“What’s so great about San Antonio?”
“It’s just different from what they’re used to, so they’ll probably be curious, just like you must be curious about them, right? And anyway, I won’t be busy all the time. I’ll be working at the cottage a lot, but I’ll have some free time so we can go see all the touristy stuff, like the fort and all the fudge shops. We can go to the beach at Trillium Bay to watch the boats. We can go camping and make s’mores.”
“Camping? Like, in a tent?” They continued on along the sidewalk, and Emily breathed in the lilacs and let the sound of the waves and the clip-clop of hooves soothe her. She was nervous, too, although she tried her best to hide that from Chloe. Seven years was a long time to have gone between visits. There were the phone calls and emails between her and her sisters, of course, and even the obligatory calls she made to her father every few months just to put in the appearance of trying to have a relationship with him, but she still didn’t quite know what to expect this time around. It wasn’t as if she’d tried to avoid visiting.
Well, okay. Yes, she had avoided it, but her reasons for that were perfectly . . . reasonable. The trip from San Antonio was expensive and time-consuming. And emotionally draining. Emily’s relationship with her father had always been complicated, full of misunderstandings and unmet expectations, but since her rather spontaneous—some might call it impetuous—marriage thirteen years ago, she and Harlan had settled into a sort of Callaghan Cold War policy. Neither attacking nor retreating. Both equally stubborn. Gigi once said that Emily and Harlan were like two peas in a pod, but two peas who each thought the other was wrong all the time and needed to apologize.
Well, Emily had tried to apologize for her past misdeeds, such as that running away and getting married thing, but on an island full of professional grudge holders, Chief Callaghan was the champ. People around Trillium Bay always said he’d never been the same after his wife died, but Emily had been just ten years old when that happened, so all she knew was that he’d spent most of her life treating her like an inconvenient nuisance. So she’d figured out quite a while ago that the best way to maintain a quasi-functional relationship with her father was to do it from a distance.
“Sure, camping in a tent,” she said to Chloe, swinging their arms together. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
Chloe giggled. “I just can’t picture you sleeping outside or peeing next to a tree.”
“You forget I lived here. I used to be quite outdoorsy.”
Chloe puckered up her lips and glanced to the sky as if deep in thought. Then she shook her head. “Nope, can’t picture it.”
Another few minutes of walking and at last they rounded the final corner. There was Gigi standing on the white front porch of her pale blue Victorian cottage, wearing a shimmery teal running suit and holding a martini glass, which was pretty much what she was doing the last time Emily had seen her, except that last time she’d been indoors and standing next to a Christmas wreath. Gigi loved her martinis. Dry, three olives, why bother with vermouth martinis. She said the pickling kept her young, and she must be right because she looked as fit and as spry as ever, as if she could kick up her heels any moment and dance a little jig. Her short gray hair was tightly curled and didn’t budge in the breeze, thanks to weekly visits to the Trillium Bay Beauty Salon and several sweeping sprays of Aqua Net. Emily’s heart swelled unexpectedly as she blinked fast to whisk away equally unexpected tears. Happy tears. In spite of the reasons for this visit, she was suddenly excited to be back home. She breathed in deeply and let herself enjoy the moment—because it was sure to pass.
“Gigi O’Reilly-Callaghan-Harper-Smith,” Emily called from the sidewalk. “It’s only eleven thirty in the morning and you already have a cocktail in your hand?”
Gigi’s smile spread wide, nearly hitting her ears. “I’m celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“I’m celebrating the fact that I have a cocktail in my hand.” Then she laughed and trotted down the wooden front steps, not spilling a drop. “Come here, you! I’ve been waiting all morning. Let me get a good, long look at you and my great-granddaughter!”
Within minutes the three of them were giggling like teenagers, and an hour later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking lemonade, and still giggling like teenagers. This was the house Emily’s father had grown up in. The red-and-white checked tablecloth added to the nostalgic coziness of it all, and Emily couldn’t help but think that being here was nothing short of stepping into a life-size time capsule. Like most islanders, Gigi was frugal and made do with what she had, which meant every appliance in the kitchen predated VHS tapes, and every piece of furniture had been repainted, reupholstered, and repurposed a dozen times. Mason jars full of pickles, peaches, and tomatoes lined up like toy soldiers along the pine shelves off to the left, and an assortment of mismatched dishes filled the cupboards. A faint whirring sound came from the decades-old avocado-hued Frigidaire, and one of Gigi’s three cats lay on the hardwood floor in a beam of sunlight, purring right along with it.
“How about if you go upstairs and unpack your stuff, hon,” Emily finally said to Chloe. “Our luggage is here now, and Gigi and I need to talk about some of the renovating stuff.”
“But I’m having fun,” Chloe answered. “And unpacking is not fun.”
“Neither is having to iron your clothes because you left them stuffed in a suitcase for too long. Go unpack.”
Chloe slowly dragged herself up and away from the table. “Can I take this lemonade with me? I’ve never drunk from a jelly jar before. Mom, can we get some jelly jars for back home?”
Emily chuckled. “I’m sure we can.”
“We’re supposed to be at Brooke’s house by five o’clock today. She’s cooking dinner for us and Harlan,” Gigi added. “Your room is the one on the right, Chloe. I hope you like it. You can see the bay from your window and watch all the sailboats go by. Freighters, too. It never gets old, watching those huge ships go by.”
Chloe leaned over and hugged Gigi around the shoulders with one arm. “I can’t wait to see one, and I’m sure I’ll like my room. Thanks a bunch.”
“That is one smart, charming young lady you have there,” Gigi said to Emily once Chloe had trotted upstairs with all of her suitcases.
“Thanks. I hope you still feel that way at the end of the summer when all her good first impression manners have worn away and you’ve tripped over her shoes a thousand times.”