Em (The Summer My Life Began Book 1)

by Shannon Greenland

  Imagining myself in a tiny bikini, I shake my head. “My boobs aren’t exactly cooperative. I’ll spill right out of it.”

  “And that’s bad why?”

  I roll my eyes. This is another thing I envy about Gwenny. She has no body issues. I do, loads of them.

  Snapping my cookbook closed, she slides it back into its hiding place. Then with an evil little giggle, she gives me a quick hug and bounds from the room.

  That giggle is always bad news.

  ~*~

  The next morning I walk into the living room where Mom sits at the grand piano. I hope she talked to Matilda and has news.

  Behind Mom, a bank of spotless windows stretch the length of the room, and beyond that the Cambridge side of the Charles River. She plays the piano every morning. She says it calms her before a hectic day in the pediatric ward.

  With a delicate sigh, she stops playing and rolls the piano bench out to stand. As if on cue a ray of sunlight shoots through the cloudy sky, illuminating the area around her.

  As I have many times before, I wonder if I’ll ever develop my mom’s grace and style. She’s perfect and seemingly envied by everyone. But then no one has to actually live with her perfection.

  “Elizabeth Margaret.” She arches a brow. I know that arch. She’s about to say something she wants me to take very seriously. “I want you to remember you’re a lady. You’re an educated young woman. Matilda does things her own way. She’s dramatic, emotional, and unreasonable. When you’re there, with her, just remember where you come from and how good you have it.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m going to go, enjoy my month, and come back refreshed and ready for my internship and my freshman year at Harvard. I’m not going to forget who I am and become someone else just by visiting Aunt Matilda.”

  A soft smile creeps onto her face. She closes the leather binder that holds her sheet music and crosses the hardwood floor to where I stand.

  She kisses the top of my head. “You’re something else, you know that, Elizabeth Margaret? You make us very proud.”

  A sad smile curves my lips. I only said what she wanted to hear, not what I truly feel. I hate that my words made her feel full of pride.

  “You leave in two days.”

  Two days that can’t come quick enough.

  ~*~

  The next afternoon I’m in my room packing when Gwenny comes through my open door. She surveys the clothes stacked neatly on my bed. “I want to mess it all up. You’re way too organized for your own good.”

  I hold up a warning finger. “Don’t you dare touch my OCD.”

  She hands me a gift bag. “A going-away present.”

  “Gwenny! You didn’t have to do anything.”

  “Oh, shush, and open.”

  Lifting the gift paper away, I peek inside. “What is this?”

  Gwenny does her evil giggle.

  Reaching in, I pull out a black bikini with gold trim and holding it up by its string, I merely look at my sister.

  “What? That blue-and-white one needs to go.” She grabs the string bikini from my fingers and shoves it in between my clothes. “If I find you left it behind, I’ll hunt you down and strap it on you myself.”

  “Fine. Thank you.”

  Dad peeks his head in. “Gwyneth, when are you leaving for your friend’s party?”

  “Not for another couple of hours.”

  “No drinking,” he warns. “Be home by midnight.”

  She nods and after he heads off, she leans into me. “Whatever. Like I’m not going to have a Jell-O shot.”

  “Just one. Promise me?”

  With a salute, Gwenny plops down on my bed. She falls silent as I start laying my clothes in the suitcase.

  “Everything okay?” I softly ask.

  “I’m really going to miss you, Em.”

  It’s not often my lighthearted sister gets serious. “I’m going to miss you, too. But you’ll have Rose to occupy your time.”

  “It’s not the same thing.” She raises sad blue eyes to mine. “It’s going to be horrible without you. I’ll have to deal with Grandmother on my own. You need to e-mail, text, call, send smoke signals—whatever—and tell me everything you’re doing.”

  I hug her. “Yes, I know. Every day. I promise.”

  Gwenny gets up and shuffles over to my desk. She gets my favorite cookbook and slips it into my suitcase. “Don’t forget this.”

  Chapter 5

  My plane flies into North Carolina and after a frustratingly long delay, I take a puddle jumper to Anna Island.

  Looping my leather carry-on over my shoulder, I disembark the plane into a sunny summer afternoon. I make my way into the small airport and to baggage claim where I stand at the carousel watching luggage go around and around. My black hard case never cycles into view.

  This better not be a sign of how this trip’s going to go.

  Hiking my carry-on up my shoulder, I head into the small office, where I step up to the counter.

  “Here, fill this out,” a woman says before I even utter a word.

  As I do just that, she says, “We’ll most likely deliver it by midnight tonight.”

  I’ve lost luggage before. I know the drill. “I’m not seeing my suitcase anytime soon, am I?”

  She shoots me a fake smile. “We’ll call you as soon as it comes in.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, sliding my paperwork off the counter.

  Mom told me Aunt Matilda would be picking me up, but when I walk from baggage claim to the outside, the gravel parking area sits nearly empty.

  Squinting against the sun, I dig my phone out and dial the number to the B&B.

  Five, six, seven rings. Just as I’m about to click off, someone answers. “Yello?”

  “Is this The Pepper House?”

  “The one and only,” the man confirms.

  “This is Elizabeth Margaret call—”

  “Oh, Elizabeth Margaret! We’re all so excited to meet you!”

  I smile a little. “Oh, well, that’s good to hear.”

  “I’m Domino, The Pepper House’s cook. Did Cade make it to you okay?”

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Cade. He works here. Your aunt had a last-minute thing with one of the guests. Something about an allergy to hibiscus. Of course, we don’t grow hibiscus here, but she—the guest, that is—is convinced the red flowers in her cottage are hibiscus. We even showed her pictures of hibiscus and she doesn’t believe us. Or she believes us, but she thinks the red flowers might be a distant strand of the hi—”

  “Excuse me, Domino?”

  “—biscus. Yeah?”

  “You were saying something about my ride?” I remind him.

  “Oh, yeah. Cade. He should’ve been there by now.”

  I look around again. “May I have his number so I can call him?”

  “His number?” Domino lets out a booming laugh. “Oh, sweetie. This is going to be some summer for you. Cade doesn’t have a phone.” He laughs again. “He’ll get there when he gets there. No worries. He probably stopped off somewhere. It’s island time around here.”

  My entire life currently does and always has operated around strict schedules. So I’m not sure I know how to do “island time.”

  “Um, isn’t there someone else who can come for me? Or should I take a cab, an Uber, a Lyft?”

  “Well, the only cab driver stopped service about an hour ago. He’s real scheduled with his evenin’ fishing. He’s also the resident Lyft and Uber driver?”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “Evening fishing?”

  “Yeah. As far as someone else coming to get you, I’m sorry, but no can do. The only other shuttle service belongs to the resort and we’re not part of them.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ve got one van, and Cade took off in it a while ago.” He pauses. “Are you sure he’s not there yet?”

  I look around again. “Um, no.”

  “Well, we’re on one end of the island and the airport�
�s on the other. Ten miles between us. Speed limit’s forty-five. Like I said Cade must’ve stopped. Plus, it’s the end of the day, so there might be traffic. If old man Hester is herding his goats, well that factors in quite a bit.”

  I close my eyes. “Tell you what. I’ll find a place to sit and wait.”

  “Sounds great, sweetie! See you soon!”

  “Yep.” I click off.

  A couple of minutes pass, and I continue standing, waiting for the elusive van to appear.

  Finally, I cross back to the airport’s exit door, planning to wait in the air-conditioned interior. I give it a push to find it locked.

  Of course.

  With a sigh, I scoot over to a low concrete wall and sit down.

  My phone buzzes, jolting me a bit. With a quick glance, I see who it is. “Hello, Mom. I’m here.”

  “Any problems?”

  There’s no way I’m telling her what’s going on. “All is good! A bit of flight delay. Just got here. Aunt Matilda’s on her way.”

  “Good then. We’ll talk in a few days.”

  “Say hi to Gwenny for me.”

  “I will. Take care.” With that, she clicks off.

  With one last glance around for Cade and the van, I put my phone away and pull on my floppy hat and sunglasses. I dig out my Culinary Schools of the World book and leaf through it.

  As I do, my mind drifts to the upcoming pre-law classes I’ll be taking. Being a lawyer has always been the plan. I’ve tried many times to picture myself in a courtroom arguing a case, but somehow I just can’t see it. Confrontation is not my strong point. Neither is debate. Maybe I’m better suited for non-litigation—something that’ll keep me at a desk all day.

  Closing my eyes, my thoughts drift here and there. Sleep pulls at me and I gradually give in…

  You Elizabeth Margaret?

  I mumble a response.

  Hello?

  Slowly, I open my eyes.

  Along the curb sits an old green van with the sun setting behind it. An auburn-haired guy wearing red board shorts and a white tank top leans against the driver’s door. Silver shades hide his eyes, and his wavy hair sits smoothed back from his face like he just ran his fingers through it. His tan says he lives in the sun.

  The words “sexy loser”—one of Gwenny’s favorite sayings—pops into my mind.

  He hitches his chin. “You Elizabeth Margaret?”

  “Yes. Let me guess.” I get to my feet. “Cade.”

  He gives one affirmative nod. “That’d be me.”

  With a glance at my watch, I blink. “Do you realize you’re two hours late?”

  Cade sighs. “Yeah.”

  Yeah? That’s all this guy has to say?

  “Let’s go.” He opens the door and gets in.

  Grabbing my stuff, I hurry across the concrete to the van. Behind his sunglasses, Cade glances at my floppy hat.

  I slip it off my head. “Did you get a flat tire or something?”

  “Or something.” He cranks the engine. “You getting in, or what?”

  It takes me a second to realize this guy isn’t going to apologize for being late, or even offer an explanation.

  He looks beyond me. “Where’s your suitcase?”

  “Seems it didn’t make the connection.” Rounding the hood of the van, I open the passenger door and climb in.

  “Oh.” He grinds the van into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. “That sucks.”

  As he drives, I look over at him. I know guys like this. The guys at school—too good-looking and knows it. Arrogant. Cocky. Girls fall all over him. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the world.

  Cade shifts gears, flips the radio to a reggae station and turns the volume low.

  With a deep breath, I decide I will not let any of this irritate me. I’m here for one whole month, and I plan to enjoy every moment. Propping my arm in the open window, I inhale the warm, salty air as I take in the early evening scenery.

  Off to the right stretches the blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The miles of sparkling clarity reminds me of the waters of Bermuda. I see now why people compare the two. My family went there two years ago for summer vacation. Gwenny and I swam and snorkeled until our skin turned wrinkly.

  It was one of the best vacations ever because Mom and Dad seemed to truly relax. They even snorkeled with us.

  On the horizon, I catch sight of a fishing boat with lines and nets thrown out.

  A moped passes us, beeping its tiny horn. Cade glances over, giving a slight nod to the older man as he zips past.

  We continue along the coastal highway with the ocean to my right and overgrown brush to the left. We pass a small village of stone cottages nearly hidden by the overgrown greenery, and I inch forward in my seat to catch a better glimpse.

  Eventually, the van reaches the other side of the island and pulls off the highway onto a gravel road.

  We drive under a beautiful archway of bright red flowers growing on thick green vines. I saw this archway on The Pepper House’s website. We circle around a stone fountain with four carved goats spouting water from their mouths. Cade stops the van in front of a Mediterranean-style whitewashed stone house covered in more beautiful red flowers.

  He turns the key and silence fills the cab.

  “Here we are.” Flinging open the door, he climbs out.

  I sit for a moment and smile. Here I am.

  Chapter 6

  “Elizabeth Margaret!” The door to The Pepper House flies open and out shoots a whirl of color. “Welcome!”

  Laughing, a tall woman opens the van door and pulls me out, straight into a huge hug. After a few seconds, she grips my shoulders and with a grin holds me at arm’s length. “You are gorgeous!”

  I blink. “Um, thank you. I take it your Aunt Matilda?”

  “Matilda?” She flutters her fingers through the air. “My goodness, no one’s called me that since I was a kid. It’s Tilly.”

  With another laugh, she pulls me right back into the tight embrace. So much for the formal greeting I’m accustomed to in my parents’ home. Actually, come to think of it, I can’t recall ever being hugged so tightly.

  With her tall, willowy body and blond hair, Tilly’s an identical version of my mom. The free-spirited, flowy, younger version of Mom.

  Aunt Tilly wears colorful pastel bolts of long gauzy fabric that float and follow her every move, and her hair sits in a loose ponytail. She thinks I’m gorgeous? She’s the gorgeous one. Gorgeous in a natural way.

  Looking straight at Cade, she asks, “Where have you been?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” he says cryptically, before heading inside.

  She turns back to me. “I am so sorry he made you wait. That’s not like him. I would’ve come and gotten you myself if it weren’t for some pesky guests I was dealing with. Plus we only have one van—”

  “All is good. I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.”

  She hugs me again. “You’re so sweet. Let’s get your suitcase and get you inside.”

  “I don’t have a suitcase—at least not right now. The airline lost it. I’m hoping it’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Well, you can borrow my clothes until then.”

  I don’t bother pointing out I’m significantly shorter and a bit rounder than her. I doubt anything in her closet will fit.

  “Are you hungry?” Grabbing my hand, she leads me inside. “Domino made this fabulous fish dish for dinner.”

  “Yes, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since the plane from Boston.”

  Aunt Tilly closes the door behind us, and I find myself standing in the most interesting room I’ve ever seen.

  The same whitewashed stone from the exterior makes up the interior walls of the spacious living room. Dark wood beams support the ceiling, where four large wicker-bladed fans hang. They spin slowly, circulating the breeze coming through the open windows.

  Vivid paintings of Anna Island decorate the walls. Potted exotic plants occupy every corner. C
ouches and love seats made out of driftwood sit scattered about with flowery cushions and more of those exotic plants between them.

  There is no television, only an old-fashioned record player sits in the wood entertainment center. A bookshelf spans the entire back wall, jam-packed with well-worn hardcovers and paperbacks.

  In one corner sits a small table and chairs with a chessboard, pieces out and ready to be played. I love chess. I wonder if Tilly plays. “I love the décor here. It’s very unique and pretty. Eclectic and tropical.”

  She grins. “That’s exactly what I was going for. This is where my guests hang out when they’re not out and about.” She nods across to a stone archway on the other side. “Let me show you around a bit.”

  We cross the cozy living room, now almost dark from the setting sun. With all the windows, though, I bet this place shines bright in the daytime. Through the archway we go and into a dining room.

  It looks like the living room with the stone walls and wood-beam rafters. To the left sits another archway, leading outside. To the right, a swinging door that I assume goes to the kitchen. Windows line the entire back wall and look out over a bay. Six, four-seater round tables made of gleaming dark wood scatter the dining room. More of those wonderful, vibrant paintings decorate the walls.

  After turning on a corner lamp, Aunt Tilly leads me over to the bank of windows. Across the small body of water, exterior lights flick on, illuminating cottages, houses, and other buildings.

  She points through the window across the bay. “Those are some of the oldest houses on the island. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Very,” I agree.

  She taps on the window. “See that hammock between those two palm trees? Best snoozin’ around.”

  “Come on.” She leads me from the dining room and out a side door that sits propped open. Lit by ground lights, a pebbled walkway trails away from the main house and disappears into the trees. “Down that path is one of my cottages.” She points to the right. “And down that path is another. We’ll see them tomorrow in the daylight.”

  “How many guests can you accommodate?”