Page 9 of The Scars I Bare
“What if they don’t teach me interesting things? What if it’s boring? What if the kids think I’m weird?”
That was a lot of questions all at once, and I heard her let out a frustrated sigh behind me. Living with a five-year-old genius was sometimes exhausting.
Scratch that.
It was always exhausting. But one thing I’d learned early on was that, deep down, she was still a kid. With deep-down kid-like needs and wants.
“I heard they sometimes go to the beach for field trips,” I casually mentioned.
I saw her eyes light up in the rearview mirror.
“Really?”
I shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I heard.”
“Okay. Well then, it doesn’t sound too bad. I guess I’ll think about it.”
“You do that,” I said, smiling to myself as we made our way down Highway 12.
“Mommy?” she asked again, her voice sounding serious.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Do they have ice cream here?”
I nearly snorted out a laugh, but I kept it under control as a smile tugged at my cheeks. “Yes. Most definitely. Do you think I’d move to an island with no ice cream?”
“Is it good ice cream?”
Just up ahead, the dunes gave way to a scattering of buildings as we approached the town. I knew our hosts were expecting us, but a slight detour wouldn’t hurt.
“I don’t know. Wanna find out?” I asked as we drove into town for the first time.
“Yeah!” she answered eagerly.
There was nothing that made Lizzie happier than ice cream. Well, that and the beach. If I could give her both today, this whole moving thing would be a heck of a lot easier.
For one of us at least.
If only ice cream could solve all the world’s problems.
Lizzie was a sticky mess by the time we made it to the inn. Our venture around the island in search of ice cream had taken a little more time than I’d planned, but it was well worth it. I’d not only satisfied Lizzie’s ice cream fears, but we’d also given ourselves a decent tour as well.
This place was small.
I’d been told over and over that it would be.
But being told something and actually experiencing it firsthand were two different things entirely. You could travel the actual town from one end to the other in a matter of minutes by car, and during low season, I would imagine that time could be cut in half without the presence of tourists.
But, as small as it was, it was vast in beauty. From its charming small-town feel to the picturesque wildlife and never-ending water views, I could see why the Lovells kept coming back.
Pulling up to By the Bay Inn, I was immediately struck by how homey it felt. From its charming cedar roof and the large gardens surrounding it, I knew this was a place that was well cared for and loved. My parents had always put that kind of devotion into our home, painting the trim when it became dull from the summer heat and replanting flowers along the entryway each spring. I’d forgotten what it felt like—taking such personal pride in where you laid your head.
A pretty blonde emerged from the front door, waving as she walked up to our car. Either this was our hostess, Molly, or people around here really were that friendly.
“Hi, you must be Cora,” she said, holding out a hand in greeting. “I’m Molly McIntyre. Welcome to By the Bay.”
I took her hand, feeling its warmth and sincerity. “Thank you,” I answered. “I’m so grateful to you for doing this. I know it’s your busy time of the year.”
