The boat was on the horizon now. I probably had known those guys in my past life. There’d been a time when I’d known all the island guys. They wore T-shirts, deck shoes and most of them walked around with a cigarette.
Sweat trickled down my neck, and I piled my hair on my head, hoping a breeze would find me. I had wandered a little farther than I’d planned. My mission had been to jog to the store and pick up some ice for the cooler, but once I’d reached the market, I’d kept running. Maybe I was trying to outrun the heat or just outrun this feeling that I was going crazy.
I didn’t know if I could handle opening one more drawer only to find it was stuffed to the top with moth balls.
I turned from the bridge and wondered why I had ventured this far without a car. I still had to stop by the store and walk home with a bag of ice. The ice maker was broken and nowhere among the piles of Tupperware and casserole dishes had I found any ice trays.
A gust of cold air hit me as I pushed open the door to the market. Immediately, the smell of turpentine, fishing tackle, and candy bars hit my nose. It was such an odd combination to my senses. The hardwood floors had been worn from years of fishermen and islanders waiting in line at the counter for their handwritten receipts. As far as I knew, this was the last place in the world that didn’t electronically print receipts.
I smiled at the old timers huddled in the corner near the magazine rack. They tipped their hats and refocused their attention on the smooth pieces of wood they were whittling. Their rocking chairs gently rolled on curly-cued pieces of new wood shavings.
I hauled the ice to the counter and paid. The clerk handed me the ice receipt, but before I could make my way out of the door, I bumped into a woman rushing through it. Bright nail polish flashed on her toes, on display in her fluorescent flip-flops. Her earrings, obviously shells, matched a print on her T-shirt. Her arm jangled with bracelets reaching almost up to her elbow. The woman let out a shrill cry that could be heard from the other side of the street.
“Sierra Emory! Little Sierra Emory.”
I nodded meekly and smiled. Who in the hell was this woman?
“Well, shoot! I’ve been meaning to come down and say hi. I was so sorry to hear about your aunt. But tickled you’re going to be moving in.”
“Oh I-I’m not…”
She cut me off.
“That house is gorgeous. Prettiest one on the island. I’ve always said that. Always.”
“Thank you.” I nodded, but wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. I had already decided that as soon as I sorted through Aunt Lindy’s things, I was selling the house. I couldn’t hold on to it and live in another state.
“Why don’t you join my husband and me tonight for some island-style cookin’?”
“Oh no, no. I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
I wasn’t sure which was the more embarrassing route—to admit I didn’t know who she was, or the fact that it was the Fourth of July and I had absolutely zero plans.
“You need to go ahead and learn this right now. I do not accept a no. Your aunt knew that. So just plan on being at our house at seven o’clock. It is the Fourth, and we know how to do it up right. Henry got some clams today and we’ve got a plan for them. You’ll love it.”
I knew how to pick my battles, and it looked like I had already lost this one.
“Sure, ok. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Oh, I’m so excited. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Oh, wait. I don’t know where you live,” I blurted out. Maybe she would get the hint I had no idea who she was.
“Honey, just drive toward Shell Point, and when you hear the music, you’ll know you’re close to Shirley Lane. Henry named the street after me.” She flashed a big smile, and turned to avoid bumping into a fisherman loaded down with a bag of bait and a fishing pole.
I watched as the woman climbed into a car and drove away. I gripped the bag of ice I had just purchased and faced the heat.
At least I had her name. And something to do tonight that didn’t involve going through old magazines and packing up clothes for Good Will.
3
Sierra
I sifted through my suitcase in search of two articles of clothing that would complement each other, and make the best impression on the island locals. I tossed a turquoise T-shirt on the floor.
I hadn’t thought about red, white, and blue. I had no idea what to wear to a clam dinner. Probably just some shorts and a top. But nothing looked right. Why was the closest mall two hours away?
I was surprised I cared so much. Surprised that it mattered to me what these people thought. People I had ignored and pretended didn’t exist for years.