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“You’re right,” Ruby says. “My assistant has already heard from his assistant, and we’re trying to set up a time to talk.”
Marigold’s groomed brow lifts just a hair. “You have an assistant?” She stands up straight and looks around the shop. “I want one of those. Do they organize your life and answer your emails and stuff?”
“In fact, she pretty much does. I’ve never met her in person, but Ursula is in New York. She sifts through my emails and answers a lot of them herself, but she also lets me know of any invitations to dinners, banquets, events, etcetera. And she doesn’t plan my day-to-day life—obviously things are pretty laid-back here on Shipwreck Key, plus I can manage getting up, making my own coffee, and dragging my tired butt into the bookstore, but she coordinates dates and plans and whatnot. Having an assistant is a luxury, but for now it’s nice to have her.”
“A virtual assistant…” Marigold says, twisting her long hair with one hand and letting it unravel down her back. “I could use someone to weed out the trolls on my Instagram posts.” She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes that takes half my day, just deleting and responding to stupid posts. But we’re talking about you. Let’s get you ready to meet this guy. Do you want him to come here, or are you going to him?”
Ruby thinks about this. Having him on Shipwreck Key feels weirdly invasive. She isn’t keen on watching him walk up and down Seadog Lane, stopping people to ask them what they think of having a former First Lady on the island.Nope, nope, nope. She doesn't want that.
“Maybe I could go to New York?” Ruby says, but it sounds like a question. Then an idea hits her. “Wait, it says in the back of his book that he splits his time between New York and Christmas Key.”
Marigold does the eyebrow lift thing again. “As in the Christmas Key that's just a short boat ride away?”
“The very one.”
“That could be a neutral meeting ground. I’m just saying.”
Ruby nods. “You’re right. I need to call Ursula.”
* * *
Ursula is a voice on the phone. She is words typed in an email. And occasionally she is even a floating head on a Zoom call, but most importantly, she is cheerful, capable, and handles the details that pertain to Ruby’s lifeoffthe island.
“Christmas Key,” Ursula says. The tapping of her computer keys is audible in the background. “We’re talking about a trip that’s basically south—well, kind of south and a jog to the west—and I can hire you a boat to pick you up at Shipwreck Key and deliver you there to their dock. There’s a B&B on the island if you want to make it an overnight trip, and honestly, Mrs. Hudson, these pictures are gorgeous. It’s a super cute place.”
Ruby is chewing on a pencil as she looks out the window of the bookstore. On Seadog Lane, she spots Bev Byer pulling a dolly up onto the sidewalk and into the front door of The Frog’s Grog. He’s got a red bandanna tied around his gray hair, and his arms are muscular and strong.
“I think that’s my best option,” Ruby says, setting the pencil on the counter and standing up straight. “Could you possibly arrange a date and time with Dexter North's assistant? I have no idea if he’s even down here in Florida at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll be willing to make it happen. He probably expected this to be more of a challenge to set up, but I want to get it on the calendar and just get this first meeting out of the way.”
“Certainly,” Ursula says, still tapping away. “I’m composing an email to his assistant as we speak, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
“Ursula, you’re the best.” Ruby thanks her and ends the call, walking out the front door distractedly.
Banks is stationed in the sun this morning, and he’s finally given in to the harsh change of seasons, switching from black pants and a button up shirt to a pair of sharply creased khaki shorts and a golf shirt. Florida in May is no place for black pants, and Ruby is glad that he’s not going to die of a heatstroke on her watch.
"Hey, Bev!" Ruby calls out, looking both ways as she crosses the street.
"Lady Hudson," Bev says with a deep, dramatic bow. He sets his dolly upright and leans against it as she approaches. "To what do I owe this honor?"
"Hey," Ruby says, breathless as she reaches him. "I wanted to know if you've ever been to Christmas Key."
"Oy," he says, giving her a nod. "Of course. One of my cousins lives on Christmas Key, and I took a lady friend there once for a long weekend. She loved Christmas, and while the holiday is a bit overdone for my taste, I fancied the pants off of this girl, so I went. Was lovely. You been?"
Ruby shakes her head, pushing a stray lock of hair behind one ear. "Never. But I'm thinking of making a quick trip. Maybe two days. Apparently I can hire a boat to come pick me up and take me there, but I thought you might know of someone here I could pay for the trip instead."
"No need," Bev says, adjusting his bandanna with one meaty hand. "I'll take you. When would you like to go?"
"Oh," Ruby says, surprised. "I can pay you. I would never ask for a favor that big."
"Don't even think of it as a favor--think of it as repayment for hiring my sullen and sometimes petulant granddaughter to sit around Marooned With a Book like the unofficial store cat," he says, referring to Tilly, who he's raised on his own since she was only six years old. "I should visit my cousin anyhow. Just give me a heads-up on when, alright? With twenty-four hours notice, I can make sure I'm fully staffed here. If you're wanting to stay over, I'll bunk with my cousin Bonnie, and there's a real nice B&B there you can book."
“Oh, Tilly is a joy to have around the shop," Ruby says, and she means it. Her hilarious asides and non sequiturs are exactly what Ruby would have expected from a slightly younger teenager, and truth be told, having Tilly around sometimes makes her feel like a high school teacher, which is the one thing she feels like she missed out on doing in life. "And thank you so much for the offer to take me over, Bev," Ruby says, feeling a rush of gratitude. "I'll get back to you as soon as I know more."
* * *
The water is smooth and the ride is fast. Bev steers them deftly across the open Gulf of Mexico four days later, the bow of his boat pointed toward Christmas Key.
From her seat near the stern, Ruby holds her hat in place against the wind, watching the horizon through a pair of dark sunglasses. Banks is there next to her, for once relaxed and seemingly at ease. He sits with his elbows on his knees, talking loudly to be heard over the motor every time Bev turns to him to say something about the boat, the water, or the abundance of grouper to be caught in the Keys. It makes Ruby smile to listen to them; she's always charmed by the way other people make small talk—particularly men. In her experience, they start with finding some common ground: sports, fishing, golf, politics, and, if all else fails, the weather. Jack had been a master at that, talking just as easily to the man shining his shoes as to a visiting dignitary. He always had a seemingly endless stream of topics on hand to talk about, and it had amazed Ruby the way he put everyone at ease.
