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Blair smiled. It wasn’t the first time her dad had come through for her.
Timothy Emory was a respected businessman in Charlotte, who had turned calculated business investments into fortunes. It was no wonder he and Maggie’s father ran in the same circles in the sprawling banking city.
Blair knew she was spoiled, but felt it was completely justified with a professional socialite for a mother and a millionaire business mogul for a father. Spoiled or not, she loved her parents and knew the two of them had something together that money couldn’t buy—love.
A seagull perched on a bridge piling near Blair. She imagined he was toying with the idea of gobbling up fish, but even to a bird, exertion in this heat was unthinkable.
Maggie would be waiting for the ice to add to their ice cream bucket. She was really getting creative with ways for them to cool down. In the back of the old shed, they had stumbled across an ice cream maker. Maggie had jumped up and down, almost knocking Blair down in the commotion.
“This is just like the one my mother had when I was little.” Maggie smiled. “Blair, we can make all kinds of ice cream this summer—just like my family used to.”
To Blair, ice cream making was a novelty, but at the same time, it didn’t seem like an epic event either. She humored her friend and volunteered to get the needed ice. She turned from the bridge and wondered why she had ventured this far without a car. Now she still had to stop by the store and walk home with a bag of ice.
Blair was hit with a gust of cold air as she pushed open the door to Easterd’s. Immediately, the smell of turpentine, fishing tackle, and candy bars hit her nose. It was such an odd combination to her senses. The hardwood floors had been worn from years of fishermen and islanders waiting in line at the counter for their handwritten receipts. As far as Blair knew, this was the last place in the world that didn’t electronically print receipts.
She smiled at the old timers hovered in the corner near the magazine rack. They tipped their hats and refocused their attention on the smooth pieces of wood they were whittling. Their rocking chairs gently rolled on curly-cued pieces of new wood shavings.
The clerk handed Blair her ice receipt, and before she could make her way out of the door, she bumped into a woman who rushed through it. Most island women wore their hair long—really long, even when it turned gray, but this lady was one of the few with a short classic cut that reminded Blair of some of her earthy neighbors in Chapel Hill. Bright nail polish flashed on her toes, on display in her fluorescent flip-flops. Her earrings, obviously shells, matched a print on her T-shirt. Her arm jingled from the sound of bracelets that reached almost to her elbow. The woman let out a shrill cry that could be heard from the other side of the street.
“Why you’re one of those girls Mrs. Buttons mentioned is staying at the house for the summer!”
Blair, a little stunned and alarmed by the attention, nodded meekly and smiled.
“Well, shoot! I’ve been meaning to come down and introduce myself to you girls. I usually do a better job of making people feel welcome on this island than I have with y’all. I can’t believe I’ve let an entire month slip by. You know, I’m not from here myself.” She winked. “I came down one summer, caught me an island man, and haven’t left since. I know how strange it must seem to you at first. Honey, I didn’t even catch your name. I’m Shirley.”
Blair, overwhelmed by the commotion, managed to eke out a reply. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Blair.”
“Why don’t you and your friend join my husband and me tonight for some island-style cookin’?”
“Oh no, no. We couldn’t impose on you like that. We just met. I’m not really sure what Maggie would think about it.”
“You need to go ahead and learn this right now. There is no one on this island that I don’t know, and if I don’t know ya, I’m sure goin’ find out about ya. So, you and your friend just plan on being at our house at seven o’clock. It is the Fourth, and we know how to do it up right. Henry got some clams today and we’ve got a plan for them. You’ll love it.”
Blair knew how to pick her battles, and it looked like she had already lost this one. She also realized there was nothing on the agenda for her and Maggie except ice cream making and maybe a trip to the pier to watch the fireworks.
“Sure, ok, I’ll tell Maggie and we’ll be there. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Oh, I’m so excited. You girls are just gonna love it here. We ding-batters need to watch out for each other. I’ll see you tonight.”
Blair had no idea what she was talking about. However, being called a ding-batter didn’t sound like a good thing. She started to leave and then realized she didn’t have directions to Shirley’s house. “Oh, wait. I don’t know where you live.”
“Honey, just drive toward Shell Point, and when you hear the music, you’ll know you’re close to Shirley Lane.” She flashed a big smile, and turned to avoid bumping into a fisherman loaded down with a bag of bait and a fishing pole in the crook of his arm.
Blair watched as the woman climbed into a car and drove away. She gripped the bag of ice she had just purchased and faced the heat.
Six
Blair
When Blair finally walked in the door, Maggie was standing over the sink scrubbing viciously at the ice cream maker. Years of being buried in the shed had not been kind to the machine. It was stained and rusted from paint, fertilizer, and some green substance Maggie was viciously attacking.
“I thought maybe you had melted out there or something.” Maggie scrubbed at the handle.
Blair appreciated that Maggie didn’t criticize her wanderings, even though lately she was turning little errands into long afternoon excursions. Often she would come home to find her friend elbow-deep in some kind of massive project. The blonde knew she wasn’t the only one who was bored.
“You won’t believe this, but we actually have dinner plans tonight.”
Maggie stopped scouring the bucket for a second, but looked distracted by the dirty, soapy mess in front of her.
