Summer on Main Street

by Crista McHugh

  She was halfway through an episode of her favorite romantic series when footsteps padded into the living room and Joy plopped on the couch beside her. Without a word, Brioney lifted a corner of her afghan. Joy curled up against her, and even though it was late on a school night, she let her daughter watch a few minutes until she fell asleep again, nestled against her side.

  Chapter Two

  Brioney liked to take her break in the restaurant attached to the hotel. It was all windows looking out on the beach, so peaceful. Her boss didn’t always like her taking her break there, didn’t think the help should be someplace where the tourists might actually see them, but Leeayn was off-site at the moment, and Brioney and Mercedes took a seat in the back of the restaurant and drank their coffee.

  Madeline, the head waitress, was chatting with a family who sat by the window, grandparents, parents and a child too young for school, who was plastered to the window watching the wind-surfers skating over the waves, which were higher than usual today. When Brioney had been younger, she’d listened to the tide forecast religiously, and had even had time to go out on the water, but it had been years since it had mattered. A small part of her wanted to get out on the water again, but she just didn’t have time.

  When Madeline parted from the family, she crossed the room to check on the girls.

  “Sure you don’t want any pastries?” she asked in her pack-a-day voice. “Delivered fresh this morning.”

  Delivered this morning didn’t guarantee they were fresh. Avalon Island had to have the worst bakery in Texas.

  “I’m not wasting my calories on that crap,” Mercedes said. “Have a seat. You aren’t that busy.”

  Madeline glanced around the dining room with its three occupied tables, including one with a local older man, Justin Pope, who came in regularly, sighed and dropped into one of the wooden chairs at their table. Brioney pushed her cup of coffee toward Madeline, who took a big drink and pushed it back. She made a face.

  “How many sugars did you put in that thing?”

  “All of them.” Brioney waved the empty packets between her fingers.

  “Well, if I had a figure like yours, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Madeline was so small a stiff wind could blow her away, so she had no room to talk.

  “How is your beautiful little girl? You don’t bring her around much anymore.”

  “She’s doing great. Acing all her classes. Smarter than me, for sure.”

  “I don’t know. You do pretty well.” Madeline patted her hand in a motherly gesture. “I sure miss that kid, though. You need to bring her back in before she forgets about me.”

  “I will.”

  “And your sister? Is she doing well?”

  Brioney swallowed a lump of guilt at the mention of Jessamy. “She is. She’s coming down for Thanksgiving, so I’ll make sure she comes by.” Her sister was an aide at the capitol in Austin.

  “Aren’t you going to ask what’s going on in my life?” Mercedes asked, her tone affronted.

  “Sweetheart, everyone knows what’s going on in your life.”

  Mercedes was the island party girl, bound to be found at any party or bar, any night of the week. She came to work hung over most of the time, often after rolling out of the bed of a stranger. Brioney loved Mercedes as much as she loved her sister, but one of these days, her choices were going to get her hurt. But no one could talk sense into her, and most people had given up trying.

  “Who was he last night?” Madeline asked.

  If Mercedes knew how to blush, she would have blushed then, which told Brioney it was someone they knew. The summer was one thing—she liked to pick up tourists, but in the off-season, single tourists were rare, and she had to resort to locals.

  “Not Blue,” Brioney blurted before she could stop herself.

  Both women turned to her then, drilling her with twin gazes. “Why not Blue?” Mercedes asked sharply.

  Brioney’s stomach tanked, just for a moment, thinking that Blue would have gone to Mercedes’s bed. It was one thing that he’d slept with her sister years ago. But if he’d also slept with her best friend last night…She may as well write off any chance they’d have of getting together.

  “No reason. Just the first name that came to mind.”

  “And why is that?” Madeline asked.

  “I thought Cameron had been in town this weekend,” Mercedes said.

  “That’s…over.” Until she said it out loud, she hadn’t known it was true.

  “You’ve said that before. He treats you like shit and you go back for more. What’s different this time?”

  Something she’d seen in Blue’s eyes the other night that she’d never seen in Cameron’s, even in the best of times. “Maybe I’m finally finding my self-respect.”

  *****

  Tuesday nights Blue always drove out to the artist colony on the edge of Avalon Island. He had a standing dinner date with his parents and whoever else might show up.

  His parents had moved to the island in the early 1980s, seeking an escape from commercialism and stress. They were people out of their own time, born too late for the hippie days of the 1960s. His dad was a painter, a good one, and had made a living selling seascapes to tourists, but that wasn’t his heart. His heart was in painting nudes, especially Blue’s mother, which had led to some awkwardness when Blue brought friends home. Anyway, they had moved here and his mom had become an earth mother, gardening, weaving, spinning her own yarn. She’d become a talented weaver, and now her textiles were famous across the country. She’d been featured in one of those country decorating magazines, and had a website and everything. She was successful and the family was well-off, but at least she was working on her own terms.

  More artists had joined them, some friends and some strangers who just wanted to be a part of something bigger. The old house his parents had bought had become something of a hostel, people coming and going, until his parents decided to add onto the house, then build some guest houses. Now about twenty people lived on the property, and some of the buildings had been converted to shops and galleries. So, yeah, no telling who would be at dinner. His mother’s door was always open.

  The idea of Brioney and Joy joining him one day flittered through his mind. He wondered what she’d think of their living situation. Okay, to be fair, she knew about his life since he’d dated Jessamy, but Jess had always kept her distance from his family. That should have been a sign that she couldn’t accept him for who he was. He wondered if Brioney would get along with them better.

  He parked his bike in front of the beach-yellow Victorian house with the turquoise trim and shut off the motor. His mother was at the door before he dismounted, giving the bike a disdainful look.

  “I could hear that thing before you turned off the road. And no helmet?”

  “It’s all back roads.” He trotted up the step and kissed her soft cheek. She smelled of lavender. She always smelled of lavender.

  “Idiots drive on back roads, too.” She touched his jaw and smiled. “You look good, honey. A little thin.”

  “I’m eating fine.” She’d only seen him a few days ago. What could have changed?

  “Cooking?”

  “Occasionally.”

  She tucked her arm through his and guided him into the house, her long skirt swishing against his bare legs. “And is there a girl in your life?”

  He hesitated. The question always came up, since Vivian had left town over a year ago. They’d been together two years, she got along with his family, and then decided Avalon Island was too remote, so she left. He’d been as confused as hurt, and only now…

  “A-ha! There is someone!” his mother said triumphantly.

  “What? No.”

  “You waited too long to answer. Who is she? Do I know her?”

  Of course she did. She knew everyone on the island, and Brioney better than most. He didn’t think she’d be too pleased, since Jessamy had been his first heartbreak. “Mom. There’s no on
e. Just, I’m considering someone, but I don’t think she’s ready.”

  “Not ready,” his mom repeated, her tone musing. “Hmm. Who could it be?”

  “Mom. No one. Really.”

  “I’m going to figure it out,” she promised.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, trying to steer her away.

  “Nothing fancy, stuffed green peppers, which I grew in my own garden.”

  She was proud of that garden, which was a challenge in the coastal temperatures.

  “Salad from the garden, too. And a lemon meringue pie with lemons from my tree!”

  “You know it’s okay to make dinner from food you buy at the grocery store,” he teased, and she swatted his arm as they walked into the open kitchen, where his father stood, barefoot, in rolled-up jeans and an open shirt, clearly just out of the shower.

  His father clapped him on the back. “So bring her next time.”

  “Who?” Blue asked, off-balance.

  “Whoever you won’t tell your mother about.”

  Blue chuckled and scooped some crackers from a bowl on the counter. “There’s no one.” And she certainly wasn’t ready to come to one of these dinners. “Is it just us tonight?”

  “No, actually, we have some house guests that will be joining us,” his mom said. “I’d thought one of them would be perfect for you, but you seem to have other ideas.”

  He opened his mouth to say he didn’t have other ideas, but closed it. Better she think that than try to set him up with someone. “So who are they?”

  “Some art students from UT who will be here about a week. Really nice.”

  “And how do you know them?” Actually knowing people had never mattered to his parents before when they accepted guests, but the world was changing.

  “One of their professors contacted us and asked if we’d have them. We don’t just let anyone in our house.” His mother patted his cheek.

  “You did when I was younger.”

  “Well, we had you to protect us then.” She smiled. “I’ll go call the others.”

  “The others” were a couple, David and Sara, and two girls, Lexi and Barb. One of the girls, Lexi, was cute, and just his type, though too young. Her sly looks told him enough of her interest, but he didn’t respond. His mother noticed, because she tried to draw him into conversation with her, about his experiences at UT, but they’d not shared any of the same professors or classes, or many experiences for that matter.

  They ate until they were stuffed, then his mother invited them all to go sit on the screened porch for wine.

  “Are they old enough to drink?” he asked his father quietly.

  His father chuckled. “I hope so. It’s not the first bottle of wine we’ve shared.”

  So they sat on the screened patio overlooking the water and drank good wine, because his mother wouldn’t have anything else.

  “So where do you live, Blue?” Lexi asked.

  “I have a place on the other side of town, not this close to the water.”

  “I don’t think I’d ever leave if I had a place like this, not even if I lived with my parents until I was eighty,” Barb said, putting her feet up on the edge of the screen.

  “How did you get the name Blue anyway?” Lexi asked.

  “He had blue eyes when he was born, the clearest blue eyes you’ve ever seen,” his mother said, choosing one of the many stories she’d told people about his unusual name. “They looked right into me. He couldn’t have another name.”

  “That’s your real name?” Lexi asked, dumbfounded.

  “On my birth certificate and everything.” After twenty-nine years, he was used to the question. He’d resented his parents for a couple of years because of it, but now he kind of liked the charm of having an unusual name, given to him by unusual parents.

  “What would you have done if you’d become a lawyer, or an accountant? I can’t imagine a professional named Blue. Would you have changed your name?” Barb asked.

  Blue chuckled. “I never would have been a lawyer or an accountant.” He’d never even worn a tie, hated socks, only wore close-toed shoes if temperatures dropped below fifty. He couldn’t imagine being in a cubicle or a room with no windows.

  “So you do what? You have a fishing boat?”

  “Yeah, I take tourists out sometimes. I also run rentals on the beach.”

  “So an entrepreneur,” Barb said.

  He chuckled. “I just do what I like to do.”

  “Not enough people can say that,” his mother said.

  He looked at her and saw by the curl of her lips as she sipped her wine that she was enjoying herself. “Glad to be providing your amusement this evening,” he murmured as he reached for his own glass.

  She winked and passed the bottle to the girls.

  He excused himself a short time later to go home. He saw a hopeful light in Lexi’s eyes, but he bid them all a good night.

  He drove by Brioney’s neighborhood on his way back, but didn’t turn in, as much as he wanted to.

  *****

  Brioney stood at the hood of her car and glared at the steam rolling from beneath the hood, as if that would force it back beneath, as if it would reverse time to when the car was actually running.

  The passenger door opened and Brioney snapped her head up to see her daughter shoving the heavy door toward the shoulder. Brioney stumbled over a tuft of grass in her hurry to stop her daughter.

  “Stay in the car.”

  “Why? I can help.”

  “Because the steam could burn you.” Which was why she hadn’t opened the hood. Fitz had taught her that, as well as how to change a tire and charge a battery. But for this, she was going to have to call a tow truck.

  Guess who drove the tow truck on Avalon Island? Usually he kept it on the beach to pull tourists out of the sand, but he also towed to the mechanic, George Swift, who didn’t live up to the promise of his name.

  She walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door and bent in. “Hand me my phone.”

  “I already called him.”

  “Already called who?” She withdrew her hand.

  “Blue. He’s coming to get us.”

  “What made you think to call Blue?”

  “Because I know he’ll help us.”

  “He might have been out on the boat.”

  “Then he wouldn’t be coming,” Joy said matter-of-factly.

  “Smart aleck.” Brioney dropped into the driver seat and focused on the rearview mirror, her nerves stretching tight.

  She hadn’t seen Blue since the night he’d come to the house when Cameron was there. She knew he judged her for hanging out with her ex, knew he judged her for not standing up for him. But he was still coming to help.

  She jolted when he drove up, not from behind, but in front. Joy bounced on the seat and started to open the door, but Brioney put out a hand to stop her. She took a deep breath, popped the hood, and pushed out of the door to meet him.

  “I’m sorry about this.”

  “What I’m here for.”

  The steam had slowed and he walked over to the hood and pushed it up.

  “Blue!” she protested, putting out the same hand she had reached out to protect her daughter.

  “I’ve got it.” He waved at the steam and peered in.

  “Radiator?” She wrapped her arms around herself in anticipation of the expense.

  “Busted hose. I’ll get it over to your house and see what I can do.”

  “You can just take it to Swift’s. He can fix it.”

  “You need a car this month, right?”

  Technically, she could get away without having a car, since the island was small, but it would require some creative time management.

  “Blue.”

  He turned and looked at her. “It will take me an hour, tops, and that’s with getting the part. You and Joy get into the truck, I’ll get it hooked up.”

  She walked around, giving him a wide berth, to get Joy. That he hadn’
t said anything to her, other than about the car, made her uneasy. She held her daughter’s hand and led her to the tow truck, guided her in. She should feel guilty about using her daughter as a buffer between her and Blue, but she was mostly just grateful.

  Moments later Blue hopped into the truck. “Buckled in?”

  When both females gave him the affirmative, he pulled onto the road. She turned her head to ensure her little car was secure as it followed the hulking truck.

  “Coming from work?” he asked, motioning to her uniform.

  “Just picked Joy up from school.”

  “Yeah? Good day?”

  “Music day, so yes.”

  “You going to be a singer like your mom?”

  She looked over Joy’s head at him. She didn’t think of herself as a singer. Funny that he did.

  “I like playing the instruments more. We’re playing recorders now for the Christmas program.”

  “It’s not even Halloween.”

  “Our music teacher says we need all the practice we can get.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a plastic instrument.

  “Oh, no. Not in the car.” Brioney pushed her daughter’s hand down.

  “What? I’m good. Mrs. Fechter says I’m the best in class.”

  “Is that relative?” Brioney asked.

  “Let her show us,” Blue said. “Someone gave you a chance once.”

  Joy took a deep breath and brought the recorder to her lips, and ran through a shaky version of “Hot Cross Buns.”

  “You playing that for Christmas?”

  “No. We’re playing ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Silent Night,’ but I don’t have those memorized yet. She makes us read the notes while we’re playing.”

  “Well, that’s how it works,” Brioney said. “That’s how I learned, and then I started being able to hear the notes and anticipate them, you know? It’ll come to you.”

  “You two can start doing duets. And I’ll sing.”