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I couldn’t ever imagine moving away, and especially not moving north like Effie Reyes, who’d quit on me last week to follow her boyfriend to a horse ranch in Wyoming. But then again, I wasn’t so goo-goo eyed over a boy that I’d blindly follow him anywhere. Well, I hadn’t been for a long time now at least—and where he’d gone I’d decided not to follow. Icouldn’tfollow.
I was tied to this town, to the water. When I was away from the beach for long, the magic in my life disappeared, which felt a lot like losing my mama all over again. She’d been the one who’d shared her magic with me the day she disappeared. As long as I had the magic, I hadhope.
Automatically, my gaze went to the Curiosity Corner. Stretching across a back corner of the shop, catawampus style, were driftwood shelves of varying widths that had been designed to resemble an oak tree. On the shelves were bits and bobs I’d collected that were awaiting their fated companions. Atop the tree sat a dark, sleek carved wooden magpie with a small pink bow on its head, looking calm and serene and proud of its odd collection.
A break in the clouds filled the dining area with a burst of sunlight. I glanced toward the front window and found Estrelle still watching me. She stared through her veil’s netting, the look so piercing it felt as though she could see right into my heart, to the part where my deepest hopes and fears lived.
Feeling vulnerable, I looked away, focusing instead on Sienna. “Morning,” I said brightly, trying to hide my gratefulness that Sienna didn’t work here anymore. She was a sweet, cheerful girl but had been an absolute menace behind the counter.
Sienna glanced around the shop as she strode toward the bakery case. “Good morning, all.”
Everyone chorused back a hello, and I smiled. It was one of the things I loved most about Magpie’s. Because it had been a part of Driftwood for thirty-five years now—my mother had opened it when I was three years old—oftentimes mornings here felt more like a neighborly get-together, a time when even snowbirds and tourists felt a bit like family.
“No croissants today?” Sienna asked.
“Sorry,” I said. “The bakery’s a bit shorthanded right now, so they’ve cut some items from their menu.”
Redmond threw another glance at the donuts, before saying, “Has Dez hired you, Carmella? Signed a contract?”
She swiped her credit card and pushed buttons on the machine, adding, as always, a generous tip to the order. “No. Not yet.”
I slumped with relief. If Dad was serious about selling, he’d have signed a contract.
Sienna’s head came up as if sensing the cloud of tension that had bloomed in the air. “What’s going on?”
“Dez is selling Magpie’s,” Mrs. Pollard said. It was her recipe highlighted on the blackboard this week—mini vanilla scones—and she was sitting next to the board proud as a peacock, ready to offer baking tips should anyone ask. At seventy-something, she was a widow who had plenty of time on her hands and loved being in the thick of things.
Sienna’s jaw dropped. “Selling? That’s crazy talk.”
“He’snotselling,” I repeated. “He’s just mentioned something about it.”
Sienna pressed her hands to her chest. “Oh, thank goodness. I can’t imagine Driftwood without Magpie’s.” She grinned. “It’s been here longer than I’ve been alive. It’s a constitution.”
We all stared at her.
“Institution?” Carmella ventured.
“Exactly.” Sienna smiled.
Despite her vocabulary goof, she’d made me tear up. Exactly. Driftwood wouldn’t be the same without Magpie’s, without its heart.
Dad knew that, which was how I knew he wasn’t serious, despite his talk of letting go.
Something else was going on. Something big.
Blinking the tears away, I faced Redmond. “Almond milk latte?”
He nodded. “To go, please.”
“Do you think his talk about selling has something to dowith that sleepwalking incident a few months back?” Sienna dropped her voice. “People were wondering if he’d gone a bit soft in the head.”
I rolled my eyes. Most people wouldn’t talk openly about that kind of gossip, but Sienna was about as open a book as books came. In her early twenties, she had slowly been working her way through each shop in town, unable to find just the right fit and often leaving destruction behind. Truly, she was one of the most uncoordinated, bumbling, clumsy people I’d ever worked with. With her blond hair and brown eyes, she reminded me of a young Carrie Underwood fresh from herAmerican Idoldays, and I couldn’t help wondering how often Sienna’s family had asked Jesus to take the wheel of her life, to steer her onto the right path and out of harm’s way. I’d certainly asked a time or two on her behalf.
“Ididn’t think he had,” Sienna said quickly to me, as if suddenly realizing she might’ve been rude. “Now I have some doubts, though. Little ones. Hardly worth mentioning.”
I’d been hoping everyone would forget that Dad had been found by Mrs. Pollard’s neighbor wandering about in the dark of night wearing only a skimpy pair of underwear. But around here people had long memories. Nothing was ever truly forgotten.
Dad’s nighttime adventure had opened a Pandora’s box of concerns in my brain, and to calm a rising tide of fear, I’d broached the idea of me moving in with him. Not that Iwantedto move—I rather liked my house and having my own space, but it seemed the best option for my peace of mind. And his potential safety.
