Lilies on Main

by J. Lynn Bailey

  He reaches into the glove compartment and grabs his wallet. Hands me his license and the boat registration.

  I hand these documents to Warden Cameron, so he can radio them into dispatch.

  “You know that operation of a water vessel starts at the age of sixteen, right?” I ask the father.

  I see the chip on the father’s shoulder. Reminds me of the arrogant bastard Dubbs was—Warden Ryan Taylor’s father. Just an asshole.

  Larry Beaverton—I glanced at his driver’s license before passing it off to Warden Cameron—sits with an irritating grin. As if he’s above the law. I keep my cool.

  “Did you hear my question, sir?” I ask again.

  “Seemed more like a rhetorical question.” He moves his gaze to me. His eyes are bloodshot.

  “I told you, Larry,” his wife whispers.

  The daughter, who is sitting in back with her mom, is no older than ten.

  Warden Cameron approaches and whispers in my ear, “No priors. Clean record for the most part. Registration is up-to-date.” He hands me back Mr. Beaverton’s information.

  “How much have you had to drink today, Mr. Beaverton?” I lean forward only a little to signify that I see the beer can under his seat. Hand him his license and registration back.

  “Two beers.” He takes it from me.

  “Well,” I say, “judging from the scent of alcohol coming from your breath, I assume that’s why you had your son drive.”

  “Exactly.” He slowly meets my eyes again.

  “Unfortunately, I have to give your son a ticket.”

  Mr. Beaverton’s head whips back to me. “But I made the right choice. I’m not driving the boat.”

  I see the anger start to build in his body. His demeanor changes.

  “Actually, sir, you didn’t. The right choice would have been not to drink, get into a boat, and put your son in a position to have to drive a boat illegally.”

  “Fuck off,” Mr. Beaverton says.

  I smile, pull my phone out from the front of my vest, and scroll through my pictures to find the one I’m looking for.

  Here it is.

  I hold my phone, so Mr. Beaverton can get a clear picture of what I’m showing him. “Pulled this thirteen-year-old body from the lake two summers ago. I was third on the scene. He’d been driving his jet ski too fast on the water that day. Lost control. Died on impact.”

  He looks away from my phone. Clearly, I’ve made my point.

  “There’s a reason we enforce laws, Mr. Beaverton. And so help me God, if I have to pull over every driver on this lake for the rest of my life, if it saves a kid, I will. Mark my words. You asked your son to do something illegal. Remember that.”

  The son looks on, holding back tears.

  “Son, get out of the driver’s seat. We’re towing you back to shore. And, Mr. Beaverton, hand me the beer can underneath your seat.”

  When he does, the family sits in the boat as Warden Cameron and I tie their boat to ours.

  We tow them back to shore, and I give the son a summons. I also give Mr. Beaverton a summons for an open container. I want them both to know how serious wardens take these laws.

  “If I ever see you breaking a law on this lake again, the consequences will be much worse.”

  I’m angry with this asshole for putting his family’s life in danger because he had to have a few drinks. I had to show him the picture. Give him an idea of what life could look like with one wrong decision, one small misstep that could have changed the course of their lives. I’m so tired of watching the death toll rise because small decisions, wrong decisions, stupid decisions, were made and that deaths could have been prevented. Be responsible.

  Warden Cameron and I pull away from the shore and continue our watch on Megunticook Lake.

  Seven

  Lydia

  The white bag that Alex brought over a few days ago is in my hands. It’s Friday. My mom will be here sometime this morning to stay for the weekend. Lilly and I make our way downstairs to the shop.

  “What’s in the bag, Mommy?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Alex brought it over the other night. We’ll know soon enough.”

  Lilly bounces down the steps with one last big jump from the fourth step.

  “I’ve asked you not to do that, Lil.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you could get hurt.”

  “But look”—she holds her hands against her chest and looks down at her string-bean body—“I didn’t.”

  I hold the keys out, and she takes them from me and unlocks the shop door.

  The scent of the bookstore smells like old pages, new pages, and pages that sit and wait their turn to be read. It smells like a place where time isn’t so rushed. When antebellum dresses were Sunday’s best. When drinks were ten cents and burgers were thirty. When a snapshot in time was reflected on film, which took weeks to develop in the dark because light was the enemy. A time when things were so much simpler. Much slower.

  “Tell me why you named me Lilly again.” She walks backward to face me while we go about our opening duties.

  She flips on the light.

  I smile. “You were as beautiful as a lily and smelled like heaven.”

  “And why two Ls instead of one?”

  “Because one L just wasn’t enough for a little girl like you. Tenacious. Fierce. Lover of the world and all the things in it.”

  Lilly giggles as she turns to stare out the front window of the bookstore. The sun hits her face, hair. She smiles. Doesn’t shield her eyes, her face from it. She walks into it, and it spreads over her body.

  Typically, we shield our eyes, our faces from the sun, think of it more as a nuisance when we’re trying to go about our days. But what if we all stopped, like Lilly is right now, each time the sun engulfed us in its light, its warmth, and embraced it as something to enjoy? As if the plan were premeditated and all we needed was to stop and take it all in?

  Lilly smiles and walks to the front door. She flips the sign around from Closed to Open, and in the doorway is my mom. My saving grace.

  It wasn’t always like this. We didn’t always have this relationship. Her drinking took its toll on my dad, me. Her bottom was at a holiday party for my dad’s work. I was twelve, and I still remember that day so vividly. I woke up in the morning, and Mom wasn’t there. They’d gotten Hattie, the neighbor babysitting extraordinaire, to watch me while they went to the Christmas party. But Mom didn’t come home. Dad sat me down at the kitchen table that morning and explained that he’d left her there. He never explained why, and I only found out why from my mom years later.

  My mom bends over, looking at Lilly square in the eyes.

  She’s been sober for twenty-two years.

  Lilly throws the glass door back and runs to her grandmother’s arms. Ones I spent years running from.

  Grace.

  “I have missed you so much,” my mom says as she pushes her lips into Lilly’s blonde hair. Closes her eyes.

  A lump starts in my throat, and I think it’s joy. I think it’s joy because I understand this embrace and only because my mom loves Lilly just as much as I do.

  “Hey!” My mom pulls away. “Go get your new science kit that Grandpa got you for Christmas. I have a theory to test.”

  Lilly runs upstairs, an infectious giggle sounding from her. “Nana’s here!” Her hand brushes past my hip.

  I meet my mom at the end of the counter and put my arms around her.

  Gwen Harper is a good mix of two incredible women. If Anne Lamott and Dolly Parton were somehow combined, then Gwen Harper would be the doppelganger.

  “Hey.” I feel her arms in the hug. I feel her strength. I feel her love. I feel her sadness. I know she’s worried about me being here. Farther away from my appointments. But she doesn’t say it. I feel it in the way her heart beats against my chest right now.

  She pulls away and kisses my cheek.

  “I want you to take the night off. Go out to dinner with Alex. O
r girlfriends. Do something for yourself.” She doesn’t say I look tired, but she takes my hands in hers, and my long-sleeved breathable shirt slips up.

  The new scar on my wrist.

  My mom’s eyes dart up to me.

  “Mom, it’s nothing. It’s fine,” I reassure her. I wasn’t going to tell her. It was taken care of. “I don’t have to turn to you every time they find something new.”

  She sighs. “You’re right, Lyd.”

  I don’t release her hand. “Mom, I’m fine.” Even though I feel every ounce of fear creep up into my throat, waiting to cut off my airway, I breathe.

  Lilly comes back downstairs with her science kit. “Mom, do you mind if I take a few hours off this morning to play with Nana? You can deduct it from my paycheck.” She blinks at me, totally serious.

  I try to keep a still face. Even when I’m at my worst, she always lights up my heart.

  I sigh, pretending to be disappointed. “Well, I guess. I’m really going to need you, but I think we can spare you for a few hours.” I wink. “But, if we get another wild animal in here, I’ll call you first.”

  “Whatever happened with the young man from the warden service?” my mom whispers through the corner of her mouth.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.” I walk back behind the counter to start counting the cash.

  “All right, kiddo, let’s go work on our experiment,” my mom says.

  “And no Judge Judy.” I smirk and look at my mom through the corner of my eye.

  Nana looks at Lilly. “You told on me?”

  Lilly shrugs. “Had to. It was a life-or-death situation, Nana. You understand.” Lilly pulls Nana by the hand.

  When they walk upstairs, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I pull it out and look. It’s from Alex.

  Alex: Did you open the white bag yet? Are you going to Ethan and Bryce’s tonight?

  I haven’t thought about it.

  I could go.

  I could stay home.

  “I want you to take the night off.” My mom’s words play in my head.

  Butterflies begin to brush their wings against my insides.

  Will Aaron be there? I ask myself.

  Why? Why do you do this to yourself?

  Because this is the first man you’ve cared for since Brett. The good Brett. Brett in the beginning, not Brett from the end.

  Alex’s white bag still sits on the counter, so I open it.

  Inside is a book. No, I take that back. It’s a journal. Alex and I have always shared the love of words and books. Her books, books she’s written, have been translated into more than fifty languages. She was the first friend I made in Granite Harbor. And I must admit, I might have acted like a child at Christmas when I met her. I think, too, it might have been the medication I was on then. But it was Alex Fisher after all. And I’m fairly certain any woman reader would have done the same.

  I pull the journal out and examine the deep purple leather cover. I run my hands over it. Take in its scent. At the bottom right corner is my first name in a beautiful cursive. Setting the journal down on the counter, I admire it from its spot. And it couldn’t have come at a better time.

  Me: I just opened it. Alex, you shouldn’t have. It’s beautiful. And I could really use something like this right now. Thank you.

  Alex: I’m so glad you like it. I found it while Eli and I were in a used bookstore in Boston. I couldn’t believe it, Lyd. It had your name. Your favorite color. It made me think of you and your beautiful spirit. <3

  Me: Wow. Really? I love it. And you. Thank you.

  Alex: So, we’ll see you tonight? ;)

  Me: Maybe. :)

  Alex: Okay. Have a great day.

  Me: You, too. And thanks again, Alex. It’s just perfect. The timing couldn’t have been better.

  Alex: Well, you know how I feel about fate. :) I wouldn’t be in Granite Harbor, Maine, of all places if I didn’t believe in it.

  Yes, we could all wonder why the world has its timing. Sometimes impeccable timing and other times imperfect timing.

  The bell chimes at the front door, and I set my phone beneath the counter on the shelf. I realize how accustomed I’ve gotten to Lilly greeting customers when this gentleman walks in.

  “Welcome to Rain All Day Books. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”

  The man turns to me and greets me with a smile, a smile so warm that I feel it in my chest. His cool, short-sleeved light-blue cotton button-up could breathe through the summer months here in Granite Harbor. Gray trousers with black loafers. Eyeglasses hang from a chain that sits around his neck. His creamy chocolate skin reflects the long life he’s lived. But his eyes are the most telling part. The man turns and slowly makes his way to a wall of books.

  “Any books written by James Baldwin?” His words come out paced, slow. And not in an awkward way. Slow as in he takes his time with his words. That he’s in no hurry.

  I walk from behind the counter and lead him to the section labeled Rain All Day’s Favorite Authors.

  “You have good taste, sir.”

  “William. Just William. I suppose you can call me Will for short.” He laughs a slow, quiet laugh, and immediately, I’m drawn to him.

  “Lydia.” I extend my hand.

  A light dusting of dark freckles sits across his nose. Lines run from the corners of his eyes, reflecting time and wisdom, maybe some hurt, regret. But it’s his smile that seems to counter the sadness I see in his face that tells a million stories. His hands are soft yet reflect years of work. Works with his hands, but perhaps he’s spent some time in retirement. Will is of retirement age. A single gold wedding band sits on his ring finger of his left hand. It isn’t shiny or bright or brand-new but timeless.

  “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Lydia. You have a fine bookstore here if James Baldwin is among the favorite authors category.” He gives me a side smile. Puts on his glasses. “But I’m unfamiliar with … Alex Fisher.” He picks up Alex’s book, titled It Ends.

  “Romance. Heartbreaking romance actually.”

  Will nods, inspecting the book more closely.

  I’m drawn to Will, but I also realize I might be borderline creepy by not walking away and allowing him to shop in peace. “I’ll be over here if you need me.”

  “Mmhmm,” Will says, reading the back of All of Me.

  I fix the window display with The Great Gatsby and Gone with the Wind. I put out the sandwich board that Lilly writes a joke on every morning and wave to Lyn, who’s outside, sweeping in front of her coffee shop, Level Grounds. Rick Hinds, owner of Rick’s Pharmacy—or Ring’s Pharmacy, depending on who you talk to—is putting his American flag out and waves. My understanding is that the pharmacy has been in Rick’s family for years starting with Rick’s grandfather. Having a Rick who owns a pharmacy called Ring’s can get confusing, so everyone uses Rick’s or Ring’s interchangeably.

  I sweep. Fluff pillows in the window seat that overlooks Main Street, a place for readers to get lost in a good book while hours pass without regard to the sun—or the moon for that matter—and its proximity in the sky.

  Will is now sitting in a chair, reading. One leg crossed over the other, a paperclip to his lips. His glasses on the bridge of his nose.

  I straighten bookmarks and business cards from other businesses on Main.

  Shit. I see the envelope of a bill that needs to go to the post office.

  I have to interrupt Will.

  I grab the bill and quietly walk to Will. “I’m sorry. I hate to interrupt, Will, but I need to walk this down to the post office real quick. Would you mind if I left you in charge of the store for two minutes, tops?”

  Will looks up from the tops of his glasses. “Not at all. This Alexandra Fisher has a way with words.”

  I blush. Just wait, I want to say.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Mmhmm,” Will says, going back to his book.

  I s
hould have paid this at the beginning of the week, I scold myself.

  Hopefully, the hospital won’t charge me a late fee, which is a small fortune. I make a mental note to call them this afternoon as I quickly walk down Main Street.

  The late morning sun meets my face, my eyes, and it makes me think of Lilly this morning. The beauty of the moment. How she took every single drop of sunlight in. I smile. Instead of squinting, I close my eyes only for a moment and take it all in.

  The feeling of the sun on my face.

  The feeling of the sun on my shoulders.

  I try to marvel in it. Enjoy it, just as Lilly did.

  But I run into something hard. Very hard. Tall. Breathing. And then I hear his voice.

  “Lydia? From the bookstore?”

  And all my hopes of who I wanted it to be drop to my feet.

  “Dr. Moore?” I try to act surprised but not at all entertained.

  Dr. Moore is the new veterinarian in town. And don’t get me wrong; he’s handsome. He’s just not for me, and I haven’t figured out a kind enough way to tell him yet. I’m not into one-night stands, dating, or long-term relationships. I just want time with my daughter. I can tell by the way his eyes dip down to my breasts every time we talk that he doesn’t really care about what’s coming from my mouth.

  “How are you?” he asks. Eyes dip.

  “Good. But you know”—I push past him—“I have to run and get back to the shop.” I leave him standing there. Wave. Turn into the post office.

  “Mornin’, Lydia.”

  “Morning, Leonard,” I say to the postmaster behind the counter as I drop my bill in the outgoing slot. “Have a great day.”

  “You bet I will.” Leonard sorts through a few pieces of mail.

  I hurry back to the shop, and Will is still reading Alex’s book in the same chair in the back corner.

  My phone vibrates from the shelf underneath the counter.

  It’s a text from Aaron.

  Aaron: I hope you’ll be at Ethan and Bryce’s tonight.

  Love never started this way with Brett. It was controlled, it seemed, and calculated. And all our feelings and emotions, which Brett was never good at expressing—except anger—had a place. He was also a very good pretender and an excellent liar.