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How her mother ever interviewed a nineteen-year-old goth girl in Doc Marten boots with a four-inch sole and decided she was perfect for a bookstore that looks like a cottage in the Cotswolds is beyond Harlow, but everything that comes out of Tilly’s mouth is pure gold.
“I can strike a match on my teeth,” Tilly says right then as she’s scanning the barcodes of books and inputting them into the system.
And okay, so Harlow isn’t into wearing chains and leather and dying her hair until it’s a jet-black pageboy, but come on, Tilly is only three years younger than her, and Harlow just spent the last year living in Manhattan. It’s not like she’s intimidated by a teenager who thinks she discovered The Cure, though she’s spied some interesting looks on the faces of the bookstore’s customers whenever Tilly is around.
“Must come in handy when you’re setting fire to yet another man’s heart,” Harlow says as she organizes bookmarks and business cards.
“Ha,” Tilly says, her perfectly outlined blood red lips pulling into a pout. “Why are men even a thing?”
Two women with white hair like clouds of cotton candy enter the store, their purses strapped across their bodies.
“Good morning,” Harlow says, hoping to greet them before Tilly does. “Welcome to Marooned With a Book.”
Every so often Tilly just stares at the people who walk through the door, giving them a long, appraising look like a cat roused from a nap. If she decides they’re worth the effort, she’ll say hello.
“Oh my,” one of the women says, putting a hand to her chest. “Aren’t you—“
Her companion rushes to her side and grabs her elbow. “Don’t gawk, Diane,” she hisses. She turns a smile at Harlow. “Good morning. We’re just day-trippers visiting the island.”
From the way they look around the store, Harlow can tell that they want to catch a glimpse of her mom, who is actually out roaming the island today with some real estate agent from Destin who’d come to the bookstore opening. Before Sunday and Helen had even left Shipwreck Key, Ruby had already made an appointment to check out the available properties for Sunday and send her the best options.
“Well, have a look around, and let me know if you have any other questions.” The women walk to the back of the store together, leaving Harlow and Tilly alone again.
“I wonder if old people think about how close they are to dying all the time,” Tilly says. Every statement that comes out of her mouth is apropos of nothing, in Harlow’s opinion, and she stifles the urge to point that out. In the end she doesn’t though, because putting a gag on Tilly would be like cutting off her main source of entertainment on Shipwreck Key.
“They probably think more about stuff like what they’re going to make for dinner, or whether they remembered to send their grandkid a birthday card. You know—normal stuff,” Harlow says. She’s pretty sure that Tilly is always trying to sound shocking, so she intentionally refuses to give the girl what she wants. “Hey, did you hear that the star of the new season ofThe Bacheloris that guy who donated his kidney to save a little girl he didn’t even know?”
Tilly’s upper lip curls in distaste;The Bacheloris not something she would ever deign to watch, and Harlow knows this, hence the question.
“I’m not into that show,” Tilly says. “I’d rather watch snakes eat mice on YouTube. I love it when they swallow them whole and you can hear the mice screaming.”
Okay, this one does kind of get under Harlow’s skin, but she shrugs and tries to act like Tilly isn’t freaking her out. “Yeah. Sounds cool. Hey,” she says, shifting gears. “Speaking of snacks, I’m going to take my break now and run over to The Scuttlebutt to see if they have fresh scones. Want one?”
Tilly is inspecting her artfully chipped black nail polish. “No thanks. I’m on a red meat only diet right now.”
“Sounds healthy,” Harlow says with a sunny smile. “I’ll be right back!”
She’s out the front door with her wallet in hand when Athena walks up, wearing a wrinkled sundress and a pair of dark black sunglasses. She looks pale and wan.
“Hey, Bean,” Harlow says to her sister, using her nickname in hopes of making Athena smile. “What’s up?”
Athena lifts one shoulder listlessly and lets it fall. Both Eldrick and Corbin are now on Seadog Lane, and Harlow nearly points out that they’re on the safest street in the world, given that two highly trained Secret Service agents are within arms’ reach. But her sister looks distracted, so instead she loops her arm through Athena’s and guides her toward the coffee shop.
Athena sighs. “I don’t know what to do with my life,” she says as they walk down the sidewalk.
“You’re only twenty-three,” Harlow says, frowning. “And you have your life together more than anyone I know.”
Athena stops walking. She’s clearly agitated—more so than Harlow has ever seen her.
“Idon’thave my life together. You have no idea what a mess I’ve made of it.” She looks around, pushing the sunglasses up into the pile of curly hair that she’s just washed and let dry. “I don’t think I can ever go back to D.C. and show my face again.”
Harlow takes her sister’s hand and drags her across the street so that they can sit on a bench that looks out at the water. The sun is climbing higher in the sky, and the heat and humidity are ratcheting up in tandem.
“Hey,” Harlow says, tugging Athena’s hand so that she snaps out of her trance. “What’s the deal here? So you fell for some guy who dumped you? That happens to all of us at some point. Seriously.”
Athena shakes her head sadly. Harlow has heard her mumbling to Ruby quietly as they sit in a different room, but so far her sister hasn’t told her much about the guy who sent her running down to Shipwreck Key. But seriously, getting dumped isn’t nearly as bad as almost getting shot in a bar. Not that she’s trying to say she has it worse than her sister, she just doesn’t understand why Athena can’t pull it together when she herself is soldiering on after real tragedy.
Athena bends forward at the waist, resting her forehead on her knees. This is alarming.
