On Folly Beach (17 page)

Emmy stepped back, assessing the store. Like everything else she’d noticed so far about Folly, it appeared to be well used, and not overly concerned about what people might think. Bright orange lettering on a wooden sign above the door had the words Folly’s Finds and No Shoes, No Shirt, Come On In! painted on it while two large pots overflowing with flowers guarded each side of the door. The flower beds in front of the cottage were littered with unrecognizable flowers and broke through their boundaries by spreading riotous cover over the front steps and sparse yard. Freshly painted shutters in glaring white bracketed the picture window, and rainbow-striped streamers ran across the top of the window inside, dancing around in the air-conditioning. Despite Emmy’s initial impression of unkemptness, her second look made her think more of a well-loved teddy bear, proud of its exposed stuffing.

She climbed the two short steps to the front door and paused for a moment to read the stickers on the window: Reading Is Sexy and Eat. Read. Sleep. Her mother had the same stickers at Paige’s Pages, and they made Emmy feel a little homesick at the same time that they brought her a sense of familiarity. With a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

A bell jingled over the door as a sweet fragrance from a pillar candle on a nearby table wafted over to her. A large counter covered with displayed books, small items for sale, and a stack of newspapers dominated the far-right corner of the store. Emmy walked toward it as a dark-haired woman in her early sixties wearing cat’s-eye glasses on a chain looked up from a computer.

The older woman smiled warmly as she came around the counter, lowering her glasses to hang on the chain down her chest. “You must be Emmy,” she said before enveloping the younger woman in a hug. Surprised, Emmy held her arms stiff for a moment before bringing them down to pat the woman on her back.

“Are you Abigail?” Emmy asked hesitantly, remembering asking Lulu the same question.

The woman pulled back. With a thick Southern drawl, she said, “I sure am. I feel like I’m the only one who hasn’t met you yet.” She wore a sundress and flip-flops, and her deeply tanned face spoke of years in the sun. “Heathcliff said he found you sleeping on the porch.” Her face sobered, and Emmy could see the pale lines at the corners of her eyes, where the sun never reached, as if Abigail smiled a good deal.

“Heathcliff ?”

The smile was back and the lines disappeared again. “My husband let me name our only son after my favorite fictional character, God bless him. But I’m the only one who calls him that—everybody else calls him Heath.”

“He didn’t mention that.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

Emmy noticed a small table by the counter filled with books by the Brontë sisters and Jane Austen. “I guess he’s lucky you didn’t name him Fitzwilliam,” she said, indicating a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Pointing to a leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights, she said, “My mother named me after Emily Brontë.”

Abigail clasped her hands together. “Isn’t that wonderful! I knew your mama and I were kindred spirits.”

Emmy looked at her closely. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“Well, we’ve never met—although she went to high school with my husband. But we’ve talked on the phone quite a bit since she bought that box of books from me and decided that you buying the store would be even better!”

Without waiting for Emmy to question her further, Abigail grabbed her arm. “Come on, let me show you the place so you know what you’re getting into.” She took Emmy through a small alcove on the other side of the store. “This is Folly’s Playgrounds—our little coffee shop, which I added on about five or six years ago. It even has its own side entrance. I lease it to Janell Stephen, who owns and operates it so you don’t have to do anything with it, and I hope you’ll continue with the lease. We get a nice cross-traffic between the store and the coffee shop, with a good solid local fan base as well as a bunch of tourist traffic since we’re so close to Center Street.”

A tall, slender woman was opening a large box beside the counter but straightened as Emmy and Abigail approached. “Emmy, I’d like you to meet Janell. Janell, meet the new owner of Folly’s Finds.”

Janell smiled, her green eyes warm as she shook Emmy’s hand. Emmy noticed beautiful square crystal drop earrings dangling from her ears, and a matching crystal and beaded necklace worn on a leather rope chain. Her short brown hair was a perfect backdrop for the jewelry, and as they shook hands, Emmy noticed the counter displays of bracelets, rings, and earrings.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Janell. I love your jewelry.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. And thanks.” She indicated a small standing rack of necklaces on the counter. “I actually make all of this jewelry myself. It used to be a favorite hobby of mine until I was getting so many requests from people that I decided to make it a business. Abigail gets a small percentage of everything I sell in the store, and I hope you and I can continue with the arrangement. At the very least, I want you to select something to wear each day as a sort of walking advertisement. Abigail always tells me that knowing she can accessorize once she gets here cuts down her getting-dressed routine from six minutes to five.”

Laughing, Abigail gave Janell a light slap on her hand. “Oh, quit.” Turning to Emmy she said, “You’ll soon learn that people around here think you’re going to meet the governor or going to a funeral if you wear much more than flip-flops.” Eyeing Emmy’s skirt and blouse, she added, “Don’t worry. You’ll learn. And that’s what I’m here for.”

“And me, too,” said Janell as she went back to the box she’d been emptying.

Abigail continued to show Emmy around the quaint store. There was a small children’s section, a new-releases table, and a used-book section for out-of-print books. Across the walls that weren’t covered in bookshelves were painted quotations from famous books as well as golden stars and whimsical books made to look like flying carpets.

Emmy looked at them with delight. “Did you do that yourself?”

“Actually, Lulu did. She’s very artistic.”

“Lulu? Heath’s great-aunt?”

Abigail laughed again and Emmy realized she probably did that often. “The one and only. It takes her a while to warm up to strangers. But, as I told your mother, with the two of you working together, you’ll figure out a way to rub along just fine.”

Emmy stopped walking. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

Abigail continued past Emmy to a display of young-adult vampire books with corresponding action dolls, and began straightening them. As if Emmy hadn’t spoken, she continued. “Don’t think you have to take everything in right away. As I explained to your mother, I’ll stay on as an employee for a couple of weeks—more or less depending on what you want—to introduce you to the locals and make sure you know the lay of the land.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. But what did you say about Lulu and me working together?”

“Come here,” Abigail said, indicating a door at the back of the store. “Let me show you something.”

Emmy followed, a crease between her eyebrows. Abigail threw open the door and walked outside into the bright sun, and Emmy followed. She found herself on a small wooden deck with two steps that led down into what would have been a compact backyard of the cottage, but had instead been transformed. Emmy stood, mesmerized, sure she knew how Alice felt when she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

Metal bottle trees of varying widths and heights stood at attention in soldierlike rows, their brightly hued bottles like flashy military epaulettes. Interspersed along the wooden fence that bordered the yard and in between the trees were flowering bushes and plants in every color, giving the yard the appearance of a multinational flag.

“These are Lulu’s.”

Emmy continued to stare out at the yard, not able to formulate her question.

As if sensing her confusion, Abigail said, “Her story is a lot like Janell’s. She started making a few for friends and family; then others started noticing them and would order one or two until word just spread. She actually makes a pretty decent living doing it, and I also take in a percentage of the proceeds in return for the space. As I explained to your mother, continuing the arrangement isn’t negotiable, but should also be a no-brainer. Lulu brings in revenue—lots of it. And she really is a wonderful person once you get to know her.”

“My mother knows about Lulu?”

Abigail turned to look Emmy in the eye. “Paige and I spent a lot of time chatting on the phone while you were preparing for your move. Although we never knew each other, we’re of the same age with the same hopes and dreams for our children.” Her face was serious again, showing the elusive white lines, and for the first time, Emmy saw a shadow in her eyes. “She knows this store is the opportunity you need right now. But she also understands how I can’t retire and leave Lulu adrift.” With her smile returning, she looked back over the glass bottle garden. “She creates such beauty, as I think only those who’ve known great sadness can do. She needs this little spot on earth as much as you do, I think.”

Emmy opened her mouth to speak, to explain to Abigail that she had enough sadness to deal with and wouldn’t welcome the burden of the older woman, but stopped when Abigail placed a hand on her arm. “You don’t need to make your decision right now. I’ll call the lawyers and postpone our meeting until tomorrow so you have time to think about it.” She winked. “But your mama told me what a smart girl you are, and I know you’ll make the right decision.”

Abigail jerked open the door. “Come on, let’s get out of this heat. Can’t think much about anything with your brain frying in the sun.”

Emmy led the way, closing her eyes at the blast from the air-conditioning. Her blouse stuck to her skin, and she began to understand the idea of loose cotton clothing.

The old-fashioned bell over the front door jangled as Emmy blinked her eyes in the dim interior of the store, making out the outline of a person standing inside the door.

“Well, speak of the devil. We were just talking about you,” Abigail said as she brushed past Emmy to envelop Lulu in a hug and plant a kiss on her withered cheek. Emmy watched, surprised, as Lulu returned the hug and even forced her thin lips into a smile.

Abigail stepped back and indicated Emmy with her hand. “We were just admiring your garden. You remember Emmy Hamilton, don’t you? She’s staying at Heathcliff’s house.”

Lulu looked exactly as she had when Emmy had last seen her, except this buttoned-up blouse she wore today was a blue-and-white-checkered pattern. Unsmiling, she regarded Emmy. “You being careful with those wood floors, like I told you?”

“Yes. That is, I haven’t done anything to scratch them, if that’s what you mean.” Emmy wasn’t sure why the woman made her feel like a scolded teenager.

Lulu turned to Abigail. “She favors Jolene, don’t you think? ’Cept Jolene’s prettier and got a bigger chest.”

Emmy stared at the old woman, trying to figure out how to respond to such an unveiled insult.

Lulu walked past them to the back door. “Hope you didn’t touch anything back here and ruin it. If you’re going to work here, you’re going to have to remember to stay away from my garden. Can’t stand intrusions.”

Emmy started after her. “What do you mean if I’m going to work here?” She was answered with the back door slamming in her face.

Abigail touched her arm. “I’m sorry, Emmy. Sometimes she gets in her moods; I promise she’s not always like that. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but Lulu is probably one of the most loyal and trustworthy people I have ever met. She would give her life for any of the people she loves without even thinking about it.” Abigail offered an encouraging smile. “She’s just a little suspicious of strangers, that’s all. But you won’t be a stranger for long.”

With any luck I will be. Even the thought of having to speak to the woman again sent a shudder of revulsion through Emmy. “I have something of Lulu’s that I found in the box of books I left in the car. Let me go ahead and get it.” So I don’t ever have to be in her presence again.

She left to go to her car and retrieve The Quest of the Missing Map, her hair damp with perspiration and sticking to her forehead as she made her way back into the store. Abigail and Janell were nowhere to be found, and for a moment, Emmy contemplated just leaving the book on the counter in the hope that somebody would read the inscription and give it to Lulu.

But, being an organized and methodical librarian at heart, she knew she couldn’t do that without losing sleep. Steeling her resolve, she clasped the book in one hand and marched out the back door, squinting in the bright sunlight as she searched for Lulu in the garden.

She saw the old woman crouched by the fence near a climbing vine that dripped with clusters of berries. Emmy paused as she watched, amazed at how delicate the short, blunt fingers were as Lulu carefully pulled off dead stems with the attention of a mother pushing back the hair from a child’s eyes.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, Emmy made her way down the short steps and moved to stand in front of Lulu. “I found something that belongs to you, and I wanted to know if you still wanted it.”

Bracing both hands on her thighs, the old woman stood slowly, her hazel eyes large behind her thick glasses. Wanting to get the scene over with as quickly as possible, Emmy held out the Nancy Drew book. “I found this in a box of books that Abigail sent to my mother’s store. It has an inscription to someone named Lulu, and I was wondering if that was you.”

Lulu stared at the book for a long moment before taking it from Emmy with both hands and clutching it tightly as if she were afraid that Emmy might take it back. “Yes, it’s mine.” Her voice was gentle, almost like that of a young girl, and when Emmy looked into Lulu’s face, it had softened, as if a hot iron had been pressed against the crease of years. It reminded Emmy that Lulu had once been young, too, before the hurts and disappointments of growing up had found her.

“It’s a first edition,” Emmy said, trying to distract herself from humanizing thoughts of Lulu. “I have an entire collection of first-edition Nancy Drew books, which is why I wanted to know if you still wanted it. I’d give you fair market value if you didn’t.”