CHAPTER 13
HOLLIS WATCHED FROM A DISTANCE as Jolie gingerly made her way out toward the water. The tide raced up, and as soon as the water hit her feet, she turned and ran the other way, Tilly following close behind.
Jolie had been in Nantucket four days now, and every day she got a little braver. Sort of.
Dad sat in the beach chair next to him wearing a goofy sun visor and sunblock that he hadn’t fully rubbed in on his nose. “That’s quite a kid you’ve got.”
“She’s something,” Hollis agreed.
“This summer will be good for you two.”
“I only have her for a month,” Hollis said.
His mind ticked off the hours like a metronome. It’s already been four days.
“That’s all? Why? Jana has had her for twelve years—isn’t it your turn?”
Hollis sighed. “I don’t think Jolie wants to stay any longer than she has to.”
Dad glanced at Hollis. “Well, a few weeks on the island will change her mind.”
“Will it change her mind about me?” Hollis regretted saying it as soon as the words were out. He didn’t want to talk about his shortcomings as a parent, especially not with his father, who somehow had managed to do everything right.
“I think only you can do that, Son,” Dad said.
Hollis knew that. He knew it was up to him to mend what was broken between himself and Jolie, and yet where did he begin? She was like a foreign language to him—mysterious and nonsensical. Too much time had passed, and he’d made too many mistakes.
When Jana had asked him if Jolie could spend a few weeks with him this summer, he’d actually gotten nervous—over spending time with his own daughter. If his family weren’t here, he wasn’t sure what he would do. So far, his efforts to connect with her had been fruitless.
The worst part? He didn’t blame her. If he were Jolie, he’d hate him too.
“Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a father,” Hollis said quietly.
Dad snapped his book shut. “Well, Son, you don’t get to make that choice now, do you?”
Hollis hated it when his father was firm. It didn’t happen often—mostly Jeffrey McGuire was fun-loving and playful—but when it did, Hollis knew he better listen.
The trouble was, as much as he hated to admit it, Dad had never steered him wrong. Why did some people seem to get a double dose of wisdom when he felt like he hadn’t even gotten his fair share? At least not when it came to Jolie.
So far, every decision he’d made about the girl had been wrong. Giving her space. Moving away. Not insisting he should be more than just a checkbook to her and Jana. So many mistakes . . .
“Don’t lecture me, Pop,” Hollis said.
“The way I see it, you’ve got a choice,” his dad said. “You can sit here and dwell on how you wish things were different, or you can move forward and make things right.”
“Yeah, I know.” And he did know. He knew he’d failed as a father, and he knew his parents weren’t proud of that. He didn’t like to think about how his parents made time for Jolie, how they saw her school plays and dance recitals and band concerts and he’d missed nearly all of those things. And maybe he would’ve done better if it weren’t for the accident, but maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe the accident had become an excuse to do a bad job raising his daughter. Maybe he was just a terrible father. “I screwed up, Dad. I screwed up, and I think it’s too late to make it right.”
“It’s never too late,” Dad said. “Not as long as there’s air in your lungs.”
Hollis sighed. Easy for him to say. “I don’t even know where to start.” Hollis hated that he didn’t. He didn’t like it when things didn’t come easily to him—and Jolie definitely didn’t come easily to him. If she were into sports, at least they could go play catch or he could pass on what he knew about the game, but she wasn’t. She was a soon-to-be teenage girl with interests that made absolutely no sense to him.
“Start with her,” Dad said. “Figure out what she likes and then force yourself to care about that.”
Hollis frowned.
“You think your mother cares about baseball?”
“She loves baseball,” Hollis said. He glanced over at his mom, sitting under an umbrella next to Harper. Mom wore a giant sun hat and was still fully clothed like a woman allergic to the sun.
“No, Hollis,” Dad said. “She loves you.”
“She loves the game.”
Dad eyed Hollis for too many seconds.
“She doesn’t love the game?”
“She loved how happy it made you to play,” Dad said. “Think of how well she knew you because she took an interest in what you loved.”
He paused. “I don’t even know what Jolie loves.” And as much as he wished he could, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to take an interest in something like hair or makeup or clothes.
“Well, we know one thing she loves,” Dad said.
Hollis followed his father’s gaze out to the ocean, where Jolie was now waist-deep, laughing with her uncle. “Theatre.”
“Right,” Dad said. “You can get that children’s production back on at the arts center.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“For you, it will be. You’re on the board.”
“I also voted to get rid of the children’s programs, remember?”
Jolie raced out of the surf to the shore with a shout followed by a loud laugh. Even Hayes had found a way to connect with her. It didn’t matter how difficult it was, Hollis needed to try, because he had a feeling if she left Nantucket at the end of the month feeling no differently about him than she’d felt when she came, it was over.
Something about that had him reeling. It was time to step up—past time to step up. And he prayed he wasn’t too late.
Hollis spent the next couple of days chewing on his dad’s advice, which was probably why he now found himself inside the arts center and on the way up the stairs to Gladys Middlebury’s office. The old biddy was likely going to have a few choice words for him.
It had been nearly twenty years—no one would’ve guessed Emily would ever return.
He bypassed the receptionist’s desk—the last thing he wanted to do was spend an hour talking to Hillary Schweitzer about her cats—and went directly to Gladys’s office.
She was on the phone, sitting behind the large mahogany desk she’d inherited from her predecessor, a burly man everyone called Teddy. The desk didn’t suit Gladys—she was a lot smaller than Teddy and kind of prissy. Why she hadn’t replaced the giant desk was unclear.
Gladys’s family was one of the richest on the island. She didn’t take a salary for her work at the arts center—she didn’t need it. She only did it because she was bored and wanted to “contribute.” She never would’ve spoken to Hollis before he became a professional athlete. She wouldn’t have even noticed him on the street except to turn up her nose at him. That’s the kind of woman Gladys Middlebury was.
Which made speaking to her in a polite tone just on the edge of difficult for Hollis.
Gladys hung up the phone and glared at him. “Didn’t I tell you something like this would happen?”
Hollis closed the door behind him.
“You insisted they would never be back in Nantucket.” She stood. “You were so certain.”
“I don’t know what to say, Gladys,” he said. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
“Maybe we should discuss that eyesore of a house while she’s here.” Gladys walked over to a plant in a red pot that was sitting on the windowsill. She picked up a spray bottle and squirted it three times. “Maybe that would put her in her place.”
“I think I have a better idea,” Hollis said, hoping to distract Gladys away from the petition he knew she’d stuffed in one of those big desk drawers. Signed by at least one hundred people, it stated that something needed to be done about the Ackerman cottage. That petition was the only reason Hollis ever gave in to the vote about the children’s program and t
he redistribution of funds.
If he hadn’t, it would’ve gotten personal for Emily’s family, and in his mind, that was the last thing any of them would’ve wanted. Sacrificing the children’s programs seemed like a small price to pay.
Had he gotten it all backward?
Gladys spun around. “I don’t trust your ideas, Mr. McGuire. And I won’t listen to another word until you take that ball cap off in my office.”
Hollis sat in one of the black chairs opposite the desk, swiped his hat off, and folded it between his hands but didn’t respond.
“Fine,” she finally said. “Tell me.”
He planted his elbows on his knees and leveled a gaze at her. “We bring back the children’s show.”
Gladys waved him off. “You know we can’t do that. The whole problem was lack of personnel. Lack of interest from the kids. Nobody wants to spend their summer wrangling children—even their parents don’t want to do it.”
“Gladys, if Emily wanted to, she could probably take legal action against the arts center.” Hollis leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t think you have a choice but to give her what she wants.”
“She wants a detailed outline of where her grandfather’s money has been going.”
“She wants a children’s production,” Hollis said.
Gladys sighed and slumped back down in the chair, which she’d also inherited from Teddy and which completely engulfed her five-foot frame. “It would create a shortfall in other areas. You know we reworked the budget, and we used that money to keep the film festival and the concert series and—”
“You might have to rework the budget again,” Hollis said. “Or do some fund-raising?” Or chip in a little of your own money, he thought.
She scoffed. “Fund-raising?”
“A charity event in support of the arts center? People would go crazy for it.”
Gladys’s eyes glimmered. She did love a good charity event. But the cynicism quickly returned. “Even if I wanted to bring back the children’s show this summer, we don’t have anyone to run it. You remember what happened with the last lady.”
He’d heard the stories, and he didn’t want to get Gladys wound up over their last children’s director, a woman who’d touted herself as a professional but who had made up 95 percent of her résumé. “Professional theatre in Chicago” actually meant “middle school production in the very (very) distant suburbs.” Gladys had been furious when she’d found out the truth, most likely because she’d been the one who’d hired the woman. In other words, she’d been the one who hadn’t done her homework.
“I think I have the perfect person to take it on,” Hollis said.
Gladys peered at him over her thick-framed glasses. “Is that right?”
Hollis shrugged again, this time as if to suggest, What can I say? I’m a well-connected man.
“Well, are you going to tell me or are you just going to sit there with that goofy smirk on your face?” Gladys’s mouth took on the shape of a rainbow. “People your age do everything halfway—even your smile is lazy.”
“I’m here to help you, Gladys,” Hollis teased. “You’re not being very appreciative.”
“Considering that you had a vote in all of this, I’d say it’s not only me you’re helping, Mr. McGuire.” She eyed him for a long moment. “Hurry up and tell me before I lose interest.”
“You should hire Emily.”
“Emily, the girl who stormed out of here the other day like she owned the place?”
“Yep.” And he wasn’t at all surprised she’d gotten fired up with Gladys. Emily had never been the kind of person to keep her opinions to herself.
Hollis explained Emily’s unique qualifications for this position, but Gladys remained unconvinced.
“She’s obviously passionate about this place, and she’s worked in theatre most of her life—she was even on Broadway. It’s like a divine appointment.”
“Don’t go bringing God into this, mister.” She adjusted her glasses and let out a sigh. “You said she was on Broadway?”
“She’s the real deal, Gladdy.”
She wagged a pointed finger in his face. “I told you not to call me that.”
He grinned. “Will you talk to her?”
“Why don’t you talk to her? You seem to know an awful lot about her.” She raised a single, knowing brow.
“I think it would be better coming from you,” Hollis said.
“She doesn’t like you, does she?” Gladys folded her hands on her desk. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Hollis said.
The old woman scowled. “You professional athletes are all the same.”
“Yeah, you’ve got us all figured out.” Hollis stood. “So you’ll talk to her.”
She glowered. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
Gladys watched him for a long, unnerving moment. “Why the sudden interest in the children’s programming, Mr. McGuire?”
Great. Just what he needed—the third degree from Gladys Middlebury.
“I’m invested in the well-being of this island. You know that.”
“And that’s all this is?” She waved her hand when she said this as if it were something hanging in the room between them.
“Don’t know what you’re implying, Mrs. Middlebury, but the only ulterior motive I have here is doing what’s best for the community.”
He didn’t stick around long enough to let her say anything else. The last thing he wanted was to land under Gladys Middlebury’s watchful eye—or to confront the full scope of his reasons for wanting Emily to take over the children’s programming for the summer.
CHAPTER 14
EMILY SCROLLED THROUGH TWITTER as she rounded the corner toward the main entrance of the arts center. She’d given Gladys a full week, and now Emily was going to follow up with her.
She looked up for a brief second to avoid running into a young family walking three deep on the sidewalk when she spotted Hollis heading toward her.
He had that easygoing, I’m-too-handsome-for-my-own-good thing going on, as if he’d just rolled out of bed looking like someone on a billboard.
It both delighted and irritated her at the same time.
“Hey.” He smiled as the gap between them closed.
They stood on the street staring at each other for what felt like a solid minute but was probably more like three seconds.
Had it really only been a few days since she’d seen him? It felt much longer. Maybe because she’d been hiding herself away in that old house, watching his family from the second-story window and making up excuses why she couldn’t join them on the beach.
“What are you doing here?” Hollis finally asked.
Emily exhaled her held breath and thought it probably wasn’t good for her to keep holding on to air. “I was going to follow up with the director of operations. This old woman named Gladys. No way she’s going to actually do anything unless I apply some pressure. I wanted to make sure Jolie gets her show.”
His expression changed. “You do?”
“Yeah, I have to make good on my promise. Better than theatre camp, remember?”
He smiled.
“Is that why you’re here too?”
He looked toward the building, then back at Emily. “Uh . . . yeah. My dad says it would be good to take an interest in something she’s into.”
“Isn’t that what fathers do?”
Hollis looked away. “I don’t really know.”
Emily watched as he refused her eyes. Had he become a completely different person from the one she knew all those years ago? She shook away the thought—it didn’t matter. He wasn’t a part of her life. What he did or didn’t do was none of her business.
“You think this Gladys will be open to your pressure?” Hollis asked.
She shrugged. “After everything my grandfather gave to this arts center, they cut the one thing that mattere
d to him most. I’m not going to just let them get away with that.”
Hollis started to say something, then stopped.
“What?”
“You seem upset.”
“I am upset—you know how much this place meant to me.”
“But it’s been a lot of years, Em. Things change.”
Did that mean it should matter less? This was her place. This was the place where one of her very best memories had been made, but the way he was looking at her now—it made her feel like she was overreacting.
Was she overreacting? She wasn’t sure how to tell anymore.
“Hey, you wanna go to the Juice Bar?” Hollis hitched a thumb over his shoulder as if to point Emily in the direction of their favorite Nantucket ice cream shop.
Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I want to pretend I have some pull and strong-arm this old lady.”
“For Jolie.”
“Yes, of course for Jolie. Who else would I be doing this for?”
Hollis shrugged. “You stopped by here before you even met Jolie, so maybe you’ve got your own reasons?”
He watched her for several unnerving seconds, and she decided she didn’t like it. His eyes saw too much of what she wasn’t willing to share.
“What are you doing here anyway?” she asked, turning the tables.
“I already told you. I was coming to check things out for Jolie—”
“No, I mean here, in Nantucket?”
He looked away. “My family comes every summer.”
“Yeah, but you don’t.”
His jaw twitched. He didn’t like her prodding him, she could tell. Too bad that only made her want to keep going.
“You play baseball and do baseball things in the summer,” she said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Emily, I don’t anymore.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“I googled you,” she said.
“Great.” His expression took a miserable turn.
“I read that you were offered two different jobs commentating this summer—you could’ve been the voice of Major League Baseball.”
“I don’t want to be the voice,” he said. “I wanna play.” The words seemed to surprise him, as if they’d escaped without his permission.
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