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One
Blair
“What are you wearing?” Maggie called through the open bedroom door. “Something patriotic?”
Blair sifted through her closet in search of the two articles of clothing that would complement each other, and make the best impression on the island locals. She tossed a turquoise T-shirt on the floor.
“I hadn’t thought about red, white, and blue. I have no idea what to wear to a clam dinner. Probably just some shorts and a top. But nothing looks right. Ugh! Why is the closest mall two hours away?”
“Just grab that cute white V-neck sleeveless shirt. Your arms look great in that, not to mention your boobs.” Maggie laughed.
“Funny, G.” Blair tossed out the playful nickname she’d given her friend back in high school after a cute foreign exchange student with a sexy accent had misplaced emphasis on the Gs in her name.
Blair pulled the cotton shirt Maggie mentioned from its hanger and slipped it over her head. Next, she grabbed a pair of bright green shorts from her dresser and slid one long, freshly shaven leg and then another into the bottom-hugging shorts. She admired her figure in the mirror. Perfect.
“That solves half of this fashion crisis. What about me?” Maggie appeared in Blair’s closet and started eyeing the racks of clothes.
“How about this?” Blair held up a pink, ruffled tank top.
“Oh, love it. Can I wear it tonight?”
“Sure. It will look amazing on you.”
Two
Blair
Thirty minutes later, with her friend holding a tub of homemade watermelon ice cream in the passenger seat, Blair turned her car onto Shirley Lane.
“Are you sure this is the right place, because there’s no front porch light on?” Maggie asked.
Blair scanned the front yard that Shirley described earlier at the Easterd’s store. “I don’t know. No one around here likes to give addresses or phone numbers. Let’s just ring the bell and maybe we can find out where she lives.”
Before Blair stepped one toe in the driveway, she heard a raucous sing-along of Red Solo Cup drowning out the otherwise recognizable voice of Toby Keith. Following the source of the sounds, the girls walked around the side of the house to discover a yard lit by tiki torches, crowded by barefoot people, and an open flame pit dominated by a three-foot tall steaming pot.
Taking a moment to adjust to her new surroundings, Blair debated whether to join the crowd or grab her friend and retreat to the car.
“Maggie, uh. This isn’t what I thought Shirley meant by dinner.” She rolled her eyes with disdain.
“This looks like so much fun.” Maggie motioned toward the crowd gathering around a game of corn hole. “Let’s go meet some people. This could be the island experience we’ve been waiting for.”
Blair reached for her friend’s arm to tug her backward, when a brightly clad Shirley emerged from behind the singing masses.
“Oh, girls! Finally! We’ve been waiting for you.” The hostess trapped each girl in a bear hug. “I want to introduce you properly to the island. Come on. Come on.”
Maggie looked up at Blair with a cautious expression. Blair smiled and gestured to her ears as Shirley turned toward the fire pit. Hanging from her lobes were orange striped scallop shells. Maggie suppressed a giggle.
“Henry! Come over here. Leave that fire to the boys. I want you to meet the girls I was telling you about.”
A tall, white-haired man with weathered skin and kind eyes handed off a long stick he was using to stoke the fire and approached the trio with a smile.
“Shirls, who do we have here?”
“These are the ones Mrs. Buttons hired for the summer. This is Blair and, oh my, you know, I haven’t even met you, dear. I’m Shirley Guthrie, islander by marriage.”
Maggie turned to the hostess. “Hi, I’m Maggie. Thank you so much for inviting us. Here. I made some watermelon ice cream.” She offered a container already dripping with perspiration.
Shirley’s armful of bracelets shook as she took the treat. “Aww, you shouldn’t have. That is so sweet. Henry, isn’t this sweet?” She handed the ice cream to her husband. “I couldn’t believe it when I ran into your roommate today at Easterd’s. You girls want something to drink?”
They nodded their heads in unison.
“The tide’s coming in and we don’t have much beach here, so we had to move the coolers to the boats to make room for the fire pit. We’ll just walk down there and get you something.” Shirley extended an arm and waved in the direction of the steaming pot.
After leading them across a grassy lawn and making introductions to the corn hole players, Shirley guided them down a path to the narrow sandy beach. They waved to the rowdy singers who were gathered around a pair of tabletop speakers, now belting out Kenny Chesney’s Pirate Flag. Blair thought there might even be one or two amid the crowd who looked like actual pirates.
Shirley squealed and stopped the tour in front of a solid-built woman, who looked to be about forty. Her sunglasses were slung on top of her head, and she had a beer in one hand, wrapped in a pink koozie. “JoBeth, meet my new friends, Blair and Maggie.”
“Nice to meet you. What brings you to the island?” JoBeth asked.
Maggie gushed, “Oh, we’re staying at the Buttons place for the summer—house-sitting and taking care of things.”
