by Tracy Brogan
“You look great, too. I love that haircut.”
Brooke’s dark hair was full of natural waves and fell just past her jawline with a cute, bouncy bob that fit her efficient, no-nonsense personality.
“Thanks.” Her laugh said she didn’t quite believe Emily, but she didn’t seem bothered by that either.
“Is Lilly here yet?” Emily asked.
Brooke shook her head, making the waves bounce. “She was around last night because we thought you were arriving yesterday, but tonight she had a thing she couldn’t cancel. She said to tell you she’s sorry and she’ll call you first thing tomorrow.”
That was disappointing. Lilly was good at keeping a running commentary on topics she found fascinating and could help lighten the mood in case things with Emily and her dad got too dour. She was the bouncy, outgoing counterpart to Brooke’s more serious nature. At twenty-six, Lilly was the youngest Callaghan sister. The baby of the family. She’d been just five years old when their mother died, and after that, she kind of became everyone’s baby sister. And everyone’s favorite. Of course, with Brooke as the smart, responsible one and Lilly as the bubbly, pretty one, that left Emily stuck in the middle, and whether by nature or nurture, she ultimately became the sassy one. The loudmouth. The troublemaker.
The thorn in Harlan Callaghan’s side.
“But Dad’s inside,” Brooke added, speaking of the devil.
Dad was inside? No avoiding him now.
Gigi breezed past them and opened the door. “I’ll just let myself in if you don’t mind. There must be some thirsty olives in there just waiting to be dunked into my glass. Chloe, come on with me and I’ll show you how to make the perfect martini.”
“She’s twelve, Gigi. Too young to make a martini,” Emily said.
“Too young to drink one, but not too young to make one.” Gigi pulled a giggling Chloe inside as Emily looked to Brooke.
“So, Dad’s inside, huh? Has he tenderized at all since the last time I saw him?”
Brooke’s shrug was noncommittal, as shrugs are apt to be. “Hard to say, Peach. I mean, it’s not like we sit around watching Oprah and discussing our feelings. You know how Dad is.”
She did know how Dad was. She was just hoping he’d changed. “Oprah’s not on television anymore. At least, not the talk show.”
“She isn’t? Oh, well see? That tells you how out of touch I am. I’m pretty much out of touch with Dad’s feelings, too, so if you want to know anything, I guess you’ll have to ask him yourself, but I will say that he got a haircut and bought a new shirt when he found out you were coming to visit.” Brooke arched an eyebrow to emphasize the significance of this. And it was significant.
“He bought a new shirt?”
Harlan Callaghan never met a threadbare T-shirt that he didn’t think he could wring just a little more life out of. Some of them predated the first settlers on the island. So if he went out and bought a new shirt just because Emily was coming to visit? Well, that was something.
Brooke stepped through the door and motioned for Emily to follow.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with. Hey, Dad. Look who I found on the front porch.”
Chloe was only a few steps in front of them, and she took the lead, stepping toward her grandfather and extending a hand.
“I’m so pleased to see you, sir. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better this summer.”
Emily blinked. Chloe must have learned that from watching television, or maybe Jewel had been coaching her on the sly because she hadn’t learned that from Emily. Either way, Emily offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the patron saint of wayward daughters because Harlan looked almost, maybe slightly misty-eyed as he accepted Chloe’s hand. “I look forward to that, too.”
“And look who else I found,” Brooke said, nudging Emily forward.
She stepped up as Chloe moved to the side, and leaned in for a hug that ultimately became more of a leaning forward of two people, looking over the other person’s shoulder, and tapping them ever-so-lightly on the back with their fingertips. Still, it was progress. Last time they’d seen each other, he’d pretended to be blowing his nose so his hands were too busy for a hug. “Hi, Dad. Good to see you.” Pat, pat, pat with her fingertips.
He stood upright and nodded with the kind of smile one usually reserves for the person handing you a subpoena. “Likewise. Glad the weather held for you gals. It’s supposed to be a sunny one all week.”
Annnnd he went straight for the weather. That was okay. She could work with that.
“Yes, it’s lovely weather. Chloe and I have really been enjoying the scent of the lilacs.”
“And the fudge,” Chloe added. “Oh my gosh. The smell of the fudge makes me so hungry.”
“Well, you have Harvey Murdock to thank for that,” Harlan said. “It was his idea to vent all the candy shops toward Main Street so the tourists would be lured in by the smell. That’s why we call them fudgies.”
“You call the tourists fudgies? That’s funny,” Chloe said.
“Yep. Nothing sells it faster than the smell.”
Emily’s father slipped his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans, assuming his storytelling posture, and she felt a swell of relief. If he could spend the evening talking to Chloe, sharing tales about his beloved Trillium Bay, then the conversation would flow from there. Even without Lilly’s help. Nothing too personal, of course, but enjoyable, and maybe even entertaining, especially if Gigi added her two cents, which she was sure to do. Between the two of them, Gigi and Harlan had so many stories that, with any luck, Emily wouldn’t have to say anything for the rest of her visit.
“Being a caddie at Trillium Heights golf club was always a good job,” Harlan said, regaling Chloe with yet another tale of his childhood on the island as Brooke served homemade apple pie for dessert. “But even before I was old enough for that, my pal Brian Murphy and I used to scour the woods to find golf balls that players had accidentally hit into the brush. We’d polish them up and then go hang out by the water traps, sell them for a quarter apiece, and make an easy buck.”
“That’s pretty clever,” Chloe said, digging her spoon into the whipped cream.
“You learn to be resourceful on the island. We recycled around here long before it was trendy, and we knew how to turn just about anything into a toy. Laundry baskets, trash can lids, tree branches, rocks. We didn’t have to rely on electronic gadgets to have fun. I see all these kids today, walking down beautiful Main Street but never looking up from their phones. In my day, we knew how to appreciate our surroundings.”
Chloe reached back and tucked her phone deeper into her back pocket. “That’s a shame, Grandpa. They should be paying attention to how pretty it is here.”
“That’s right.”
Emily hid a smile behind her fork. Chloe was working him like potter’s clay, reshaping him into a fairly pleasant dinner companion. So far her father hadn’t directed any questions or comments her way, and she wasn’t even sure he’d really looked at her, but that was fine. As long as he was nice to Chloe, she’d consider this evening a win.
“Sure, that’s right about turning everything into a toy,” said Gigi. “Don’t let him dazzle you, though, Chloe. Every time he stole our garbage can lids to use them as shields, we had raccoons digging around in our trash, and I can’t tell you how many times my laundry basket came home smelling like the fish he’d caught.”
Everyone chuckled, even Harlan, and Emily wondered if maybe, just maybe, Chloe could soften that old man up enough for Emily to find a way back in. It was a long shot, but she was known to take a risk or two.
The rest of dinner was a mostly relaxing affair, and all the taboo subjects were conveniently avoided. Emily was careful not to bring up anything too controversial that might turn her father’s mood sour, such as what she’d been doing since she left the island. If she didn’t bring up her life in San Antonio, he could pretend she’d never run off. That left her with not mu
ch to say, but Chloe artfully filled in any gaps in conversation. They ate on the back patio where the breeze ruffled the tree branches and the sound of waves could be heard until the crickets got too loud. The sun was setting when Harlan’s chair scraped against the brick as he pushed back from the table.
“Thanks for dinner, Brooke. I should check in on things downtown. Lilac Festival starts tomorrow, and they’ll need help setting up some of the barricades for the parade. I’ll see you gals later.” He stood up and gave Chloe’s shoulder a little squeeze. It was subtle but felt to Emily like a significant sign of affection. Her father might not ever approve of her marriage to Nick, or basically any decision she’d made before or since, but at least he was willing to accept Chloe, and that was a huge leap forward from their last two visits. He nodded at the rest of them, and he maaaaay have been smiling. Or he may have been burping. With Harlan there was just no telling.
Gigi motioned to Chloe as they both stood up. “Come on inside with me, sweetheart. I’ll show you some old picture albums and fill you in on all the island gossip. Nothing gets by me. I know all the dirt. Especially all the stuff about your relatives.”
“Mom, should I help clean up first?” Chloe batted her lashes and smiled innocently. Now she was working the I’m adorable so please don’t make me help with cleanup angle. Emily waved her away with a laugh.
“You go ahead with Gigi. I’ll help Aunt Brooke clean up.”
Skepticism slanted Brooke’s eyebrows. “You sure? You don’t want to get barbeque sauce on that white shirt.” There was a tone there. Nothing too overt, but loud in sister-speak. Brooke thought Emily was overdressed. So did Emily, but it was too late to fix that now.
“That’s what bleach is for,” Emily answered, picking up a tall stack of dirty plates and carrying them into the kitchen. She wanted the family to think she was successful, not arrogant. Brooke came in behind her carrying half a dozen water glasses.
“So you’re remodeling a place for Gigi, huh?” Brooke asked as Emily set the plates next to the stainless steel sink.
“Yep, her second husband’s place. I haven’t seen it yet, but we’re going tomorrow after church. I vaguely remember it from when we were kids, and it has a lot of potential.”
“You haven’t seen it yet?” Brooke snickered. “That explains why you’re still speaking to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the place is falling apart. She’s been renting it to college kids for the past few summers, and they were pretty rough on it. I’m honestly surprised she decided to renovate. I thought she was going to sell it.”
“Sell it?”
Brooke’s expression was impassive. “I thought so, but I guess she changed her mind.”
“I guess so.”
Emily busied herself with the dirty plates. Gigi hadn’t said anything to her about selling it, but even if that was a consideration, it wasn’t something Emily wanted to discuss with her sister at the moment. Too many questions could lead to her having to admit she’d borrowed a serious chunk of money from Gigi. She needed to steer this conversation in another direction. “So, are you dating anyone?”
Brooke halted with a drinking glass poised over the sink, staring at Emily as if to gauge the legitimacy of the question. “Sure,” she said dryly. “I’m dating twins. Their names are Slim and None. How about you?” She opened the dishwasher and started loading the glasses in.
“Nope. I’m too busy working and taking care of Chloe.” And she was, so the fact that Ryan Taggert popped into her mind just then meant nothing. Even though she could very clearly picture the red tie hanging around his neck, and the day’s worth of stubble that covered his face as they’d stood in the hall of that hotel last night. But so what? He hadn’t come down to the bar to have dinner with her and Chloe, and he hadn’t been on the ferry this morning either. If he was interested, he wasn’t making much of an effort. So, yeah. It meant absolutely nothing at all.
She scraped away the thought of him along with the leftovers on the plate she was holding over the trash bin.
“I’m pretty busy working, too,” Brooke said. “And . . . I’m thinking about running for mayor.” The comment was tossed out with nonchalance, as if she’d just mentioned how she’d bought a dozen eggs from O’Doul’s grocery store.
Emily looked up from the plate in her hand. “You are? Isn’t Harry Blackwell still the mayor?”
“Yes, and he’s about a hundred and forty years old. Just because this island is historic doesn’t mean the mayor has to be, too.” That was said with a little more passion, like maybe that dozen eggs had cost twice as much as she’d expected.
“That is an excellent point. What about your job at the school? Wouldn’t you miss teaching?”
Brooke was the one and only science teacher at the one and only school on the island. Grades one through twelve all fit inside the same building with about 150 kids attending each year. Academics had come naturally to Brooke, so it was a surprise to no one when she went into teaching. In fact, it was often said of her that the only time she’d ever been sent out into the hall, it was for extra credit.
Brooke turned on the faucet to rinse the knives and forks. “Sure, I’d miss academics, but I think being the mayor might be a nice change of pace. I could use a little of that, you know? I’ve got lots of ideas, and I think I could have a positive impact.”
That was Brooke. It wasn’t enough that she’d taken care of her family or even her students. Now she wanted to take care of the whole island. And if anyone could, it was her. “I think you’d be great at it. You’re great at everything.”
Brooke chuckled, brushing away the comment with a wave of her hand. “I know a thing or two about a thing or two, but I seem to be good at herding cats, so if I can handle a classroom full of noisy kids, I think I could manage this island’s government. But I don’t know. I haven’t decided for sure yet.”
It wasn’t like Brooke to be indecisive, and there weren’t that many times in their lives when Emily was the one to offer reassurance. Here was a chance. “I think it’s a really good idea, Brooke, and I’m not just saying that to be nice. You know I never say stuff just to be nice. I think if you want to be mayor, you’d be a fantastic one.”
Brooke fussed with the faucet handle and blushed. Accepting compliments was nowhere on her résumé.
“And besides,” Emily teased, “Mayor Blackwell used to pinch my cheek every time he’d see me and I hated it. For that reason alone, you have my vote.”
That got a laugh from her sister. “Good to know you’re willing to stand up for your convictions. I promise to never pinch your cheek.”
Chapter 6
The sun was low in the sky, casting pink and purple shadows as Ryan climbed aboard a horse-drawn taxi to head to the cottage his father had rented. They’d spent the afternoon shopping for all the stuff Tag had insisted he’d need in order to fully experience the island. He now had new hiking boots, thick socks, waterproof pants that zipped off at the knees to turn into shorts, a hat with a wide brim, and several T-shirts depicting the various and supposedly appealing aspects of Trillium Bay. One shirt simply said Up North. Apparently that was a place. At any rate, he’d bought so much damn stuff he could stay the entire summer and never have to find a Laundromat. In fact, they’d shopped so long that they ran out of time to go hiking.
“See?” Tag had said as he’d left Ryan at the Rosebush Hotel with his arms full of new merchandise. “I told you that you’d be busy here. We’ve already had to postpone something.”
Shopping was not Ryan’s idea of being busy. Being busy involved work, and as of yet he hadn’t seen the hotel project his father was currently involved with, nor had they discussed the hush-hush project that Tag wanted Ryan to consider, and it was hard to consider anything when he had literally no details. That was something he fully intended to address tonight. Tag was cooking him dinner. Because apparently that was a new thing for him, too. Cooking.
Cooking?<
br />
What the hell had happened to him?
A woman. That’s what had happened to him.
As the horse-drawn taxi meandered down Main Street, they passed a few more fudge shops, a tiny grocery store called O’Doul’s, and a library painted a bright aquamarine blue. Ryan breathed in and tried to calm his mind. He had a million and twelve things he should be working on right now. A million and twelve reasons why he wanted to be back in California, but his task here was important. Taggert Property Management needed its president back, and obviously his dad needed his help. Not with the job, but with the bimbo. Bryce and Jack would never let Ryan hear the end of it if he couldn’t make this right.
Competition among the Taggert brothers came as easily as breathing, and as the youngest of the three, Ryan often felt the need to catch up and prove he was just as good as they were. At everything. Just by virtue of being the last one born, Ryan was at a disadvantage, but he made up for that in tenacity and drive.
“That’s the fort, up that way,” the taxi driver said. He was a young guy, probably just shy of twenty, with a mangy head of light brown hair and a day’s worth of scruff.
“The fort?”
“Yeah, you know. Fort Beaumont. Built in 1780 by the British. Wenniway was considered a strategic military location on account of the straits.”
The kid rattled on with a dozen more historical details about the fort and the island, but Ryan blanked on most of it. “And then Chief Eagle Feather rode through the town in his altogether, warning the Americans that the British were coming. Or so the story goes.”
The kid looked back at him, so Ryan smiled and nodded. He’d learned a long time ago how to at least appear to be listening. Especially because he didn’t choose to not listen. It was just that his brain was busy doing other things. “How much farther is it to Beech Tree Point?” he asked.
“Not much,” the kid answered.
The paved road curved and transitioned into a dirt two-track as the horses continued on for another few minutes, until it was nothing but woods all around them. Begrudgingly, Ryan had to admit that the pine trees did smell good. A squirrel ran across the road, and birds were chirping all around him. He could hear the waves rolling over the shore, and just off to his left, in the small spaces between the branches, he could see Lake Huron. This island was pretty. Definitely pretty. Not I want to quit my job and move here kind of pretty. But certainly I could probably hang out here for about a week kind of pretty.
