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He’d stood completely still before he turned away. “Whatever.”
Despite his phony nonchalance, Bree knew he loved hearing about his parents, and she’d been dredging up every story she could remember.
She couldn’t recall exactly when she’d stopped wanting to reach for her cigarettes whenever she thought about David. The pain and that aching sense of regret had faded so gradually she’d barely noticed.
Just before she reached the honey house, she heard a rustle. Branches moved in one of the clump maples that bordered the woods. There was no breeze this afternoon, so it could have been a squirrel, but—
The branches swayed again, and she caught a glimpse of a woman—a tourist who’d lost her way? She went to investigate.
A particularly foul stream of curses assailed her ears as she pushed through the weeds. She came upon a dark-haired woman trying to disentangle her purple yoga pants from the blackberry brambles. As soon as the woman looked up, Bree experienced a jolt of recognition. First Lucy Jorik had popped up and now Temple Renshaw? What was going on? She hurried over to help.
The woman tugged at the knit fabric of her pants. “Why would you keep something this vicious around?”
Bree descended to teen-speak. “Uh, like for the blackberries?”
Renshaw snorted, then cursed again and sucked a scratch on the back of her hand.
Bree knew her from Fat Island, a show she hated but that Scott had loved. He’d taken pleasure in the way Temple tormented the contestants, boasted about his own fitness, and drooled over the vapid, bikini-clad psychiatrist who supposedly counseled them. “That is one hot shrink,” he’d said more than once. “If you had tits like hers, I’d be a happy man.”
Instead of telling him that if he had a shred of decency, she’d be a happy woman, she’d nursed her hurt in silence.
Finally free of the brambles, Temple gazed past Bree toward the cottage. “I’m looking for a friend.”
Bree was immediately on guard. “Friend?”
“Black hair. Tattoos. Chubby thighs.”
Temple could only be talking about Lucy—although Lucy had great legs—but Bree wasn’t giving out any information. “Chubby thighs?”
Temple climbed through the weeds toward the cottage, not waiting for an invitation. “A lot of women carry weight there. It’s so unnecessary.”
Bree followed her, both put off by her high-handed manner and curious. As Temple reached the yard, she took in the hives and the ripening tomatoes in the garden. She wore no makeup to hide the hollows under her eyes, and her hair, long and lustrous on-screen, was pulled into a haphazard ponytail. The muscles and tendons in her upper torso were too gristly for Bree’s taste, and her tight-fitting workout clothes clung to an unnaturally rippled abdomen. She looked better on television.
Temple examined the scratch on her hand. “She left a note at the house saying she was coming here. I have to talk to her.”
Lucy had mentioned a friend who was staying at the house, but she hadn’t offered any details, and Bree had forgotten about it. She’d certainly never imagined Lucy’s friend was Temple Renshaw.
Temple looked her square in the eye. “Is she around?”
Bree wasn’t good at standing up to assertive people, but she didn’t know whether Lucy wanted to see this woman or not. “There’s nobody here now but me.”
Temple shoved back a lock of dark hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Temple ignored her. She crossed the yard and dropped down on the back step—the same place where Bree used to spend so much time.
Bree couldn’t throw her off the property physically, so she shrugged and echoed Toby. “Whatever.”
TOBY WAS WORRIED. THE GLASS ornaments Bree had hand-painted with scenes from the island and sold for thirty-five dollars each were all gone, but instead of saving the money, she’d bought more to paint. It was stupid. Labor Day was three weeks away, and the tourists would be gone after that. She didn’t have time to sell more, and then what were they going to do for money? This had been the worst summer of his life. He was never going to see Eli and Ethan again. Even Mike hadn’t been around much lately. He was too busy with clients.
A gray SUV stopped. As the door opened, he saw the driver was Panda. Now that he’d gotten to know him better, Toby wasn’t so scared of him. Panda let Toby take a kayak out, and the two of them had paddled around the cove and even into the lake. Panda also let Toby help chop down a dead tree. Toby hoped he’d be as cool as Panda when he grew up. He liked the way Panda walked, like he was real tough and never had to worry about anything. He liked his shades. Nobody would ever mess with a guy liked Panda.
“How you doing, pal?” Panda said as he approached. “Made any money?”
“Sixty-eight dollars this afternoon.”
“That’s good.” He looked around. “I thought Lucy might be working here today.”
