Chapter 3
THREE
MID-AUGUST, TWENTY YEARS EARLIER
On Saturday morning, Lydia and Caitlin rose before sunrise to bake windmill-shaped sugar cookies so they could give the departing guests a sweet sendoff, and the arriving guests a warm welcome.
“It’s not seven o’clock and it’s already as hot as blazes in here,” Albert good-naturedly grumbled when he shuffled into the small kitchen, which retained the heat from the oven for hours. “Why do you need to serve homemade cookies?”
Lydia gave his shoulder a love tap and said, “You know why, Bertie. The previous owners did it, so it’s become part of the tradition of staying at The Windmill Cottages. The guests expect it.”
Then she handed him a warm cookie, and Caitlin fondly noticed how quickly he gobbled it down.
Later, he enjoyed a second—or was it a third?
—with his coffee, and when his wife and niece finally sat down for a quick breakfast, they both ate a cookie, too.
Despite Albert complaining about the heat, and even though Lydia insisted she could handle the baking on her own, Caitlin wouldn’t have missed this hectic Saturday morning ritual for the world.
“How adorable,” remarked Pam McDougal, a newly arriving guest, when Lydia offered her and her daughter one of the signature treats at check-in shortly after 2:00 p.m. “Nicole and I don’t eat carbs, but I’ll take one for my husband. He’s waiting in the driveway.”
“ I eat carbs. I love carbs,” Pam’s slender, dark-haired daughter emphatically contradicted, shooting her mother a defiant look and grabbing two cookies from the plate.
Her mother ignored her. “My husband and I are newlyweds, so we’re here on a sort of honeymoon.
A ‘family-moon,’ as he likes to call it, since Nicole’s here with us, too,” she explained, and Caitlin couldn’t blame Nicole for rolling her eyes.
“We had planned to spend two weeks in Benjamin’s Manor—my husband’s an avid golfer—but our reservation fell through and unfortunately, we couldn’t find any other vacancies at short notice. That’s how we wound up here.”
It almost sounded as if the woman was embarrassed to be staying in Lucy’s Ham instead of Benjamin’s Manor, or as if she found it necessary to mention that The Windmill Cottages weren’t her first choice.
Caitlin wished her aunt would’ve pointed out how lucky Pam was that a long-standing guest suddenly had to cancel their reservation due to a work conflict; otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a vacancy at The Windmill Cottages, either.
But Lydia just said, “Congratulations on your marriage. We’re very glad you’re staying with us. You’ll find it’s only a short drive to the golf club in Benjamin’s Manor, and Lucinda’s Hamlet has a popular course right up the road, too.”
“Or Bob could just play mini-golf and afterward the three of us could stroll hand-in-hand down the boardwalk, eating cotton candy,” Nicole suggested. “Although that’s not carb-free, is it?”
Again ignoring her daughter’s snarky comments, Pam remarked to Lydia, “I hope our cottage has a water view.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t quite see the water from any of the cottages here, including mine.
The scrub oaks and pitch pines might be sparse and stubby, but there’s just enough of them to block the view.
” Lydia pointed to the ceiling and added, “There’s a peek-a-boo water view from the window in the storage loft.
You’re welcome to go up and take a look, but you’ll have to navigate around the paper goods and cleaning supplies.
It’s easier to walk the short distance through the woods—there’s a panoramic view from the stairs leading down to the beach. ”
Her remarks sufficiently appeased Pam, but Nicole’s eyes lit up at the mention of the loft. “Ooh, I’d love to take a look from upstairs, please, Mrs. Walker,” she politely requested.
“Sure,” agreed Lydia. “Caitlin can take you up there. But you girls be careful, those stairs are steep.”
“Don’t worry. Nicole’s very nimble,” said Pam. “She attends LaRue Performing Arts High School. She’s a dancer—she’s been studying ballet since she was three.”
“But now I’m studying acting ,” her daughter emphatically declared, and it was obvious that her preference was a point of contention between them.
As Nicole followed Caitlin to the loft, Lydia said to Pam, “Here are your keys and your welcome packet. The windmill’s unlocked during the week, and we keep extra paper goods beside the filing cabinet.
Feel free to take what you need. Either my husband or I are always on-site, so if you have questions or need anything else, please let us know.
You can also ask Caitlin if you see her around—she’s happy to help. ”
Pam replied at length, but she must have lowered her voice, because suddenly Caitlin couldn’t distinctly hear what she was saying. Nicole apparently had noticed the drop in her volume, too.
“She’s asking your aunt if you’ll babysit me,” she muttered bitterly, nudging aside a bucket of rags with her toe; she seemed more interested in the floorboards beneath her feet than in the view beyond the window.
“Why does your mom think you need a babysitter?” Caitlin asked since the girl appeared only a year or two younger than she was. “You must be at least fifteen.”
“I’ll be six teen next month and I don’t mean a literal babysitter.
I was being sarcastic,” sneered Nicole. She glided across the floor to the window.
Resting her elbows on the wobbly board along the bottom, she peered into the distance, and slowly batted her thick, curved lashes.
“She doesn’t trust me enough to let me go anywhere or do anything by myself, but she doesn’t want to have to spend time with me, either. It’s a classic parenting dilemma.”
A hurt look came across the girl’s pretty profile, and Caitlin detected a note of vulnerability beneath Nicole’s flippant veneer.
Feeling sorry for her, she said, “I help my aunt and uncle until noon or one o’clock during the week, and for a little longer on Saturdays.
But after that I usually go to the beach or hiking, and sometimes I meet up with my boyfriend and some other kids.
You can come with me any time you want—it’ll be fun. ”
“Oh, goody,” said Nicole in a way that made Caitlin wonder whether she meant it or if she was being sarcastic again. She had a sinking feeling she was going to regret telling Nicole she could join her, but it was too late to take back the invitation now.
Oh well, she might not want to come with me very often anyway, and even if she does, it’ll only be for a couple of weeks , she thought. Besides, I want to help Aunt Lydia and Uncle Albert give the guests the best vacation they can have, and that includes Nicole and her family…
Nearly two weeks later, Caitlin lugged a barrel of broken branches and twigs across the lawn.
A recent tropical storm had fractured one of the windmill’s arms, knocked down a large section of the picket fence near the driveway, and toppled a black locust tree, making a mess of the yard.
Because Albert had been stricken with severe stomach pain, he was too weak to get out of bed, much less to make repairs to the property.
So while Lydia was caring for him and managing the guests’ needs, Caitlin was trying her best to clean up the grounds.
The air was heavy and humid, and she paused to wipe sweat from the back of her neck. At least the electricity is on again and I can take a shower before the beach party tonight…
The thought of seeing her boyfriend put a smile on her dirt-streaked face.
Caitlin had met Donald while she was hiking through the conservation land.
Like her, he was also entering his senior year in high school, and he’d come from Iowa to Dune Island to participate in a summer work-study program for students interested in pursuing higher education in ecology, environmental science, or wildlife management.
Tall and husky, Donald had fine blond hair like corn-silk, and his big blue eyes were magnified by thick-rimmed glasses.
He’d been combing the trail near the marsh for litter and other debris—one of his responsibilities as a student ranger—when Caitlin first crossed paths with him.
She’d excitedly described a turtle she’d seen with beige, brown, and black concentric markings on its shell, and asked if he knew what kind it was.
“It sounds like a diamondback terrapin. It gets its name because of the pattern on its scute,” he confidently answered.
“That kind of turtle only lives in brackish water, and it’s on the ‘threatened’ list in Massachusetts, which means it’s illegal to harass or move them.
I need to make sure that’s what it is so I can tell the sanctuary staff. Where exactly did you see it?”
Caitlin had led him to the shallows near the grass where she’d spotted it swimming.
When they got there, it was gone, but they kept looking for it until another student ranger came to tell Donald that everyone else was waiting in the van to head back to the station.
By that time, he and Caitlin had bonded over their mutual fascination with science and nature.
“Tomorrow I’ll be working at Pilgrim’s Park on the northern end of town.
If you come by, I can show you the turtle nest protection boxes we’ve installed near the marsh there,” he suggested before leaving.
“The boxes are supposed to keep animals like raccoons and foxes and coyotes from digging up the turtles’ eggs and eating them. ”