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Bev laughs. “She’ll learn how to do a day’s work come hell or high water,” he says with a shake of his head. “Kids these days, wanting to sit around on their phones or play their damn video games all day and night.”
Ruby watches him as he talks, noticing that while he seems perturbed by his granddaughter’s youthful penchant for electronics, he also has an unmistakable look of pride on his face. He knows that he’s a salty old island-dweller, but that somehow he’s taken an orphaned little girl and turned her into a young woman who is headstrong and unique.
Ruby reaches out and touches his arm. “She’s one-of-a-kind, Bev. You’ve done good work.”
A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth from under his gray mustache and his eyes take on a grandfatherly twinkle. “Thank you kindly, madam,” Bev says, shaking out his hose. He’s ready to get back to work. Ruby steps onto the empty street to cross over to the bookstore. “Keep your eyes open today, alright?” Bev says loudly over the spray from his hose. “There’ll be pirates and unexpected things everywhere.”
Ruby stops in her tracks. A chill runs up her spine. “Keep your eyes open” is exactly what Jack said to her in the dream. But keep her eyes open for what? Men with hooks instead of hands? Planks? Scurvy?
Ruby scans the street: A banner hangs from one side of Seadog Lane to the other that readsAvast ye! Welcome to Shipwreck Key!and on the front of most stores are welcoming signs that say things likeAhoy!orSink me! It’s a pirate!Over the front window of Marooned With a Book, Ruby has hung a smaller banner that readsYo ho ho, let’s find you a book to go!
But for as charming and festive as the street looks, with its anchors and ropes and nautical touches, there’s a touch of something dark and unknown about the day ahead.
“It’s just the dream,” Ruby mutters to herself. “But Iwillkeep my eyes open.”
* * *
At some point during the day, Ruby is aware that her face hurts from smiling and her feet hurt from standing. People have come into the bookstore in droves, wanting to see the former First Lady, to get photographs with her, which Ruby always indulges, and to buy books that they can proudly display back home and say they bought at Marooned With a Book.
Even with the front door closed to keep the air conditioning inside, Ruby can smell the sweet butter and cinnamon of the elephant ears being fried and sold out on Seadog Lane, and she can see people wandering up and down the street that’s been closed to everything but foot traffic. There are tons of people in pirate outfits—eye patches pushed up onto foreheads so that people can pull them down as necessary over one eye for effect; pantaloons with long socks and loose, flowing shirts; dresses with plunging necklines and cinched bodices—and plenty dressed in shirts covered with images of Captain Hook, the Jolly Roger flag, and words that pertain to pirates or Shipwreck Key.
There’s a brief lull in foot traffic around three o’clock while a theater group from Destin performs funny scenes from the musical comedyThe Pirates of Penzance, and Ruby sits down with Harlow on the front step of the bookstore as they eat two hot dogs slathered in mustard that Harlow picked up at a booth next to Chips Ahoy, the island’s fish and chips shop.
“Good day so far?” Harlow bites into her hot dog and gets a dab of mustard on the end of her nose.
Ruby reaches over with her napkin and swipes at the mustard playfully. “Great day,” she says, smiling at her youngest. People are walking by and eyeing them with curiosity, but for the most part, they just smile or nod and keep walking. From the end of Seadog Lane, the actors can be heard performing a scene from the movie to applause and laughter.
“I hope you don’t mind that we’re not working in the store today, but Athena somehow got us roped into pitching in at the dock.”
Ruby holds her hotdog in both hands as she watches Harlow’s profile. It’s a wonder to her how resilient Harlow has been in light of the terrifying nightmare of the bar shooting, and while Ruby knows that she sleeps with her nightstand pushed up against the door (she won’t do this forever), and she sits on the floor of her closet with the door closed to have her Zoom calls with her therapist (a self-protective mechanism), she’s definitely coming around. Ruby has caught her laughing with her sister, and looking and sounding more like the funny, lighthearted Harlow she’s always been. And while neither of her girls seem ready to go back to their old lives anytime soon, Ruby has to admit that having them there is kind of like an opportunity to re-enjoy them. After all, so much of their lives were spent with Ruby elbow-deep in First Lady duties, and now that all of that is behind her, she’s looking at her daughters with fresh eyes and an uncluttered life, both of which allow her much more freedom to enjoy her time with them.
“Honey, I don’t mind at all.” Ruby takes a bite of her own hotdog and chews it with a smile while Harlow takes a swig from her can of Diet Coke. “Being part of a small community like this means pitching in and being part of everything.”
“Even something corny like Pirate Days,” Harlow says with a lopsided grin. “Actually, it’s pretty fun. Some of the boats that are coming in to the dock have Jolly Roger flags on them, and the people are all really excited to be here. It’s charming.”
Ruby pops the last bite of hotdog into her mouth and wads up her paper napkin in both hands. She’s about to stand and brush off the back of her shorts when a shadow falls over her there on the front step of her store. She looks up to see a woman standing before her with a pre-teen boy at her side. Ruby squints against the afternoon sun.
“Good afternoon,” the woman says, sliding her sunglasses off her face. She’s lovely—approximately forty years old, dark wavy hair, and the kind of easy, quiet beauty that comes with a lot of money.
Ruby instantly feels off-balance; something is wrong here, though she doesn’t know what. She looks back and forth between the woman and the boy expectantly, assuming that they want a photo or to tell her that they were huge Jack Hudson supporters.
Instead, the woman rubs her lips together nervously. “Mrs. Hudson,” she says, glancing at Harlow. “Hello,” she says, giving Harlow a slight nod.
Ruby’s blood runs cold, though it takes her a moment to realize why: it’s the French accent.
“Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t want to come here like this, but I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”
“Who are you?” Ruby asks, her voice no more than a rasp.
The woman looks at her—a long, burning look of understanding and uneasy familiarity. “I’m Etienne Boucher, and this is my son, Julien.”
Ruby
Etienne Boucher is here. Etienne and Julien are here on my island, Ruby thinks. Instinctively, she reaches out a hand and sets it on Harlow’s thigh protectively, as if this will do anything to shield her daughter from the woman who Ruby had hoped never to meet.
Ruby stands up slowly, her balled up napkin still in one hand. “What are you doing here?”
“As I said,” Etienne explains carefully, “I need to speak with you, and I wasn’t getting a response any other way.”
