“The journalist got the car stuck on Pond Bridge and had to walk back down to the harbor.” She gave Agnes an update. “He called a cab.”
Agnes looked interested. “And how did that turn out for him?”
Emily scrolled through her texts. “Not well. Peter told him his cab had been booked all day by a family from Boston, so he tried Larry, but his cab was in the garage having the brakes fixed.”
“It’s a terrible thing that island transport is so bad.”
“Before he left, he went into Summer Scoop and showed Lisa the photograph.”
“Did she bury it deep in vanilla ice cream?”
“No, she said the little girl in the picture looked like Summer. Then she asked if she could keep the photograph because she objected to people taking pictures of her daughter without permission.”
Agnes laughed as she wrapped up two candlesticks. “That was smart of her. And there is just enough of a resemblance between Summer and Lizzy that he might believe it.”
“He asked the Realtor on Main Street if he’d ever heard of Castaway Cottage, and she suggested he try Bar Harbor.”
“That will be Tilly Hobson. She believes houses choose people, not the other way around.” Agnes sealed the box, and Emily scrambled to her feet.
“Don’t lift that. I’ll do it. I’ve met Tilly. I spoke to her a few days ago.”
“You’re looking for property?”
“Yes. It was kind of Brittany to let us use Castaway Cottage, but we can’t stay there forever. We need somewhere of our own, but houses don’t come up that often on Puffin Island.” She lifted the box and stacked it with the others and then heard her phone beep. “That will be Ryan with another update.”
But it turned out to be a text from Brittany, and when Emily read it she sat down on the chair with a thump.
Agnes paused with a stack of table mats in her hand. “Another update?”
“No. This time it’s Brittany. She fell on the archaeological dig in Greece. She’s broken her wrist.” She pulled a face and sent a text back. “Poor Brit. You know how active she is—she’ll go crazy with her right hand out of use.”
“What’s her plan?”
“To come home while she heals and then make some life decisions. Her postgraduate work at Oxford University has finished. This dig was something she was doing for fun while she decided what to do next.” Emily absorbed the implications of that. “Looks like I might have need of Tilly’s services sooner than expected.”
“Brittany wouldn’t want you to move out. I wouldn’t rush into anything.” Agnes looked vague. “Something might turn up.”
Emily, who believed in structuring her life as much as she could, wasn’t reassured. “I’m sure we can stay with Brittany for a while, but I feel, for Lizzy’s sake, it’s time we found somewhere that’s ours. I want her to have security.” She wanted Lizzy to have everything she’d never had herself. “I’ve enrolled her in school for September. She might even have Rachel as her teacher.”
Agnes’s face softened. “Lucky Lizzy. That girl has the sweetest nature. When Ryan was injured I couldn’t drag Rachel from the hospital. Those two are very close. For weeks, she slept in the chair, and when he started the long rehabilitation process, she was the one bullying him into doing those exercises and pushing a little harder each day.”
“He’s very protective of her.”
“Always has been. He took some serious teasing in school for looking out for his little sister. I remember one time the class had to take the thing they loved most into school for show-and-tell. It was meant to be a toy or a book. Rachel insisted on taking Ryan. They had to excuse him from math so he could sit on the mat with her. His friends gave him hell over that one, but he showed up, anyway.” Agnes’s eyes misted. “Oh, that little girl loved her big brother. He was a hero to her, and I’ve never seen anyone so patient as he was with his sister.”
The lump in Emily’s throat made it difficult to swallow. “He’s been great with Lizzy. That day we went sailing, he was so patien
t with her.” And she had to keep reminding herself that it had been a happy afternoon, that was all. Just because he was good with Lizzy, didn’t mean he wanted to do it more often.
There was no room in life for dreaming.
She picked up a painting from the floor and paused, scanning the beautiful beach scene. “Is this one of Skylar’s?”
“It’s a watercolor she did when she was eighteen. She gave it to Kathleen as a thank-you for having her to stay. I admired it, and Kathleen left it to me. I love the colors. It’s like bringing part of the beach indoors.”
“Sky would be proud to know you love it enough to hang it on your wall.” Emily wrapped it carefully. “I know it meant a lot that Kathleen believed in her. Whenever we stayed, she made sure Sky had a place to paint. Her own parents didn’t do that for her. They thought her artistic talents detracted from what was important in life.” She slid the painting carefully into the box. “She comes from a family of lawyers, and they wanted her to be a lawyer, too.”
Agnes handed her a piece of tape. “The job of a parent is to nurture and guide, not kill dreams. What about you? What was your dream?”