She held out her hand. “My clothes?”
He narrowed his gaze as if trying to decide whether or not to give them back to her. “I would say I’d trade you—your clothes in exchange for you telling me your name—but I have a better idea.”
“Oh, really?” She was flirting now. She’d seen her friends do it plenty of times, but truthfully, she’d never met a boy worth flirting with. The boys at school all seemed so juvenile, and while Isabelle didn’t have an overly high opinion of herself, she wasn’t about to waste her time.
“I figure out your name, and you go out with me,” he said, an endearing cockiness coming over him.
It wouldn’t be difficult for him to figure out her name—her parents were well-known in the community—so agreeing to this was essentially agreeing to go out with a perfect stranger.
A perfectly handsome stranger. Unlike his friends, JD looked like he’d seen sunlight in the last month, his skin a deep-bronze shade, his hair sandy-colored and overgrown in a way that made looking good seem effortless.
Finally she reached out and took her clothes from him, holding them in front of her as if that could keep her from feeling self-conscious about her body.
“So it’s a deal, then?” He extended a hand for her to shake.
Slowly, as if making up her mind, she shook his hand and hid her smile. “Deal.”
He held her hand for several seconds and didn’t seem to have any intention of letting it go.
“So do you like seafood, Isabelle?” The expression on his face turned mischievous, and she pulled her hand away.
She eyed him accusingly. “Do you know my parents?”
Maybe he wasn’t summer help—maybe he’d only pretended to be.
“No, your license fell out of the pocket of your shorts when I picked them up.”
She forced herself not to smile.
“But hey, a deal’s a deal, right? I get off at five, so I’ll pick you up then.” He started off, surfboard under his arm.
“Wait,” she called after him.
He turned.
“Meet me in town,” she said. “Children’s Beach?”
“Ashamed to be seen with the help?”
“Something like that,” she said with a smile.
“I’ll see you tonight, Bella.”
“No one calls me Bella!” she called out after him, but he was already in the water, the whoops and hollers of his buddies drowning out everything else.
Nobody had ever called her Bella, but with eyes like that and muscles like those, she decided JD could call her whatever he wanted.
CHAPTER 7
EMILY LISTENED TO THE FAMILIAL BANTER of Hollis, his brother, their parents, and even Jolie, who seemed to be more familiar with her grandparents than with her own father.
What was the story there?
Nan put her to work in the kitchen, and even though Emily wasn’t much of a cook, it was nice to be included. She chopped vegetables, sliced French bread, put ice in the cups. She did the things a mother would have her daughter do.
Occasionally she found herself staring at Nan, wondering if she was the kind of mother her own mom would’ve become if she’d had as many years to figure out who she was.
She sat quietly through most of dinner, doing her best to piece together the last eighteen years of the McGuire family’s lives and forget about the last eighteen years of her own.
So far, she knew Hayes was a travel writer, recently split from a good friend–turned–girlfriend he’d met right here on the island the summer he turned eighteen. It seemed like a sore subject, and one he changed quickly.
Harper, who would arrive in the morning, ran marathons for fun. For fun! Who did that?
Hollis’s parents said very little about their own life, though she gathered they were still the same happy couple they’d always been. At one point, she glanced over and saw they were holding hands.
They’d been together over thirty years and they still held hands?
Grandma and GrandPop weren’t affectionate with each other. Or with Emily. Even after the accident, they still remained on the lukewarm side.
Another reason Emily had practically covered her own heart in bubble wrap and written STAY OUT in permanent marker on the outside of it.
Nan and Jeffrey McGuire were the exact opposite of Emily’s grandparents. They used to love embarrassing their children by kissing under the beach umbrella and sometimes, late at night, Emily had seen them slow dancing in the backyard from her bedroom window.
Did they still slow dance?
She hoped so.
The whole conversation was light and easy, and each of the McGuires found ways to make Emily feel included. She wondered if someone had taught them the fine art of drawing people into their family or if they just came by it naturally.
By the time Nan pulled a fresh fruit torte from the refrigerator, Emily felt like she’d been adopted.
She wouldn’t lie—it was nice.
“Is that from . . . ?” Emily’s voice trailed off as her mouth watered.
“Nantucket Bake Shop,” Hollis said. “Mom sent me over this morning.”
Emily had forgotten about the bake shop. She’d forgotten about a lot of things.
“We’ve been talking this whole time, Emily,” Nan said, setting the dessert at the center of the table. “Tell us about you.”
She preferred to listen. At least in this setting. Emily was used to being the center of attention—she came by it naturally, which was maybe why acting was an easy fit for her. She’d never found it difficult to pretend to be someone else.
Being herself was much harder, and lately, she’d lost the desire to pretend.
“Oh.” Emily took a drink of water. “Well, I’m not sure where to start.”
“You’re still acting?” Nan asked.
“You were on Broadway, right?” Hayes reminded Emily of a golden retriever, happy and energetic and so darn cute. Hollis, by comparison, was more thoughtful and not nearly as talkative.
But he watched her with such intensity it sent her insides swirling.
How easily she could get lost in his eyes if she let herself, which she most certainly would not.
“You were on Broadway?” Jolie’s eyes widened.
“I was,” Emily admitted. “I was in a Broadway revival of a play called The Importance of Being Earnest. You’ve probably never heard of it.” After all, how many people knew classic plays that closed after only a few weeks? Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It wasn’t as impressive as it sounded.
“I have,” Hayes said. “I saw it in London.”
“Uncle Hayes has been everywhere.” Jolie took a drink of her water and grinned. “But he’s never been on Broadway.”
Hayes tousled her hair playfully. “I’ve still got time, JoJo.”
“What kind of costume did you wear?” Jolie looked at Emily with a new kind of admiration. She was probably too young to have ever seen Dottie’s World, the children’s show that had turned Emily into a star for, it turned out, a rather short time. To Jolie, being on Broadway was a huge accomplishment. Emily wished she’d seen it that way. As it was, the play felt like something of a step down after having a hit TV show—at least, that’s what gossip rags had said.
Emily set her fork down thoughtfully, letting her mind wander back to her nine-week run on Broadway. “I wore the most beautiful costume,” she said. “And a corset. The gown was so intricate—I’d never seen anything like it. It should be in a museum somewhere.”
“Right next to your Dottie costume,” Hayes quipped.
Jolie looked up from her plate. “Who’s Dottie?”
Emily waved her off. “No one.”
“Come on, Em,” Hayes teased from across the table. “Don’t be modest.” He jumped up. “What was that pose you did?” He stood with one fist on his hip and the other fist punched out in front of him, affecting the all-too-familiar “Dottie pose.”
The others chuckled and Emily buried h
er face in her hands.
“Emily was a child star,” Nan said. “A big one.”
“Dottie Do-Right, sweet girl next door with a secret world in her backyard,” Hayes said.
“It was an adorable show,” Nan said. “How old were you when that started?”
“Ten,” Emily said. “I was ten when it started.”
“People on the island used to stop her for autographs.” Hayes sat back down.
“So embarrassing,” Emily said.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Emily,” Jeffrey said. “It was a great accomplishment, and I know your mother was very proud of you.”
Emily shifted uncomfortably. How did he know that? He sounded so sure.
Would her mother be proud of the mediocre review of her Broadway debut or her director’s criticism that she seemed “creatively blocked,” that there was more in her past she could tap into and when she did, she could be truly brilliant?
“There’s something inauthentic about your performance, Emily,” he’d said. “Something is holding you back. If you want people to think of you as anything other than Dottie Do-Right, you have to give them a reason to.”
His words stung. And she was just entitled enough to reject them. So she’d chosen next to take a job on the road—a touring performance of a new musical called Cool Rider that tanked after three months. From there, she traveled to Tokyo, London, a cruise ship, and finally back to New York, which was where she’d been the past twelve months, the last six of which she’d spent throwing everything into the show that had eventually landed her back on the theatre critic’s radar—and not in his good graces.
Ackerman’s turn in The Importance of Being Earnest should’ve been enough to keep the child star out of the New York theatre scene, but here she is again, this time in a production of her own, which has left many wondering why Dottie didn’t find another world to visit instead of filling our world with her pointless drivel. This actress should stick to fluffy children’s television and leave the real theatre to the professionals.
“Do you have pictures?” Jolie had set her fork down and now gave Emily her undivided attention. “Of the play you did?”
“I probably do—somewhere. I didn’t do a very good job of keeping mementos.”
Emily prided herself on not being sentimental.
“Broadway.” Jolie sighed. “That’s amazing. I’d love to be on Broadway someday.”
“You would?” Hollis swallowed and glanced at his daughter.
“I’ve been in three plays already.” Jolie’s tone suggested he should know that.
How did Hollis not know?
“Wow, that’s quite a résumé.” Emily hoped she could lighten the mood—she could see by Hollis’s face he felt embarrassed.
“Will you tell me about Broadway sometime?” Jolie asked, her attention wholly fixed on Emily. “And the other shows you’ve done?”
It was bittersweet to think about any small success she might’ve had after Dottie’s World ended, now that her life was such a disaster.
“Sure,” Emily said.
“I tried to get my mom to send me to theatre camp this month.” Jolie pushed food around on her plate. “She said no.”
Emily glanced at Hollis and saw the fresh wound his daughter’s words inflicted.
She cleared her throat. “Do you know where I got my start?”
Jolie’s wide eyes met hers.
“Right here at the arts center downtown.”
The girl sat up straighter. “For real?”
“We used to do a big show every summer. That’s where I first fell in love with the stage. I stopped at the arts center earlier today. I’m hoping they’ll put something on the schedule this year too.”
“Really?” Jolie’s eyes lit with excitement.
“Really,” Emily said, praying she wasn’t overstepping. She didn’t actually know if Gladys would come through—Emily wasn’t nearly as threatening or powerful as her grandfather had been. “If you give it a chance, you might discover this island is the best place in the world to spend a summer.”
Jolie smiled at her, and it was lovely, but it was Hollis’s thankful expression that pricked her heart.
“It’s been years since there’s been a show there,” Nan said.
Emily tried not to let it bother her—how nobody cared enough to make sure the children’s productions went on.
“When you find something worth fighting for, fight.”
Her mom’s words tumbled through her mind. Was this a cause worth fighting for? A children’s show? Shouldn’t she be marching at some political rally or doing something . . . bigger?
Maybe, but back in the day, those shows mattered to a lot of people. Sure, it wasn’t global-level influence, but it made a difference here. Emily would never forget the day she was finally old enough to participate. Four consecutive summers she’d lived on that stage—and she loved every second.
“Hopefully this is the year they bring it back,” Emily said. “If it’s anything like it was when I was a kid, Jolie, you’re going to love it.”
The girl smiled again.
“Well, I’m beat,” Jeffrey said. “I’m going to bed. You kids stay up as late as you want to.” He stood and took his plate to the sink, rinsed it off, and put it in the dishwasher.
In all her years of living with Grandma and GrandPop, she’d never once seen the man take his dishes to the sink. Something about it made her love Mr. McGuire, if only for Nan’s sake.
But not only for Nan’s sake.
“I should go,” Emily said. She followed Jeffrey’s lead and filed her plate in the dishwasher.
“Don’t rush off,” Nan said.
But prolonging the inevitable seemed a little silly.
Still, Emily dreaded walking back to the cottage. She dreaded opening the door. She dreaded turning on the lights and not hearing her mother’s laugh filling the empty hallways.
“I really should check on the house,” Emily said. “Thank you so much for dinner.”
“Well,” Nan said, “we better see you tomorrow night too. Harper will be home, and she’ll want to say hello. It’ll be just like old times.”
And as much as she wished that were true, Emily knew it wasn’t. In all of the last eighteen years, nothing had ever felt like old times.
“I’ll walk you.” Hollis stood.
“You don’t have to,” Emily said, but secretly the thought of spending a few minutes alone with the man had her insides quivering—and not in an unpleasant way.
CHAPTER 8
EMILY STEPPED OUT ONTO THE PORCH with Hollis close behind her. The night air was warm, but not hot, as if summer had decided to take its time. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, wishing she could slow time. She reached into her pocket and turned the key to the cottage over in her palm. The old house, filled with memories, beckoned to her, daring her to open its doors. Daring her to let the light in.
“Was that as awful as I think it was?” Hollis asked, breaking through her silence.
She glanced at him. “No, it was actually pretty wonderful. It’s been so long since I’ve had a meal like that.” Meals with her grandparents were much more . . . formal.
“No family dinners on Broadway?”
She laughed, hoping it covered her sadness. No family dinners anywhere.
They walked through the backyard, and she could hear the ocean waves chasing the shore.
“Do you mind if we take the long way?” she asked. “I’m not in much of a hurry to get back.”
“Fine with me.” Hollis turned toward the water, and soon they were on the beach. She removed her shoes and let the cool sand squish through her toes.
“Thanks for what you said in there,” Hollis said. “About Nantucket. Jolie’s been hard to convince.”
She fixed her eyes in front of her. “I thought so. But I meant what I said—those shows are the reason I’m still an actor.”
“Those shows? Not Dottie’s World?”
> Emily laughed. “No. I never saw my mom and grandparents in the front row at Dottie’s World. But they were always there for every performance at the arts center. The curtain call was my favorite part because that’s when my family would jump up and cheer—that’s when I knew I’d made them proud.” She’d tucked that memory in her pocket to save for a rainy day.
She would never forget the way it felt to know that they were there for her. Her grandfather had taken over the arts center the following year, donating enough money that they renamed it in his honor.
He’d done that for her too—she realized that now. It was meant to be something she could love every summer, as if there weren’t enough things to love about Nantucket.
She thought she’d be doing shows there for many, many years, but things hadn’t worked out that way, had they?
A quiet pause fell between them, and Emily cleared her throat in an effort to fill it. She hadn’t meant to get so serious—she hadn’t even meant to have that memory at all.
But that was the one, wasn’t it? The one that kept her onstage all these years?
“Did you miss it here?” Hollis asked.
She shrugged, though she doubted he could see her in the darkness. “Maybe a little.”
“I think Nantucket missed you.”
This was no good—the way he made her feel. Like he cared about these unwanted memories. Like she was special, like she was the only person in the world. She didn’t want to feel that way, not because it wasn’t nice but because it wasn’t genuine. It couldn’t possibly be, and she knew it.
So why did she still let it warm her from her toes up?
“Nobody in your family brought up baseball,” she said. In fact, Hollis was the only one who had escaped the life recap. Did his parents assume she knew more than she did? She didn’t even know he had a daughter. Websites called him “notoriously private,” and maybe now she understood why. She’d seen a spark of shame behind his eyes when he told her he and Jolie’s mom had never married, as if that would shape her opinion of him.
It would never. But he didn’t know that. He didn’t know her.
“They know better.” Hollis bent over and picked up a rock, then faced the water and threw it in, sidearm.
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