Chapter 19
Jeanie
“The most profound wisdom can sometimes be found in a simple doodle.”
—Eloisa Hobby
Humbled by Luna and Paul’s forgiveness, Jeanie spent the morning at the quilting shop, had lunch with Sharon Rooney, and then the two of them hit the beach as Jeanie waited for her daughter to return from her hike.
She let Artie go exploring the island with Orion after Dot promised to watch over them. Luna hadn’t left any instructions to the contrary, and Artie was almost sixteen. She deserved some autonomy and Hobby Island was safe.
Jeanie lay on a beach towel beneath a rainbow-colored umbrella, listening to the rhythmic roll of the ocean as Sharon chilled out on a towel next to her. Jeanie hadn’t spoken privately to Luna since their confrontation in the chapel. Being unable to communicate by cell phone was giving them some much needed distance from each other and time to think.
In her head, Jeanie circled the salient points that Luna had brought up yesterday.
One, she was codependent. She and Jack had both been addicts. He’d been hopelessly entangled with alcohol, but she’d been just as hooked on their relationship. Her romantic addiction had left her vulnerable to Rex Rhinehart’s sweetheart scam.
Two, her addiction to her late husband had led her to betray both Luna and Paul. Her actions were just as harmful as Jack’s. She was not virtuous because she sacrificed everything for him. In fact, her actions were worse because she made a calculated decision to manipulate Paul and deceive Luna to keep Jack out of prison.
Three, only she, Jeanie, could break the chains of her addiction. She must learn to be okay on her own. She had to stop depending on others to give her an identity.
But how?
This way of seeing herself was hard to accept. She had latched onto Jack when they were in middle school. He became emotional support for a girl with a controlling mother who couldn’t love her and a checked-out father who wouldn’t protect her.
Had she failed to protect Luna in the same way?
Reality was a sledgehammer bashing away at her. Yes, she let her daughter down in the most fundamental manner and in her selfish addiction, she used Paul for her benefit.
Jeanie had loved intensely and without limits, giving herself away completely to Jack, reserving little emotional energy for her child. Deep down, she suspected all along she was telling herself a fantasy about love, but she had lived happily in her denial, making excuses for Jack, so she never had to deal with her cognitive dissonance.
Or so she thought.
Her cheeks burned, and it wasn’t from the sun. The temperature was mild, and she wore sunglasses and sunscreen on top of being under the umbrella.
No, it was hot shame that lay beside her on the beach.
She had to snap out of this dark mood. The quilt she and Luna made together should be filled with joy and wonder. It should encapsulate the magic of Hobby Island. That was where salvation lay—in the optimistic and uplifting power of creativity.
Jeanie’s instinct was to draw into herself, slump her shoulders, hide her face, and make herself small to avoid attention. When she was growing up, attention equaled abuse. She passed these self-effacing behaviors down to Luna, but her daughter was stronger. Luna had a stubborn streak, an I-don’t-ever-quit-no-matter-how-bad-things-get mentality that Jeanie both lacked and envied.
The big question?
How would she fix her own self-esteem? Keeping their house out of foreclosure was a big step in the right direction, but to do that, she and Luna needed to design the most fantastic quilt this island had ever seen.
“Did you enter the quilting contest last year?” Jeanie asked Sharon.
“Uh-huh.” Her voice came out slow and sunbaked lazy.
“Did you win?”
“I did actually.”
“Really?” Jeanie turned on her side and looked over at Sharon, who had her straw sun hat resting over her face.
“Just the category contest, not the grand prize.”
“But still, that’s impressive. Do you have any clue what the judges are looking for? I mean, besides what’s in the contest rules?”
Sharon swept her hat off and rolled over to face Jeanie. “Jeanie, can I be frank with you?”
“Yes, please do.”
Sharon took a moment before saying anything. “This habit of yours, constantly trying to please others, to adjust yourself to their expectations . . .”
That was odd. Sharon barely knew her. How did she know Jeanie’s habit of people-pleasing? “Yes?”
“Have you ever considered that it might actually be a form of manipulation?”
Jeanie sat up, taken aback. “Manipulation? Wh-what do you mean? I’m just trying to make everyone happy and avoid conflict.”
Sharon sat up too, facing Jeanie. “I know your intentions are good but think about it. When you’re constantly altering who you are, you’re essentially trying to control how others perceive you. It’s not really about them. It’s about your fear—fear of rejection, fear of not being enough, fear of being unloved.”
Unloved.
That was it. The knife through her heart. Sharon’s words cut deep.
Jeanie’s expression softened as she absorbed the blow from a woman she was starting to like. “I . . . I never thought about it like that. I thought I was being selfless, but . . .”
“It’s a common misunderstanding,” Sharon said. “You want to be liked, to be accepted. That’s natural. But in doing so, you’re not allowing people to know the real you and that can lead to relationships and situations based on a version of yourself that isn’t authentic, and you end up with people you shouldn’t be with.”
Like Rex Rhinehart.
Although she’d never been with Rex. It had all been limerence on her part and deception on his.
Was she really so transparent that a virtual stranger could peg her so accurately?
Jeanie lay back down, her eyes tracing the clouds drifting across the sky. “So, by trying to be what everyone else wants, I’m actually losing myself?”
“Exactly.” Sharon nodded. “It’s about finding a balance between being considerate and being true to your own values and desires. It’s okay to not always please everyone. It’s okay to be you.”
Never in her life had Jeanie felt it was okay to be herself. To be dead honest, she had no idea who she was beyond a mother and grandmother.
Something else for her to figure out. Wow, but this summer was chock-full of tough life lessons.
“Is that your daughter?” Sharon asked, shading her eyes with her hand.
“Huh?” Jeanie blinked and struggled to sit up again.
Sure enough, Luna stalked along the road above the beach, a determined set to her shoulders as she headed toward Crafters’ Corner.
Jeanie hopped up, waving wildly. “Luna! Hey, hello, wait!”
The wind must have snatched up her voice and tossed it away because Luna kept walking without ever glancing over at the beach.
Jeanie pulled on her cover-up, stuck her feet in her Birkenstocks, and took off after her only child. “Luna!”
At last, Luna turned, saw her, and paused.
“What’s up?” Jeanie asked, chugging up to her, a little breathless from her jog up the beach.
“Have you seen Nanette?” Luna asked, her hair blown every which way, her eyes narrowed, and jaw set.
“Yes, Sharon and I saw Nanette as we were coming down to the beach. She was walking on cloud nine. Said she’d been on a hike to Opportunity Ridge and had a creative breakthrough on her quilt design.”
“Where is she now?” Luna’s tone was brittle and sharp-edged.
“She and Isabelle headed over to the tiki bar to celebrate.”
“Thanks.” Luna started off again.
“Where are you going?”
“To speak to Nanette.”
Jeanie scurried along beside her, the hem of her cover-up swinging against her knees. “What about?”
“She stole my sketchbook.” Luna pumped her arms, picking up her pace.
Jeanie trotted to keep up. “What? Are you sure?”
Luna whipped her head around to glare at Jeanie. “Well, I was giving her the benefit of the doubt that she accidentally grabbed my sketchbook instead of her own since ours were identical, but now that you told me she was bragging about her creative breakthrough, I can only assume it was intentional.”
“Maybe she had a breakthrough on the ridge too?” Jeanie didn’t want to assume the worst, but she felt gut-punched for Luna.
Luna fumbled in her tote bag, still walking, yanked out a sketchbook, and shoved it at her. Jeanie thumbed through it. Each page was empty.
“Oh,” Jeanie said. “Maybe it wasn’t intentional but once she saw your beautiful sketches, she decided to keep them and say they were hers.”
“Whether she intentionally switched our sketchbooks, or it was an accident, she’s still taking ownership for my work.”
“Okay, but give her an out so she can save face.”
Luna glared at her again.
“What? I’m all for second chances.”
“And thirds and fourths . . . and nine-hundred and ninety-ninths. How many chances did you give Dad?”
“I can see you’re upset—”
“You don’t get it, Mom. Those illustrations were the best things I’ve ever drawn, no exaggeration.”
Cringing, Jeanie made a face. “I’m sorry.”
They crested the rise leading to the village. Smoothing a hand over her wind-tousled hair and buttoning her cover-up, Jeanie followed Luna to the tiki bar.
Luna beelined to the table where Isabelle and Nanette sat.
“Good afternoon, ladies!” Jeanie sounded too eager. She could hear it. Chill pill. “How are y’all?”
Luna shot Jeanie another dirty look.
Oops, okay, time to zip her lip.
“Hi!” A genuine smile graced Isabelle’s face.
Isabelle had told the quilting group that she was originally from Argentina, but she’d been in the US since the 1970s and had become a citizen. She spoke flawless English and had the whitest teeth Jeanie had ever seen.
“Nice to see you, Isabelle,” Jeanie said, but her gaze was locked on Luna, who was staring down Nanette like she was a Bond villain.
“Hello.” Nanette’s tone was cool, distant, and she did not meet Luna’s intense glare.
Uh-oh. The hairs on Jeanie’s nape lifted.
Luna stepped closer to Nanette. Jeanie hovered a few feet away.
The sketchbook, which was identical to the one Luna had handed to Jeanie, lay open on the table in front of Nanette.
“You got my sketchbook by mistake.” Luna was standing almost directly over the seated Nanette.
From what Jeanie could see of them, the drawings were amazing, and she could tell from the style they did indeed belong to her daughter. Not that she doubted Luna’s veracity for a second. Her daughter was scrupulously honest.
Nanette folded her hands over the sketchbook and leaned forward like a protective mama lion over her cub, and this time she returned Luna’s hard, piercing stare.
“Nope, this is my sketchbook,” Nanette said.
“It’s not. I can see the pictures I drew right there on that page.” Luna pointed.
“I drew this.” Nanette lifted her chin defiantly. “I don’t know why you’re trying to take credit for my designs. That’s a silly way to cheat.”
In the distance thunder rumbled, the afternoon rainstorm blowing in, and the breeze kicked up, tossing napkins from the outdoor tables and spinning patio umbrellas. Patrons gasped or muttered and hurried to secure their belongings.
“She’s not lying,” Isabelle said. “Nanette brought her sketches to our brainstorming group and gave us a mini workshop on creativity.”
Now wait just a damn minute. Jeanie gritted her teeth.
“After she swapped her sketchbook with mine.” Luna doubled up her fists and, in that moment, she reminded Jeanie so much of Artie.
Isabelle clicked her tongue and looked at Luna as if she was a pathetic loser. A sinking feeling weighted Jeanie’s stomach. Her daughter would not win this. Nanette possessed the sketchbook, and Luna had no proof it was hers.
“Why would I lie?” Luna asked.
“To win the contest. I showed you my drawings on the ridge and you said they were amazing. Now you’re trying to pretend I switched sketchbooks.” Nanette stuck her haughty nose in the air. “You’re just jealous.”
Stunned by the other woman’s audacity, Jeanie staggered back. But Luna stayed rooted in the spot. For a second, she thought Luna might even deck the woman.
Nanette leaned over to Isabelle and in a snotty tone said, “Can you believe her? Trying to claim my work as her own. Pathetic.”
Isabelle shook her head. “This isn’t a good look, Luna.”
“Why don’t you run along and draw your own sketches.” Nanette waggled her fingers. “Cheaters never win.”
“Here,” Luna said. “I’ll prove it.” She snatched a napkin from the holder on their table, pulled out a pencil from her tote, quickly doodled a sunflower, and shoved it toward Nanette. “See. My style.”
Aha! Luna had her now. Jeanie notched up her chin and rubbed her palms together.
“Or . . .” Nanette said. “You just now copied my style.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know what your deal is.” Nanette wasn’t budging in her lie.
Jeanie’s jaw dropped. That brazen hussy! How dare she steal Luna’s sketches and pass them off as her own!
She thought about snatching the book away from Nanette. But no, that would just make things worse. Jeanie swallowed down the outrage bubbling inside her over what this woman was doing to her daughter.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re trying to have a meeting.” Nanette waved them away like a gnat.
Luna stood there a moment, looking uncertain and utterly defeated. Then she shook herself and pulled her spine straight. “Fine, the sketches are yours. I give them to you, freely and without reservation, because my mother and I will still beat the pants off you in the contest.”
Pivoting on her heel, Luna strode off.
Jeanie knew her daughter was on the verge of tears. Injustice smoldered inside her. She stepped up to Nanette. “Karma will bite you in the ass, Nanette, and I hope I’m there to see it happen.”
With that, she turned and went after Luna.