Little Island by Katharine Britton

Author:Katharine Britton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2013-07-28T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Eleanor Findley, her hair freshly curled and lacquered, appeared beside Roger on the sidewalk. The Findleys had lived next door to the Littles for years. “Nice to see you,” she said. “When did you get back? You’re here for your grandmother’s service, of course. I certainly hope the weather cooperates. Grace told me she plans to hold it outside. It’s a lovely setting you all have over there, but risky this time of year. Well, any time of year, really. Although I suppose we could just move inside if it looks like rain. She told me she doesn’t have a long service planned?” She looked to him for confirmation.

Roger realized that he had no idea what his mother had planned. “No, not too long,” he said. “Are you and Jim staying here for the winter?”

“Heavens no. Heading to Vero next month. I used to love winters up here. Not anymore. Please give your mother my regards. Tell her if she needs anything to give me a call. Otherwise we’ll see you tomorrow. Best to your sisters.” Roger promised he’d deliver the message, although he couldn’t imagine his mother needing any help. No one was more capable than she. Eleanor waved as she headed off in the direction of Little Island.

Roger glanced up to the window of A Cut Above. Irrationally, he hadn’t figured on there being customers in the salon. What were the chances of running into someone he knew? Pretty good, actually. But he hadn’t wanted to call. He was more persuasive in person. Irresistible, some said. Opening the paper bag, he examined the scarf he’d bought at George and Kit’s. Would Loraine like it? Maybe he should give it to his mother instead. She did seem a little on edge this weekend. He made a mental note to offer to help with the cooking.

Across the harbor, Walter Fifield’s crew was unloading the boat, hosing down the decks, and coiling lines. A pyramid of lobster traps rose from the dock. He had quite an operation over there, Roger observed, and wondered whether he’d like a partner to handle marketing and distribution. Didn’t sound like his dad was in any hurry to give up the inn, and it was obvious to Roger, from their short visit the day before in the tool shed, that he still didn’t trust Roger enough to turn it over to him anyway. Couldn’t really blame him. Even without the crash, Roger had frayed his father’s trust to a few thin threads.

If Wally didn’t need him, maybe he could open a sporting goods store—he glanced in the window of George and Kit’s: they didn’t sell bicycles or kayaks . . . The bell at the community church rang ten times. He looked back up at the salon window. Would Loraine be happy to see him? His fantasy of the night before now seemed childish and improbable. But he knew she was “the one,” knew it the moment they’d met so many years earlier. He tucked the bag with the scarf under his arm and headed through the doorway and up the stairs.

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