Page 8 of The Summer We Started Over

When they moved to Nantucket, Barrett had quickly realized she could make serious money here in the summer. She took as many jobs as she could, worked hard, and made friends. She took business courses virtually for two years, and at the same time she continued working. She had a dream and she made a rational plan.

Barrett had made friends and gradually become comfortable in her life. That, she thought, was saying a lot. For that, she thought, she deserved some kind of medal. Her brother had died, her mother had left them, her father had retreated into his books, and after a year on the island, Eddie had left to work with Dinah Lavender. For Barrett it had been sink or swim. There had been days and weeks when she wanted to stop struggling and collapse in grief. But the horse and dog and her father needed feeding, and friends invited her to beach parties, and really, it just wasn’t in her nature to give up.

Who was she? Barrett thought during those odd transitional years. She wasn’t a genius like her brother had been, and thank God for that.She wasn’t a scholar like her father. She didn’t run away from her problems like her mother. She didn’t want a glamorous life like Eddie.

Most people have parents or teachers to advise them. Barrett lived in her dreams. She wasn’t crazy. She did well in school and had fun with friends. She watched television with her father. She kept up on current events.

But at night, trying to sleep, she slipped into a dream world, a daydream world, an emotional sanctuary. It was as if she were inside an egg, a robin’s egg that was a beautiful blue inside as well as outside. The egg was as big as the universe, and over the years she imagined rooms that were like oceans she could float in. A room made of the sapphire of the island’s hydrangeas. A room as transparent as sea glass, and one as deep indigo as the ocean at night. The blue of flame, the blue of ice. The blue of the summer sky.

By the time she was twenty-three, she knew that she wanted to own a shop on Nantucket. It would be called Nantucket Blues. She was building her future on dreams, but she had saved most of her money while she worked on the island, and she had enough to rent a shop on Lower Main Street, in the small courtyard of shops like Aunt Leah’s Fudge.

It was a good location. People passed it on their way to and from the Hy-Line. It had a large display window and a small back room with a table for wrapping gifts and unwrapping deliveries. She’d rented a credit card machine and invested in a touch screen cash register. She wanted to make her dream come true at last. And she was prepared, and could handle both things—business and dreams.

She would open the door to Nantucket Blues on Memorial Day weekend.

Her front window was ready. On the right side was layered a pile of cashmere sweaters in dreamy spring and summer colors—aquamarine, turquoise, azure, and sapphire. In the center, a pair of expensive cobalt blue vases were surrounded by waves of blue and white silk, thebackground for earrings, necklaces, and bracelets fashioned into scallop shells, lightship baskets, starfish, mermaids, some inexpensive, some pricey. Picture frames adorned with tiny dried flowers, translucent jingle shells, dried blueberries, and ribbon faced the street along the left side. The frames held pictures of happy families on Nantucket beaches. The photos were spectacular, because her friend Cath was an island photographer, and this helped both Cath and Barrett. Notebooks with heavenly blue covers. Finally, a large white antique pitcher tempted the eyes with its bouquet of Nantucket’s showgirls, giant blue hydrangeas. Most of her items had been handmade by Nantucket crafters or judiciously bought at estate sales on the island.

Eddie had said, “Care Bear, Nantucket Blues is a great idea. But I worry that the shop won’t be successful and you’ll lose all the money you worked so hard to earn.”

“Eddie, stop. I’m making my dream come true. How many people can say that?” Eddie was older and wiser and more sophisticated, but this summer Barrett felt strong. She knew people came to the island for the sun and the beach, but they also came for the time to dream. “Can you?” she challenged.

Eddie had taken a moment to respond. “I suppose I sort of can. I’ve always wanted my life to be about books.”

“There are so many ways for a life to be about books,” Barrett reminded her sister.

Eddie, usually so sweet, snapped, “I’mfine,Barrett.” Regretting her cranky response, she added, “I just don’t have everything figured out. Dreams don’t just pop into your heart in complete detail.”

Mine did,Barrett wanted to say, but she diplomatically said, “I’m sure you’re right.”

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Eddie could have flown into Nantucket. She absolutely could afford to. But she took the fast ferry for the crossing over Nantucket Soundto the island. The boat was packed with people headed to the island for Memorial Day, the start of summer. She stood at the railing with the wind in her hair as she left one world for another.

The boat docked with a sturdy bump against the wharf and soon, with much clanging and banging, the crew positioned the metal ramps so the passengers could single-file down to the brick sidewalk.

Eddie’s heart lifted as she set foot on the island. Itwasbeautiful here. She’d forgotten how sweet the air was. She walked toward the crowded baggage claim area, glanced up, and tripped over her own feet.

Standing only a few yards away was Jeff. She hadn’t seen him for two years, but he still looked like everything she’d ever wanted.

Eddie was stunned. Instead of fighting through the crowd to the luggage carts, she froze, staring at Jeff as if he were a vision. She shouted—the crowd was noisy—“What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Eddie,” Jeff said, with his slow sweet smile. “I just put my grandmother on the boat. What areyoudoing here?”

Had he gotten taller in the two years she’d been away? Was that even possible? She didn’t think so, not when he was almost thirty. But his shoulders were wider, and his entire body was more…morethere…than it had been before.

She wanted to kiss him.

She had never stopped wanting to kiss him.

She forced herself to be sane, or at least act that way. “I’m coming home for a few weeks, helping out while Barrett opens her shop. And to check on Dad. How are you?”

“I’m good. Hey, let me drive you home.”

“Oh.” Alone with him in his truck? She was so not ready for this. Eddie stumbled over her words. “Right, fine, yes, thanks.”

“Excuse me!” a woman said, as her corgi pulled on its leash. “We need to get by.”

Jeff asked Eddie, “Which bags are yours? I’ll get them.”

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