Firefly Summer (25 page)

C
HAPTER
55

S
ailor took a sip of her coffee and typed the word “
all
” into her search box. Before she'd even finished, though, Google had offered her several options. “Google, you know me better than I know myself,” she murmured, clicking on her favorite recipe site. She typed “
summer salads
” and then tapped the Enter button and began scrolling through a list of recipes, trying to find something fun to make besides her layered dip—which was a given—and the traditional tossed salad she always made with the maple dressing everyone loved. She glanced over at Mister Breeze, who was sunning himself in an adjacent chair. “What do you think, Breeze, potato or pasta?” He blinked indifferently and she smiled. “That's okay. I'm just glad to have someone to talk to besides myself.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something move, and when she looked up, she realized the chipmunk was sitting perfectly still on the edge of the new birdbath she'd bought after she'd finished weeding and pruning the garden. “Hmm, what sinister plan are
you
plotting, mister?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “Another murder, perhaps? It's hard to forget the taste of blood once you've had it, isn't it?” She watched him for a few moments and then realized there was a mourning dove stretched out in the sun. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh no, you don't!” she shouted, getting up and startling the chipmunk—who scurried away, and the mourning dove—who flew up, its wings whistling, warning the other birds to
Flee! Flee!
Within seconds, there was a mass exodus of flapping wings.

Mister Breeze sat up to see what all the commotion was about and she eyed him, too. “Don't get any ideas,” she said warningly.

She looked back down at her screen and continued scrolling. “I'm thinking pasta,” she murmured, narrowing her search, “since I'm pretty sure Birdie will make potato salad.” Just as she said this, the Platters started playing on her phone and she looked down at the screen. “Speak of the devil,” she said, accepting the call. “Hey, Birdie,” she answered. “How's David?” She nodded, listening. “Well, he better take it easy or he'll end up back in the hospital. Mm-hmm . . . By the way, are you making Mom's potato salad for the Fourth?” She nodded again. “I was just wondering because I know you have your hands full, and if you don't have time, I'd be happy to make it.... Is he going to be able to come? . . . Okay, good . . . I'm glad . . . and make sure you bring Bailey, too.... Yes, I'll talk to you soon.” She paused, listening, and then raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I love you, too,” she said, and as she ended the call, she tried to remember whether she'd ever heard Birdie say “I love you” to
anyone
before. “Maybe Bailey or Chloe,” she mused, smiling.

She returned to her search and finally settled on an old-fashioned macaroni salad that looked—and sounded—like the one her mom used to make. She took a sip of her coffee, reached for her pencil, and jotted down the ingredients she'd need for the weekend, and ten minutes later—after a trip to the bathroom—she slipped on her flip-flops. “Be back soon,” she called, thankful to have someone—even if it was just Mister Breeze—to say it to. She was almost out the door when she decided to hit the bathroom one last time, just in case. “I'm really leaving this time!” she called.

As Sailor turned onto Route 6, she heard the wail of sirens and looked in her rearview mirror but didn't see any emergency vehicles. There were always so many sirens on the Cape—a day didn't go by in the summer when she didn't hear the haunting sound. She turned down her radio, realized the sirens were getting louder, and looked in her mirror again. This time, she saw flashing lights. She pulled over, waited for the ambulance out of Provincetown to speed by, and then pulled back onto the road, whispering a prayer—as she always did—for whoever needed help.

She turned the radio back on and heard the unmistakable beginning chords of “Don't Let the Sun Catch You Crying” drift into her car. She shook her head and reached for the knob but then stopped. It had been a long time—fifty-two years, to be exact—since she'd listened to the melancholy lyrics of the song that had been a hit the summer she'd turned eleven. The song had been on the radio constantly that summer, and it had made her heart ache even more . . . because all she could
do
was cry.

She gazed out the window, listening to the lyrics, and allowing the memory of a long-ago summer night to fill her mind. She was back in her father's wood-paneled Country Squire station wagon, and with the evening breeze drifting through the open windows, she and her siblings were singing along with Gerry & The Pacemakers at the top of their lungs . . . and even though she and her sisters couldn't carry a tune, Easton had the voice of an angel—which was fitting, she thought sadly.

She looked out the window, remembering the events that had followed—walking along the beach looking for heart stones and her father looking back and realizing that Birdie and Easton weren't with them. “We have to go back,” he'd said, picking up Piper and starting to run. “Remy,” he'd shouted, “hold Sailor's hand!” And they'd run as fast as they could. She'd fallen twice, scraping her knees, and when they'd found Birdie, her father had pulled her up off the sand and shaken her, shouting, “Where is Easton? Why did you let go of his hand?” She could still hear the terror in his voice and she could still see Birdie motioning tearfully to the dark, pounding waves, and then Remy had pulled her younger sisters back from the water and squeezed their hands . . . and Piper had cried out, “Ouch, Remy, you're hurting me. Where is Easton?”

Sailor bit her lip now and realized she could barely see the road through her tears. She pulled over and turned off the radio. It was still too much to bear....

C
HAPTER
56

E
arly on Friday morning Nat and Elias loaded the sanctuary truck with supplies and drove to Boston to bring home the loggerhead turtle they'd rescued. She'd been treated with antibiotics and nutrient-rich foods, and although she would always have scars on her shell, the open wounds had healed. Piper went to the sanctuary with them and saw them off. Then she finished up some long-overdue reports she'd been putting off and headed to Stop&Shop to finish her food shopping for the weekend. She was in the deli section, perusing the pre-sliced deli meat and waiting for her number to be called, when she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Hey, girl! Fancy meeting you here!” She looked up and saw Sailor holding out a hot Starbucks coffee from the bakery section.

Piper gratefully took it and gave her sister a hug. “Oh my goodness, you're a godsend! I wanted to get a coffee, but when I came in, the line was too long.”

“And you obviously didn't see me
in
the long line,” Sailor teased, “but I saw
you
coming in all bleary-eyed!”

Piper laughed. “I
am
bleary-eyed! Nat and Elias left at four a.m. to go get the turtle, and I went in with them to help them get the truck ready to transport her.”

“When is the big day?”

“I'm not sure. Have you heard the forecast?”

“Yeah, it doesn't sound good.”

Piper nodded. “That's what I heard, too, although I think it's supposed to clear by Sunday afternoon and Monday is supposed to be gorgeous . . . so maybe early Monday morning. Are you going to come?”

“I want to . . .”

“Oh, by the way, happy pub day . . . a little late! How's the book doing?”

“Thanks. I won't really know for a while.”

“When's your signing in Chatham?”

“Saturday from two till three thirty—so it'll actually be good if it's raining because people will be out shopping instead of going to the beach.”

“Saturday is tomorrow, you know.”

Sailor frowned, realizing her sister was right. “I don't know why I keep thinking today is Thursday.”

“Well, if I were to come down around three tomorrow, do you want to go to Chatham Squires for a drink?”

Sailor smiled. “That would be great!”

Piper searched her sister's face. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been crying.”

Sailor chuckled and reached up under her eyes. “Why? Is my mascara making me look like a raccoon?”

“Maybe a little,” Piper said, handing her a tissue. “Why were you crying?”

“I just heard that old song by Gerry and The Pacemakers. . . .”

“Oh,” Piper said, nodding in understanding.

“Anyway,” Sailor said, changing the subject, “I'm planning to bring my layered dip, a tossed salad, and a macaroni salad on Sunday. Do you need anything else?”

“Are you sure you have time to make all that? Don't forget, you're going to be busy.”

“I'm sure. They're all easy. Anything else?”

Piper frowned. “I don't think so. Nat and Elias are picking up corn, I'm picking up the hamburgers and hot dogs right now, Birdie's making potato salad and an hors d'oeuvre, and Remy is making dessert.”

“What's she making?” Sailor asked.

“I don't know—she said it was a surprise.”

“Hmm,” Sailor said. “Well, I'm sure it'll be good.”

Piper nodded. “Oh! And guess what else!”

“What?!”

“She asked me if it would be okay if John came.”

“No way!”

Piper nodded.

“Wow ...” Sailor said, raising her eyebrows. “I think she's withholding information.”

“I think you're right,” Piper said and they both laughed.

“Last call—number fifty-six!” a voice from behind the deli counter called for the third time.

Piper looked down at her number. “Oops, that's me,” she said, waving her hand to let him know she was there. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, giving her sister another hug. “You're the best!”

“You're welcome.”

“I'll see you tomorrow in Chatham ...
if
I don't see you again in this store!”

“Okay! I'm looking forward to it!”

They parted ways, each consulting their list and only passed each other one more time—in front of the ice-cream case. “It's for Elias,” Piper said, grinning.

“Yeah, right,” Sailor said, laughing.

C
HAPTER
57

A
s promised, the only appearance the sun made on Saturday was when it peeked over the watery horizon at dawn. Dark clouds rolled in from the west, right along with lines of cars crossing over the bridges from the mainland for the long holiday weekend.

Remy looked out the kitchen window, trying to decide whether or not she had enough time to get in her walk before it started raining, and then she turned on the TV to watch the forecast. There was an ominous line of thunderstorms marching across Connecticut, but it looked like it wouldn't reach the Cape for a couple more hours, so she
should
have time. She might even have time to go to the market.

She tied her sneakers, stopped at the bathroom, and then walked over to turn the TV off, but just as she reached for the remote, the TV started beeping and an emergency warning scrolled across the bottom of the screen, warning residents that the impending storm could bring hurricane-force winds, driving rain, and golf ball–size hail! She turned off the TV and made a mental note to put her new car in the garage. The last thing she needed was golf ball–size hail hitting it!

She opened the back door and Edison scooted in. “Is it that bad out?” she asked, but he'd already disappeared up the stairs. The weatherman had promised that the storm would usher in cooler air and she hoped he was right. The last several days had been oppressively hot and humid . . . much too hot for June . . . but as she closed the door, she suddenly realized it was July. What had happened to June?!

The last week had been a whirlwind of activity. From helping Birdie get David home and settled, to walking Bailey so Birdie could stay by his side. And from going out to dinner with John two of the last four nights, to going out for breakfast yesterday, she couldn't remember when she'd been so busy. Not since all her kids were home, she decided, and that reminded her—Payton and her family were all due to arrive that night, in the middle of the storm! She wondered if she should tell her to wait and come in the morning when Eliza and Sam and their families were coming. She'd been looking forward to having a chance to visit with her oldest daughter alone for a few hours but there was no sense in taking chances. She picked up her pace, her mind racing with all the things she still needed to do, and she almost tripped on a root. “There's
definitely
no time for that,” she murmured.

When she finally got home, the first fat raindrops were splashing on her bare arms. She hurried into the house, used the bathroom again, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed to the market. She was happy to find a spot right in front and hurried inside with her jacket over her head to grab the two things she needed: a pint of whipping cream and a half gallon of black raspberry ice cream. But when she passed by the coffee and tea display, she decided to treat herself to a warm chocolate croissant and a cup of Earl Grey tea—it was that kind of day!

She drove home, pulled into the garage, gathered her things, and just as she pushed open the mudroom door, the skies opened up. “That was close!” she said, putting the ice cream in the freezer and looking out at the sheets of rain racing across the white-capped bay. She listened to the wind howl around the house and then heard a loud clattering and knew the porch furniture was blowing over. The kitchen lights flickered and she looked up anxiously. “Please don't let the power go out,” she said, reaching for her tea. “I still have a cake to bake!”