CHAPTER THREE #2
“We’re all gonna make more dough.” I picked up the box with my croissants. I wouldn’t make it across the parking lot to my vehicle before half of it was in my mouth.
Abe and Kari both chuckled.
“Thanks again, Kari. I’ll be in touch later this week with an order so we’re all ready for Memorial Day when we open.”
Kari gave me a friendly wave. “Sounds good.”
I rested my hand affectionately on Abe’s shoulder for a quick second before making my exit from the bakery.
I could hear the cackle of laughter echoing from the patio.
And one laugh was very distinct. Jolene Dandy.
The Island Mouth. She and several other islanders were part of the Sewing Circle.
They met every day, and either sewed, knitted, or crocheted.
They always had a project they were working on, whether it be baby clothes for an upcoming new arrival of a mini-islander, or a quilt for a charity auction.
The women were all lovely and harmless, but Jolene had a way of rubbing people the wrong way with her endless nosiness.
She couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Gossip was her oxygen.
Where I’d parked, under the weeping willow with its fresh green shoots, and next to the old tractor tourists used for a photo op, lent the patio dwellers a perfect view of me.
I tried to hide myself from the Sewing Circle’s sights, but the demanding “Yoo-hoo!” of Jolene’s high-pitched voice made my spine stiffen and a pool of ice fill my belly. “Naomi, dear!”
I finished chewing the bite of croissant and wiped my mouth before spinning around.
Jolene was standing up and waving me over.
With a sigh that crashed all the way to my toes, I entered the patio through the garden gate. The entire gorgeous space was covered in wisteria and the faint burble of a water feature in the corner attempted to make the place calm. It would be—when Jolene left.
“Hello, ladies,” I said, coming up to their table. My eyes settled on Ansel Gregor, their token male member. “And gentleman.”
Ansel, a beefy, thirty-eight-year-old firefighter and sanitation manager, grinned at me as his enormous hands dextrously moved two knitting needles through what looked like half of a sage-green baby beanie. “Hey, Naomi. How’s it going?”
I lifted up my pastry box. “Just came to feed the addiction.”
Jolene sat down, but her coppery-brown eyes narrowed. “You were talking with Kari for a while. What was that about?”
I shrugged. “You got a recording device in the bakery now, Jolene? Or at least a camera?”
Her smirk was cheeky as she picked up her knitting needles and the baby-blue yarn she was making into a blanket.
“Kari and I were just chatting. As people who like each other often do.”
“What was your takeaway from last night’s meeting at the school?” Jolene asked, switching subjects. “I was just telling the ladies that while I think Principal Paul will not be a bad addition to the island, I do wonder if he’s going to be too lax with the children.”
“As opposed to the tyrannical fascist who ran the school before him? I think the children—and the parents—could use an administrator with patience and compassion.”
Jolene’s face turned a little rosy.
“I know Otto’s wife was your friend, but even you have to admit, Jolene, that Otto Pickford was a monster and not fit to run a school—or shape the young minds of tomorrow. And from what Gabrielle’s read—because yeah, she’s done her research too—Lennox Paul is highly qualified for this job.”
“He’s awfully young,” Jolene countered. “There’s something to be said for age and wisdom. Lennox Paul is but a baby himself.”
I huffed an unamused laugh. “He’s not a baby. And I happen to think that with youth comes energy, new ideas, new perspectives and, oftentimes, more patience. Something his predecessor lacked entirely.”
“How old is he?” Alice Figgs asked. Her husband, Palmer, drove the school bus for all the children on the island.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Old enough to have a kid. Old enough to have a master’s degree in special education. Old enough to be the principal—the fresh blood—our little community school has needed for a long time.”
“Do you think his child will be at the school?” Jolene asked. “He didn’t say last night. I’m awfully curious to know their age and gender.”
I lifted one shoulder. “Does it matter?”
Jolene’s cheeks became even ruddier, and she muttered something like, “No, but I’d still like to know.”
I took an ounce of pity on the gossiping goose and sighed. “I’m sure my children—or at least Honor—will come home with lots to say about the new principal and whether or not his kid is at the school.”
“Well, you’ll have to do your due diligence and let the rest of us know,” Jolene said, perking up. “Some of us don’t have school-aged children anymore, so we must learn information in other ways.”
Like wiretapping.
I glanced up into the sky, where the hawk still continued to circle. “I hope you all have a lovely rest of your day. You’ve certainly got the perfect weather for knitting on the patio.”
Ansel’s snort of amusement was subtle and thankfully lost on Jolene, but a few of the other women smirked.
I took my leave of them and finished my croissant by the time I reached my vehicle. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to eat the other two on the drive to the grocery store.
Luckily, my favorite sea salt and caramel crunch chocolate bar from a local Seattle-based chocolatier was back in stock. So I chucked two of the decadent—and expensive—bars into my grocery basket as I reached the checkout.
“Hey, Naomi,” Jordana greeted with a friendly smile as I placed a bar between my groceries and those of the person behind me. “Were your kids as excited today about the new principal as mine were?”
I opened my reusable cloth shopping bag and started bagging my purchases as she rang them in. “They were. Particularly Honor. I think Sam and some of the McEvoy kids were the most excited though.”
Jordana gave a quick frown. “Yeah … Otto let them get so bullied. Poor Sam. How is she doing anyway?”
“She’s doing so much better,” I replied. “Like a new kid. Her daily dose of horse snuggles seems to have been the perfect prescription.”
Of course, Jordana was referring to my cousin Danica’s daughter, Sam, who had been almost the exclusive target of Clyde Whalley’s wrath.
And of course, Clyde’s grandfather was the principal and believed his grandson could do no wrong.
Clyde went so far as to smear dog crap on Sam’s head, pull her chair out from behind her, and put gum in her hair when he sat behind her on the school bus.
The child was a menace. All of this, combined with Sam’s naturally shy and anxious nature caused the poor child to begin self-harming and suffer anxiety attacks.
Luckily, she found refuge and peace among the horses at Tommaso Barone’s animal rescue sanctuary.
That also led to Danica and Tommaso falling in love.
“That’s great.” Jordana rang through the last chocolate bar. “I know she was really struggling for a while there. I’m so happy she’s doing well.”
She gave me my total, and I paid. Then we promised to see each other soon at a yoga class—she was a devout attendee; I went about once or twice a month—and I let her carry on with her day.
It was amazing how quickly the day flew by, and when I finally returned home after running a few more errands, Gabrielle was waiting for me in the tasting room.
“Where the hell did you take off to?” she asked, finishing typing something on her phone before glancing up at me.
“Bakery to talk to Kari, grocery store, apiary, Booch and Bagels for lunch, Leaf of Life for some more of my moisturizer. Before I knew it, it was one o’clock.” I set my grocery bags on the counter of the tasting room. “You hear from Maverick?”
“He’s in the ferry line. They should be home in a couple of hours. Two sailing wait.” She glanced at her watch. “What did Kari Cousins say?”
“She’s all for it.”
“Of course she is. It’s a win-win for everybody.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon going through inventory and selecting wines we thought might pair well with the various confections and pastries from the bakery.
We were in the back room counting flight boards when the delightful chime of the tasting room door opening interrupted our counting.
“Mom?” came the familiar sound of my eleven-year-old son’s voice.
“In here,” I said, leaving Gabrielle to start counting again and heading out to the front.
“Saw the light was on,” my rosy-cheeked lad said, his green eyes bright.
“How was the first day with the new principal?” I asked, coming out from behind the counter and brushing his brown hair with the natural highlights off his forehead. The kid was in desperate need of a haircut, but refused. He said he was growing it out so he could get dreadlocks.
“Principal Ox, you mean?”
“Is that what you guys are calling him?”
He shrugged a pointy shoulder. Any day now, the kid was going to be taller than me. At the moment, we were the same height, but give him a little of that potent summer sunshine and by September, he’d be looking down at his mother and patting me on the head. “That’s what we’re calling him.”
“Okay, well, how was your day with Principal Ox?”
His eyes widened, then he got distracted by the tasting room door opening again when Sam, Honor, and Laurel walked in. “The guy is an amazing Hacky Sack player,” Austin said, turning back to face me. “Like the best I’ve ever seen—besides the guys on YouTube.”
Gabrielle came out from the back room as well. “And what do you ladies think of the principal?”
“Anybody is better than the old one,” Laurel said dryly. “But he seems really nice.”
“He knew my name before I even told him,” Honor said in amazement. “He said I look a lot like my mom and that he met you last night.”
“He said anybody who beats him in a free throw contest gets straight A’s for the rest of the year,” Sam added. “A couple of the guys in the older grades are talking about challenging him.”