Finally, my grandmother’s answering machine picks up after what feels like an eternity.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Ginger Romantic. I am currently unavailable right now. If this is one of my darling granddaughters calling, I’m currently on a technology-free artist retreat in Pensacola, so you’ll have to contact me there. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you.”
BEEP, the answering machine says.
“Fucking shit,” I say, realizing that there’s a good chance my grandmother will not receive this message until it’s much too late. “Sorry, Grandma, that wasn’t for you. Hi, Grandma. I’m going to try to figure out where the heck you are in Pensacola, but we’ve got problems up here and I don’t know how to fix them. And it has to do with… you know… like a type of…”
I struggle mentally trying to come up with the word for ward so that if someone hears this voice message and it’s not Grandma, they won’t think I’m crazy.
“It’s like a fence that keeps things out. It’s gone, you know. It’s not working. So if you could call me back so we could fix it. I’m really sorry to bother you. I know that you want us to find our own problems and fix them, but this is… you know… it’s like… I don’t know how to… I don’t know… there’s a queen involved. Maybe you know about the queen. I don’t know if you’ve like…”
I pause.
“I’m saying a lot of ums. I’m filling the space with ums. Just call me back, Grandma, all right? We need help.”
Slightly frantic and extremely embarrassed at myself, I end the call. I could have done a lot better than leave that mess of a voicemail for my grandma.
Beside me, Caleb hasn’t noticed my massive fail of a voicemail, speaking in a low, serious voice on the phone. Gunnerwalks slowly next to us, tail drooping, an expression grim and almost thinking the same thing I am.
This is bad.
Whatever that ward was keeping out, that storm had something to do with it, and I do not like the looks of this.
Before long, we’re on my street. The street that I fell in love with when I was a little girl and always wanted to start a store here.
“I’m afraid to look,” I tell Caleb.
And it’s true. My gaze goes everywhere but the store that I’ve made my home away from home, with its black and white striped awning and its hot pink shutters, and the interior that I lovingly have decorated over the last ten years. The recipes I’ve spent countless hours perfecting. The magic that I’ve infused every single bon bon and macaron and fudge and chocolate truffle with.
“It can’t all be ruined.”
I say the last bit out loud, my voice breaking on the final word.
Gunner whines softly next to me, his tail still tucked slightly between his back legs.
“Even if it is ruined, Ivy, we’ll figure out a way to fix it. You have insurance, right?”
“Of course I have insurance,” I tell Caleb. “That’s what insurance is for.”
“And not only do you have that, but you have me. You have Gunner,” he says, after Gunner growls slightly. “You have three sisters that will help, and what’s more than that, you have the entire town of Silverlight Shore ready to help you get back up and running should it be worst-case scenario.”
He squeezes me slightly, pushing me closer to his body.
“It’s going to be OK no matter what.”
“I’m just tired,” I tell him. “Not like physically, you know. I just feel like sometimes I have to hold everything together, and if I don’t have the store ready to go, then everything else falls apart.”
I swallow hard, fighting back tears and anticipation for what I may or may not find inside Sugar & Salt.
“Hey,” he says, pointing to the storefront.
I take a deep breath and force myself to examine what’s in front of us.
The flood line is still there, but it’s not quite as high as it was in the lower stores closer to the boardwalk and the shore. The floodwaters here extend maybe six inches up.
I take a deep breath, hoping against all odds that the interior of my store and the ingredients are going to be OK.
“All right,” I say, pulling my keys out of my handbag.
