrow who wanted to know if you were as hot as me,” Holly says, leaning a hip against the edge of her sink as River gets his own toothbrush wet in the other sink.
“I hope you told her I was hotter,” he says, squeezing paste onto the brush. “Way, way hotter.”
“It would have blown her mind too much,” Holly says, tossing a hand towel at him and hitting him on the cheek. “She already thought I was the most perfect specimen she’d ever seen—she even said something about how good I must look in a bikini.”
River stops laughing. “Wait, you aren’t kidding? This really happened?”
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Holly says defensively, “but yes, it really happened.”
“It’s not hard to believe, it’s just…random. Did she offer to turn you into a star?”
“She gave me her card and asked me how long I’d be in London.” Holly brushes past River and kneels before the suitcase he’d carried up the stairs and into the bedroom for her.
“Wow. I could be dating the next Cindy Crawford,” River says as he falls onto the edge of the bed, facing Holly.
“You could be.” Holly looks up at him from the floor as she sifts through the stacks of clothes she’s brought with her. “But right now you’re just dating a very hungry woman.”
“Then let’s go see what we can find.” River unzips his own bag and pulls out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
“At three in the morning?”
“Why not? If all else fails we can always find a McDonald’s.”
Holly pulls on a pair of jeans and a lightweight gray sweater with a flowered scarf, then ties her Converse and grabs her cross-body purse.
They’re at the door, double-checking for keys and wallets when River pauses and frowns at Holly. “You’re missing something,” he says.
Holly looks herself up and down. “I think I have it all.”
“Hold on.” River puts one finger in the air and dashes back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Holly has no idea what he’s talking about, so she takes the minutes he’s gone to pull a tube of pink lipgloss from her purse and lean into the mirror in the foyer to apply it. “Here,” River says, jumping down the last two steps. “This is what’s missing.”
Holly twists the top of her lipgloss back on and drops it into her purse. When she looks up at River, he’s standing in front of her with a crumpled, faded blue item in his hands. It’s his Mets baseball hat. Holly holds her breath.
“Are you sure?” She glances up with just her eyes as he unfolds it and sets it on top of her long, loose hair.
River smiles as he tugs the hat into place. “I’m sure.”
Everything that’s passed between them since they laid eyes on each other in this foyer just over twelve hours ago has felt momentous, but this move is the biggest. Holly had worn his hat for months after his initial visit to the island the previous August, and she’d given it back to him on Christmas Eve before he’d hopped a boat to Key West. Having it back on her head now feels good—it feels right—and she grins at him happily, knowing that there are no words needed at this moment.
“Let’s get some grub,” River says, pulling open the front door and holding it for her. “I’m hungry for some bangers and mash.”
“That just sounds gross.” Holly steps down onto the deserted sidewalk. River closes and locks the door behind them.
“It’s delicious, trust me. And if we can’t find an open pub, then I promise to feed you Big Macs and fries, deal?”
“Deal.” Holly slips her arm through his and moves in close so that their sides are touching as they walk.
The shops and bistros are all closed, the flowers and tables and chairs pulled inside for the night. Lights are off in all the businesses and most of the residences on the street, and a single black cab putters near the curb ahead, its driver focused on the dim glow of his cell phone screen.
“Should we catch a ride?” River asks, nodding at the taxi.
“Let’s walk. It feels good after sitting on a plane for so many hours.”
They stroll through Notting Hill in the middle of the dark night, stepping to the side so that two rowdy guys with thick accents and the drunken strides of pub-hoppers can pass them. Holly doesn’t make eye contact with them, nor does she pay them any mind as they carry on, looking for an open pub of any sort.
“Hey!” shouts a voice from behind them. Holly stops, but River keeps moving, grabbing her hand and yanking her along. “Are you two Americans?”
“They’re drunk, Holly,” River says, still not breaking stride.
“Come back, we just want to talk about American baseball,” says the other voice. “I love the Mets.”
The trusting, caring part of Holly—the part that’s been sheltered for most of her thirty years by small-town island life—wants to chat with the tipsy younger men, but River isn’t having it.
“Keep moving,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Hey, beautiful,” says the first guy. “You’re boyfriend is a real wanker. I see you want to talk to us, but he won’t let you.”
“Why don’t you ditch him and come with us?” the other guy offers, yelling now to bridge the growing distance between them.
Holly picks up her pace to match River’s stride and they hit a crosswalk as the sign turns to walk, rushing across to the other side of the street.
She resists the urge to glance over her shoulder, hoping that the silence behind them means that the men have given up and decided to go on to find their next pint—or a bed in which to sleep off their current buzz. But later on she’ll kick herself for not looking back; later on she’ll wonder what could have been different if she’d just paused and taken stock of their whereabouts, because from out of nowhere a strong force yanks her back, causing her to trip and fall.
As she sprawls on the sidewalk and River spins to catch her, she sees one of the men standing at the end of the street, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he dances back and forth from one foot to the other. The other man is standing over her brandishing a knife, the sliced strap of her purse gripped in one hand as he assesses her with glinting eyes. River springs into action and the man sidesteps him, deftly reaching out and plucking the Mets hat from Holly’s head before he turns and bolts. He meets his friend at the end of the street and they take off running, their pounding footsteps echoing on the quiet street as they round the corner and disappear into the night.
6
“Hoooo, boy,” says Millie Bradford as she rolls a strand of Fiona’s strawberry-blonde hair around her curling iron wand. “Holly is going to be steaming mad over this one.”
Fiona meets Millie’s eye in the mirror she’s facing at Scissors & Ribbons. “It’s almost like Coco knew she was leaving, and she planned to swoop in with these investors the minute Holly was off the island.”
“But how could she have known Holly was leaving?” Millie asks, setting the curling iron on the counter of her hair station.
“Could be she’s got a bit of the witch in her,” offers Calista Guy, the new island masseuse who doubles as Millie’s salon assistant.
Millie and Fiona laugh.
“She’s definitely a bit of a witch,” Millie says, shaki
ng her head. “But there’s no magic in that woman.”
“What does that even mean?” Fiona asks, twisting in her seat to look at Calista. “Are you talking about real witches and potions and stuff?”
“You know, that she’s into sorcery and spells and witchcraft. Like my mother-in-law.” Calista shrugs nonchalantly.
“Oh, now you’re pulling our legs! Your mother-in-law can’t be that bad,” Millie says, waving a dismissive hand in the general direction of the front desk.
“You just wait,” Calista says with big eyes. “You all talk about this Coco woman like she’s made of lizard tongues and vinegar, but none of you have met Idora Blaine-Guy. That woman will turn you to stone if you stare at her too long. Make no mistake.”
“When does she get here?” Fiona asks, turning back to the mirror so that Millie can finish curling her hair. It isn’t like she needs a weekly hair appointment to get by on a tropical island where the dress code allows everyone—even the resident M.D.—to wear bikinis as underclothes and to pad around unpaved roads in flip-flops, but Fiona is a firm believer in supporting the local economy, so she stops by every week like clockwork for a wash and style and a manicure.
“Idora-ble the Horrible?” Calista asks, eyebrows raised so high that they nearly meet up with the hairline of her perfect afro. “Last I heard she was closing on the sale of her condo in Toronto and was planning on being here sometime in the next week. I actually don’t want to know when—it would be kind of like knowing too much about the details of your own death.” Calista shudders.
“Does Vance know that you refer to his mother as ‘Idora-ble the Horrible’?” Millie asks with genuine amusement.
“Lord, no!” One hand flies to Calista’s heart. “I mean, he knows we aren’t the best of friends, but I don’t think he’d be a fan of the nickname.”
“But she’s really coming down to help with the boys, right? So maybe she’ll stay out of your hair,” Fiona says.
“She’ll be living at our house, Dr. Potts,” Calista says, dropping her chin to her chest and throwing Fiona a serious look. “So she’ll be ‘in my hair’ already based entirely on her proximity. But yes, her main job is to help with Mexi and Mori.” Calista’s six-year-old twin boys are currently the only children living on the island—the only ones ever to live there, in fact, aside from Holly and her friend Emily Cafferkey—and Calista and Vance had quickly realized they were in over their heads when they’d discovered just how much mischief two little boys could get into on Christmas Key.
Fiona shrugs. “Sorry—I’ve never had a mother-in-law. I’m not sure what kind of advice to give here.”
“Has Buckhunter’s mom been down to visit?” Calista asks, punching a few keys on the computer at the front desk.
“His mom passed away a long time ago,” Fiona says. Millie turns her chair so that she can work on the back of Fiona’s hair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Calista slides a pair of square-framed reading glasses on so that she can see the screen in front of her. “And though it’ll sound crass, frankly, I’m a little jealous.”
Fiona smiles. “Yeah, she died of cancer about twenty years ago, I think. He doesn’t talk about her much.”
“So, wait,” Calista says, taking the glasses off again. “Buckhunter’s mother would be…”
“Holly’s grandpa’s mistress.” Fiona fills in the blanks of the Baxter family tree for the island’s newest resident.
“Wow. Weird. And he and Holly really didn’t know they were related until last summer?”
“Nope,” Fiona says, staring out the window at Main Street. She can see Calista out of the corner of her eye. “He and Coco agreed to keep it quiet for as long as possible, and Holly’s grandpa moved Buckhunter onto the family property to watch over Holly just before he died. She had no idea until Buckhunter told her everything.”
“Family secrets, man…” Calista shakes her head, one fisted hand on her hip. All three women are facing Main Street, watching as golf carts drift by on the island’s only paved street.
“Family secrets are a doozy,” Millie agrees, spinning Fiona’s chair so that she’s looking in the mirror again. “And this hair looks pretty magnificent, if I do say so myself.”
“Looks fab, Millie. Thanks.” Fiona pats the beachy waves on either side of her head. “Now I need to get Buckhunter to take me to the Ho Ho tonight to show it off.”
“Is Joe playing tonight?” Millie walks over to the front counter while Fiona grabs her purse from the hook near the styling chair and follows her.
“Wouldn’t be a Friday night without Mr. Sacamano and his guitar, would it?” Fiona asks, pulling her wallet out of her bag.
“I’ll have to see if Ray is up to it,” Millie says, ringing up the services on her cash register. Fiona slides a credit card across the counter. “He’s been feeling a little under the weather lately.”
Fiona frowns. As the only doctor to a population of just over a hundred, she has the medical records of her neighbors neatly filed away inside her brain, for the most part.
“Has he been taking the vitamins I recommended?” she asks.
“Sure has,” Millie confirms. “I even bought him one of those boxes with little dividers for the days of the week and I fill it every Sunday night. He’s just been sort of low on energy.”
“I could see him again this afternoon if you can get him over here,” Fiona says, looking at the watch on her wrist. “Maybe just do a quick check and see if I can figure out what’s up.” She’d been hoping to close up shop after lunch and just take emergency calls on her cell phone, but the thought of boisterous, fun-loving Ray Bradford not feeling well enough to join them at the Ho Ho Hideaway on a Friday night has her concerned.
Millie closes the drawer under the computer and tears off a credit card receipt for Fiona. “Could you really? I’ll go get him now,” she says with obvious relief. “Calista—can you watch things here for twenty or thirty minutes while I go and pick up Ray?”
“Sure, sure. Go on. I don’t have a massage client until four o’clock.” Calista slides a stool up to the counter and sits down, resting her weight on her elbows. “I’ve got all the action I could ever want right under my nose,” she says, making a sweeping gesture at Main Street. “So you all go on, and I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Fiona draws some blood, takes Ray’s vitals, and hits him with a shot of Vitamin B12 before sending him on his way. She’ll need to run a quick test to see if he’s low on iron, but other than some complaints about feeling listless, he seems fine to her.
“I’m walking out of the building right now,” Fiona says into her phone as she locks up the front doors of Poinsettia Plaza.
“I can see you. Do you want me to drive?” Bonnie asks, getting up from her desk in the B&B’s office and tidying papers hastily. She sticks the pens and pencils back in the jar next to her computer and pushes in her chair. “I should’ve gone home to change, but it doesn’t much matter now.”
“Change into what, Bon?” Fiona looks both ways and crosses Main, her phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she searches her purse for gum and lipstick.
“I don’t know. Maybe a summer dress. Or a bustier and hot pants.”
Fiona rolls her eyes and shoves a stick of gum in her mouth. “For Wyatt?” she asks, smiling as she takes a step up onto the curb.
“Oh, you bite your tongue, girl! Wyatt Bender, my patootie…” Bonnie says with disdain as she takes her purse off the hook by the door. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” She ends the call and fluffs up her red hair as she turns off lights and heads for the front of the building.
There isn’t a single visitor on the island this weekend, so Bonnie stops and takes a careful listen. The B&B is silent.
“Hey,” Fiona pops her head in. “We’ve got no one, right?”
“Not a soul. A rare weekend without anyone to cater to.”
“So lock this joint up and let’s go meet up with everyone.” Fi
ona walks all the way in and pokes her head through the doorway so that she can see the hallway. “Leave the lights on, or turn them off?”
“Might as well turn everything off. Feels kind of spooky, doesn’t it?”
“A little,” Fiona admits. “I keep thinking I’m going to see Jack Nicholson pop his head around the corner and say, ‘Heeeerreee’s Johnny!’” she says with a menacing grin.
“Oh my stars in heaven,” Bonnie says, coming up behind Fiona and grabbing the fabric of her tank top. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got the willies now.”
The women share a ride in Bonnie’s golf cart, chattering the whole way about who might turn up at the Ho Ho Hideaway, and what Holly and River might be up to on their European adventure.
“They probably haven’t left the hotel yet,” Fiona says, consulting her watch. “It’s about six o’clock here, which means it’s eleven p.m. in London, right?”
“Sounds about right to me.”
“I hope they have an amazing time—Holly deserves it,” Fiona says loyally. “I hate watching her go back-and-forth with Jake, and that whole mess with Bridget…”
“We all dodged a bullet when Bridget left the island.” Bonnie turns the cart into the sandy lot of the bar. The sun still has a few hours until it sinks into the water for the night, and the golden haze of evening wraps around them as they look out at the beach. “She wasn’t one of us.”
“And neither is Coco,” Fiona says. She steps out of the cart and follows Bonnie to the steps of the open-air bar. “Bon,” she pauses, “I really think we need to call Holly.”
Bonnie stops on the bottom stair and turns to face Fiona. There’s a steel in her eyes that’s borne of protectiveness and love for their young mayor, and she takes a deep breath before answering.
“You’re probably right,” she says, “but let’s have a drink first, huh? We’ll call her—I promise.”
Fiona ponders this as the waves crash nearby. “Okay, one drink. I could do that. It might give us time to figure out how to break it to her.”
“That a girl.” Bonnie’s smile is wide as she reaches out a hand to take Fiona’s. “Let’s get you something with rum in it, and take a spin on the dance floor, doll.”
More Than This Page 3
