“Enchanté,” he replied smoothly, looking warily at her. She blinked at him in surprise. His French was decent. What in the world was this French-speaking catalog model doing here on the island, harvesting shellfish?
“Your French is good,” she commented in English. “Where did you learn?” Instantly, his expression shuttered and he turned to Star, ignoring Georgia’s question. “I’d better get back to work. Enjoy the clams.” He gave Georgia the briefest nod of acknowledgment and left abruptly out the back door.
Star cleared her throat and gave a nervous chuckle. “Cole’s not one for small talk, but he’s a good man.” She rose and put the dripping bucket in the sink. “He was close with Justine, and he used to visit us here every summer when he was a teenager. After Justine got sick with cancer, he moved here permanently to help us. He’s been a comfort to me since she passed.”
“That’s nice,” Georgia murmured politely. Whatever this Cole person was, a source of comfort seemed unlikely. “Tell me aboutJustine. You said she was your best friend?” Georgia took a sip of tea.
“Justine was like a sister to me, the truest, most loyal friend I’ve ever had,” Star explained. She opened a pantry door next to the refrigerator and disappeared, popping out a moment later holding several potatoes and an onion. “She and I bought this place together years ago and lived here for a long time until she met Billy. He’s the manager of the shellfish farm next door. After Justine and Billy got together, she moved in with him. He has a nice little bungalow on the far side of the oyster farm property.” She set the vegetables on the counter and pulled a bunch of carrots from the refrigerator. “When she got sick, toward the end, she came back here to stay. Billy’s job at the shellfish farm was too demanding. He couldn’t give her the care she needed, so Cole and I took care of her when Billy was working. We did that all the way to the end.”
“How long ago did Justine... pass away?” Georgia asked.
Star turned on the water at the sink and scrubbed the potatoes and carrots vigorously. “It’s been almost five years now,” she said. The tone of her voice was matter-of-fact, but Georgia heard the regret in it. “Some days it feels like forever and some days it feels like it was just yesterday. I guess that’s the way grief is, when you lose someone you love,” Star added.
“You’re right,” Georgia said softly. “They say time heals all wounds, but I don’t think it’s true. Not with everything.” The words slipped out before she thought about them. Suddenly, it felt like she was sharing too much too soon. She glanced at Star uncertainly. Star shot her a quick look of understanding.
“Some wounds don’t seem to heal no matter how long you give them,” Star said, a peculiar expression on her face. It looked like regret. She set the scrubbed vegetables in the dish drainer and cleared her throat. “Here I am going on about the past andI’m sure you’re tired after your travels. Do you want to lie down or freshen up before dinner? I can show you to your room.”
Georgia pictured clean sheets, her body sinking into them, and almost groaned. Tired was an understatement. “A nap sounds delicious,” she admitted.
“Come on then.” Star rinsed her hands and headed toward the living room, gesturing for Georgia to follow her.
In the living room, Georgia paused in front of a framed photograph on the wall. It showed Star standing by the front gate of the cottage beside another woman who was holding a wicker basket brimming with vegetables. Star was hugging a huge rainbow bunch of dahlias to her chest. Pollen sat at their feet looking up at them in adoration, tongue lolling.
“Is that Justine?”
Star peered over her shoulder. “Yes, that was taken right before she got really sick.”
Georgia examined the two women with interest. Justine was broader in the shoulders and a few inches taller than Star, with a sleek salt-and-pepper blunt bob. Beside her in the photo, Star wore a smock and a cluster of long beaded necklaces. Her smile was sad but kind. Star. Her mother. For so many years just a memory. Now standing before her in real life. Georgia studied the photo, her mind racing. What had happened between then and now? Why had Star not contacted her before, and why had she chosen to do so now? How had she found Georgia? Why had she stayed away so long? And why had she left in the first place? Georgia had so many questions. She felt them bubbling up in the back of her throat, rolling forward on her tongue like tiny smooth stones, carried on a current of longing and confusion and anger, a muddled roil of emotions. She turned and saw Star watching her carefully.
“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Star said softly, almost as though she could read Georgia’s thoughts.
Surprised, Georgia nodded, clearing her throat. “I do,” she admitted.
“I’ll answer what I can,” Star promised. “There are things you need to know, Georgia, big things that span back generations before you came into the world. But first come on upstairs and get settled. There’s no rush. We have time for all of it.” She headed up the stairs.
The second floor was simple—two bedrooms flanking a bathroom with a deep claw-foot tub and a small window that opened onto a panoramic view of the bay. Star ushered Georgia into the bedroom on the left and disappeared into the bathroom with a promise of clean towels. Georgia looked around. The room was painted a vibrant sunny yellow, awash with light even on this gray afternoon. A row of windows looked out over a small orchard of apple trees in full bloom. Another window gazed over the bay. A full bed with a colorful patchwork quilt faced the apple trees. There was little else in the room. A simple dresser and a small spindle-legged desk. A side table with a worn black Bible on it. It was plain and peaceful. Georgia sat down on the bed. The windows were open slightly, and a breeze slipped in, carrying with it the scent of salt and the heady fragrance of apple blossoms.
“Here are towels if you want a shower.” Star set a stack of towels on the dresser, slightly threadbare but serviceable. She paused and gazed at Georgia, as though she could not quite believe she was there. “I’ll come get you for dinner if you don’t wake up.”
Georgia nodded, already slipping off her flats and pulling back the quilt. “I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.”
“There’s no hurry,” Star said as she paused in the doorway.“You’re here now and that’s all that matters. Rest now and breathe the island air. There’s a touch of magic in it. Let it restore you.” With that, Star gently closed the door.
Georgia meant to reply, but her eyes were already growing heavy. She wanted to stay awake, to squeeze all the secrets and answers from this place, but instead she slipped out of her tailored jeans, wiggled her toes in the delicious coolness of the cotton sheets, and fell headlong into a dreamless sleep. The last thought on her mind was not really a thought but a sensation, a feeling of cautious anticipation. As she drifted off to sleep, she kept picturing Star’s face when she caught sight of Georgia for the first time standing in front of the cottage. The look in her eyes contained no disappointment or dismay. Star had gazed at her daughter like she held the sun, moon, and stars, Georgia thought drowsily, in surprise. Star had looked at her like she was the answer to a long-asked prayer.
9
Georgia awoke witha start at a soft knock on the door. She sat bolt upright, heart pounding, looking around her wildly in confusion. It took her a moment to remember where she was. San Juan Island. Star’s cottage. It was early evening, the pale light starting to wash into shades of blue and gray. Outside the window, the apple trees looked pearly, like a bridal veil. Star spoke through the door.
“Georgia, soup’s on. We’ll eat in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be right there,” Georgia mumbled, pulling the quilt farther up over her pink silk panties, trying to shake herself from a jet-lagged fog of exhaustion. She needed to get up, get downstairs, and start acting on the reasons she was here. She had questions, Star had answers. Napping the day away was not going to bring her any closer to them or to figuring out how to get her sense of taste and her spark back. She checked her phone, sending a quick text to let Phoebe know she had arrived.
Here on the island. So far so good.
Phoebe texted right back even though it was the middle of the night in Paris. She barely slept and was probably even now out at a club somewhere with colleagues from work.
How is it? Is your mom an axe murderer? Text me if you need a rescue. I want details!!!
