Page 66 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

I groan in frustration. “I’m going to get the broom.” And I stomp away before he can figure out that I am absolutely, 100 percent, still thinking about his tongue in my mouth.

The book reading goes smoothly. We get around 60 attendees, 25 of whom are children. I love how animated Sue is when she tells her story, and how comfortable she is with the kids. They’re completely invested, hanging on her every word—shouting warnings to the bear in the story when he’s about to fall into a honey pot, cheering when he saves his friend, Bunny, from the top of a tree.

Maisie sits next to Sue up front, grinning from ear to ear the entire time. I can only imagine what it must mean to her, after 43 years of running this shop on her own, to be able to sit back and watch people enjoy a universe of stories under her roof. It makes me a little teary to think about making the world brighter like that.

Oliver and I sit in the back, on two folding chairs we set up off to the side. We need to keep an eye on the register in case other customers come in. The display of Sue’s books that I’d set up on Monday is blocking my view, so I have to peer around Oliver to see if anyone’s at the counter.

On the third such occasion, he leans toward me. “What are you doing?” he asks in a low voice.

“Just making sure there’s no one at the counter,” I whisper.

A smile starts. “The bell will jingle if anyone comes in.”

“I just want to be sure.”

The smile hits his eyes now, and he reaches out to pat my knee. “You’re adorable. But don’t worry about it; I can see the register from where I’m sitting. I’ve got it covered.”

My brain tries to process the feeling of his hand on my leg. It tries to process the smile on his face. But instead, I spend the rest of the reading sitting there, the words “you’re adorable” running endlessly through my mind like the stock ticker in Times Square.

seventeen

Things at Beach Haven have been weird since Laurel asked me not to call Janie, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve been looking forward to today. First and foremost, because it’s the day Laurel’s heading back to Boston, so I can call Janie without her knowing.

And besides, I need some space from my cousin, who’s been giving me major attitude. I think our argument, plus the stress of her dissertation drama, has been getting to her in a big way.

I’ve also been excited for today because of the dinner at Maisie’s, which I’m pretty sure is going to be adorable.

You’re adorable. Oliver’s face flashes through my mind. I shake my head, trying to clear the image.

“Good luck with Spillinger,” I tell Laurel as she shoulders her purse and her pink duffel bag.

“Thanks.” She slides on her sunglasses and spins her keys around her finger. “I’ll see you late tomorrow sometime.”

I nod and walk her to the door. As soon as the sound of her car’s engine fades, I grab my phone off the counter and head to my room to get Eleanor’s diary.

There’s only the briefest of moments where doubt flashes through my mind, but I brush it away. I have to know. I have to.

Sinking onto the mattress, I find Janie in my contacts and box breathe while I wait for her to pick up. One two three four, one two three four. This is far more nerve-wracking than I expected.

“Hello?” Janie sounds surprised to be answering her phone, but I suppose she probably doesn’t get many calls. She and Peter never had any children, and I know many of their friends have passed away in the last few years.

I think my dad and my Uncle Gregory try to visit her a couple of times a month, but Janie’s probably pretty isolated. Suddenly, I feel very guilty for not calling more. For only calling now, when I want something. Something she may not be prepared to offer.

“Hi, Aunt Janie,” I say, smiling even though she can’t see me. “It’s Ivy, Eleanor’s granddaughter.” I assume she’ll know who I am, but, out of context, just “Ivy” might not be enough.

“Oh, hello, Ivy.” Her voice warms. “It’s wonderful to hear from you.”

Guilt continues shoving against the edges of my mind, vying for an opening. I do my best to clear it and focus on the task at hand.

“How are you?” It’s the least I can do to make pleasant conversation before getting to the tough stuff.

“Oh, you know. I’m all right. I’ve got a new medication for my diabetes that’s giving me some trouble. And Peter hurt his hip. But, all things considered, I can’t really complain.”

I know when people Janie’s age say they can’t really complain, what they actually mean is that they’re lucky to be alive at all. “I’m glad you’re doing pretty well, all things considered.” I echo her words, hoping that’s the right response.

“And how are you, dear? Your father told me that you and Laurel were going to the beach for the summer?”

So I guess my dad is keeping up with his familial obligations. If only my mother could do the same. Where he’s concerned, that is.