“How’re you doing,sweetie?”
It was hard to reckon this place as one of the happiest yet saddest of her life. On the drive down, she decided to focus on the present. On the job she’d been hired to do.
In the meantime, Cottage 7 had not changed much. The hard pine floors still creaked and needed a good buffing. The walls remained a white shiplap, though freshly painted, and a narrow, golden beadboard covered the ceiling. An old, wood-burning fireplace sat dark and quiet in the corner.
In the kitchen, a seventies-style scalloped edge trimmed the white kitchen cabinets, but Delilah had updated the appliances. The furniture was the same—eclectic 1950s estate sale—with a few new pieces added. The room still smelled of sea spray and coconut suntan oil.
Dragging her things down the short hall, Emery settled into the bedroom where she’d stayedthatsummer. The one with the beach-facing window. The one Caleb Ransom knocked on late at night.
They’d lost touch once Emery returned to Cleveland and Mom went on hospice. She wondered what he was doing these days. Were his parents still around? His sister? Probably not.
In the closet, Delilah stacked plenty of clean towels and sheets, and a plethora of hangers. After unpacking, Emery was inspecting the kitchen for groceries and supplies when Dad called.
“You’re there?”
“I’m here. And not much has changed. Delilah doesn’t seem to have aged.”
“Tell her hi for me.”
“The place is still quaint and cozy, like walking into a 1950s movie, only with Wi-fi.”
He was silent for a moment. “Are you all right being there?
I worry about you.”
“I know, and I love you for it. You and Mom did a great job raising me, if I say so myself. I thought a lot about it on the way down, about what you said on New Year’s Eve, and I feel like there is something for me here. Something I’d forgotten. Maybe even need.”
“Then I know you’ll find it.” There was affection in his tone. “Is the weather beautiful?”
“Fifty-five degrees and stunning. But I won’t go on about it.” She smiled at Dad’s laugh. “The East End looks run-down. I kind of feel sorry for it.”
“Well, Miss Editor-in-Chief, write about it.”
“If there’s a story, I will. But I want to tread lightly at first. Get a feel for things.”
They talked for a few more minutes, then said their good-byes. Emery made a shopping run and set up her kitchen and bathroom. Then she walked the beach, trying to remember it was January, not June.
A little before five, she borrowed one of the Sands’ guest bikes and started up Avenue C to meet Elliot. She could get used to living in a town where she rode a bike or walked to work.
With each pedal, Emery felt a little more confident in her decision. She didn’t know what the future held, but for now, this place under a southern winter sun would do.
Taking the long way to Rachel Kirby Lane, she headed up Sea Blue Way, passing Alderman’s Pharmacy. Curious about the dark windows, she hit the brakes and parked the bike.
Under the broken awnings, she peeked in the windows. The place was abandoned, with stools overturned on the floor and on the counter. The mirror behind the lunch counter was shattered, and the dark wood floors appeared water damaged. Sixteen yearsago, if she remembered, the place didn’t function as a pharmacy, but where everyone stopped in for lunch or a root beer float. Or so it seemed.
She reached for the door latch, stepping back when it gave way.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
She made a slow turn, inspecting the dust and dings of the historic building. This room had to be well over a hundred and twenty years old. The fountain’s scarred and chipped dark wood countertop looked like a dying piece of history.
“There’s a story here,” she said. Not just Alderman’s but Sea Blue Beach. She sensed it.
A thump from the back startled her. “Hello?”
She peeked through the dim light to see a man rushing in, dropping a leather case on the far end of the counter. He seemed self-assured, dressed like a man who lived and worked in a beach town—jeans with a light blue button-down and brown suede shoes.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, pulling out a laptop. “My sister showed up and—” He shot her a fixed smile before looking down again. “You don’t want to hear about her.”
