by Tracy Brogan
“No, oh no.” Emily shook her head and took hold of Dmitri’s forearm. “My dad doesn’t know I’m here yet. I want to surprise him, okay? Can you help me do that?”
He pulled the veil back down with a dramatic twirl of his wrist. “But of course. Do you want to borrow my hat? No one will suspect a thing.”
“You’re sweet, but no, that won’t be necessary. If you’d just let Chloe and me be on our way and not mention to anyone that you saw us, that would be great. Give me at least a couple of hours.”
“No one can keep a secret like I can, Peach. You have no idea. Be on your way then, and remind Gigi she owes me three dollars from the last time we played euchre.”
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent. I shall now create a diversion.” He turned his back on them and started shouting again at naked Clancy on the horse.
Emily turned Chloe by the shoulders. “Quick, go that way!”
“Don’t we have to get our luggage?”
“I already tagged them to go to Gigi’s house. We’re all set. Now scoot before someone else sees us.”
On the list of people Emily was hoping to avoid, which included basically everyone on the island, she and Chloe ran into six of them as they made their way from the center of Main Street to the corner of Huron and Marquette. What should have been a five-minute excursion took them two hours. First they saw Mr. O’Doul, who informed Chloe that he owned the oldest grocery store in Michigan. His ancestors had, according to his genealogist uncle, accompanied the first Jesuit missionary to the island in 1670. As a kid, Emily had always thought that old Mrs. O’Doul was so very, very ancient, she just might have been that first priest’s housekeeper.
Then they saw Vera VonMeisterburger, the librarian, who told them all about her recent efforts to reintroduce bats to the island after the recent plague of white nose syndrome. There was going to be a town meeting that very evening. She certainly hoped they would attend. There would be cookies.
They also saw Edgar White, the man in charge of painting the front porch of the Imperial Hotel, which might not seem like such an important job, but he assured them that it was because that porch was six hundred and sixty feet long and took him all summer to paint.
Next they ran into, or rather were run into by, Gloria Persimmons. She was admiring her reflection in the tiny mirror of her purple bicycle when she crashed into them. The white wicker basket on the front of her handlebars went flying in one direction, and Gloria’s rhinestone-studded sunglasses flew in the other.
“Peachy-keen, oh my goodness gracious! As I live and breathe, I just heard from Mr. O’Doul that you were back. And I said to myself, I said, ‘Gloria, if Peach is back in town, then you better go put on your party dress because that girl loves to party!’ And now look, here you are! Bejeebers, how long has it been?”
Gloria reached down and picked up her sunglasses from the ground, exposing the green-and-white polka-dot panties she had on under her lemon-yellow sundress. Emily heard Chloe gasp and then giggle as she handed Gloria her basket. It was covered with pink plastic flowers, surely the envy of every six-year-old girl on the island.
Emily should have known she wouldn’t get far without news leaking out of her arrival, and now that Gloria had spotted them? Well, the naked man on the horse would be the second thing everyone talked about that day because when a wayward daughter returns, it makes the headlines.
“Gloria, my goodness. You look just the same as you did in high school!” Emily gave her a hug and mentally noted that her comment was entirely true. Unfortunately, in high school Gloria did not look that great. Uncharitable? Maybe. But poor Gloria Persimmons had the face of a walrus, right down to the long teeth and the fuzzy cheeks.
“Oh, why, Peach, you always were such a good liar!” Gloria threw her head back and laughed way too loud at her own joke, but she sobered quickly and squeezed Emily’s arm. “Oh, but as much as I want to catch up with you and hear all about your glamorous life, we’d better do that later. Right now you need to skadoosh because Reed’s mother was just in the post office and she could be coming out any minute. She’s as icy as ever. I got frostbite the last time I sat next to her at church.”
Emily looked down Main toward the post office, and sure enough, here came Olivia Bostwick. Her stomach went splat, like an ice-cream cone onto hot pavement. On that list of people she was hoping to avoid? Olivia Bostwick was at the very top.
“Thanks, Gloria. We’ll definitely have to grab a cup of coffee soon. Come on, Chloe. We need to roll.” She grabbed ahold of her daughter’s sleeve and started walking. Too late, though.
“Emily? Emily Callaghan, don’t think I can’t see you there. I heard you were coming to the island.”
“Sorry, girlfriend. I’m outta here.” Gloria hopped on her bike and pedaled away.
“Shit,” Emily muttered under her breath, then screwed her face into some semblance of a smile before turning back around to face her foe. She wouldn’t bother reminding Mrs. Bostwick that her last name was now Chambers, not Callaghan.
“Mrs. Bostwick, how lovely to see you.” Did you bring your flying monkeys?
Chloe squeaked a little and tugged the material of her red cotton shirt from her mother’s clenched hand. Emily hadn’t realized she’d wadded the fabric in her fist quite so tightly.
“Well, it’s certainly something to see you here, too, Emily. What’s the special occasion? Don’t tell me you’re getting married again?”
Shields up, phasers on stun. “Nope. Not getting married again.”
Mrs. Bostwick was wearing a big floppy sun hat and oversized sunglasses tinted a nearly opaque black. Still, Emily could feel the woman’s beady little eyes boring into her through the lenses. Her kelly-green capri pants were covered with little pink flamingos to match the pink sweater draped around her narrow shoulders. Emily was glad she’d put on another one of her I’m a successful businesswoman dresses. Today’s was a sedate but attractive royal-blue shift with a narrow white belt, and her hair was clipped back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Olivia Bostwick could not fault her for what she was wearing.
She could fault her for a whole bunch of other stuff, though. Including breaking her son’s heart when she’d run away with Chloe’s father. Reed Bostwick had been Emily’s high school sweetheart—on an island where pretty much everybody married their high school sweetheart. Emily had done him some serious wrong by running away with Nick. She’d left Reed a note saying goodbye, of course. It was a heartfelt note, too, but that was no way to break up with someone she’d known her entire life. She’d realized that soon after leaving, but by then the damage was done, and Mrs. Bostwick was not one to let bygones be bygones.
“Just here for a short visit then? Your family should be pleased.”
The woman held a black belt in passive-aggressive comments. So many meanings in those few little words. Your family is pleased the visit will be short. Your family should be pleased, but no one else is. And last but not least, your family should be pleased, but are they? Are they really? Are you sure? Mrs. Bostwick should travel with a complimentary cryptologist for all her skill at weaving hidden messages into what she said. Emily had spent many an afternoon trying to decipher just what was meant by all the words Mrs. Bostwick didn’t say, because Reed’s mother had disliked her looooong before Nick showed up. No one on the island would have been good enough for her son, but without a doubt, Emily was the least-appealing candidate.
“I’m here for the summer, actually. I’m helping Gigi renovate one of her rental cottages. And this is my daughter, Chloe.” Surely even Mrs. Bostwick could not hold such a grudge that she’d be rude to a little girl. Okay, again, Chloe wasn’t technically little. But she was young, and fortunately Mrs. Bostwick’s maternal instincts, although never sensitive to Emily, did extend to Chloe. No doubt because Mrs. Bostwick felt sorry for Chloe for having such a lousy mother.
“Hello, Chloe. It’s a pleasure.” Meaning it was Mrs. Bostwick’s pleasure? Or it should be
Chloe’s pleasure? Damn, the woman was clever with the double entendre! But Chloe, bless her heart, read all the signals and kicked into her Gracious Manners Barbie routine.
“Hello, Mrs. Bostwick. It certainly is a pleasure to meet you, and what a lovely hat that is. You remind me of Audrey Hepburn.”
Score one for the kid, and thank goodness Emily had made her watch all those old movies. Any woman of Mrs. Bostwick’s generation would consider that the highest of compliments, and it seemed to work. She fairly preened. If she were a peacock, Emily would have just been slapped in the face with tail feathers.
“Why, aren’t you sweet?” Mrs. Bostwick said. And how did that happen when your mother isn’t?
Emily smiled stiffly. “Well, we don’t want to keep you from your errands any longer, Mrs. Bostwick. I do hope we see you again.” Meaning I hope we see you first so we can run in the other direction.
“Reed’s back for a few weeks, too, you know.”
Emily had started to turn but halted her movement, her gaze returning to the bug-eyed sunglasses. “Is he now?”
“Yes, with his wife and their family. He’s terribly successful, you know. And terribly important. He works for the governor, you know, and he’s terribly happy.”
“That sounds terrible,” murmured Chloe, and Emily resisted the urge to elbow her precious daughter in the ribs.
“Well, that’s just wonderful news, Mrs. Bostwick. Please give Reed my best regards.”
“I don’t imagine I’ll mention seeing you, Emily, but if your name comes up in conversation, I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Oh, as if her name was not coming up in conversation all over the damn island. The place was only eight miles in circumference with a population small enough to fit inside any given Olive Garden. Reed probably already knew she was there and was undoubtedly terribly unconcerned about it.
“Have a pleasant visit, Chloe.” Mrs. Bostwick turned, her floppy hat swaying in the wind, and Emily was summarily dismissed.
Finally, they were on their way again. Running into Mrs. Bostwick had been inevitable, and at least now Emily had gotten it out of the way. She couldn’t very well spend the summer avoiding her. There wasn’t much chance she’d be able to avoid seeing Reed, either, and she didn’t quite know how she felt about that. She’d wondered about him over the years. Moments like at 3:00 a.m. when she couldn’t sleep, she’d try to imagine what her life might have been like had she stayed and married Reed like she was supposed to. Sometimes she sincerely wished she had, but then she’d think of Chloe, and without Nick, she wouldn’t have her daughter, so no matter what mistakes she’d made in the past, she wouldn’t wish to change anything because Chloe made it all worthwhile.
Still, she wondered what Reed looked like now. Paunchy and bald? Still trim with a nice headful of wavy light brown hair? Did he still laugh at stupid jokes, or was he serious and intense now that he was so terribly important working for the governor? She had heard from her sister Brooke that he’d gotten married to someone he met in grad school. She’d felt a momentary tug on her heart at that news, but it passed, just like their chance at a future together had passed.
“You good, Mom?” Chloe asked, slipping her hand into Emily’s as they walked. Emily squeezed her fingers and smiled.
“I am good. Are you good?”
Chloe nodded. “I’m okay, but I’m kind of nervous. What if my cousins are mean? Who am I supposed to hang out with all summer?”
“I’m sure they won’t be mean, honey. They’ll probably think you’re pretty fascinating because you live in San Antonio.”
“What’s so great about San Antonio?”
“It’s just different from what they’re used to, so they’ll probably be curious, just like you must be curious about them, right? And anyway, I won’t be busy all the time. I’ll be working at the cottage a lot, but I’ll have some free time so we can go see all the touristy stuff, like the fort and all the fudge shops. We can go to the beach at Trillium Bay to watch the boats. We can go camping and make s’mores.”
“Camping? Like, in a tent?” They continued on along the sidewalk, and Emily breathed in the lilacs and let the sound of the waves and the clip-clop of hooves soothe her. She was nervous, too, although she tried her best to hide that from Chloe. Seven years was a long time to have gone between visits. There were the phone calls and emails between her and her sisters, of course, and even the obligatory calls she made to her father every few months just to put in the appearance of trying to have a relationship with him, but she still didn’t quite know what to expect this time around. It wasn’t as if she’d tried to avoid visiting.
Well, okay. Yes, she had avoided it, but her reasons for that were perfectly . . . reasonable. The trip from San Antonio was expensive and time-consuming. And emotionally draining. Emily’s relationship with her father had always been complicated, full of misunderstandings and unmet expectations, but since her rather spontaneous—some might call it impetuous—marriage thirteen years ago, she and Harlan had settled into a sort of Callaghan Cold War policy. Neither attacking nor retreating. Both equally stubborn. Gigi once said that Emily and Harlan were like two peas in a pod, but two peas who each thought the other was wrong all the time and needed to apologize.
Well, Emily had tried to apologize for her past misdeeds, such as that running away and getting married thing, but on an island full of professional grudge holders, Chief Callaghan was the champ. People around Trillium Bay always said he’d never been the same after his wife died, but Emily had been just ten years old when that happened, so all she knew was that he’d spent most of her life treating her like an inconvenient nuisance. So she’d figured out quite a while ago that the best way to maintain a quasi-functional relationship with her father was to do it from a distance.
“Sure, camping in a tent,” she said to Chloe, swinging their arms together. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
Chloe giggled. “I just can’t picture you sleeping outside or peeing next to a tree.”
“You forget I lived here. I used to be quite outdoorsy.”
Chloe puckered up her lips and glanced to the sky as if deep in thought. Then she shook her head. “Nope, can’t picture it.”
Another few minutes of walking and at last they rounded the final corner. There was Gigi standing on the white front porch of her pale blue Victorian cottage, wearing a shimmery teal running suit and holding a martini glass, which was pretty much what she was doing the last time Emily had seen her, except that last time she’d been indoors and standing next to a Christmas wreath. Gigi loved her martinis. Dry, three olives, why bother with vermouth martinis. She said the pickling kept her young, and she must be right because she looked as fit and as spry as ever, as if she could kick up her heels any moment and dance a little jig. Her short gray hair was tightly curled and didn’t budge in the breeze, thanks to weekly visits to the Trillium Bay Beauty Salon and several sweeping sprays of Aqua Net. Emily’s heart swelled unexpectedly as she blinked fast to whisk away equally unexpected tears. Happy tears. In spite of the reasons for this visit, she was suddenly excited to be back home. She breathed in deeply and let herself enjoy the moment—because it was sure to pass.
“Gigi O’Reilly-Callaghan-Harper-Smith,” Emily called from the sidewalk. “It’s only eleven thirty in the morning and you already have a cocktail in your hand?”
Gigi’s smile spread wide, nearly hitting her ears. “I’m celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“I’m celebrating the fact that I have a cocktail in my hand.” Then she laughed and trotted down the wooden front steps, not spilling a drop. “Come here, you! I’ve been waiting all morning. Let me get a good, long look at you and my great-granddaughter!”
Within minutes the three of them were giggling like teenagers, and an hour later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking lemonade, and still giggling like teenagers. This was the house Emily’s father had grown up in. The red-and-white checked
tablecloth added to the nostalgic coziness of it all, and Emily couldn’t help but think that being here was nothing short of stepping into a life-size time capsule. Like most islanders, Gigi was frugal and made do with what she had, which meant every appliance in the kitchen predated VHS tapes, and every piece of furniture had been repainted, reupholstered, and repurposed a dozen times. Mason jars full of pickles, peaches, and tomatoes lined up like toy soldiers along the pine shelves off to the left, and an assortment of mismatched dishes filled the cupboards. A faint whirring sound came from the decades-old avocado-hued Frigidaire, and one of Gigi’s three cats lay on the hardwood floor in a beam of sunlight, purring right along with it.
“How about if you go upstairs and unpack your stuff, hon,” Emily finally said to Chloe. “Our luggage is here now, and Gigi and I need to talk about some of the renovating stuff.”
“But I’m having fun,” Chloe answered. “And unpacking is not fun.”
“Neither is having to iron your clothes because you left them stuffed in a suitcase for too long. Go unpack.”
Chloe slowly dragged herself up and away from the table. “Can I take this lemonade with me? I’ve never drunk from a jelly jar before. Mom, can we get some jelly jars for back home?”
Emily chuckled. “I’m sure we can.”
“We’re supposed to be at Brooke’s house by five o’clock today. She’s cooking dinner for us and Harlan,” Gigi added. “Your room is the one on the right, Chloe. I hope you like it. You can see the bay from your window and watch all the sailboats go by. Freighters, too. It never gets old, watching those huge ships go by.”
Chloe leaned over and hugged Gigi around the shoulders with one arm. “I can’t wait to see one, and I’m sure I’ll like my room. Thanks a bunch.”
“That is one smart, charming young lady you have there,” Gigi said to Emily once Chloe had trotted upstairs with all of her suitcases.
