Page 79 of Summer Longing
Elise tried to keep busy between customers. No matter how soothing the music over the sound system or how many times she walked to the wide-open windows and looked across the street at the placid water or how many scented candles she lit, her stomach was in knots.
She’d been checking her phone every half hour or so, and still nothing from Fern.
When she’d arrived to open the shop, she’d first gone upstairs to see if she could catch Fern, but she was already gone. The bed was made and the only sign that she’d slept there—that Elise hadn’t imagined their argument, as much as she would have liked to pretend she had—was the overnight bag on the floor.
“Everything okay?” Cynthia asked from behind the counter.
Elise, again at the window, turned to her. “Yes. Of course. Why?”
Despite her state of distraction, she’d have preferred to manage the shop alone rather than endure Cynthia’s company. Or maybe especially because of her distraction. She still could not shake her unease about Cynthia’s attitude toward Mira. On the rare occasions when Mira made an appearance at the shop, Cynthia did not interact with her, comment on her, or even look in her direction. It’s not that Elise expected everyone to ooh and aah over Mira like Amelia or Lidia, but Cynthia’s demeanor was remarkably standoffish. She found herself continuously studying Cynthia’s face, finding it impossible to ignore the fact that her dark-eyed beauty was not unlike Mira’s. Today, with her relationship with Fern teetering on the brink, she could not stand the uncertainty any longer. Could Cynthia be the biological mother? Did she dare ask her outright?
“May I ask you a question?” Elise said, walking toward the counter, her heart pounding.
“Sure,” Cynthia said, smiling in that easygoing, confident way she had.
“Are you…are you…” Elise could not say it. It was as if the words, if spoken aloud, would magically become true. She settled instead for “Are you uncomfortable around the baby?”
Cynthia sighed, tightening the lid of a tin she’d just filled. “Ugh, I’m sorry. Is it that obvious?”
Elise felt the room tilt. “Is what obvious?”
“I just don’t like babies.”
Elise leaned against the counter.I just don’t like babies. A momentary reprieve. Breathing room.I just don’t like babiescould mean anything.
She just doesn’t like babies and that’s why she gave one up? She just doesn’t like babies and would never make the mistake of getting pregnant in the first place?
“I know that sounds crazy,” Cynthia said. “But we had so many babies in the house when I was growing up. My dad is an adoption attorney and my mother was always fostering babies and small children.”
“Fostering babies…” Elise said.
“Yeah,” Cynthia said. “My parents are from Georgia. It’s that do-gooder Southern stock. Anyway, I got dragged into diaper duty when my friends were out doing things teenagers should be doing, like chasing boys.” She smiled. “So I’ve had enough of babies until I have one of my own someday. If I ever do.”
Her father was an adoption attorney.
Elise had gotten it all wrong. Cynthia was not the reason Mira had arrived in her life. But she might be a way to help keep her in it.
The Beach Rose Inn bustled with guests everywhere—people were sitting on the front steps, on the porch rocking chairs, and on the lobby ottomans; they were standing at the desk chatting with Rachel and drinking coffee. It was perhaps not the best time for Ruth to drop in to see Amelia, but she realized that if she waited for a quiet time, she would be waiting until October.
Holding the shopping bags from Good Scents, she followed Rachel’s direction to look for Amelia out back and found her sitting at the same table where she’d first met her. That day seemed so long ago, it felt almost like something she’d imagined. Surely she had known Amelia forever.
“Well, hello there,” Amelia said, looking up from the book she was reading. It was the Mardi Gras coffee-table book Ruth had once seen her carrying out of the library. “What an unexpected treat.” Her hair was piled on top of her head and held there with a plastic clip. Her dress was a particularly vivid green-and-blue-batik pattern, and she was barefoot.
“I’ve owed you a visit,” Ruth said, sitting opposite her and placing the white bags on the table between them. “And an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t been to your mosaic class. I should have called to tell you I need to drop out, but every time I think maybe I can make it…”
“No apology necessary,” Amelia said. “It’s a good thing if you find yourself busy.”
“Well, the class did remind me of how much I like working with my hands. I found my way back to making my own products from scratch, something I haven’t done in years. So thank you.” She slid the bags across the table. Amelia reached through the purple tissue paper and pulled out one of the candles.
“This is lovely. But entirely unnecessary! So tell me, what have you been making?”
“It started with soap for Mira. She had a rash, and you know, so many products that claim to be gentle and all natural are far from it. So I whipped something up for her and haven’t been able to stop since.”
“How wonderful to feel inspired.” Amelia sighed. “I haven’t heard from Elise in a few days. How are things going over there?”
Ruth hesitated. It wasn’t her place to share what was happening between Elise and Fern. And yet, if anyone could help, it was Amelia.
“In all honesty, things are not going well. Fern wants Elise to hand the baby over to a child welfare agency, and Elise is terrified she’ll never get her back. But Fern is so adamant, she left last night.”
