They went across the cobblestone street, up past the Bartlett’s Farm truck with its bushels of tomatoes and lettuce, and into the pharmacy. A few stools with red vinyl seats were empty at the counter, so they sat and ordered.
“Doesn’t it feel the best to have all that structure behind us?” Michelle asked, spinning her stool this way and that like a kid. “I feel like I’ve been let out of prison.”
“I don’t know…” Ari began, but Michelle chatted on.
“I’m glad I have the entire summer to be free, because you know my wedding is in September.”
Ari pretended to twirl a Hercule Poirot mustache. “And, ma’mzelle, what do you mean by ‘free,’ eh?”
Michelle laughed. “Well, I’m not going to have sex with another guy, but I’m certainly going to…flirt.”
Next to Michelle, a portly gentleman drinking coffee and doing the New York Times crossword puzzle cleared his throat meaningfully.
Michelle rolled her eyes. “You and Peter are tying the knot this summer, right?”
“No,” Ari replied, with what she hoped looked like a wry smile. “I broke up with him. I truly don’t love him and I told him so.”
“Oh, honey, how sad! I’m so sorry! I was hoping you and I could do silly wedding stuff together.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine. Peter’s fine,” Ari said impatiently, uncomfortable with other shoppers staring at her. She caught the attention of the soda clerk. “Can we have our drinks to go, please?”
“When did you break up? Was it terrible? Where’s your ring?” Michelle snatched up Ari’s hand. “Did you give him back his ring?” Without waiting for an answer, Michelle continued, “I guess you had to.” She extended her hand in front of Ari’s face. “I’d rather kill Josh than give back this beauty.”
“Our drinks are here,” Ari said. She put down enough cash to leave a good tip and slid from her stool. “I need to go back to check out the job postings.”
As they strolled along the sidewalk, Michelle asked, “Do you have a place to live this summer?”
“I’m living with my grandmother, out in ’Sconset. She’s got a huge house, and it’s right on the bluff.”
“Wow. Perfect.”
“I know. Plus my grandmother is wonderful, fun to be with.”
Once again, Ari wandered over to the Hub, looking at the bulletin board with its sheets of flyers, Michelle following in her wake. On a yellow piece of paper was an ad for someone wanting a counselor at a kids’ summer camp.
Ari took out her phone and snapped a shot of the ad. She turned to Michelle. “Do you know Cal Marshall?”
“No,” Michelle answered vaguely. She was busy jumping up and down and waving at a guy in a car trying to turn from Main onto Federal. Just when the car would start to go, another clutch of people would stroll slowly out onto the crosswalk.
The car was a convertible, Ari thought enviously. And the guy in the car!
He was blond, with a profile off a Roman coin. Classically handsome.
“Beckett!” Michelle called, her hands on either side of her mouth to channel her voice. “Becky-Beck! Whoo-hoo!”
Becky-Beck? Ari snorted. “Michelle, is that your fiancé?”
“Oh, God, no,” Michelle answered. “He’s my brother.”
The crosswalk emptied and Michelle’s brother steered his car around the corner. As he did, he swept his eyes over his sister and Ari. When he saw Ari, he smiled.
She smiled back. For a moment, time stopped, as their eyes met. A kind of dazzle swept through her. Beck felt it, too, Ari thought, because he didn’t take his gaze from hers, he didn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t drive away until the car behind him honked its horn.
“He smiled at you!” Michelle yelled. “Did you see that? He likes you!”
“That’s your brother? Wow, Michelle, he’s…” Ari had no words.
“Do you want to come for dinner tonight? He’s not seeing anyone—well, not exclusively.”
Ari forced herself back to reality. “I can’t tonight. Some other night, maybe.”
“Maybe tomorrow night?”
“Michelle,” Ari said, laughing, “I hope you have five children just like you.”
“Oh, I hope so, too. That would be so much fun!”
They exchanged cell numbers and parted. Ari walked to her car and sat for a moment, grinning at the little buzz she’d gotten from seeing Michelle’s brother.
“Stop it,” she told herself. She called the number for the children’s camp.
“Cleo Marshall,” a woman announced.
“Oh, hi, my name is Ari Paget. I’m calling about the position at the children’s camp?”
“Wonderful! Where are you calling from?”
“Um, I’m on the island right now, on Main Street, actually.”
“Okay, well, do you know anything about our camp?”
“Only what I saw on the flyer at the Hub.”
“Would you mind if I ask how old you are?”
“No, not at all. I’m twenty-two.”
“Do you have any experience with children?”
“I just graduated from Bucknell with a major in childhood education.”
“Sweetheart, you sound like perfection. Could we meet? Is now okay? I’m at Our Island Home. Are you familiar with it? It’s just off lower Orange.”
“I know where that is.”
“Come over now. I’ve got break time.”
“I’ll be right there.”
As she made her way through the narrow streets, Ari imagined a tall, wide, take-charge woman with double chins and salt-and-pepper hair chopped at her ears.
She drove past Marine Home Center and into the parking lot of the long, low building facing the salt marsh and the calm blue waters of the harbor. She’d never been here before, but she knew this was where people came when they had reached the assisted-living stage. Ari couldn’t imagine Eleanor ever needing assistance. Eleanor liked her privacy, and she was only seventy, so it wasn’t time even to imagine that yet.
Ari got out of the car and headed toward the electric doors of the gray-shingled building.
A young woman exited the building. She wore white polyester pants, sneakers that lit up with each step, and a top printed with red, yellow, and blue balloons. Balloon earrings hung from her earlobes. Her hair was chin-length, dark, and wavy. Her eyebrows had obviously seen some care; they were like raven’s wings, accentuating her big brown eyes. When she
