To Linda—

       A fellow traveler on the writer’s journey. I’m glad we’re in this together, friend!

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      “Please think about it, Evie. You’re the only one of us who doesn’t have—”

      At the sound of a meaningful cough, Caitlin’s words snapped off and Evie McBride smiled wryly.

      Who doesn’t have a life.

      That’s what Caitlin had been about to say before Meghan, “Miss Tactful,” had broken into the conversation. They were talking on a three-way call, the usual method her two older sisters used to gang up on her. Sometimes advanced technology made life easier, and sometimes it was simply a pain in the neck.

      “What Caitlin was going to say,” Meghan continued in an annoyingly cheerful voice, “is that you’re the only one whose summer schedule is…flexible.”

      Flexible. Nonexistent. Was there a difference? And if Evie had known how many times she’d be called upon to be flexible over the past few years since their father had retired, she wouldn’t have chosen teaching as a career. She would have tied up her life with a neat little job that kept her working year-round, like her sisters had.

      It wasn’t that she minded helping out their dad. They were extremely close and she loved him to pieces. No, what drove her crazy was that Caitlin and Meghan always assumed she didn’t have any plans for her summer vacation. And that just wasn’t true. A neat stack of novels, the ones she hadn’t had a chance to read during the school year, sat on the floor beside her bed. There was a miniature greenhouse in her backyard full of tomato seedlings waiting to be nurtured. And a gallon of paint in the hall closet, ready to transform her front door from boring beige to Tuscan yellow because she’d read somewhere that a front door should sport a friendly, welcoming color. And really, was there anything more friendly than yellow? Evie didn’t think so.

      “What if I have plans?” Evie asked. The sibling ambush had occurred at nine o’clock at night, interrupting her favorite educational program. There had to be some consequences for that. Unfortunately, stalling was all she could come up with.

      “You do?” Meghan asked cautiously.

      “What plans?” Caitlin demanded.

      Now she was stuck. “Painting.”

      “Painting.” Caitlin repeated the word like she’d never heard of the activity, and Evie could picture her rolling her baby blues at the ceiling.

      “Is it something you can put off for a few weeks, Evie? Once I’m done with this photo shoot, I’ll try to take some time off to help you.” Meghan, bless her heart, let her keep her dignity.

      Silence. Evie’s cue to cave in. After all, that was her role. She sighed into the phone, knowing her sisters would accept it as the cowardly white flag of surrender that it was.

      “All right. Fine. I can run Beach Glass while Dad goes on his fishing trip.”

      “Dad will be so happy.” Caitlin’s voice was as sweet as glucose syrup now that she’d gotten her way.

      Evie resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at Caitlin’s smiling face in the family photo on the coffee table.

      “Evie, we really appreciate this,” Meghan said. “And Dad will be thrilled. He didn’t want to have to close up the store for two weeks.”

      “But he didn’t want to ask you for help because he didn’t want to take advantage of your free time,” Caitlin added.

      “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have a problem with that, then, isn’t it?” Evie said.

      But not out loud.

      What she said out loud was good night, allowing just a touch of weariness to creep into her voice. Hopefully enough to generate a smidgeon of guilt in her sisters’ consciences. Not that it would matter when another crisis barked at the trunk of the McBride family tree. Why these crises always surfaced during the months of June, July and August, Evie didn’t know.

      Three years ago, Patrick McBride had officially retired from teaching and bought a small antique shop, whimsically christened Beach Glass by the previous owner. A quaint stone building, it sat comfortably on the edge of a lightly traveled road that wound along the Lake Superior shoreline. A very lightly traveled road. It wasn’t even paved. The first time Evie saw it, she had a strong hunch why the previous owners had practically given it away. They’d probably cashed the meager check in nearby Cooper’s Landing on their way out of town, anxious to rejoin civilization.

      Evie had spent most of that summer making the year-round cottage that had been included in the deal suitable for her father to live in. The calluses still hadn’t completely disappeared.

      The following summer she’d been the one drafted to spend “a few days” teaching their dad how to use a computer so he could manage all the financial records for the business. The brief computer lesson had turned into a month-long project that had ended with Patrick’s mastering of the power button and not a whole lot more.

      The previous summer, Caitlin’s tail had gotten tied in a knot when Patrick happened to mention a woman’s name twice during their weekly phone conversation. A Sophie Graham. Evie had flatly refused to act as the family spy. Her dad was an adult and it wasn’t any of their business if he’d found a friend. Less than twenty-four hours after Evie had drawn a line in the sand over that situation, Caitlin had figured out a way to tug her over it. Beach Glass needed to be landscaped and since the only thing she and Meghan knew about plants was that the root part went into the ground, Evie was the obvious choice to spend six weeks mulching and planting flower beds.

      Suspiciously, her sisters were always too busy to help out but never too busy to call and check up on her.

      But Evie loved them. Even bossy, tell-it-like-it-is Caitlin. And she knew they loved her. And really, was it their fault all she could find to fill up three months of summer vacation was painting her front door, transplanting tomato plants and living vicariously through the lives of the characters in her favorite books?

      Evie had missed most of her program during the kissing-up portion of the conversation so she turned off the television and closed her eyes.

      I want my own story, God.

      Even as the thought rushed through her mind, she treated it like the mutiny that it was.

      Your own story! What are you talking about? You’re a junior high science