The Summer We Started Over, page 18
The Jeffersons’ house was off Milestone Road, down a tree-lined driveway to a small ranch house settled in a paradise of flowers.
“Mom takes bouquets to the Saturday farmers’ market in town,” Jeff explained as he helped Eddie from the truck. “She donates the proceeds to A Safe Place.”
Jessie was at the door. “Hello, hello, come in!”
Jessie was a pretty woman in jeans and a floral shirt. Her dark hair was twisted up and held by a silver barrette inset with glittering stones. She was barefoot, and her toenails were painted deep purple.
“Lovely to meet you, Eddie.” Jessie kissed Eddie’s cheek and gave her son a hug and ushered them into the house, past the open-plan room with a TV and sofas at one end and a kitchen at the other, and out the door to the deck.
Jeff’s father was busy at the grill, but he turned and greeted Jeff and Eddie with a wave and a question. “You eat meat, right? Steak?”
“I do,” Eddie said.
“Sit, sit,” Jessie said, indicating two canvas deck chairs. “How are you? Have you had a good day? Eddie, I want to hear all about Dinah Lavender!”
“You should come by the Book Barn sometime. I know she’d love to autograph a book for you.”
“Thank you for the invitation! I belong to a book club that meets once a month. My friends are very excited that Jeff has met the writer, and they want an up close, firsthand account, because Jeff is hopeless, he just says she’s pretty and she’s nice.” She caught her breath. “Would you like a beer? That’s what the men are drinking. I’m having a sparkling pink wine. It’s called Mimi, a perfect name, don’t you think? All the women I’ve met who are named Mimi are sparkling.”
While Jessie went into the kitchen for the drinks, Jeff said quietly, “I was going to warn you, but I thought I’d let you get the real Jessie, full force.”
“She’s amazing,” Eddie whispered.
When Jessie arrived with their drinks, Eddie sat back in her chair and relaxed. They ate sliced tomatoes topped with mozzarella, the tomatoes from Jessie’s plants, and tender steaks, potato salad, and a green salad with arugula and Bibb lettuce that Jessie had grown in her garden. Jeff’s father was not a conversationalist. He obviously left that to his wife and sat happily listening to her, adding sharp remarks now and then.
“Tell me about your father,” Jessie urged. “I’ve noticed him here and there. He’s a terrifically handsome man. I’ve heard that he’s divorced. Is he seeing anyone? Because I have several friends who would be over the moon to go out with him, to dinner or a play. One of my friends, Darcy, has a boat. Do you think your father might enjoy a sail this summer?”
“Leave her alone, Jessie,” Jeff’s father said gently. “The man doesn’t need you prying in his life.”
“Oh,” Jessie said sweetly, “I’ll bet he does.” She jumped up from her chair. “I’ll get dessert.”
Jessie brought out Klondike bars.
“I can’t get enough ice cream in the summer,” she announced. “I hope you aren’t insulted that I didn’t make something special.”
“This is perfect,” Eddie said. “What a marvelous summer meal.”
“The corn isn’t ready yet. It will be a few weeks more before it’s sweet.” Jessie caught her husband’s glance. “I know, I know, I’m such a chatterbox. Eddie, how do you like being back on Nantucket?”
“It’s beautiful here,” Eddie began.
“Summer in the city can be so hot,” Jessie said. “And I could be wrong, but it seems that during summer in New York, the sidewalks become even harder than usual. Maybe the molecules shrink or expand? And I’ve often wondered how any breeze can get to the street between all the tall buildings.”
As if showing off especially for Jessie, a cool, sea-scented breeze slid around them, making the trees at the back of the Jeffersons’ land dip and sway.
Jeff ate the last bite of his Klondike bar, crushed the wrapper in his hands, and stood up. “Sorry, Mom, but I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
Eddie rose, too. “Thank you so much for this wonderful evening.” She smiled at Jeff’s father. “My steak was delicious. Thank you.”
Before she could say more, Jeff took her hand and led her away, down the steps from the deck to the driveway and his truck.
Once they were settled in with their seatbelts fastened, Jeff grinned at Eddie. “Well, now you’ve met my mom.”
“She’s wonderful,” Eddie said truthfully. She wondered how her life would have been if she had had a mother like that.
* * *
—
Saturday evening, Barrett locked up her shop and headed home, going out of her way to drive past the Fischer house on the cliff. It was an amazing property. Tommy Hilfiger had once owned it. Flowers bloomed everywhere. Lights shone from the many windows like beacons. This was Drew and Janny’s summer residence.
When she pulled into her own driveway, she sat for a moment, considering. The old farmhouse her father had bought was not a mansion, but it was sturdy and welcoming. The Book Barn was closed and the horse had trotted up to the fence to check out her arrival. She knew Duchess would race away if she tried to pet her, so she only called a hello as she left her car and walked toward the house.
Two tubs of glossy begonias with bright pink flowers stood on the porch at either side of the steps to the front door. This was Eddie’s touch, Barrett realized, and as she entered her home, she walked through it slowly, noticing for the first time all the small changes Eddie had made.
On the front hall table, an antique blue and white porcelain basin held all the mail that was usually scattered. The windows were open in the living room, letting the cool evening air drift in and gently stir the vase of roses on the coffee table. Eddie had bought them, probably at the local grocery store, and three bunches had been gathered together, brightening the room. The dining room cupboard held several bottles of good wine, brought home by Dinah, and Barrett walked into the kitchen, knowing that if she opened the refrigerator, she would find several tempting desserts. Tiramisu. Blueberry pie. Chocolate chip brownies.
“Hello?” Barrett called.
Duke barked once in reply, but was too comfortable on the living room sofa to jump down.
“Hello, handsome,” Barrett said, petting him.
Her father didn’t respond, but the light was on in his study, shining out beneath the closed door.
Barrett took a piece of pie, wandered into the den, collapsed on the sofa, and clicked the remote control. Someone, probably Dinah, had been watching The Borgias. Barrett was tired. She’d worked hard all summer and had more work to come. Her father stuck his head into the den to say hello and went off to bed at ten.
She yawned and relaxed and gave herself over to the complicated world of fifteenth-century Italy.
It was nearly eleven when her phone buzzed. The caller ID read Drew. Barrett hesitated. Why wasn’t he at the gala?
She muted the TV and answered her phone.
“Hey, aren’t you at a gala?” she asked.
Drew’s voice was low and sexy. “I was. I went with my parents, and we left early. I thought you might be up for a moonlight walk on the beach.”
Barrett hesitated. He hadn’t taken her to the gala, but that was because of his parents, right? Did this call mean he really liked her?
“That would be nice,” she said.
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
Barrett raced up to her room, took off the blue sundress she’d been working in, pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, brushed her teeth, and hurried down to the porch, arriving just in time to see the headlights of Drew’s car as he turned in to the drive.
Drew leaned over and opened the passenger door. Barrett left the porch, ran to his car, and slid inside. Drew touched her face lightly and kissed her.
He said, “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Me, too,” Barrett replied, keeping it light.
Drew smelled like alcohol and a high-end men’s cologne. He’d changed into a wrinkled T-shirt, board shorts, and loafers.
“Did you have fun tonight?” Barrett asked him.
“Not really. My parents still like to show me off as if I were five and had just starred in a school play.”
“That’s nice,” Barrett said. “You’re lucky. Not everyone’s parents are so admiring.”
“It’s not admiration,” Drew told her, sounding serious. “My sister and I have always been acquisitions, possessions, enriching their portfolio.”
“Somehow,” Barrett said, “I’m not feeling sorry for you.”
“I get you.” Drew steered onto the Cisco road. “I’m not doing the poor-little-rich-boy bit. I’m lucky and I know it. I would just rather have spent tonight with you.”
Drew parked the car at the barriers to the beach.
“How cool is this?” he asked. “No other cars here. It’s all ours! Let’s walk.”
They kicked off their shoes, left the car, and walked and half slid down the dune to the wide beach. It was a sultry night with a crescent moon blurred by haze and humidity. The ocean hid its shades of blue and silver beneath a deep expanse of black. Beneath their feet, the sand was still warm from the sun.
“It’s hot,” Barrett said.
Drew stopped walking. He took Barrett in his arms. “You’re hot.”
He kissed her softly. Sinking onto the sand, they lay back together, side by side. Darkness covered them, with only enough light from the moon for them to see each other’s faces. Drew slid his hand up her thigh and beneath her shorts.
Barrett said, “Drew, no.”
In a low voice, Drew said, “Barrett, you’re all I think about. I’m crazy attracted to you and I think you feel the same.”
“Drew.” She rolled away from him, putting space between them. She didn’t think she’d ever been so confused. This was the guy romances told her she should want, this wealthy, handsome, urgent suitor. And he was attractive. But something wasn’t right and she couldn’t figure out what it was.
She said, “It’s late, and I have to work tomorrow, and I’m sorry, but I think I need to go home.”
Immediately she sensed his disappointment. It seemed as if anger was steaming off him like the summer’s heat.
Then Drew took a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right.” He stood up and held out his hand. “We should go home.”
As they walked toward his car, Barrett said softly, “Drew, don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Drew muttered.
Still, when Drew sat behind the wheel and started the car, Barrett noticed how tight his lips were, almost thin, and his jaw was clenched. Or maybe it was a trick of the moonlight.
* * *
—
Eddie was writing on her laptop. Her bedroom window was open to allow the cool night air to drift in with its alluring scents of salt and honeysuckle. She’d turned off her bedroom lights as she always did, so that people would think she was asleep. She needed privacy for what she was doing. She knew she was being paranoid and even ridiculous, but she didn’t want anyone else to see what she was writing. After all, not one, but two writers were in the house now, and her efforts were nothing compared to theirs.
What she was writing was a journal in a way, but really, it was more than that. Was it the beginning of a novel? From the first page, the first line, she’d embroidered and reordered the events of her own personal day with the events, emotions, and dreams of a woman much like her, but different, and it was only as she sat at her desk, typing words into her laptop, that this other woman was becoming clearer, as if she were telling Eddie her own story, which was like Eddie’s but also very different.
It was about a woman named Edie who had come to the island to run her sister’s shop while her sister and her sister’s new husband were on their honeymoon, and were kidnapped. Her sister’s husband was from a wealthy family, and the kidnappers wanted ransom and his parents were stalling about paying…
Writing this novel or whatever it was made Eddie’s brain wake up. She could almost feel all the little brain cells light up like fireworks as she wrote. She was only halfway through, and she knew at some point she wanted someone else to read it, but who could she trust to read it and still love her and respect her afterward? What if she was deluded that it made any sense at all?
Her computer chimed to alert her to a new email. It had to be junk if someone was sending it so late, but she was stalled at a scene, so she opened her email.
And almost fell off her chair.
It was from Dove.
Hi, Eddie, I’m coming to the island this summer, with Bobby. I have a lot to tell you and Barrett but I’ll wait until I see you all in person. So much has changed in my life. I hope you and Barrett and your father are well.
Love, Dove
“What?” Eddie threw her hands up in the air. She hit Reply. The email address was @coloradocybercafe.com.
“Dove,” Eddie said aloud. “I don’t believe this!”
In a barely controlled frenzy, Eddie typed, OMG Dove, I’m so happy to hear from you! I can’t wait to see you! Call me. Here’s my cell number. Plus, here’s Barrett’s cell. We will be SO HAPPY to see you and Bobby! Love, Eddie.
She clicked Send and sat with both hands pressed to her heart while she waited for Dove’s reply. She realized Colorado was two hours behind Nantucket, and maybe Dove wasn’t at the Coloradocybercafé computer. Maybe she wasn’t waiting for a reply. Surely she knew they would want to see her.
Should she wake her father and tell him? Was Barrett home from her date with Drew?
Barrett would turn cartwheels!
Eddie stared at her mailbox. Nothing new arrived. Eddie tapped her fingers on her desk.
Nothing new.
She stood up and paced the room. It was so easy to get superstitious with internet communication, because the entire system was so mysterious and even unbelievable that entire words and manuscripts could pass from one state to another in an instant—really, it was impossible, but it happened, so why wasn’t it possible that her messages could pass instantly, mysteriously from her mad hopes into Dove’s mind?
The laptop chimed.
Eddie flew back to her desk and plonked down in her chair.
Email not deliverable.
“Come on!” Eddie yelled at the computer.
She opened Dove’s email again and wrote her own message again and clicked Send again.
She went to Facebook, Instagram, Threads, X, Yahoo, and Google and searched for Dove Fletcher and Dove Grant. Nothing.
She wanted to throw her laptop out the window. No, she wanted to throw it on the floor and jump up and down on it in a frenzy of frustration.
Rationally, she knew that wouldn’t help. She knew that computers could make human beings insanely angry beyond all logical limits. She wanted to tell someone, anyone, that she hated the internet.
Was there anything she could do?
Her computer chimed. Email not deliverable.
Eddie closed her laptop. She wondered how many people had died of heart attacks because of the cold, uncaring, incomprehensible unresponsiveness of computers.
She really did want to break something. Maybe Bill Gates’s nose.
It was after one o’clock. Eddie went downstairs and roamed through the dark house. The hall light was off, which meant Barrett was home and in bed. Duke was on his back, snoring, looking ridiculous, by the kitchen door. She stared out the kitchen window. The spotlight on the barn illuminated the backyard. Everything was still. Everything quiet.
Everything except her brain.
She returned to her room, got ready for bed, wondering if she should tell Barrett and her father about Dove’s email, or if it would make them as frustrated as she was.
But she hadn’t imagined it. Dove had contacted her, and she and Bobby were coming to the island to see them.
* * *
—
Barrett was lifting the white sheet, preparing to slide into bed, when someone knocked on the door, and without waiting, Eddie entered.
“Barrett,” Eddie said. “I have to tell you something.”
“Okay, but why be so drama queen about it?” Barrett sat on her bed. She was tired and she had to work tomorrow.
Eddie sat at the other end of the bed. “I just got an email from Dove.”
“You’re kidding!” Barrett shivered. Dove.
“Not kidding. It was really odd. She found my email address, and she said she’s coming to Nantucket this summer and bringing Bobby.”
“Really? Why didn’t she write me? Dove isn’t just yours!”
“Simmer down,” Eddie said. “I know she’s not all mine. Here, read her email.” She handed her phone to Barrett.
Barrett read the message. “This is wonderful. Did you reply?”
“I tried to email her back, but it wouldn’t go through. I’ve tried so many times. It’s as if Coloradocybercafe.com doesn’t exist, because the email is undeliverable.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t, either. It can’t be fake or a scam or a bot. But her email address simply does not exist.”
“Have you tried—”
Eddie interrupted. She rose and paced the room. “Yes. I’ve tried Dove Grant, Robert Grant, Rob Grant, Bob Grant, Stearns Grant, StGrant—”
“Okay, okay. If Dove contacted us once, she will again. She says she’s coming to the island, so she’ll come.”
“But she doesn’t say when,” Eddie said. She plunked down on the bed again. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I mean, what if she changes her mind? Do we just have to wait?”
“What else can we do? It’s good that she wants to come here, Eddie. She’s had a lot to deal with. Maybe she had to sort of crawl behind a rock and heal and now she’s well enough to see us.”
