“Ooh, that’s a good idea,” Holly slurs, changing direction. “Let me go and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Nope.” Fiona throws Buckhunter a look and he’s around the bar in seconds, intercepting his niece as she cuts a path towards the tall, burly pirate who’s still holding Bonnie under the crook of his arm.
“Hey, kiddo,” Buckhunter says, wrapping an arm around his niece’s waist. “I’m going to ask someone to drive you and Fiona home.” He steers Holly through the front door of the bar and onto the sidewalk where she immediately trips over a crack in the pavement like it’s a giant speed bump.
“How did this happen, Buckhunter?” Holly moans, holding onto him for support.
“You were drinking with pirates, kid. You’re a lightweight who got carried away.”
“Not this,” Holly says impatiently, motioning at her own body. “That.” She points back at the bar. “Bonnie and that, that pirate-wannabe. She isn’t supposed to marry him, Buckhunter. He’s just a weekend fling. A gross one, but still.” Holly feels the tears come on like someone’s flipped a switch in her ducts. Suddenly she’s choking on salty tears and snot is running down her face. She’s a mess.
“Maybe people are supposed to find someone,” Buckhunter says in a hushed voice, pulling his niece to his chest and holding her. He motions at Fiona behind Holly’s back, waving her over. “Maybe it’s the next step for Bonnie. You want her to be happy, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want her to leave me.” Holly’s words are muffled against the fabric of her uncle’s shirt, and her tears quickly wet his chest. “People are always leaving.” The tears turn into wracking sobs as she contemplates island life without Bonnie. Holly can feel her right ankle give way as it twists beneath her weight; Buckhunter tightens his grip and holds her up so she won’t fall.
“I’m going to get Jake to drive you ladies home,” Buckhunter says, walking Holly over to the curb and sitting her down. “Hang on a sec.”
“But I don’t want Jake to take us home,” Holly protests, holding up a hand weakly at Buckhunter’s retreating back. “He left me, too.”
Holly’s arm drops to her side, her palm resting on the cool pavement. She leans her forehead on her bony knees and closes her eyes. That’s wrong, she thinks, Jake didn’t leave me, I left him. And I sent River away. That’s why I’m alone, not because Bonnie wants to…but her thoughts trail off, and before her final epiphany can crystallize in her mind, the world around her starts to spin again and it’s all a jumble of people she has to live without: Jake, River, her grandparents, Bonnie, her own mother.
Her own mother. Her mother hadn’t even wanted to live with her and take care of her, so why should anyone else? Holly still has her forehead pressed to her knees, and the self-pitying tears fall from her eyes and onto her bare thighs. She waits for Jake to come and take her and Fiona home, and when he does, she refuses to speak to him.
In the morning, she remembers nothing.
Chapter 8
“Well, I can’t just sail away into the sunset on a rickety old boat full of unshaven men, sugar,” Bonnie says the next morning. “That’s not how a real Southern lady does things.”
Holly’s managed to drag herself out of bed at Fiona’s and get to the B&B by nine-thirty, and now she and Bonnie are sitting across from each other at their shared workspace. Everything seems annoyingly, painfully bright to Holly’s eyes, and she’s kept her Yankees hat on, brim pulled low to cut the bright sunlight that’s streaming through their big office windows.
“Did you really think I was going to leave like that?” Bonnie laughs. “It does paint a picture, but I have things I need to do here before I move to Clearwater.”
“Clearwater?” Holly repeats with obvious distaste, reaching for a pencil and examining the lead point to make sure it’s sharp enough to write with.
“Yes, honey—Clearwater. It’s where Doug lives.”
“Doug?” Holly blanches. Sinker McBludgeon’s name is Doug?
“Mmmhmm,” Bonnie says dreamily, choosing to ignore Holly’s disgusted face. “Douglas P. Beatty.”
“What’s the P stand for? Pri—”
Bonnie cuts her off with a sharp look. “Philip. The P is for Philip.”
The women tap at their respective keyboards in silence for a few minutes. Bonnie answers emails about room availability over spring break, and Holly pretends to be busy as she scrolls through the island’s Instagram feed, looking at the photos she’s posted of her pirate decorations. The tapping of the keys is making her headache even worse. She reaches for her iced latte and takes a long sip through a yellow straw.
“What do your kids think?” Holly asks, trying to pull back on the throttle and keep her emotions in check.
“My boys don’t know yet—it’s all pretty sudden, doll.” Bonnie stops typing. “But I think they’ll be happy for me. I haven’t been head-over-heels in years, and it makes my stomach feel like I’m on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling?” Bonnie’s face lights up as she describes it.
“Yeah, I vaguely remember that feeling.” Holly closes the Instagram page and pulls up her email. She stares at her inbox blankly. River O’Leary’s been gone for over a month after their awkward Christmas Eve parting, and a general sense of melancholy has set up camp in Holly’s heart whenever she thinks about the excitement of new romance. But she and River were different: he was no Sinker McBludgeon, and their relationship had been based on months of long-distance communication, not a steamy, rum-soaked, two-day fling in the B&B.
When Holly glances up from her computer screen Bonnie is looking at her sympathetically. “Are you okay today, sugar? You don’t look so hot.” Bonnie reaches over the seam that divides the two white wicker desks that Holly’s pushed together to create one large table. “And I mean that in the nicest way.” She pats Holly’s forearm.
Holly gives a half-hearted smile. “Too much to drink last night,” she says. “There’s something about drinking with pirates that brings out the worst in me.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Bonnie says, pointing out the window at Main Street. “Check out Dr. Potts.” Their eyes follow Fiona as she drags herself toward Poinsettia Plaza. A pair of dark sunglasses covers her eyes, and her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled into a sloppy, damp bun. She’s bypassed the usual summer dress and sandals that she wears under her white lab coat in favor of a pair of baggy olive green cargo pants and a t-shirt.
“Ouch,” Holly says, tapping her pencil against the notepad on her desk. “No more rum and Cokes for me and Fee.”
“Drink that coffee, honeypie, and then go get you another—we’ve got company today, and the pirates are shoving off before sunset.”
Holly doodles a wavy spiral on her notepad. “What company?” She frowns.
“Girl, you need to snap out of it! I sent you the details on your Outlook calendar,” Bonnie says, patting the top of Holly’s laptop with her hand.
Holly drops the pencil and double-clicks her calendar to check the alerts. Sure enough, there’s an update from Bonnie: Millie’s interview arriving at 1:00 on ferry. Staying in the Seashell Suite. Calista & Vance Guy + 2 kids.
“I totally forgot about Millie’s interview!” Holly says, pushing back her chair slowly like she’s in pain. She stands. “And they have two kids?”
“That’s what Millie says. I don’t have any other details, but I think they’re young.”
“How long are they staying?”
Bonnie is looking at her email again. “Outlook, sugar,” she says, pointing at the computer like it holds all the answers.
Holly looks at the alert. Starts today at 1:00, ends Wednesday 3:00pm. “They’re staying for two days? But we don’t have anything set up for the kids to do,” she says, pacing the office in her flip-flops.
“We’ve got sand, golf carts to ride around in, the ocean, and about a hundred people who miss their own grandkids. We’ll make do,” Bonnie says.
“What about chicken nugge
ts? And crayons? And Disney DVDs?” Holly hates being unprepared, and the idea that children will be arriving on the island with nothing planned to entertain them sets her in motion.
“Why don’t you run around and see if you can put together goodie bags for them?” Bonnie suggests with a mischievous smile.
“Oooh, that’s a good idea,” Holly says, chewing on her lower lip as she paces.
“I bet Cap would donate a couple of cigars, and you could get some gift cards for lattes from Ellen and Carrie-Anne. Maybe Jake can teach them how to shoot his gun, and Joe and Buckhunter could throw in some sippy cups full of tequila.”
Holly stops walking. “Funny, Bon.” She rolls her eyes and starts moving again. “On a more serious note, we could probably get Fiona to donate a couple of free ‘island health exams’ where she makes them stick out their tongues or something and declares them half-human and half-dolphin. And the triplets might have colored pencils or buckets and shovels at the gift shop,” she says.
“I bet you could get Iris and Jimmy to make up some chicken strips and fries in little baskets or something.”
“Definitely. And maybe Cap could introduce them to Marco.” Holly kind of likes the idea of entertaining these kids for a day or two, and a part of her is secretly hoping it will keep her busy and distracted so that she doesn’t have to think about the monumental mistake that Bonnie is about to make.
“There you go, sugar. You’ve got a plan.” Bonnie snaps her fingers in the air. “Just like that. Now go and get another coffee and some fresh air,” she advises. “And maybe throw on a little mascara and some concealer. Your little friends are arriving in a couple of hours and you look like something the cat dragged in. No offense,” she adds.
“Believe me—none taken.” Holly tosses her nearly-empty iced latte in the trash on her way out the door. “I think I’ll run by home and do that, and maybe I’ll grab Pucci while I’m there. Kids love dogs.”
“Okay, hon,” Bonnie says, already tapping away at her keyboard. “Sounds good.”
Holly waves at Wyatt Bender as she drives down Main Street in the direction of her house. He holds a hand aloft, face tired and serious as he gives her a tip of his cowboy hat. A loud cannon booms in the distance and Holly jerks her steering wheel in automatic response, swerving slightly as she pulls onto Cinnamon Lane.
“Good lord,” she says to herself, putting a hand over her heart. She hasn’t been home yet since spending the night at Fiona’s, and she knows that Bonnie is right: a shower and some make-up are in order. The loud reverberations of the cannon shot ring in her ears as she presses down on the gas pedal and takes the bumpy road at full speed. It doesn’t do good things for her unsettled stomach to thump over the pits in the road and crunch over the little sticks and branches from the heavy tree cover, but she’s eager to get to her house and see it in the light of day.
Buckhunter’s cart is in his driveway when she pulls in. Holly pats her thigh for Pucci to follow her into the house, but the dog has already bounded down from the passenger seat and run over to Buckhunter’s yard where he immediately starts to sniff the bushes that the man had hidden in the night before.
“Come on, dude,” Holly says to him, giving a short three-part whistle. “Let’s go in.” Pucci gives one last distrustful look at the bushes and follows his mistress.
Inside, the house is just as she left it. Her half-folded laundry sits in piles on the kitchen table, and a glass of water whose ice cubes have now completely melted rests on the counter. Holly sets down her bag and goes to dump the glass into the sink. Her house feels the same as it had before the scare she’d gotten the night before, and there’s a sweeping sense of relief as Holly realizes that she doesn’t feel the urge to check the locks on all of her windows or look under her bed for intruders. Whatever happened the night before had been a one-off and hadn’t been meant to frighten her—she can sense that now. Even Pucci relaxes almost instantly, sinking onto his dog bed in the corner of the front room and falling into a comfortable dozing state.
After a hot shower, two Advil, and a tall iced tea, Holly sits on her lanai with a pad of paper and a pen. She jots down the ideas she has for the kids’ visit, and then looks out into the trees around her property. It’s almost eleven o’clock, and she wants to have at least a couple of meals arranged and something for the kids to do that afternoon while their parents meet with Millie and Ray at the salon. There’s no guarantee that things will even work out with this family, but it’s always Holly’s goal to make every visitor to the island feel welcomed and like Christmas Key has been expecting them.
She puts her bare feet up on the glass table and leans back, looking at her half-finished shell wall. It’s been a while since she’s had time to gather any shells on the beach, and she’s actually been sleeping well enough lately that she doesn’t need to wake up and spend a couple of hours working on her lanai wall in order to fall back to sleep. In fact, the last time she can remember getting up at two a.m. to mix up a batch of mortar and glue her shells to the wall was shortly after River had left the island. It had been a cold night just before New Year’s, and she’d gotten up to the sound of cicadas and a hooting owl to busy her hands and to free her mind from wondering whether she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life by letting him leave.
River was a whole other issue. There have been a lot of things on her mind lately, and he’s one item that she’s had to take off the menu for the time being. Between River and her mother, “out of sight, out of mind” has been mercifully true of late, and this ability to focus only on the tasks at hand has allowed Holly some time to gain perspective on her non-existent love life. With Coco keeping a distance and not bringing up any talk of investors coming to look at the island, and with no word from River whatsoever, Holly’s turned her attention totally to Christmas Key business: her mayoral duties, planning the pirate weekend, and keeping up her campaign to advertise and promote the island as a travel destination. The only time she’s let the blinders drop and her attention shift is when it comes to Jake and Bridget.
As if on cue, Holly’s phone lights up on the table next to her feet, and a text from Jake appears on the home screen: Couple more holes popped up near Hal Pillory’s place, and we’ve got an injured pirate in Fiona’s office. Just FYI.
Holly reads the text and sets the phone down again. Excellent—more holes, a broken pirate, and visitors set to arrive in just over an hour. She sighs and swings her feet down from the table with resignation. Hangover be damned, she’s got places to go, things to do, and people to greet.
Chapter 9
Hal Pillory is circling his front lawn in a white men’s tank-top and a pair of plaid shorts held up by a white leather belt. He’s got black dress socks pulled halfway up his liver-spotted calves, and his feet are shoved into a pair of slip-on sandals.
“Nice wife-beater you got there, Hal,” Maria Agnelli says, stopping to watch the scene. She’s got her little dog, Noodle, tucked under one arm, and a gold sequined beret resting jauntily on her white head of hair.
“Heh?” Hal says, tottering over to where Mrs. Agnelli is standing. “Couldn’t hear ya, Maria.”
Mrs. Agnelli waves her hand with a flick of the wrist. “Nothing. Carry on with your investigation or whatever.”
“It is an investigation,” Hal confirms, nodding. He has more hair in his nostrils and ears than he has on his head, and his bushy, dark eyebrows are a stark contrast to the few wisps of white hair left on his balding pate. “Damn holes keep popping up around here. I showed Maggie this morning when she was walking home from her night shift at the B&B, and she agrees with me: it’s the pirates, for sure. Who can help me fill these holes?”
“Okay, Hal,” Holly says, stepping onto the lawn. “We don’t know for sure that it’s the pirates, and they’re leaving this afternoon anyway. If they haven’t found whatever they’ve been looking for this weekend, then they’re just going to have to leave without it.”
“But what about my
lawn?” Hal moans, holding out a hand with bent fingers and knobby knuckles. “I work damn hard to keep my lawn nice, and these criminals show up and make it look like I got gophers living under my grass.”
“You should be so lucky,” Mrs. Agnelli says. “Been a helluva long time since anybody tried to burrow into your grass, Hal.”
Hal turns to Holly with a confused look on his face. “What is she even talking about?” he asks.
Holly takes off her Yankees cap and touches the thin skin under her eyes with the pads of her fingertips. “I’m not sure, Mr. Pillory, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t like it.” She shoots Maria Agnelli a look to let her know that she isn’t helping the situation.
“What are you going to do about my lawn, Holly? You invited these burglars here, and I heard they’re Peeping Toms, too,” he adds, pointing a finger at her.
“Hal, the girl has no control over whether the people who visit our island are burglars. She can’t ask for a background check on every person who sets foot on Christmas Key, you know.”
Hal jabs one finger into his ear and wiggles it around. “Well,” he says in his deep, raspy voice. “Then maybe she needs to stop inviting them.”
Jake pulls up in front of Mr. Pillory’s house, screeching to a stop and jumping out of his cart. “What’s up?” he asks brusquely, looking past Holly and speaking directly to Hal.
“Pirates came by and dug up my damn yard,” Hal says, patting his protruding belly through the white tank top. “Dug it up like a bunch of grave-robbers looking for gold teeth.”
“Okay, Hal,” Jake says, clapping the older man on the shoulder gently. “Looks like you’ve got a couple holes here, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.”
“How many hours until these people leave the island?” Mrs. Agnelli asks, setting Noodle on the ground next to her feet. “I’d like to swing by the B&B and get another look at that fella who wants to drag Bonnie off on some high seas adventure.”
The Edge of Paradise: Christmas Key Book Three Page 6