“Bonnie,” Holly says. “Don’t cry. It’s only been—what?—six days? Give yourself some time.”
“I’m sorry, sugar. I don’t mean to do this to you. I’ve just been so homesick.”
“That’s understandable. I felt the same way when I left the island for college. I cried so much that my roommates thought I was depressed. And I kind of was...but then things started to feel familiar, and I got used to Miami. It was never home, but it turned out fine.”
“I don’t think this is going to turn out fine, doll. Doug works at a desk all day and he hates his boss. He comes home mad as a hornet after being pushed around all day, and he takes it out on me.”
“What?” Holly feels a bonfire of anger sweep through her body. “How does he take it out on you?”
“Not with his fists or anything—nothing like that. He just complains about whatever I make for dinner, and he hates the way I decorated his condo. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel the way I thought it would.”
Holly flips the plastic tab on the lid of her to-go cup back-and-forth. “So do you think he acted all big and manly when he was dressed as a pirate as a way to make up for the fact that he’s not like that at all in his real life?”
“I think that’s it in a nutshell.” Bonnie sighs. “And I let myself get swept off my damn feet like a fool.”
“You aren’t a fool, Bon. Wanting love and romance isn’t wrong, and no one can fault you for wanting a little excitement.”
“But you were right all along, and I didn’t listen to you.”
Holly resists the temptation to agree. What she says next almost causes her physical pain, but she knows what Bonnie has sacrificed in order to move to Clearwater and make a leap this big. “Do you think,” Holly swallows a sip of coffee, “that maybe you should give it more time before you make any big decisions?”
Bonnie is quiet. “Maybe,” she says in a small voice. “Maybe I’m not giving us a fair chance to try this thing. It is a lot of work to blend your life with someone else’s, and it doesn’t get any easier at our age. We’ve both got likes and dislikes; histories and memories; habits and preferences—and trying to compromise with another person is hard work. You could be right,” Bonnie says, though she sounds reluctant.
“Go and try to get a few hours of sleep while he works, then go for a walk or something and clear your head. Call me later?”
“You’re right, sugar. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“And you’ll never have to find out, because I’ll always be right here, Bon.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll call you later.”
Holly ends the call and sets her cell phone down on its face. This wasn’t the time to fill Bonnie in on all that’s happened in the past couple of days, but she knows that when her friend is well-rested and clear-headed, she’ll be more than ready to hear about the twins and the accident, about Bridget and the baby, and about Hal and his cuts and bruises.
Outside the B&B, traffic is picking up on Main Street. Holly needs to go and help Ellen and Carrie-Anne pull the plastic from their front window and measure the glass for the company that’s going to come and replace it. She’s reminded once again—as she sits and looks out the window at the golf carts and at her liver-spotted neighbors wobbling over to the coffee shop and the salon—that living on this island is more interesting than any soap opera could ever be.
Chapter 21
Bridget keeps to herself for a full week after the accident, and Holly only sees Jake in passing. The window repair company from Tampa makes the trip over by boat with a huge pane of glass for the front of Mistletoe Morning Brew, and a crowd gathers to watch the four men use clamps and a dolly as they carefully wheel the huge window up from the dock and get it into place. Ellen and Carrie-Anne have emptied their fundraising coffers from the month of February (formerly earmarked for a donation to a wildlife preserve in upstate New York), and with the help of a box placed on the front counter of every business on the island, they raised another $479.18 towards the window repair.
With the window fixed and the carts barely dented, all evidence of the biggest accident that Christmas Key’s ever seen are essentially erased. No new holes have popped up on the island recently, and a steady rotation of neighbors have lined up to drop in on Hal and make sure he’s healing and eating regularly. As always, the islanders are working together to divide and conquer as a team, and they’re moving forward without looking back.
The first time Bridget makes a trip to Main Street after the accident is for lunch at Jack Frosty’s. She and Jake park his police cart at the curb and he helps her step out gingerly, one hand on her back, the other beneath her hand like he’s escorting an elderly widow. Holly watches them as she sits on the bottom step of the B&B with her legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. There’s an electric air around Bridget that’s nearly visible, and Holly snaps her gum, looking up and down the sidewalk to see if anyone else notices. Bridget has an angry, told-you-so edge about her, and as their eyes meet, the younger girl raises her brows questioningly.
Holly looks down at her phone. She’s been waiting to hear from Bonnie, who’s fallen off the radar after their last call. It’s been on her mind to call or text and check in, but something’s been holding her back. Holly knows that by constantly calling and keeping Bonnie in the Christmas Key loop, she isn’t really letting her go. So instead, she deletes the first words of the text she’s been typing and slips the phone into the pocket of her sweatshirt.
It’s time to check on Jake and Bridget—both as the mayor and as an ex-girlfriend who cares—so she stands up slowly and straightens her skirt. This trip to Jack Frosty’s is clearly Bridget’s way of getting over the inevitable onslaught of sympathy greetings from everyone all at once, and it will be easy for Holly to blend in with the group of people who will be stopping by their table.
“Hey, chief,” Buckhunter says from behind the bar. The grill sizzles as he tosses food onto the hot surface. Holly waves and stops at the jukebox, where she picks out a Springsteen song and punches the button. The opening notes of “I’m On Fire” fill the bar. When she can’t reasonably spend any longer standing in front of the lit-up jukebox, she puts both hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt and walks directly to Jake and Bridget’s table. Holly tightens her grip around the cell phone in her right pocket and pastes the type of subdued smile on her face that feels appropriate for the occasion.
“Jake. Bridget.” She nods at both of them as she stands next to the table awkwardly. Bruce Springsteen croons in the background. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Bridget stares at the plastic-covered menu and doesn’t meet Holly’s gaze. Jake looks up at her with tired eyes. “Thanks, Hol,” he says. “It’s been a shock.”
She wants to ask if Jake had known about the baby and if he’d been happy about it, but as she looks at the bags under his eyes, she knows it doesn’t really matter. Whether he’d known his girlfriend was pregnant and had rejoiced at the possibility of a family, or whether he’d found out about the pregnancy and its loss at the same time, he deserved her sympathies.
“Everyone has been worried about you guys, but I wanted to give you space, so I didn’t drop by your house. If there’s anything at all I can do…”
Bridget drops the menu and it hits the table with a loud smack. “There is,” she says. “We can revisit the issue that you and I talked about that day at the pool.”
Jake’s head ping-pongs back and forth as he looks at the women.
“Okay,” Holly says. She waits, giving Bridget the floor.
“I told you there were differences that would cause problems. These people obviously don’t raise their kids the way they should, and look what’s already happened. Next thing you know they’ll be boycotting Christmas and they’ll ask you to change the name of this place to Kwanzaa Key.”
“What the…?” Jake looks like he’s standing in the middle of the street with an 18-wheeler coming right at him.
“They’ll b
e blasting rap music all up and down White Christmas Way—oh, excuse me,” Bridget holds out one hand, propping her arm up on the table with her elbow. Her bony wrist droops as her fingers splay gracefully. “I’m sure they’ll have some issue to bring up at the next village council meeting about the fact that they live on White Christmas Way. Maybe we can rename it for them.”
Holly is speechless. The tables around them have gone quiet, and the only sounds in the restaurant are the loud hisses coming from the grill, and the song on the jukebox. Jake sits in silence.
“I don’t know what to say,” Holly stammers. “You voiced your concerns to me that day at the pool, and I’m hearing you loud and clear now, but I really don’t have a response for you other than—” Holly is gearing up, ready to finally give Bridget a piece of her mind, when Jake stands abruptly.
“I don’t think Bridget is feeling up to this. We’ll just head out now and catch up with you another time. Thanks for stopping by, Holly.” Jake has Bridget up and out of the chair so quickly that they nearly knock Holly over as they exit the restaurant. Holly looks around at the other diners, exchanging a look with Millie Bradford and Maggie Sutter, who are sharing a plate of nachos nearby.
Buckhunter has missed the entire conversation as he flips burgers and pours iced tea behind the counter. “You out of here already?” he asks his niece, setting a plate on the counter and adding a pickle to the hamburger he’s been cooking. The Springsteen song ends and Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” drops into place and starts playing.
“I’ve got a family coming in this afternoon from Key West for a few days,” Holly says. She consults her watch. “I need to get back to the B&B and make sure everything is ready, but I wanted to stop in and see how Jake and Bridget were doing.”
Buckhunter glances at their empty table. “Did you scare them away?”
“No,” Holly says, kicking at the leg of the tall bar chair with the toe of her shoe. “Bridget got mad because I don’t have a plan in place to keep Christmas Key white.”
“Come again?” Buckhunter picks up a bottle of ketchup and the plate he’s just finished loading up. He runs the burger over to the table where Cap is reading a newspaper, passing Holly again as he rushes back behind the bar to flip another burger on the grill. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead.
“Apparently Bridget grew up in a small town with, like, zero diversity.”
“Okay,” Buckhunter prompts, spinning around his small prep area as he grabs onions to toss onto the grill.
“And she isn’t a fan of having the Guy family here.”
“Fiona mentioned something about that.” He frowns at her as he works his spatula, flipping meat and grilling onions.
“And she just went on a mini-rampage over there and totally freaked out her boyfriend.”
“So you don’t think Jake knew how she felt?” He puts a glass under the tap and fills it with water before taking a long drink.
“Based on the way he just acted right there? No, I don’t think so,” Holly says. “And I’d kind of like to be a fly on the wall right now to hear what they’re talking about.”
Buckhunter shakes his head. “That’s a doozy. It would be a deal-breaker for me if I found out my girl felt that way.”
“I’ve known Jake a long time,” Holly says. “And I don’t think he’s going to like it.” They’d visited Miami together on a number of occasions while they’d dated, but one time Jake had taken Holly there for a weekend away on South Beach. As they’d sat at a table with an umbrella on the sidewalk one afternoon, a sleek-looking European man seated next to them had appraised their waitress to his table mate, assigning a derogatory term to her based on the color of her skin. Jake had nearly come to blows with the man, and Holly had never seen him as angry as he was at that guy for treating someone like that.
No, she thought, Jake won’t be happy to find out that his girlfriend—and very nearly the mother of his baby—is a flaming racist.
“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Buckhunter pulls a stack of hot plates from the small dishwasher behind the bar. “Any new holes show up?”
“No,” Holly says, thinking about it. “Not for a week or two. It’s weird—they were popping up everywhere while the pirates were here, and then after they left it was kind of sporadic. And now there’s nothing.”
“Huh. Maybe old Bluebeard hid out in the trees and dug for his treasure when none of us were looking, then took to the seas again when he found it.”
“Hey, as long as he isn’t hanging out on my property at night like a creeper, then I’m fine with that.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the guests we have showing up today.”
“Thanks. I think they’ll be low-key. It’s a family of four, and they’re just here for three nights. They told me all they want to do is lay by the pool and walk on the beach.”
“Sounds good.” He turns back to the grill and scoots the spatula under a burger patty, lifting it off the hot surface and putting it on a plate. “I’ve got grub to serve, so I’ll talk to you later.”
Holly stops at the jukebox on her way out and chooses Springsteen’s “Hungry Heart.” Without turning around, Buckhunter holds a finger in the air and bobs his head to the beat.
“So when is he coming back?” Fiona shouts over the roar of the waves on Snowflake Banks. “I’m ready to see you with a smile on your face again.”
Holly trudges through the sand barefoot. Pucci is right beside her. Her best friend is stretching on the sand, wearing a pair of sweats pulled on over a navy blue one-piece swimsuit. Fiona’s hair is tied in a knot on top of her head.
“Who, River?” Holly sits next to her. She digs her feet into the cool sand as she watches the ocean.
“Yeah, River. I’ve been waiting to hear what happened after you two texted each other, and you never said anything. Are we hot and heavy again? Doing some long distance romance? A little telephone lovvvve?” Fiona says with a suggestive lilt.
Holly smirks at her. “Please don’t start talking about naked Skyping—that was always Bonnie’s favorite joke.”
“Well, now that you mention it…” Fiona holds one arm straight over her head and grabs onto the elbow with her other hand to stretch her shoulders. “Thanks for coming to watch me swim. I hate going out into the ocean at dusk alone—it doesn’t seem safe.”
“That’s because it isn’t. I’m always happy to come and watch.”
“So really, tell me what happened.” Fiona stands and unties her sweat pants; they fall to her ankles. She kicks them off and goosebumps immediately rise on her bare thighs and arms. It’s the second week of March and not at all chilly, but with the sun disappearing fast, the water is colder than the heated swimming pool at the B&B.
“We’ve been talking a little. I told him some of the stuff that’s been going on around here, and he even called one night.” Holly drags her hands through the sand, lifting fistfuls and letting the fine, powdery grains sift through her fingers. “It feels different than before, and it’s certainly not romantic, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to who knows the island and who knows me.”
“Interesting,” Fiona says, squinting at the waves. “Is he seeing anyone?”
“No.” Holly brushes the sand off her hands and reaches over to pet Pucci. “He’s been fishing and coaching his spring baseball team,” she says, referring to the foster kids that River volunteers to coach. “He wants to see me again.”
Fiona bends her front leg and does a deep lunge. “And do you want to see him?”
Holly thinks about it: does she want to see him? Is she ready to face him after the way things ended on Christmas Eve? It was humiliating for her to be so transparent about the fact that she wasn’t totally over Jake, and it was annoying that the man she’d broken up with still had that kind of hold on her. And the worst part was that she couldn’t have realized it on her own, when there wasn’t a gorgeous former baseball player who’d come to the island to sp
end the holidays with her. But with everything that’s happened since then—the fact that Jake and Bridget have seemed so happy, and that they almost had a baby together—it’s been easier to slowly let go of her feelings for Jake.
“Yeah, I think I want to see him. Sooner or later,” Holly says.
“That really pins things down.” Fiona lunges with the other leg. “Listen: he’s obviously still into you or he wouldn’t be calling and texting and talking about meeting up again. Jake is in deep with Bridget now, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you don’t feel the same way about him that you used to. So don’t screw this up.” Without waiting to hear what Holly has to say, she dashes for the water, squealing loudly as the cold waves lap against her shins, then her thighs, and finally her torso. Fiona puts her hands together over her head and dives into the water.
The setting sun is warm on Holly’s loose hair and bare arms, but she has no desire to be in the water. Instead, she watches as Fiona swims out and back, working to conquer the waves and tides. It’s impressive the way she’s taken on this challenge to swim to Cuba, and Holly admires the muscles forming in Fiona’s upper back. The sun catches the water on Fiona’s strong limbs as she cuts through the waves, and she glistens like a blade of grass covered in morning dew.
Holly pets Pucci as she thinks about how complicated human relationships are. There are so many intricate layers of drama and heartbreak that make people tick: Bonnie and Sinker—okay, Doug—and their desire to find romance and adventure; Jake and Bridget and the thrill of finding each other on a reality show, then the heartbreak of losing a baby together; Hal Pillory having an accident at his age and calling out for his late wife like she was just in the next room; and even Brian the pirate and his need to keep the fire alive with his wife in the midst of hard work and four kids.
And there’s more, she thinks, catching sight of Fiona as she dives under a wave and surfaces like a dolphin, arms slicing through the water—what about her own mother and the way she always has to both keep a cool distance and still control everything like a puppet master from behind the scenes? And Buckhunter keeping the secret about Holly’s grandfather being his biological father for so many years?
The Edge of Paradise: Christmas Key Book Three Page 15
