Ah, shit.
Joe turned. There she was, standing at the corner of the Jenkins’ house, her cheeks fiery pink, her eyes blazing mad.
He felt bad. “Nothing personal, Pest.”
“You just compared me to a hot dog!” she snapped. “How is that not personal?”
“You stepped into that one, son,” Rob said.
Yeah, he did. Anne being mad…He was used to that. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. “Sorry.”
Anne stuck her nose in the air. “I hate you, Joe Miller.”
Those were almost the last words she spoke to him until the night of her high school prom. Which was a relief, mostly.
10
Anne
I raced down the hilltoward town, the wind in my face, the sun on the water, tiny stones flying out from beneath my bicycle tires.
Dandelions starred the grass along the path. Flags snapped above the boats in the harbor. The first day-trippers, in bright jackets and dark sunglasses, straggled up from the ferry. Along the two-block stretch of Main Street, tourists were already standing in line for breakfast or strolling into Doud’s for groceries. I stopped for a horse-drawn taxi clopping toward the inn, dodged a family on bicycles, and ditched my bike against a lamppost.
Late. Again.
“Excuse me.”
I straightened, narrowly missing the basket of purple petunias hanging overhead.
“Do you know the way to the butterfly house?” asked a tourist with a little boy in a pirate hat.
“There are two butterfly houses on Mackinac.” I gave directions while the kid tugged at his mother’s hand. I smiled at him. “Make sure you visit the fort while you’re here, too. They fire cannons! And there’s a kids’ quarters where you can try on uniforms.”
“Thank you.” The woman’s gaze flicked over my scarlet hair, my tattooed arms, as if I were another island attraction. “You’re so lucky to live here.”
I opened my mouth. “I…”I sublet my apartment in Chicago until August. My boyfriend wants me to move to Atlanta.“Just for the summer,” I said. “I grew up here, though.”
My roots were on the island. I belonged here, if I wanted to. Maybe whether I wanted to or not.
I waved as they left.
The exhaust fan above the door to Maddie’s Candies rattled, blowing hot, fudgy goodness into the street, tempting passing tourists inside, the smell as strong as memory—the scent of my mother coming home at the end of the day, chocolate clinging to her hair and clothes like perfume.
The sign on the door was flipped toclosed. Through the window, I could see Mom working a batch of fudge with quick, sure movements, circling the white marble slab with a long-handled creamer blade.
I went around back and let myself in through the kitchen. The aprons hung in the same old place by the door. I slipped one over my head and reached for a familiar teal ball cap.
Mom glanced up from the worktable. “You’re late.” She sounded more resigned than upset.
I glanced at the clock. Last night I’d calculated the time it would take to get ready and then doubled it, the way I did during the school year so I wouldn’t be late to class. But this morning I couldn’t find my lucky underwear. And then there was the lady with the kid in the pirate hat…“You said to be here before the shop opened.”
“Which it will in ten minutes,” my mother said.
I was not making excuses on my very first day. I looked around. Every surface gleamed. “What can I do?”
She continued to cream the fudge, paddling it toward the center of the block. “Drinks need restocking.”
I was lining up bottles of water in the refrigerator case by the door—evenly spaced, facing front—when Zoe came in, tying an apron over her deep purple leotard. “Namaste, darling Maddie. What a beautiful day! You should have come to yoga class. I feel absolutely energized!”
