The Summer We Started Over, page 7
“Do you have a problem with that? If no one buys them, you’ll still have them, right?”
Eddie could tell he was intrigued but also worried. Wanting to give him space, she moved away from his desk toward the window with light shining in between the stacks of books. From here she could see the paddock and the barn.
“It’s a nice idea, Eddie,” William said at last.
“Think of all the space,” Eddie said, pressing her point. “Dad, imagine it. We could put all those self-help books in the barn.”
“Those self-help books were your mother’s.” William nodded sagely. “They can go.”
Eddie smiled. “Yes, and her books on knitting, and potting, and beekeeping, and playing the guitar.”
William reminisced, “She had so much enthusiasm for her new hobbies. For the first few weeks. Then she’d lose interest. Remember when I said I was glad she hadn’t tried to take up the piano?”
Eddie’s smile turned bittersweet. “She got really mad at you. I remember that well.” Quickly, while she had her father’s attention, she said, “Look, Dad, you have so many duplicates.”
William nodded. “True, but in many cases they’re different editions. I like the different covers, and introductory essays. You know, it’s possible to tell a lot about how our culture has changed by reading the introductions to various novels.”
“I understand,” Eddie said, softly, calmly. “But, for instance, look at all your James Fenimore Cooper books. They take up three long shelves.”
“Oh, no. The Coopers stay.” William was firm. “Cooper wrote his rather romantic novels in the early eighteen hundreds, not long after Wordsworth, in England, wrote his poetry.”
“But look at this.” Eddie carefully removed from the shelf an old paperback edition that had come apart. Clumps of pages fell out. She caught them, treating them reverently, and held them toward her father.
“Um, have I made any notes in the margins?” William asked.
Eddie looked. “No.” She pulled out another book. “I’m sure you’re not including Hawthorne in your book.”
William shook his head. “He was an awful man. He hated women. I have only kept his books because of the time in which he wrote. Although…I should keep one set because they are part of the literary canon…”
Eddie quickly scanned the shelves and removed five duplicate copies of several Hawthorne novels. She pushed the remaining books together and pointed to the empty space on the shelf.
“Voilà!” she said, excited. “Now you can shelve your books by Catharine Maria Sedgwick and the other early American female writers.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” William started to continue but stalled. “But we don’t have any shelves in the barn.”
“Then we’ll have some built!” Eddie countered, full of delight. She was a genius, she absolutely was.
“Yes, of course,” her father agreed. “Let’s ask Jeff Jefferson to help us. I’ve heard he’s a good carpenter and a good guy. Do you think we could get Jeff to build them?”
“Oh, um, well.” Eddie hadn’t been prepared for this suggestion. Her father had met Jeff when she and Jeff were dating. He’d liked Jeff, and Eddie wanted her father to be comfortable about moving the books. It wasn’t about her need to see Jeff. Really.
“You know what? I’ll call him right now.”
* * *
—
In her shop, Barrett sat on her tall stool behind the counter, working on her laptop. Her bookkeeping worksheets and all the other business records were in place. She needed to work on her social media and publicity. She had already made accounts at Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest. She scrolled through her phone to find the photos of her merchandise she wanted to spotlight. She started with the jewelry, editing her photos, cropping them and using filters to highlight.
She was concentrating on a silver and labradorite necklace when someone pounded on the door. Glancing up, she could tell that the person was male, so it wasn’t her sister, just some impatient guy who couldn’t be bothered to read her sign plastered across the top of her window saying: Opening May 29.
She ignored him.
The pounding continued. It was irritating.
Barrett slid off her high stool, walked across her shop, and opened the door. “Can’t you read?”
Immediately, she wished she hadn’t been so shrewish. The guy was about her age, tall and handsome, with thick blond hair and blue eyes. Her mind said: Go away! Her body said: Please come in.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I just landed on the island and it’s my sister’s birthday today and if I don’t take her a present, she’ll never let me forget it.” The way he talked, dressed, and looked told her this guy was from money.
She should have shut the door in his entitled face. She didn’t. “Um, haven’t you noticed there are other shops that are actually open?”
“Maybe, but that sweater you have in the window? My sister would love it so much and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Okay, Barrett thought, that was a point in his favor. The sweater lying on the shelf in the window was hand-knitted in shades of hyacinth and blue by a Nantucket woman. Her trademark smiling whale swam just above the left breast.
“It’s expensive,” Barrett warned the guy.
“It’s for my sister,” the guy repeated.
When he spoke, he smiled. It was a great smile.
“We’re not officially open.” Barrett hesitated. She was having trouble thinking clearly. “But come in. Since it’s your sister’s birthday.” She moved to the shelf and picked up the top sweater. “This comes in three sizes.”
“She’s small,” the guy said. “Like you.”
“It’s three hundred fifty dollars.”
“Okay, do you take credit cards?”
“We do,” she answered. “Um, come over to the counter.”
As she transacted the sale, she forced herself to focus. My first sale, and a big one!
She handed him the receipt and couldn’t help saying triumphantly, “You are my very first customer.”
“Cool. Do I get a medal or a ribbon or something?”
“No medal, but I’ll wrap it for you since it’s her birthday.”
“That would be excellent. Thank you.”
Barrett reached under her counter and brought out a folded box, tissue paper, wrapping paper, ribbon, and Scotch tape.
He held out his hand. “I’m Drew Fischer. You probably got that from my credit card.”
She shook his hand, finding the action slightly embarrassing. But she was a businesswoman now. She told herself to grow up.
“I’m Barrett Grant, after Elizabeth Barrett Browning. My sister is named after Edna St. Vincent Millay—she’s Eddie.”
“Barrett is kind of cool,” Drew said. “Eddie…a little more unusual.”
“My sister has the personality for it,” Barrett assured him.
“Does she live on Nantucket, too?”
Barrett carefully pulled the dark blue ribbon over the package, and tried to form the bow, focusing on not wrinkling the ribbon. “Well, no and yes. I mean she’s here now, but she’s been living and working in New York.”
“That package looks nice,” Drew said.
“Thanks.” Barrett smoothed it out. “Here you are. I don’t have any gift cards yet, but you can buy birthday cards at the pharmacy.”
She handed Drew the box.
“Nice ribbon,” he said. Then he laughed at himself. “Lame. Um, Barrett, I’m not as idiotic as I seem. Could I take you out for dinner sometime? Or lunch? Or coffee?”
What? “Well…How long are you going to be on the island?”
“I work in Boston, but my family has a house here, so actually, I could be here a lot.”
“Oh.” He was a summer person. That made her wary. She never wanted to be anyone’s milkmaid to his lord of the manor. Still, Drew was nice. And very nice to look at. “Sure, I’d like to go to dinner or lunch or coffee.”
“How about tonight?”
“Sorry.” Barrett was genuinely sorry. “My sister just got here from New York. I need to spend more time with her.”
“Your sister, Eddie, right?” Drew paused. “How about Thursday night?”
“Okay. Um…that works. Thursday night.”
“I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Okay. I live on a farm with my father.”
“A farm? There’s a farm on Nantucket?”
“Several farms. We don’t farm, actually. We have a dog and we kind of have a horse, but she’s aloof.”
“Horses can be that way.” Drew smiled and held out his phone. “Could I get your number?” Barrett put her information into his phone.
Drew took it from her. “Got it. See you.”
“See you,” Barrett echoed.
* * *
—
After Drew left, Barrett called Louisa, who had knitted the beautiful sweater, to tell her she’d already sold it and needed more. She unpacked more inventory, filled out more tax forms, checked the shop’s website, watched crowds of people stream off the ferries. She knew they would be settling in for the summer, stocking up on groceries, taking the first walk of the summer along the beach.
Barrett checked her phone. No storm was coming, but it was late afternoon and she had done pretty much everything she could to prepare her shop for the grand opening.
She’d made a sale!
Louisa had told her she had more sweaters ready. Barrett decided to stop by and pick them up on her way home. She always enjoyed a nice chat with Louisa, who knew everything about the island.
* * *
—
It was almost six when Barrett entered her house. She stopped in the front hall. Something was different. Something was—something delicious was in the air.
“Eddie?” she called.
“In the kitchen.”
Barrett set her things on the front hall table and hurried to the kitchen. Eddie was at the sink, rinsing her hands.
“What’s that smell?” Barrett asked.
Eddie wore a pair of ancient jeans and a loose sweatshirt. “Roast chicken. It won’t be ready for ten minutes or so. Sit down. Let’s have a glass of wine. How was your day?”
“Have I entered an alternate universe?” Barrett looked around, eyes wide. “Roast chicken? Dinner rolls? Vegetables? What’s happened?”
Eddie laughed. “I guess you did all the shopping and cooking for the past two years. It’s not fair for you to work and cook, too. Sit down. I’m drinking Chardonnay. Is that good for you?”
“Yes, please.” Barrett slid into a chair. Smiling shyly, she said, “Guess what. I made a sale.”
Eddie lit up. “That’s great, Barrett! Congratulations.”
“Also,” Barrett confessed, “I’m going out with the guy Thursday night.”
Eddie frowned. “Really? Is the guy nice?”
“No,” Barrett shot back. “He’s got zits and fangs.”
“Sorry. Tell me about him.”
“He knocked on the door of my shop today. He wanted to buy a sweater for his sister’s birthday. I sold it to him, and wrapped it, and we kind of chatted, and he seems pretty great. He asked me out, and I said yes.”
Eddie tapped her fingers against her lips. Barrett hated when she did that.
Eddie asked, “Is he a summer guy or a year-rounder? What’s his name?”
“Drew Fischer. He’s from off-island, but his family has a house here. I haven’t seen him around before.”
“Fischer.” Eddie pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped. “Here he is.” She held the phone for Barrett to look at. “His family owns a ‘small’ pharmaceutical company. Wait.” Eddie tapped again. “Last year the company’s sales were over two billion.”
Barrett shrugged. “I’m just going to dinner with him.” She changed the subject. “Did it go okay with Dad?”
“More than okay.” Eddie set a glass of wine in front of Barrett and took a chair next to her at the kitchen table. “Ready for this? I convinced Dad to move some of his books out to the barn. We’re going to open a used bookstore!”
Barrett broke into laughter. “Eddie, no one will buy Dad’s old books!”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Eddie conceded. “The important thing is that they won’t be in the house any longer.”
“Ooooh, Eddie. You’re a genius.” Barrett lifted her wineglass. “Here’s to you.”
Their father came into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“Sit down, Dad,” Eddie said. “I’ll pour you some wine.”
William sat. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh, no,” Eddie joked. “That’s a bad sign.”
Their father laughed. Barrett gawked. Her father was laughing? A miracle.
William asked, “Barrett, has your sister told you about our plans?”
“She did say something about a used bookstore in the barn, but—”
“It’s a great idea, isn’t it?” William seemed more alive, happier. “I will enjoy choosing which books I can part with. And, Eddie, while you’ve been busy, I called Jeff about the bookshelves. He said he’ll come over here tomorrow morning to talk with us and look over the barn to see how it could be done.”
“Dad, that’s wonderful!” Barrett said.
Sounding like someone deep in thought, Eddie mused, “Jeff will be here tomorrow. Great that he can come so soon.” She rose from the table and became terribly busy at the stove.
six
The next morning, Eddie woke early. She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and quietly went down the stairs and out the door. Duke followed her and Duchess strolled up to the fence and nickered softly. The sun was strong, but the morning was still sweet with early mist and air cooled by the sea and the night. She closed her eyes, leaned against the warm wooden barn door, and let herself breathe. She hadn’t had this for two years, this simple, unhurried unfolding of the day. She heard the mourning doves and felt the sun warm on her back. The gentle purr of one of the island’s small planes flying in from the Cape feathered the silence and disappeared.
How old was this barn? Eddie wondered. Had it once been filled with cows and horses mooing and neighing and tossing their heads and kicking at the stalls? Had the horse that came with the farm ever had companions shelter here with her in a storm?
In the city, it was easy, Eddie thought, to live a fantasy life. With her iPhone, she could present a carefully edited view of herself, as someone clever, posh, even glamorous. Dinah certainly presented a cultivated front, a combination of expensive clothes, diligently coiffed hair, personalized makeup, and laughter, sometimes real, sometimes forced. Many of the people Eddie met in the city were living the lives they wished they had, striving to become the elite, enviable legends they were crafting.
Not that Eddie thought that was bad. It was another way to live, and it meant something different to everyone, those all-night bashes around a swimming pool on a penthouse skyscraper, the dinner parties at the latest sensational restaurant where the bill ran into the thousands, leaving the theater at midnight with the glitter of neon blitzing the air.
She’d enjoyed that life. At first, Eddie had nearly worshipped Dinah Lavender, and in time she and Dinah became true friends. But now that she was back on the island, she was happy to be here, where the barn’s wide boards reminded her of how deep time was and the sun’s expansive light warmed her and made her whole.
What kind of life did she want?
Did she want to return to the city, to the flash and the hurry and the crowds? Could she possibly want to stay here? She knew she wanted books in her life. She knew she cherished being able to see her sister and father every day. And the island sparkled around her like a treasure chest sparkling with gold and diamonds.
She decided to settle for today, now, as she was, home and happy. Maybe high on the sweet salt air, but whatever, she’d take it.
She returned to the house and got breakfast ready: eggs, bacon, and fresh squeezed orange juice. When she opened the kitchen window, the trills of birdsong floated in on the sweet air. She’d forgotten how delicious Nantucket water was, coming from a glacier melted centuries ago.
“Look at you, sis,” Barrett declared, coming into the room. “You’ve become an island girl.”
“I’m ready to meet with a carpenter about the barn.” Eddie wore clothes she’d left behind when she went to New York, jeans, a T-shirt beneath an open blue button-down, and sandals.
“A carpenter?” Barrett teased. “Please. Don’t you mean Jeff?”
“Do you want breakfast or not?” Eddie lifted the plate, holding the bacon away from Barrett.
“All right. I’ll be good.” Barrett poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “How does it feel, being home?”
Eddie set their plates before them. “I like it, of course. I have to get used to it. Life with Dinah is…faster paced. Fabulous dining, theater, opera, bookstores, art museums.” She ate a bit of bacon and sighed. “I know people who say they’re vegetarian, except for bacon.”
Duke, sitting next to the table, wagged his tail and whined pitifully.
“No bacon for you, Duke,” Barrett said.
The dog whined again and let his head droop almost to the floor.
“You are such a fake,” Barrett said to Duke, and gave him a piece of bacon.
Eddie’s phone chirped. She glanced at it and said to Barrett, “I’ve got to take this. I’ll meet you outside.” She hadn’t taken Dinah’s last few calls and she wasn’t keen to take this one. Dinah had sent many texts. She was still worried about her stalker.
“Eddie, I don’t know what to do!” Dinah whispered.
