Amy smirks, “Only if you promise to nail the best man for me.” She waggles her eyebrows and clicks her tongue at me.
“Yeah. I’ll do that,” I say sarcastically, grabbing a shipping label and a marker from the desk drawer. Quickly, I scrawl, AMY WAS HERE across the envelope. “There ya go. I’ll leave it on his forehead.”
She laughs. “Bitch.”
“No, crazy. I thought we established that.”
As I push out the door, Amy yells, “Bring me some cake!”
“Will do!”
CHAPTER 3
By the time I get to the North Ferry at Orient Point, it’s the middle of the afternoon. I change out of the suit I wear at the studio and trade it for a pair of faded jeans with a hole in the knee and a stretchy black tee shirt. I sit on the hood of my crappy old car, Big Red, and pull my dark hair into a ponytail. The wind is whipping it around, making it difficult to see. The truth is, I love the smell of the salt water and I love Shelter Island even more. Sophie’s family maintains a summer home there, and since her parents were friends with my parents, we came out here with Sophie a lot. Sophie and I have been best friends since we were little. I don’t really want to work her wedding, but she insisted that I do it.
Taking a deep breath, I look around. There are a few cars parked next to me, but since it’s not summer anymore, the boat isn’t full. Big Red is a rust-colored Bonneville that’s older than I am. It sat in my grandpa’s garage until he died last year. It’s too big for the compact, modern parking spaces and was constructed back when gas was cheap and cars were huge. Grandpa used to complain about it being too small, which seems funny now. Both tires straddle the parking space. I used to have a motorcycle, but I had to sell it to make ends meet last month. Now it’s just me and Big Red.
When we make it to the island, I follow the trail of cars off the boat and hit the road. I want to get checked in and make it to the other side of the island before Sophie arrives. I find the little inn that everyone is staying at and manage to parallel park. Who’s awesome? Me! Maybe today won’t suck after all. Horrible morning means a pleasant evening. I think I read that on a fortune cookie once.
Grabbing my purse, I head inside and go to the check-in counter. A woman with bright red hair and a black blazer is standing there with a phony smile on her clashing red lips.
“Welcome to the Chaucer Inn,” she says. “How may I help you?”
God, she looks crazy. Her big green eyes don’t blink and that creepy smile remains tightly in place. After glancing quickly around, I decide her boss must be nearby because something is making her uncomfortable and unnaturally still.
Placing my hands on the counter, I say, “Yes, I’m the photographer for the Stevens Wedding. I was told a room was reserved for me.”
“Check in time isn’t until 4pm.”
“I know, but I hoped the room would be ready early. It was a long drive. Do you think you could help me out?”
She rolls her eyes and the smile fades. She breathes deeply, flaring her nostrils like a bull. “I am happy to help you find a seat at our restaurant until 4pm.”
Did she not hear me? I tap my finger on the counter and lean in a little bit. “Is there any chance that I can have my room now? I’m really tired and—?”
“No! You can’t have it now! It’s not ready now! It’ll be ready at 4pm! Are you hard of hearing or something?” The woman grips her side of the counter for a second and practically snarls.
Holy snails. That is the face of crazy. I smile with too many teeth and back away slowly. “I’ll come back at 4pm.”
The woman goes back to her unblinking, pleasantly possessed status. “That’s a wonderful idea. Thank you so much. Enjoy your afternoon on Shelter Island.”
OMG. What a nutter. I get out of the lobby before she sprouts claws and rips me to shreds. When I’m back out on the street, I decide to walk and grab a late lunch to kill the time. I’m sitting at a little bistro before I finally relax a little. My eye stops twitching, all thoughts of Nick and his assy ways long gone, and I’m content for once, sipping iced tea and nibbling on my sandwich. The little restaurant has all its seating outdoors on the sidewalk. The sky is blue and a slight breeze rustles through the branches. It’s perfect.
Until my phone rings. It plays the Imperial March, aka Darth Vader’s theme song, signaling that it’s my mother calling. The guy next to me snorts his soda and looks over. I give a weak smile and slump back in my chair, letting it play the song again. Glancing at him, I explain, “It’s my Mom.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “She sounds amazing.” The beautiful man returns to his meal with a smile on his face.