It was May, she thought as she picked up the second brush and scanned it. Did people really need to be thinking about Christmas now?
She knew the answer. Crafters started early and anyone looking to knit a sweater or scarf or whatever for the holidays would, in fact, be working on it over the summer. She usually liked how the inventory of Cozy Crafts heralded the coming seasons. In truth today, everything was getting on her nerves.
She hated Colin. That was the real problem. She’d spent most of the past two nights lying awake, mentally calling him names. She’d also made detailed lists of everything she’d ever done for him. Everything he never noticed or appreciated.
Like her weight. She weighed exactly what she had on the day they’d gotten married. Four pregnancies, five babies and not an ounce different. Unlike Boston, who’d put on thirty pounds over her pregnancy and had never bothered to take it off.
Deanna kept up on current events. She understood the oil crisis, could speak intelligently on current issues and attended local school board meetings. She was well read. She took excellent care of her house and her family. She baked bread, shopped organic and made nearly every damn bite of food they put in their mouths.
And her thanks for that? Rejection. Dismissal. Threats.
She finished adding the new delivery to inventory and set out the brushes. She sorted the yarn and quickly started a holiday display.
Cozy Crafts was on the west side of the island, next to Island Chic, a clothing store. The clientele consisted of both tourists and locals. Deanna taught scrapbooking, basic quilting and basic knitting. She coordinated the other instructors. She’d been the one to convince Boston to give an introductory painting class two years ago. The class that had led to an article in a national travel magazine. But did any of that matter to Colin?
She glanced toward the windows at the front of the store and thought briefly about tossing a chair through the glass. Not that the action would help her current situation, but she had to do something. Every part of her hurt. She was frustrated and scared and angry.
Divorce. The very thought of it made her whole body clench. She didn’t want to be divorced. She didn’t want the stigma, the struggle. She didn’t want the pity or the gloating.
Without wanting to, she remembered her mother standing in the middle of the horrible little kitchen of their disgusting, dirty house.
“Make sure when you marry a man, you keep him,” the other woman had said. “Ain’t nothing worse than being without a man.”
Deanna figured she’d been all of ten or eleven when that pearl of advice had been tossed in her direction. At the time she remembered thinking a man would be a good thing. Her mother didn’t drink as much when she had a man. The beatings weren’t as often or as vicious. The house was cleaner and there was food in the refrigerator.
Now she was thinking the advice was worth taking, but for different reasons. She didn’t want to have to change her lifestyle or work harder. She didn’t want to have to explain the whys to anyone. Damn Colin for turning everything around.
She crossed to the front door and flipped the sign to Open, then unlocked the door. She had a scrapbooking class at eleven. That was something to look forward to. Colin would be home tomorrow. Deanna dreaded his arrival. She didn’t know what to say to him or how to act.
She shook off the depressing reality that was her life now and walked to the stack of Christmas yarn she’d left on one of the craft tables. She might as well get it put up front so they could start selling it. Doing well at her job mattered now more than ever.
A few minutes later, the front door opened and Boston walked in.
“Hi,” she called when she caught sight of Deanna. Her gaze dropped to the red and green yarn. “Oh, no. Already? It’s not even summer.”
“That’s what I was thinking, but knitting projects take time.”
“I know, but I’m not ready.”
Boston wore a long, colorful tunic over slim-fitting jeans. The shapeless shirt did nothing to disguise the roll of fat spilling over her waistband. Her face had a roundness that bordered on puffy. As she passed through a patch of sun, the light caught the deep reds and purples streaked through her hair.
What on earth was that woman thinking? Deanna wondered. She wasn’t a teenager anymore—she should stop trying to pass for one. But Boston had always been eccentric. It was the artist thing. People found it charming.
“My entire circadian rhythm just tilted,” Boston said, then took a deep breath. “But I’m not going to let it get to me.” She smiled. “I need acrylic paints. One of those sets you sell kids.”
Acrylics? Boston? She special-ordered most of her supplies from Europe. Deanna was forever placing internet orders to Italy and France, trying to figure out forms printed in a foreign language.
“What for?”
Boston turned and headed for the paint supplies. “I’m going to paint a mural.” She shook her head. “I’m going to try painting a mural. For Andi’s waiting room. I’ll start with a few sketches on paper and then test some colors. I don’t know. It’s a big project, but maybe I need that.”
Deanna trailed after her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who’s Andi?”
Boston came to a stop in front of the small jars of brightly colored paints. “Our new neighbor.”
Deanna swore under her breath. “I haven’t been over yet.” She vaguely recalled moving vans in front of the horrible house next door and the sound of construction, but hadn’t internalized that she had a new neighbor.
Boston reached for a jar of red paint and held it up to the light. “You have a lot to deal with. There’s so much going on right now.”
Deanna felt herself flush. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Boston looked at her, eyes wide, expression confused. “I was talking about the girls. All five of them in school. It’s getting close to summer vacation. Doesn’t that mean last-minute projects? Colin travels so much that you have to handle most of that on your own.” She hesitated. “Is there something else?”
“No. Of course not.” Deanna mentally slapped herself. She had to keep it together. Bad enough to worry that Colin was blabbing their personal business. Worse if she gave it away herself. “I’m tired. Sorry.”
“No problem.” Boston scooped up a half dozen containers in bright colors, then grabbed a couple of inexpensive brushes. “I’ll take these.”
They walked to the cash register.
“I’ll go visit Andi over the weekend,” Deanna said. “What’s she like?”
“Nice. Pretty. I like her. She’s a pediatrician. Right next door in an emergency.”
“Great.” Deanna punched in the codes for the paints.
A career woman, she thought grimly. Someone to be critical of her choices. Someone to point out that by having so many children, she’d chosen to be dependent on a man and had no one but herself to blame for her current situation. Not exactly a conversation she was looking forward to having.
She put the supplies into a bag and handed it to Boston. “Good luck with the new project.”
“Thanks. I’m excited about it. I need something new. A distraction. It’s the perfect time of year for a change.”
With that, she waved and left.
Deanna stared after her. What a stupid thing to say. Change was good? The last big change Boston had faced was the death of her only child. What kind of person thought change was good?
Chapter Eight
SATURDAY MORNING ANDI headed out early. The construction crew was going to work much of the day, and the last thing she wanted was to be stuck in the attic, listening to the irregular rhythm of pounding and power tools. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to turn that noise into something bearable.
The deconstruction of the first floor was complete,
but progress was being made in ways not visible to the untrained eye. Wade swore that there were new pipes and electrical updates. As far as she was concerned, she was still lacking walls or anything else she could point to. Later she would be grateful for outlets and switches, but right now staring at a few wires dangling between studs wasn’t exactly satisfying.
Next week an additional crew would come in and start on the second-floor remodeling. That meant ripping out more walls and the two bathrooms. Her poor house was going to be nothing more than a shell.
But that was for later, she told herself as she started down the hill toward town. Today she was going to explore the island. The skies were clear, the sun was warm and the day held promise. She’d slathered on sunscreen and signed up for a wine-tasting tour that started at eleven. Until then she had plans to walk along the boardwalk by Blackberry Bay and check out the center of town.
As she approached the water, she saw several stores and businesses on her left. Four women walked into a studio called Scoop and Stretch. Yoga and Pilates, the sign said.
Interesting, Andi thought. She’d tried a couple of yoga classes and had found that she was possibly the least bendy person on the planet. But a couple of her friends swore by Pilates. Apparently it was all about core strength, and who couldn’t use a stronger core?
She paused long enough to enter the phone number into her cell phone, then continued her walk. She would call them later and find out about classes.
As she reached the main road that circled the island, she saw a sign for a farmer’s market and turned in that direction. There were lots of people walking. Mostly families. A little boy held on to a massive golden retriever, and it was difficult to tell who was leading whom. Up ahead a retired couple held hands as they walked.
This was nice, Andi thought. The sense of community. Right now she didn’t know anyone, but that would change. She could already see making friends with the nurses at Dr. Harrington’s office.
A few minutes later, she walked into the farmer’s market. It was set up in the parking lot of a church. Stalls offered some fresh produce, although it was still early in the growing season. There was plenty of asparagus along with fresh flowers, eggs and cheese. The scent of slow-cooking pork mingled with barbecue beef. At the end of one row, several Latina women were making fresh tortillas and tamales. Even though it was still early and she’d eaten breakfast, Andi felt her stomach rumble.
She walked by each of the booths. There were jars of regional honey, handmade soaps and organic lotions. She was tempted by several items, but didn’t want to carry them on her wine-tasting tour. She also wasn’t sure she had time to walk back to the house, then return down the hill. So she settled on window-shopping. By the time she headed over to the meeting place for her tour, she was feeling pretty perky.
A twentysomething brunette stood in front of the wine-tasting room wearing an Island Tours T-shirt. Andi walked over to her.
“I’m here for the wine-tasting tour at eleven,” she said. “Andi Gordon.”
“Great. I’m Beth.” Beth scanned the list, then handed Andi a bright purple plastic bracelet. “You’ll need to wear this at all times today. We have special pourings at each of the wineries, and your way in is that bracelet. Remember to pace yourself and drink plenty of water. Also, do eat the snacks provided.” She flashed a smile. “We don’t want our tourists driving drunk.”
Andi thought about pointing out she wasn’t a tourist, but realized that wasn’t the actual point. “I’m walking,” she said.
“Perfect. Then you can get as tipsy as you like.” She paused expectantly, her pen hovering over the list.
“What?” Andi asked.
“The other name?”
“What other name?”
“Aren’t you with someone?”
For the past decade, Andi had been able to say yes. Yes, she was with someone. Yes, she was with Matt. She was half of a couple. Part of a twosome. A duo. Maybe she hadn’t felt wildly and madly in love, but being with Matt had been comfortable.
“It’s just me today,” she said.
Beth blinked. “Oh. Great. We have some fun people along. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
Andi wanted to point out that the world didn’t cease turning on its axis just because a woman didn’t have a date. But she didn’t. After all, she felt awkward, too, albeit determined. She’d decided that one Matt-like fiasco was enough. She would embrace her new single life, accepting that happily-ever-after wasn’t meant to be for her. She would self-actualize. She was woman and hadn’t someone written a song about that, a long time ago?
“Hey there, are you the one who’s alone?”
Andi turned and found an older couple standing next to her. They were both tall and thin, with gray hair and friendly smiles. Seventy, at least.
“Excuse me?”
The woman smiled. “I’m Betty and this is my Fred. We’re on the wine tour, too. That nice little girl who’s our guide mentioned you didn’t have anyone.” Betty lowered her voice. “We said we’d look out for you.”
Andi held in a groan. She was well into her thirties, a doctor and more than capable of going along with a group on a wine-tasting tour that never strayed more than four miles from her house.
However, she had been raised to be polite, so she gave what she hoped was a sincere smile. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’ll be fine.”
“It’s no trouble,” Betty told her, linking arms with her. “We have a daughter just like you. Pretty enough, but for the life of her, no one can figure out why she can’t get a man. For a long time we thought she was a lesbian, but she swears it’s not that. We’d love her the same, either way. Maybe there will be some nice, single men on the tour.”
“I’m actually here to learn about the island and taste the wine.”
Betty patted her arm. “You’re so brave. That’s inspiring. I tell my Fred all the time that he doesn’t get to go first. I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’ve been taking care of him for fifty years. Don’t you think being a wife and a mother is a woman’s highest aspiration?”
Andi cleared her throat. “I think it can be satisfying, but...”
“You’ll get there, honey. Now we’re traveling with friends. Let me introduce you. Everyone’s very friendly, but you be careful with Walter. He has a bit of a wandering eye and you’re just his type.”
Andi rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache.
“Everyone, this is Andi. She’s by herself today. I said we’d help her out.” Betty lowered her voice. “She’d appreciate any suggestions for single men you might know. Grandsons, grandnephews. Andi here is at the age where she really can’t be picky.”
Andi opened her mouth, then closed it. Honestly, what was there to say? The only happy thought was very soon, she was going to be in a winery. As of this second, she vowed she would taste every last sample offered and drink it to the very last drop.
* * *
Andi had never been one to get drunk, but during the wine tour, she’d made an exception. Betty and her friends had offered to drive Andi back to her place, but she’d declined the invitation. The walk would do her good. The way her head was spinning, it needed a good clearing. She had a bottle of water with her for hydration. She would be fine.
She’d also refused several phone numbers of age-appropriate relatives from the other seniors along. Frankly, the descriptions of the single men in question had terrified her.
There was Bea and Harold’s oldest grandson who was still living with his mother but had so many ideas for new businesses he didn’t know where to start. Jeff, a thirty-two-year-old extreme sport athlete, whose last case of STDs was clearing up nicely. Chase, who at thirty had already been married three times because he couldn’t find “the one,” and Derek, a writer, looking for a woman with a steady
job to support him while he wrote the great American novel. Even Beth, the tour guide, had mentioned an ex-boyfriend who was going to be getting out of rehab in a couple of weeks.
Andi had brushed off all offers to set her up on a date and had promised to keep in touch. Yes, the wine tour had been wonderful, but she was so ready to be anywhere but there. She made her escape and started back toward her house.
Alone with her thoughts and a giant buzz, she did her best to focus on staying on the sidewalk. Even though that was harder than it should have been, thoughts still intruded.
Granted, she hadn’t been on a date since Matt had abandoned her at the altar, but if those men represented her choices, she was happy to be alone. She didn’t want to be anyone’s mother, nor was she interested in being a port in a storm. She wanted a good guy who was funny and caring. Loyal and maybe a little sexy.
“Correction—no man,” she said aloud, then had to look around and make sure no one was in hearing distance. She’d come to the island to be on her own. To start fresh and be man-free.
She paused at the bottom of the hill and glanced up at the road that led to her street. With her brain fuzzy and the afternoon temperature climbing, she was suddenly less sure she could make it back. And how pathetic was that?
She drew in a breath and resumed walking. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. All journeys began the same way.
As she climbed the steep street, she let her mind wander. The view got more spectacular with each step. The sound spread out before her, gloriously blue. She could see the peninsula and the strait leading to the Pacific. It would all be so much prettier if she could just focus better.
The scent of salt spiced the air. She drew in several deep breaths, hoping to clear her head, and kept walking.
Maybe she’d been hasty on the man thing, she thought. Maybe one bad experience shouldn’t cause her to make a decision that affected the rest of her life. Of course her Matt experience was enough to set anyone back. And it wasn’t as if there were any prospects. She’d just relocated to a tourist haven. Tourists weren’t date material. She’d liked Betty and Fred just fine, but didn’t want to date either one. As for the island residents, from what she’d seen so far, they were paired up. Two by two. Ark people, she thought with a giggle as she came around the corner and saw her house.
Three Sisters Page 8
