Page 9 of The Seashell of ’Ohana

“He’s good. He’s at his first birthday party without me.”

Izzy snorted. “Get used to it.”

I didn’t need her to explain what she meant.

While Izzy made my latte, I glanced about the small, airy space. The paneled walls hung with island gear—surfboard, scuba fins, old-fashioned snorkeling gear. The couple had left, and there was no one else but Izzy and me. The latte machine growled and whirred in the background, and I thought about more Saturdays without Tyler at my side.

“Here you go.” Izzy placed a paper cup and a brown wax-paper bag with the cookies on the counter.

I took a sip and savored the soothing warmth that spread down my throat, the sweet flavor awakening my taste buds. “You make the best lattes.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She rested her elbow on the counter and propped her chin on her fist. “Nothing wrong with me, but something isn’t right with you. There’s no one here, so tell me.”

Aside from my sister, there weren’t many people who asked about me, about how I was feeling. My days were spent taking care of others. But Izzy was like an older sister. She knew about Steve, so I told her why today was harder than other days and where I had been.

“I’m so sorry, Abby.” Her eyes were gentle and kind.

I tapped a finger on my paper cup and let out a slow sigh. “We were married the same number of years he’s been gone. That seems important, somehow. I’m okay most days, but the anniversary of his death, the birthdays, and the holidays are the hardest.”

Izzy caressed my shoulder over the counter with an empathetic smile. “I can’t promise the pain will go away, but it will get easier with time. Love never dies, Abby. He’s always with you, watching out for you and Ty. One day, you’ll love someone else, and even then, Steve will always be with you.”

I couldn’t see myself with any other man, but I gave her a tight-lipped grin. When another customer entered, I slipped out.

Chapter Four — Carousel Gallery

One of the perks of owning your own gallery is being the boss, which means making your own schedule. After dropping Tyler off at school, I headed to Carousel Art Gallery. Seeing my sign over my own gallery, even after four years, still gave me a thrill of pride.

Wind chimes tinkled the air when I pushed through the double glass door into the open, well-lit space. The sound tugged my heartstrings and soothed my soul. My muscles eased, my spirits lifted.

When Kate had become part-owner of the gallery about three years ago, she’d insisted we install a doorbell that sounded like wind chimes. I hadn’t asked her about it, but I suspected it brought up similar memories for us both.

Our mother always hung wind chimes in the backyard. Kate used to sit back there to read, especially on sunny days with a gentle breeze. She had told me once that wind chimes sounded like angel wings to her. I always thought of that when I heard them.

“Good morning, Stella.” I passed the reception desk and the two white leather sofas in the center of the room and headed to the table under a large-scale photograph of a sea turtle on the sandy beach.

Stella pulled her mug away from her mouth. “Good morning, Abby. I started the process from yesterday’s online purchases. I’ll get those sent out through UPS. And we got more orders this morning.”

“Good. Thanks.” I picked up the insulated paper cup, poured hot water from the coffeemaker, and dunked a passion fruit green tea bag inside.

Stella’s fingers moved along the keyboard in a flurry of clicks. “You’ve got a full schedule today.” She clicked some more. “Well, this week. Actually, the whole month.”

“Good, I need all those clients so I can keep paying you.” I chuckled and blew on the fragrant steam rising from my cup.

I relaxed in the ambient glow from the sunlight pouring through the front window over the sculptures of angels, seashells, and turtles on shelves. I took a long, slow sip. God, that felt good. The hot liquid soothed my throat, and the bitter taste jolted my senses. The first taste was always heaven.

Stella flashed all her teeth with an exaggerated grin. “You can always give me a raise.”

I hiked an eyebrow. “You just got one recently.”

She shrugged. “I can always use another.”

I cleared my throat and narrowed my eyes at her. “Kate should be here soon,” I murmured, and moved to stand in front of the new paintings Kate and I had hung before she’d left for vacation.

We had replaced the ones we’d sold with close replicas of two popular landscapes: Tree Tunnel, a dreamy portrayal of the eucalyptus tree tunnel on Maluhia Road, and Wailua Falls, a rainbow arched over a lush mountain and sparkling waterfall. Farther along the stark white wall hung an assortment of landscapes, portraits, and abstracts in oil and acrylic. Wood carvings displayed on white pedestals under soft lighting dotted the room.