“That’s good.” After a long moment she admits, “To be honest, I’m glad it was him. He’s a good kid. I like him.”
“Pfft. You do not.”
“He’s funny and smart. And he’s hardworking, which I like. Plus, he was also good to you, even when you were kids. Guess I misjudged him when we first came back to Beauty.”
“Rough exterior, soft on the inside,” I tell her. “I like him, Mom. A lot.”
She nods slowly. “Maybe I was being overprotective of you because I don’t want you making the same mistakes I’ve made. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I stare at my mother, silhouetted in the window, golden headlights from the road shifting shadows across her, and it’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time. As if I’ve spent the last few years only looking at her through a camera lens that was smudgedwith grease and dirt, and now I’ve wiped it clean and can finally see her clearly.
A mama bird with a broken wing, trying to find a safe nest.
Swiping right, trying to find something she lost, or maybe to forget.
A car pulls up to the curb outside the bookshop. I turned off the light on the shop to get the spotlight off the stupid nude poster of Mom, so between that and the display of Revolutionary War sailing books, it’s hard to make out what’s going on … but it looks like a taxi.
“What’s that?” I ask, coming up behind Mom as she stands on tiptoes to peer out the shop window.
“Oh no.No, no, no…”
“Mom? You’re scaring me.”
“Shit! The poster—it’s still on the door.”
“It’s fine. I covered it up.” Sort of.
She cradles the sides of her face. “What have I done to deserve this?”
Panic flicks to life inside my chest and trickles into my limbs, making them go numb. My throat goes dry. I should do something, but what that is, I don’t know. So I just stand there, stock still, side by side with Mom, watching in horror as the bookshop door darkens, rattles, and then finally, after a set of keys is inserted into the lock,oh-so-slowlycreaks open.
The ticking time bomb walks into the bookshop.
BEAUTY REGIONAL AIRPORT: Small, private airport mainly used by people who can afford to own their own planes or charter private jets and can’t be bothered driving for less than an hour to get to the closest international airport in Providence, Rhode Island.(Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)
Chapter 21
Diedre Saint-Martin stands in the open door of the Nook, silver hair in a long, tight braid that’s tucked into the front of a lightweight gray jacket, and drops a colorful, bulging backpack on the floor in front of her near a pair of worn hiking boots.
“What in the living hell is that?” she says, pointing a thin finger behind her at the door, where my Aunt Franny is cautiously entering, along with the taxi driver, who is helping to lug several pieces of luggage labeled with white airport tags.
“Hello, Mother,” my mom says through tight lips. “It’s nice to see you. Been a year since we’ve breathed the same air? Here’s your granddaughter, by the way.”
“Josephine,” Grandma says, gesturing for me with outstretched arms. “Come here. I’m too tired to walk. The drive from the airport was complete and utter misery, and I haven’t slept for an entire day. Come hug your poor grandmama while your mother tells me why her naked body is plastered all over my shop like we’re a brothel in Amsterdam.”
Aunt Franny, who is a several years older than my mom and quite a bit lankier—or maybe Nepal has taken a toll on her—pretends to strangle my grandmother behind her back. I don’t know how to react to that. Aunt Franny is prim and proper. Most definitely not Wild Winona. What the hell happened in Nepal?
I’m torn. I want to hug my grandmother, but my head’s full of things I need to sort out. Plus she may have come back from the airport, but did she get stranded on an island and rescued? I think not. And that’s on top of the fact that I HAD SEX FOR THE FIRST TIME.
The bookshop door opens again, and Evie races inside. “Mama!”
Aunt Franny pulls Evie into her arms, and they embrace tightly. “You smell funny,” Evie says.
“Cold showers and yak milk,” Aunt Franny says. “I just want my bed back.”
“Your bed is occupied,” Mom reminds her sister. “Your house is still being rented by a family of four. Where is everyone staying?”
“Here, of course,” Grandma says.
