Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Shelby and Colleen met up at the small bay beach on the West End. It was a lesser-known gem of a spot next to a boat slip. The stretch of Commercial nearby was dotted with pastel-colored Queen Anne and Victorian homes. Shelby’s favorite had a wildflower garden in front overrun with stalks of lavender and black-eyed Susans. “You were right. It’s not too crowded,” Shelby said, following Colleen to one of two wooden benches at the edge of the lot facing the water.
“It never is,” Colleen said. “Doug and I come here all the time. It’s so peaceful.”
Shelby carried a take-out bag from the Canteen. When they were situated on the bench, she unpacked it and handed Colleen a warm lobster roll with a side of coleslaw and a pickle. Detecting food, two seagulls wandered over and paced near their feet.
Colleen exhaled with a heavy sigh. She’d told Shelby on the ride over that her last checkup didn’t show any improvement. She still had to follow activity restrictions.
“I know you’re frustrated,” Shelby said. “But this is temporary.”
Two men wearing neon wet suits pushed a paddleboard into the water. A golden retriever ran after them, and a teenage girl ran after the dog.
“The physical part is. But I’m not so sure when it comes to impact on the bookstore. My parents called this morning and they’re freaking out, just like I knew they would. They’re angling to take the bookstore ‘off my plate.’ That’s what they said—like it was an extra side of fries.”
“Why do you think your parents are so hyped about selling? Is it purely a financial decision?” Shelby said. Colleen shook her head.
“It’s a big part of it,” she said, her blue eyes blinking fast to hold back tears. “Sorry, I’m a mess.” She pressed a paper napkin to her face. Shelby reached out and put her arm around her. “They think publishing is changing, Ptown is changing, and that I’m playing it safe instead of being, quote, ‘open and ambitious about my own future.’”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
Shelby knew how it felt to have to defend choices to parents who had their own ideas about what was best. Her father still wouldn’t acknowledge that writing was a “real job.” They’d come to one of her book events near their new home in the Outer Banks, and her mother suggested now that she’d gotten the book “out of her system” she should consider teaching. But unlike her own parents, she believed Pam and Annie would come around.
“I think the store’s going to do great this summer, and maybe that will help them see things differently.”
Colleen shook her head. “I’m not saying all this to put pressure on you.”
“I know.” She adjusted the box of food on her lap and angled herself to face Colleen. “I have some good news, though: Anders Fleming is going to do an event at the store.”
Colleen perked up. “Really? I reached out to his publicist when I heard he’d be teaching here. But she never got back to me. How did you reach him?”
“Max Walder introduced us. And Duke offered to host at his house.”
“Or...maybe you’ll have beach approval by then.”
Shelby swallowed hard. She hadn’t told her yet about the town council rejecting her petition, partially because she was embarrassed by the failure and partially because she wasn’t ready to give up on it yet. She’d have to regroup.
And in the meantime, maybe she could plan something for Colleen , not just the store. Maybe...a baby shower? That would give Colleen something to look forward to—all the cute little baby things would get her excited about the prize at the end of this struggle. Nothing like an adorable little onesie or big stuffed animal to make her condition seem less like an affliction and more like a pit stop on the way to something beautiful.
Should she surprise her with it? She’d run it by Hunter. She hadn’t heard from her since the night at the A-House. Maybe planning a shower together would be a good way for them to continue to mend their friendship.