The Summer Everything Changed

by Holly Chamberlin

  Back at Blueberry Bay Inn, no doubt oblivious to the sky, Flynn was on call in case of emergencies. The women had left him settled at the kitchen table, a pot of coffee, a plate of Bella Frank’s scones, and a stack of National Geographic magazines at hand. He admitted he hadn’t done much traveling in his lifetime, and was unlikely to do any in his future, but he had always been an armchair adventure traveler. “In my fantasies,” he told Louise once, “I’m as familiar with the Amazon jungle as I am with the back of my hand.”

  The women ordered—cockles and a steak for Catherine; steak and a salad for Louise—and settled in for what each hoped to be a restorative evening. But before long, and as was natural, Louise steered the conversation to Isobel.

  “I want her to be more established as her own person,” Louise said, “before I venture back into the world of dating. It’s one of the reasons I’m really glad she has the blog. She’s shown initiative with it, and if she wants to she could take it really far. I know she and Gwen have talked about expanding. I just don’t know how competitive Isobel wants to be. Competition has never been her strong suit.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Catherine said, “but the blog is definitely good work. But you’re right. She could further challenge herself. The blogosphere is ‘where it’s at.’ And there’s money to be made. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if she wants to explore getting some advertisers or partnering with a store or a brand for a promotion.”

  “Thanks, Catherine. You know, I’m even glad that Isobel has Jeff in her life. Which is not to say that I’m not keeping an eye out for trouble. The last thing I want to happen is for Isobel to lose her life in a boy’s. What a disaster that would be, my daughter a Stepford girlfriend.”

  Catherine laughed. “I find that very hard to imagine. Stranger things have happened, of course, but Isobel is so—Isobel. She’s so self-sufficient, so a person unto herself. I can’t see her giving up all that she’s become—and all that she’s becoming—to follow the lead of just anyone, especially a boy.”

  “Well, as we’ve noted in an earlier conversation, girls do stupid things for a boy’s attention. And I’ve got my own history to prove that.”

  “Are you thinking of taking the risk again?” Catherine asked. “You know, the risk of doing something stupid?”

  Louise shrugged. “Maybe. But finding a man is not a priority.”

  “Good thing, because we certainly didn’t move to a town teeming with eligible middle-aged heterosexual men,” Catherine pointed out. “Which was actually part of the appeal for me. There’s so little statistical chance of my meeting anyone it’s easy to let the whole notion slide into oblivion.”

  “Except there is Flynn Moore. And from what I understand, he’s been single for a good many years. Did you know he was married once, when he was very young? I heard she left him for one of the musicians who played at his club.”

  “You don’t say? That’s fairly tacky. And there was no Mrs. Moore after that?”

  Louise shrugged. “I’m guessing there was a woman or two along the way, unless his heart was entirely broken. But as far as I know he never married again.”

  “Huh. Well . . . we did go to a movie the other day. And we got coffee after.”

  “Aha!”

  “Aha nothing. You and I go to the movies.”

  “Oh, come on, Catherine. That’s not the same, and you know it.”

  Catherine grinned. “Well, I’ll admit he is quite attractive. And he’s so—unflappable. I find it—well, attractive. I’ve met—hell, I’ve dated—drama queens in my day. It’s refreshing to spend time with a man who doesn’t chew your ear off with tales of woe.”

  “The strong, silent type?”

  “Well, sort of. I mean, Flynn can hold a conversation, as you know. It’s not like he communicates in grunts and moans. It’s just that he doesn’t go on about himself. You know how so many men are: ‘Enough about me. What’s your opinion of me?’ ”

  Louise thought of Andrew in some of his less-than-fine moments of self-absorption. There was, for example, his habit of turning off a light when leaving a room—even if someone else was still there, using that light. If Andrew wasn’t using it, it wasn’t being used. She had come to realize that even his obsessive concern with his health had more to do with vanity than with an attempt to prevent an early death. Andrew liked to look good in his expertly cut suits. Not just good. Perfect.

  “Earth to Louise?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Just thinking about the ex.”

  “Better to think about the future ex. You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Louise said. “But I haven’t met anyone I could be interested in. Anyway, I’m not opposed to using a dating service when—”

  “When what?”

  “I’m not sure what I was going to say,” Louise admitted. “When the time comes when I realize that I’m lonely. When the time comes when I really want to have sex again. Like I said, it’s not a priority. I guess I’m still gun-shy.”

  “Well, that stands to reason.”

  Yes, it did. How terribly painful it all had been, Louise thought, especially the time between her having the evidence of Andrew’s affair confirmed and finally confronting him; the time spent working up the nerve to ask the questions she really didn’t want to ask, to hear the answers she really didn’t want to hear. Could she risk her newfound peace of mind ever again? She wasn’t sure she would want to bother.

  “So, Isobel took her father’s news all right, then?” Catherine was asking. “No worrisome delayed reaction?”

  “Not that I can tell,” Louise said. “She hasn’t mentioned Vicky or the baby since our one conversation. I guess there’s no reason she should . . . And I’m kind of hesitant to bring up the subject again. Why prod at a wound that might already be healed? Or, at least, a wound that might be well on its way to being healed.”

  “Isobel does seem resilient, if a tad hyper at times. I don’t mean that as an insult, please know that.”

  “I do know that,” Louise said. “It’s true that Isobel isn’t someone to dwell. That’s good, mostly, but sometimes I wonder if she goes deep enough when it comes to her own feelings. I don’t mean her opinions; God knows, she’s serious enough about those! But I do suspect that she might be developing into one of those people who avoid unpleasant feelings, rather than confront them.”

  Catherine laughed. “Well, to some extent that describes all of us, doesn’t it? Only a masochist enjoys probing the nasty depths of hurt and anger and shame.”

  “True. But as I learned the hard way, not facing the facts of what’s really going on in your life—and not facing how you really feel about those happenings—leaves you in a very vulnerable place, unable to know how to handle a big crisis when it hits.”

  “No doubt that’s true. But we should probably try to talk about something pleasant. After all, this evening is costing us enough. Not that it isn’t worth the money, but if we wanted to depress ourselves by solving other people’s problems, then we could have stayed home and done it on the cheap. No insult to Isobel.”

  “You’re right. You usually are.”

  “About some things. Everyone is usually—or often—right about some things.”

  “Do you think? I’m not so sure. Take my parents, for example. They—”

  “No thanks! I’d rather not take them. Now, how about dessert?”

  Louise considered this suggestion for about a second. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s have dessert. But I don’t want to share.”

  Chapter 24

  CITYMOUSE

  Good day, Dear Readers!

  Thanks to everyone who shared her ideas about how to wear the red cowboy-ish boots! Your ideas, one and all, were wonderfully creative and whimsical and some were even outrageous!

  I wore the boots yesterday (okay, it was way too hot to wear boots, but I was so eager to begin the experiment, and as we all know, patience is NOT my strong suit!) with SassySarah’s suggested outfit o
f high-waist navy shorts and a silky pale blue T-shirt tucked in neatly and the whole thing totally rocked. Red paired with blue—yes, even pale blue—just works. Next time I wear the boots (when the weather cools down—boy, were my feet hot and no doubt stinky!) I’m going to try them with My-Stuff’s suggestion of a swingy black skirt, patterned tights, and a big, chunky turtleneck sweater. And if my brain freezes and seizes up again, I’ll be begging for more ideas from my loyal and very, very creative readers! You are all an inspiration to me!

  So, here are Gwen’s Gwentastic photos of the boots and me in them. That’s Blueberry Bay Inn in the background. Quite charming, no? The hollyhocks are in bloom though the lilacs are long gone, which is too bad. I just love their scent, and now I have to wait another year for them to bloom again! (Patience!) And to the left of the inn you can sort of see a bit of the virtual forest of pine trees that encloses our backyard like a circling arm of green spookiness. The good kind of spookiness, the kind populated with fairies and sprites and whatnot. No mean old goblins or spine-chilling wraiths here!

  Today I would like to close with what I find to be an inspirational quote from Helen Gurley Brown (and if you don’t know about her, please look her up online! She is, for our generation, a controversial figure, but controversy can start dialogue and that can lead to revelation!):

  “What you have to do is work with the raw material you have, namely you, and never let up.”

  I love this idea! It totally coincides with what I so firmly believe in—the importance of being an individual, of being who you really are and not who or what someone wants you to be. And once you recognize you for you, you take an inventory of the strengths and yes, even of the weaknesses, and you get out there and LIVE YOUR LIFE to the best of YOUR UNIQUE ABILITY. (Caps very intentional.)

  So, Dear Readers—onward and upward!

  Isobel posted the blog, closed the laptop, and sighed. Her mind was still itching from the awkward conversation she had had with Gwen the other day. She hadn’t told Gwen about her date with Jeff until the morning after the fact. If Gwen had been hurt, she hadn’t admitted it; she had, however, admitted to being puzzled by the timing of Isobel’s news.

  “Did you think I was going to try to talk you out of going?” she asked.

  “Well, no,” Isobel had said. But maybe she had been afraid that she would have to defend her decision to see Jeff. After all, Gwen was the one who had told her she had heard that Jeff was a troublemaker . . . “Anyway,” she went on, “we had a really nice time.”

  “He didn’t force you to kiss him or anything, did he?” Gwen had asked.

  “No way!” Isobel cried. “What kind of person do you think he is? And do you really think I would go out with a creep!”

  “No, of course not. But what if you didn’t know he was a creep at first? Creeps are notoriously good at pretending not to be creeps.”

  “Gwen!”

  Gwen had smiled. “All right, all right. I’m just playing the cautious friend.”

  “And I thank you for your concern, really.”

  Isobel got up from her desk. Everything between her and Gwen was okay. She shouldn’t be worrying. Besides, Jeff was due any moment!

  “I really love this little town,” Isobel said. “It always feels so—happy.”

  Jeff smiled down at her. “That might be because you always feel happy.”

  They were walking along Maine Street in Ogunquit. The sun was high and bright, and the air was mercifully humidity free. Well, almost.

  “Hey, look!” Isobel said. “There’s my friend. Come on, I want to introduce you.”

  Jeff let himself be hurried across the street, where Catherine and Charlie were waiting for the light to change.

  “Catherine!” Isobel called. The older woman smiled and waved.

  “Hey, fancy meeting you here,” Catherine said when Isobel and Jeff had joined her.

  Isobel smiled. “Jeff, this is my friend Catherine.”

  “Hi,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  But before Jeff and Catherine could touch, Charlie began to growl at Jeff. And then she crouched, and for all Isobel could tell, it looked as if she was going to leap at him. Catherine instantly got Charlie under control, but it wasn’t easy—Charlie was strong and tenacious. The dog continued to growl and stare intently up at Jeff.

  And in those horrible few seconds, Isobel saw a look flash across Jeff’s face and she was sure he was going to kick Princess Charlene. But the look passed as quickly as it had come, and Isobel was now beyond certain that in her own moment of fear and panic she had imagined it.

  Jeff’s next words proved her right. “Hey,” he said with a laugh. “I guess not everybody likes me after all! Well, no worries.”

  “I’m sorry, really,” Catherine said, pulling back on Charlie’s leash to further settle the agitated dog at her feet. She frowned, her eyes narrowed, and looked from Jeff to Isobel. “I’ve never seen her act like this.”

  Isobel knew her mother’s friend pretty well. And she didn’t think Catherine sounded—or looked—very contrite. But what did Catherine have to frown about? Jeff was the one who had almost been attacked!

  “Generally,” Catherine went on, patting the dog’s head, “she likes everyone.”

  “She was just being protective of you,” Jeff said amiably. “She must be a good watchdog.”

  Isobel took Jeff’s arm. “We should go,” she said. “ ’Bye, Catherine.”

  Catherine mumbled something that might have been “Yeah.” When they were several yards on, Isobel looked back over her shoulder to see Catherine still frowning down at her dog. She still thought Catherine looked more puzzled than angry.

  “I’m so sorry that happened,” Isobel said to Jeff. “Charlie’s a shelter dog. She might have a bad history. Maybe some man who looks like you hurt her once, before Catherine adopted her.”

  “You can never trust a mutt,” Jeff replied forcefully. “My dad only buys dogs from a well-respected breeder. It’s the same thing with adopted kids. Unless you can pay for the best, you really never know what you’re getting. And even then, it’s a crapshoot.”

  Isobel stiffened. Surely, Jeff knew about Gwen and Ricky being adopted. It was such a small town; everyone had to know. Besides, Gwen’s parents were both men and Gwen had to have been born of some woman somewhere. And to talk about adopting a child in terms of making a purchase was . . . It was kind of sick. She didn’t know what to say.

  But maybe Jeff’s remarks were simply the result of the scare he had just experienced. Yes, she thought, that was probably the case. Anger and fear and adrenaline . . .

  “Hey,” Jeff said, taking her arm now as she had taken his earlier. “What’s wrong? You’re frowning. Are you still upset? Hey, I’m not hurt.”

  Before she could reply, Jeff put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He leaned down (automatically, she stood on her toes) and kissed her tenderly but fully on the lips. When he released her, Isobel felt her face flame. It had been her first daytime, in-public kiss, and she felt terribly adult, and terribly—well, terribly important.

  What if someone she knew had seen her being kissed! How awful! How wonderful, too!

  They continued to walk, her hand held firmly in his. And even if Jeff wasn’t still shaken by the incident with Charlie, Isobel thought, she was sure Jeff hadn’t meant anything really critical. She had read somewhere that adoption was a scary idea for some people. That was all it was. She was probably being oversensitive again. That, and naïve. Other people had opinions different from hers, and they had a right to those opinions. Just because Gwen (and Isobel’s mother and Catherine) pretty much thought the way Isobel did about the big and important stuff didn’t mean that Jeff had to think that way, as well.

  Isobel became aware of a man walking toward them on the crowded sidewalk. He was dressed in typical tourist garb, complete with baseball cap and white crew socks. But his clothes weren’t what caught Isobel’s attention. It w
as his dog.

  Really, Isobel thought, it was one of the goofiest-looking little mutts she had ever seen. She couldn’t help but smile.

  Neither could Jeff. “Now there’s a face only a mother could love. Is he friendly?” he asked the man, who had stopped to allow them to admire his four-legged friend.

  “Friendliest little guy ever!” the man replied. “Go ahead, pet him. His name is Freddie.”

  Jeff crouched and the little dog went wild with wriggling excitement as Jeff tickled him behind the ears. “Hey, Freddie, hey, little guy,” Jeff cooed.

  “Got him from a shelter back home in New Jersey,” the man said, beaming proudly. “Took one look at him and fell head over heels.”

  “I can see why,” Jeff said, standing up.

  The man took his leave of them with a friendly “Have a nice day.”

  See, Isobel thought. I was too quick to judge Jeff. It was a bad habit to get into, making snap judgments, especially negative ones.

  Jeff ducked into a store to buy a cup of coffee. He was gone only a moment. “What are you looking at?” he asked when he rejoined her. He was frowning. “Are you looking at that guy by the pickup? Did he look at you?”

  Isobel shook her head. “What guy? What pickup—oh, I see it. No, I’m looking at that woman, the one in the big straw sun hat. I’m not sure, but I think that’s a Marena she’s wearing.”

  “A what?”

  “Her brooch. I’ll be right back. I just have to ask her about it.”

  Isobel had been right, and the woman was pleased as punch that someone so young could recognize such an old piece. She had bought the brooch in an antique store in New York City some years ago. Isobel thanked the woman for sharing her story. Jeff was still frowning when she returned.

  “You should be careful approaching strangers,” he said.

  “In Ogunquit?” Isobel laughed. “It’s a fantasy town! Nothing really bad ever happens here.”