Page 19 of Summer People
Wonderstruck, I follow Sutton inside the building.
Inside, about a dozen people wander about, most of them children. Though they vary in ages from about five to sixteen or so. It’s hard to tell how old the teenager is since I can’t really see his face. His attention is focused solely on the woman at the front of the room.
That must be Maggie. She looks exactly as I would imagine a schoolteacher on a small island would. Long brown hair tied in a bow, rosy cheeks with a dusting of freckles, overalls that have seen better days, and the warmest smile I’ve ever been the recipient of.
“You must be Libby.” With quick steps that could be considered a skip, she heads in my direction, and then she’s holding out her arms and engulfing me in a hug.
Maybe it’s because I’ve met nothing but resistance since I arrived—with the exception of Sutton and Cank and his wife, of course—or maybe it’s because being here has made me miss my mom more than I have in years. Or maybe I’m just exhausted from having to fake it on the show for so long. Whatever the reason, experiencing such genuine kindness truly throws me, leaving emotion swirling tight in my chest.
When she pulls back with an even bigger grin, I know I’m exactly where I need to be. “Thank you so much for agreeing to help us this summer. It will be so nice having a real actress lead us.”
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t need to lead. I’m just here to help. Whatever you need.”
“What I need is a friend.” She leans in close, eyes dancing. “The acting will be the cherry on top.” Then, lips forming an O, she brings a hand to her mouth. “You should come to the brewery Saturday night. I can introduce you to everyone.”
“Everyone!” Sutton rolls her eyes, then cups her mouth like she did the night I met her and whisper shouts, “She’s got one friend.”
With her hands on her hips, Maggie gives my new bestie a half-hearted look of disapproval. If she were Fisher, it’d be a scowl, but I don’t think Maggie has the ability to make a disappointed face. “I’ve got Eddy and Fisher.”
“Don’t forget Wilder,” the boy who rang the bell hollers.
Maggie’s cheeks flush a bright red, the expression immediately piquing my interest. Who is Wilder? And why is the local town sweetheart blushing so fiercely?
“Who could ever?” she mutters. Then she brightens again. “So what do you say? Will you come with me Saturday?”
I nod eagerly. I can’t help but think that Fisher isn’t going to like this.
And for some reason, that makes me smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
fisher
Wilder tips backon the high metal stool. Damn, I wish he’d fall on his ass in the grass. That would make my week. Especially since this time of year, the ground around this whiskey barrel table is pretty much mud. I’d love to see his pretty face splattered with dirt.
“Elephant in the room.” Wilder smirks as he drops the code forI’m about to point out something obvious, whether you want to hear it or not. “As unbelievable as it sounds, you’re in a worse mood than normal.”
Scowling, I avert my gaze and lift my can of Balmy Days to my lips. I’m careful not to lock eyes with anyone else, either. Especially Flora, who’s sitting two tables away. If I so much as look her way, she’ll scamper right over to the table to chat. But I don’t have any words left today. And I really don’t like her.
That leaves me with no other choice but to focus on the wall of lobster traps that cuts off the brewery’s makeshift outdoor dining room from the dirt road.
It’s Memorial Day weekend, so the place is hopping. This beer is much-needed after dropping off a ridiculous amount of luggage at the inn and cottages that pepper the island.Summerpeopleseason has officially begun. For the next three months, our island will be crawling with fresh faces. Wilder loves it. Me? Not so much.
I make the effort. I come out to the brewery with my friends on Saturday nights and try to be social. I can’t even use Sutton as an excuse, since Mrs. K insists on keeping her and her granddaughter Lindsey for weekly sleepovers. It’s her way of helping me out. Giving me the break to be something other than a pseudo-dad for my niece. She means well, but people make my skin crawl.
I’ve never been popular with the islanders. Not even when I was growing up. I was always the weird kid. The one who was more into computers than playing kick ball. Besides Wilder, I rarely talked to anyone, and that hasn’t changed.
“Seriously, what bug crawled up your ass? This seems worse than the normalit’s tourist seasonfunk.”
Wasn’t a bug, and it’s not a funk. It’s a giggling, pink-shirt wearing blond pain in my ass.
I knew Elizabeth Sweet would make my life hell. But I didn’t realize exactly what a pro she would be at it until she moved in next door.
Not all of it is her fault. I have no idea why her pilot light goes out almost every day, but I’ve been over five times in the last week to relight it. Even if she is making me insane, I don’t want her blowing herself up.
And she will not get over the idea that a magic ferry is going to show up with her luggage. I’m not even convinced she called the airline about it. She swears they know where she lives, so they know where to drop it off. It’s ridiculous.
She insists on hanging her clothes to dry, and maybe I’d be impressed that she was conserving energy if the woman didn’t have lace panties in every color under the sun. I swear I’ve never hated lace more than I do this week. I can’t focus on anythingbecause all I can think about is that perfect ass covered in the lace that is constantly blowing in the northeast breeze.
