“I was just joking,” she said, hoping her tone was convincing. “You live here. You should have the biggest room. Besides, I was hoping to take the third-floor room. Is the desk still there?”
“I think so,” Ellie replied. “You do know it’s hot as heck up there, right?”
“Not at this time of year,” Gemma said. “And not in the mornings and evenings when the windows are open.” That was when she did her best writing, after all. When she wrote.
Ellie shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s better for Hope to be on the second floor anyway.”
Gemma paused. “What?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Ellie asked, her blue eyes shining. “Hope is coming too.”
Gemma’s pulse skipped a beat. “Hope is coming here? But…” But so many things! She settled on one: “But I just saw her. Last night.”
“Well, I just spoke to her today,” Ellie said rather proudly, betraying a note of sibling rivalry that had once been the only thing that had troubled them growing up. Hope was so gracious, so clearly the favorite, that garnering her approval was nearly as special as earning their father’s, but far more achievable. “And she’s coming tomorrow with the girls.”
“With the girls?” Gemma tried to understand what Hope had been thinking. She knew that Gemma was in trouble with this book, that she needed space to write, and think clearly. Coming here had been Hope’s idea in the first place! How was she expected to push out another two hundred fifty pages of publishable material with two four-year-olds running around the house?
“Well, it’s not like she can leave them,” Ellie said with a laugh. “She knew that you were coming, so I think she thought, why not? All of us together at Sunset Cottage again. Like old times!”
Like old times, Gemma thought. If only.
Chapter Five
Ellie
Ellie dashed to the studio first thing Monday morning, only it wasn’t because she was eager to finish the painting of the South Bay lighthouse or because she wanted to get the coffee brewed before the fishermen pulled in from another early morning out on the lake.
The truth of the matter was that Gemma was already posing a problem—something that Ellie had convinced herself wouldn’t happen. She’d told herself that Gemma wouldn’t come here if she wasn’t sorry, that the argument they’d had last summer had been the stress talking. Being at their parents’ house was always tense, and this visit had been a sad time too. Emotions were charged. They’d argued. They’d left without saying good-bye.
She’d told herself that she could have been a better sister too. Could have sent a card or something more than a voicemail when Gemma’s engagement ended.
She’d been prepared to let everything go. To start fresh. But then Gemma had come in like a tornado, stripping beds and doing laundry, the machine making an awful noise and the dryer shaking so hard that Ellie could feel the floorboards vibrating. Really! Why hadn’t Gemma just taken her up on the offer to hang the linens outside to dry, to let the sun do what it was meant to do?
But Gemma was too busy mowing the lawn to think about hanging clothes, and she’d taken a weed whacker to those lovely wildflowers, too, leaving only a handful which she had at least been thoughtful enough to put in a vase and set on the center of the kitchen table—after she’d banished all of Ellie’s painting supplies to a corner of the living room.
Ellie had been about to protest, until Gemma returned from town with a bicycle basket full of groceries and got to work making a simple dinner of chicken salad and fresh bread that she set up on the front porch, with a citronella candle to ward off the bugs. That had been lovely, and because it was possibly leading up to a peace offering, Ellie had said nothing. They chatted about the island and reminisced about their happy times here, and Ellie had gone to bed feeling nervous but hopeful that the worst was behind them.
But this morning, when she woke to the horrible smell of cleaning detergents and ammonia and the sound of buckets clanking and Gemma cursing under her breath, even though she insisted that she hadn’t, well, Ellie knew she had to get out of there.
And so here she was. At seven in the morning. In her studio.
She decided that she may as well be productive.
She brewed a pot of coffee and finished her painting and then went through her recent inventory to see which ones she might drop off later this afternoon at the gift shops in town. On a good week, she could sell a dozen, on a bad week, none. On average, she was happy to sell five or six. They didn’t go for much, a couple hundred each, some of the smaller ones less, but each sale made her heart swell, validated her effort, her time, her passion.
And it made her curl her lip, just a little, and think, Told you so.
After all, her father—and Gemma—couldn’t exactly accuse her of being a starving artist if someone was paying for her work, could they?
It would be better when Hope arrived, she told herself. Then the dynamic would be balanced. Dinners on the porch, sisterly bonding. A carefree summer. It would be like old times, just like Hope had promised on the phone.
Thinking of old times, Ellie’s mind wandered to Simon. He was on this island, at this very moment. She barely suppressed a squeal, and made a promise to herself that no amount of tension between her and Gemma could ruin this good feeling. Besides, Hope was such a calm, maternal force, always so in control and diplomatic—she’d smooth everything over in no time. She always had that effect on things, always had an eye out for Ellie when she was younger; even if it was just silent solidarity, she had been a comforting presence.
Ellie decided to bring three of her newest watercolors with her into town, before the shops opened for the day. They were cheerful, showing the island in the spring, with new buds on the trees and colorful flowers sprouting up from the fresh green grass. A few she couldn’t part with, and those she hung in her studio, for a premium price, or kept with her at home, back at Sunset Cottage. Most were landscapes, all of the island, or the boats in the water surrounding the island, or some, just of the water (blue was one of her favorite colors to work with), but she sometimes felt inspired by the old homes along the coastline, the quaint architecture that was so unique to this location, and the feeling of simpler times that could only be experienced by biking through its winding paths.
The paintings she’d chosen for today were easy to carry, all done on the same size canvas, a popular seller, she’d been told, because the large ones were simply too difficult for tourists to transport home via the ferry, and she walked down the cobblestone street that led directly into the center of town. Mandy, a year-round resident who had grown up on the island, was already stirring fudge in the window of the candy shop that had been owned by her family for three generations, and Ellie could smell the waffle cones baking, as Mandy no doubt prepared for another unseasonably warm day that would hopefully stir up some desire for ice cream.
It was Monday, so there was bound to be less street traffic, but Ellie didn’t mind. Who needed tourists when she had Simon looming about? She held her free hand to her stomach at the thought.
The sign to Lakeside Gifts read closed, but she knew from experience that the door was technically open. She turned the knob just as Naomi was stepping out from the back room, her brows up in surprise that relaxed into a smile when Ellie greeted her.