Evening Stars. Сьюзен Мэллери
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to write a novel was easy. Actually writing it—not so much.
“I’m feeling pressured,” she said, hearing the defensiveness in her voice and not liking it. “It’s so soon.”
“Our fifth anniversary is in a few months. It wasn’t exactly a shotgun wedding.”
“No, but...”
He looked at her then, his brown eyes filled with what could only be betrayal. He looked as if she’d cut out his heart.
“Kevin, no,” she breathed as she started toward him. “I’m—”
He waited. “You’re what?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nina told you to wait, didn’t she?”
Averil had to hold back the overpowering need to stomp her foot. “You always bring up Nina. Why do you hate my sister?”
“You know I like Nina a lot. I bring her up because she’s always with us.”
“That’s ridiculous. She’s a thousand miles away.”
“No, she’s not. She’s the voice in your head. You talk to her every day for weeks until you two have a fight, and then you complain about her every day until you two make up. She’s the opinion you care about most.” He returned his attention to his computer screen. “It’s never you and me making a decision. It’s always the three of us.”
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he wasn’t. Her and Nina’s last blowup had been about three weeks before, and they hadn’t spoken since. Funny—Averil couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about.
She looked at Kevin. She could feel his pain. He wanted more, and as much as she wanted to give it to him, she couldn’t. The problem with Kevin was that he saw her as more capable than she could ever be. But how was she supposed to tell the man in her life to expect less of her?
“I need more time,” she told him. “Please, stop pressuring me.”
She waited, expecting him to say that asking her to keep her word wasn’t exactly applying brute force, but he only nodded.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He looked at her then. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
* * *
The next morning, Nina woke without the alarm. One of the perks of a Saturday morning. She’d had a restless night. While she’d avoided the brownies calling her name, she’d given in to the wine. Worse, she’d dreamed of Dylan on and off. Probably the result of seeing him and then watching The Day After Tomorrow.
She would guess that most women remembering a breakup went for a more classic romantic comedy or a movie that would make them cry. She would have, as well, but it was right after seeing The Day After Tomorrow that Dylan had broken up with her. She’d been making a point on global warming, and he’d announced he wasn’t going to be coming back to the island on weekends anymore.
Now the shots of ice and snow were firmly linked in her brain with the pain of losing the only man she’d ever loved. In her pathos, she’d noticed that the sheer size of the storm had matched the vastness of the emptiness filling her heart. Dylan had filled so much of her world, and now he was going to be gone.
All this time later, he was back. Not that it was going to be an issue for her, she told herself as she sat up and stretched. It wasn’t as if he’d sought her out. Their meeting had been completely random. Even on an island this small, she was unlikely to run into him very much.
For the best, she thought, standing by the bed. She would simply—
“Crap. My car!”
She’d never called Mike about it. Never asked him to tow it to his shop and start work on it. All because she’d been distracted by a handsome man from her past. Dylan had a lot to answer for.
She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly eight-thirty. Which meant Mike’s repair shop had been open for an hour. Saturdays were busy for him, and she was pretty sure someone else would have gotten the beat-up truck that was his loaner car.
She walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Mike’s business card was one of a dozen held to the refrigerator by a tacky magnet designed for the tourist trade. No surprise to anyone, Nina’s mother collected them.
Mike answered on the third ring. “What?”
“It’s Nina Wentworth.”
“Hey, listen, I’m good but I’m not that good. I’ll get to it later today. I’m guessing the fuel injector, but I mean it. That’s a guess.”
Nina blinked several times. “Excuse me?”
“Your car. That’s why you’re calling, right? You’re not going to try to sell me any damn magazine subscriptions, are you?”
“What? No.” She walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. “My car is there?”
“Sure. I got a call yesterday just before closing to go pick it up. I had Benny drop off the loaner last night. You telling me you don’t know about this?”
She stood and walked into the living room. As she looked out the front window, she saw a battered pickup in the driveway.
Dylan, she thought, unable to believe he would have bothered. But there wasn’t another explanation.
“I, ah... Thanks, Mike,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you. Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll be in.”
“Sure thing. Probably Monday. You can come on your lunch break.”
“Sounds great.”
She hung up, more than a little confused by what had happened. She checked the window again. Yup, there it was. The loaner.
She put down the phone and walked into her bedroom. She had a mile-long list of things to get done today, and none of them had involved mulling over an old boyfriend. Dylan had been nice. That spoke well of his character. The fact that she didn’t want him to be nice was her own issue.
* * *
By nine-thirty, Nina had arrived at Blackberry Preserves. As it was a Saturday, she changed the sign to read Open—not that she was expecting many customers. It was too early in the season for a lot of tourists, and locals tended not to browse on the weekends. She flipped on the light switch by the door, then walked through narrow pathways to the office in the back. After tucking her purse into a desk drawer, she turned up the heat and started a pot of coffee.
In theory, the shop’s inventory was supposed to be computerized. In reality, more than half the stock moved in and out without ever being accounted for. Bonnie’s buying trips were done with cash and accounted for with mostly handwritten receipts. Nina had known that one day she was going to have to tackle the problem, but she’d been putting it off as long as possible. And that was going to continue, she thought, returning to the front of the store.
To the left, old wooden shelves held an impressive collection of vintage lunch boxes. Everything from Hopalong Cassidy to early Batman to My Little Pony. Some were battered and worn, but others looked as if they’d never been used at all. A couple still contained their thermoses.
Bonnie loved lunch boxes because children were generally happy. That was her actual logic. She bought the lunch boxes to share her joy in that fact with others. The knowledge that they collected more than they sold didn’t seem to bother her.
Three large display cabinets held figurines of all kinds. Lladro and Hummel, along with those from more obscure artists. Even as a kid, Nina hadn’t liked the tiny statues. She’d always thought they were watching her with evil intent. The same with the antique dolls. But the vintage clothes were fun. They were dusty and smelled funny, but she and Averil had enjoyed playing dress-up.
She walked to a rack of ball gowns