Page 11 of The Summer We Started Over

“Dad, she’s wonderful and so are her books. I’m here because I haven’t had a vacation in two years.”

“But, Eddie, you’ve been to Paris!”

“True, Dad, but I went as Dinah’s employee. I wanted some time to myself.”

“And you came home.” William smiled. “You could have gone anywhere but you came home. I’m so glad.”

For a moment, Eddie was a little girl, safe in her father’s arms. “I want to see if I can help Barrett with her shop.”

The smile vanished from her father’s face. “I’m worried about Barrett. Well, not Barrett herself, but her shop. You know she saved money for years, working long hours when other young people were out at beach parties. I hope she can make a go of it.”

“I know.” Eddie sipped her coffee. Hot and rich. The brand they’d used forever. Dunkin’. “And what about you, Dad? What about your book?”

“It’s going very well, actually. Wilson put out a new biography of Charles Lamb this year and it’s a brilliant book, just brilliant. Your Dinah Lavender would love Charles Lamb! You know his sister killed their mother, right?”

And here we are,Eddie thought, wandering through her father’s thoughts about the lush and leafy maze of poetic history.

She tossed back the rest of her coffee. “I want to see Barrett and her shop. I’ll carry my bags up to my room, but I won’t take time to unpack. I plan to stay here for a month, more or less.”

She rinsed her cup, set it in the drainer, and left the room before her father could say more. Once he got started on his favorite subject, he could go on for hours.

As she lugged her suitcases up the stairs, she couldn’t help knocking into piles of books. This was nothing new, the books on the stairs, but when she entered her bedroom, she was shocked to see towers of books leaning against the walls, the end of her bed, the sides of her chest of drawers. A narrow path led through the books to her dresser. At least there were no books on her bed.

She used the bathroom she shared with her sister, smoothed her hair and put on lipstick—she might run into old acquaintances and she wanted to look good. When she got downstairs, she found her father back in his study. This wasn’t the time to talk to him about his books. She’d wait and gang up on him with Barrett.

She went out to the back porch. There, in the shadow of the barn, was her trusty old Jeep. At least she hoped it was trusty. She checked the hook by the back door and was relieved to find the keys. There had been times when her father had used a car key as a bookmark. Barrett had added fat rubber toy buoys to their key chains.

“Bye, Dad!” she called, and stepped out the back door and down the steps to the yard. The horse and dog were at the other end of the property. The barn door was closed. Her father’s Land Rover sat in the driveway. She settled in, adjusting the seat, fastening her seatbelt, checking her hair in the rearview mirror.

She was nervous. Or tired. Or overexcited. It had been a lot, seeing Jeff again, so soon, so unexpectedly, when she stepped off the ferry. And then her father, who seemed good, but all the books, so many more books than when she left, were worrisome.

How brave Barrett was, to remain on the island, to open a shop here. Her baby sister, only twenty-six years old, opening a shop. Making her dream come true.

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Barrett had made her ownopenandclosedsigns. Sky blue background, white lettering, and pale imprints of shells, mermaids, and gems. The sign was turned toclosedbecause she still had work to do, but the overhead lights were on while she unpacked the white paper bags printed withNantucket Blueson the side. It would have been cheaper not to have the bags printed, but her friends told her it was a good investment. The bags would serve as walking advertising. She’d ordered three different sizes, for jewelry, housewares, and sweaters.

She was on her knees behind the counter when someone knocked on the shop door. For a moment, she hesitated. The door was locked, and no one could see her from outside, so she could wait down here behind the counter until whoever it was got a clue, saw the sign that was hanging right in front of them, and left. She hated turning people away before she’d even opened her business.

“Barrett! It’s me!”

Barrett jumped up so fast, she hit her elbow on a shelf. That was her sister’s voice!

She raced around the counter, across the small room, and tried to pull the door open, then remembered she’d locked it. She turned the lock, opened the door, and crowed triumphantly.

“You’re here! You’re really here! Oh, my God, you look so fancy!” She threw her arms around Eddie and squeezed until they were both breathless.

Eddie returned the hug. She pushed Barrett away, holding hershoulders with both hands. “Let me look at you. Barrett, you’re so pretty.”

Tears of happiness rolled down Barrett’s face. “Have you been to the house yet? Where’s your luggage? Did you take a boat or a plane? Are you hungry?”

Eddie laughed. “Let’s go inside. I want to see your shop.”

Had she ever been happier? Barrett wondered. She took her sister around the small shop, her heart racing. Eddie looked so sophisticated, with her dark blond hair styled in a short spiky cut and her black leather ankle boots and her sleek black dress. Her makeup was flawless, and did she have false eyelashes carefully woven into her own?

And oh, God, please let her approve of the shop. It was way too sweet for Eddie, who’d never met a mermaid she didn’t dislike, who read books instead of playing with dolls, who had always been and would always be older, smarter, more sophisticated, and prettier than Barrett. Okay, maybe prettier was the wrong word. Maybe more beautiful, more elegant, more fabulous.

“Iloveyour shop,” Eddie said.

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