Page 11 of Summer People
“Huh?”
“Your jacket. Heard you didn’t have one.”
I shrug. “I have one. The airport lost my luggage. It was in one of my bags. I’m hoping it turns up tomorrow, though.”
He shakes his head. “Until then, you need a jacket.”
I resist the urge to scoff. “It’s not that cold.”
Clearly exasperated by me, he sighs. Is that number six? Or seven? Either way, I think I might like annoying him a bit more than I should. “You’ll change your tune when the breeze comes in off the ocean in the morning.” With that, he guides Sutton down the wooden steps of my cottage toward a pickup truck.
Hmm. Didn’t think there were any vehicles on the island. Wonder if I can get one…
He backs out of my driveway, and about five seconds later, they pull in next door. Sutton hops out, blond braids flying, and runs into a house that looks almost identical to the one I’m staying in, though far more lived-in. The windows aren’t as weathered, and the adorable navy blue shutters have a fresh coat of paint. Small blue flowers bloom in pretty window boxes that are painted pink and white, each a little different from the last. Hmm, he must have a wife to have such a pretty home.
Poor woman. I can’t imagine dealing with a grump like him is easy.
I shut the door, making sure to twist the lock, then head up the stairs. After twenty-four hours of running, I’m finally here. Yes, maybe I endured the trip from hell—the broken plane, the sick passenger, a missed chopper, and a ride on the garbage boat—but I made it. My house is spider-free, and I can already feel the magic my mother spoke of settling around me.
A warm shower and a good night’s sleep are all I need to rid myself of the residual stress of my travels.
I enter the bathroom, ignoring the musty smell, and peek behind the blue paisley curtain. With no spiders in sight, I let out a breath and reach in to turn on the water. While the water warms, I pull a set of pajamas from my suitcase.
Stripped down, I step into the tub and slide my head back into the spray. The ice-cold water that pulses down on my skull pulls a shriek from me, ramping up the tension in my body once more.
A cold shower, it is.
CHAPTER FIVE
libby
Monhegan Island istwelve miles off the coast of Maine. Though from the view outside the kitchen window, it might as well be a million miles from civilization. All I can see here are rolling hills that lead to a daring cliff and the angry ocean. For the first time in my life, there’s not a person in sight. No assistants or lackeys bugging me for my breakfast order or reminding me of what time I need to be on set.
My phone isn’t buzzing with invites to restaurant openings, and my publicist isn’t texting with lists of events I’m expected to attend.
I’m surrounded by silence and I’m okay with that.
Though I wouldn’t mind a coffee right about now.
I lean against the pale blue counter in the kitchen and smile. God, I can feel Mom in here. She had nothing to do with the decorating—that was all her great-grandmother—but she loved this place so much.
There’s a small wooden table pressed against the wall. If I close my eyes, I can picture her moving about this space while six-year-old me sat at one of the three chairs, eating a bowl of cereal. She always wore robes in bright colors. They would billowaround her as she told me about what the day ahead would bring. A beach excursion, hiking the cliffs along the back of the island to watch for whales, a boat ride to the mainland for a lobster roll at lunch.
My mother made even simple afternoon strolls seem as exciting as a night at the symphony.
She made everything special.
With an exhale, I open my eyes. Instantly, I’m engulfed in the silence of the muted space. Even the teal walls are duller than I remember.
Everything seemed so muchmorein my memory.
The reality doesn’t quite match up.
But that’s a me thing. If my mother were here, she would remind me that it’s all about perspective. No coffee pot? A reason to go into town and explore.
No hot water? Cold water is better for your skin.
No luggage? An excuse to go shopping.
