Chapter Eighteen
Good morning, Wayward Harbor! You’ll notice extra donation jars at many of our local businesses for the foreseeable future.
Dolly’s fine! But there was a close call earlier this week when a very kind tourist tried to “rescue” her.
Luckily, as those of us who’ve taken a turn transporting Dolly to the vet have learned, Dolly isn’t a fan of car rides and was fairly vicious in rejecting the attempted adoption.
We’re raising money to make cute, funny signs for the windows in town and for lodging establishments introducing our Dolly and asking visitors not to rescue her.
First comment: An attempted adoption? More like a cat burgling!
Next twenty-two comments: *groan*
Twenty-fourth comment: Meow, meow, everybody. Don’t get your whiskers in a bunch!
—Wayward Harbor Online Community Group
On Monday morning, Lucy went into town with a plan to buy small bins for repacking her belongings.
It would all be going back into her car, and then she’d be in Sydney’s guest room temporarily.
Her wardrobe needs in Maine had been simple, but she’d want easy access to all of her belongings in Florida, so reorganizing everything was on her to-do list.
But somehow she ended up at the Scuttlebutt instead.
Business had definitely picked up for Willow over the summer—which was why Lucy was parked two blocks away—but she was able to grab an empty table.
It was the smallest one, with only two chairs, and didn’t have a window view so it was the seating of last resort for visitors.
It was nearly twenty minutes before a lull allowed Willow to sit down with her, and Lucy knew she might get two minutes or she might get an hour, so she started with the important stuff.
“Nick scored a sunrise reservation for Cadillac Mountain,” she said. “For tomorrow.”
“That explains the decaf,” Willow said. “It confused me, but I heard that woman complaining about the raisins in her oatmeal raisin cookie and couldn’t think straight. You have to leave really early for that.”
“I have to get up at two in the morning, apparently.”
“Oh, that’s fun.”
“Yeah. I’m going to stay at Nick’s tonight so it’s easier. We won’t disturb Gran, plus I can sleep the extra ten or fifteen minutes I’ll save by not having to drive over.”
“I really can’t figure out what you and Nick are,” Willow said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re obviously friends. And you did live together.”
Lucy laughed. “We didn’t live together live together. Not like that. We both needed to stay at Gran’s, and it happened to be at the same time.”
“Okay, sure. But the way you look at him and talk about him.” She shrugged. “I feel like there’s more, and yet, nobody’s ever talked about seeing you two touch or hold hands or anything. It’s hard to explain. Like a vibe, I guess.”
Lucy took a sip of her drink, trying to buy herself some time to think. It didn’t help, so she took another.
“I guess it wouldn’t make sense for you to get together, anyway,” Willow continued.
“I can’t really see him moving to Miami, and long-distance relationships are hard.
Plus, usually the long-distance thing has an end date—like there’s a plan to live in the same place eventually. You’re actually moving to Miami.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so excited for you. I mean, Miami. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who’s lived there.”
“I’ll text you and Taylor photos all the time.” She checked the time on her phone. “I should go. I promised Gran I’d pick up a few things at the market, and then I need to pack some warm clothes for tomorrow.”
“I hope it’s a clear morning. I’ve always wanted to go up there, but I never have.”
“I’ll let you know if it’s worth getting up in the middle of the night for.”
Willow laughed. “If you go up when the days are shorter, you don’t have to get up so early. But then, it’s really cold.”
“No, thanks.” After swiping her card in the machine, Lucy gave Willow a quick hug. “I won’t see you tomorrow, but I’ll let you know how it goes.”
She got waylaid by Dolly on her way to the market and lost some time to petting the cat. She didn’t sit on the sidewalk this time, though, because Nick had things he needed to do this morning and she didn’t want him interrupted by somebody worried about her again.
Then, just as she was getting out of her car at home, her phone chimed. The high of thinking it might be Nick to the low of seeing Iris’s name was quite a swing, but she leaned her hip against her front fender and read the text message.
Are you over your tantrum yet?
She deleted the message and went into her contacts. She blocked Iris Macauley without batting an eye, and then went into the house.
“I found you something today,” Gran told her as soon as she walked through the door.
“Hi,” she said as she toed off her shoes. “Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I guess that depends on how you feel about wearing somebody else’s wool underwear.”
Lucy froze in the act of setting her tote bag and the two bags from the market on the kitchen table. “I can honestly say I’ve never given that a lot of thought. Whose underwear are they? And have they been washed? Why did you find me used underwear and why are they wool? I have so many questions.”
Helen’s laughter filled the cottage. “Fair enough. They’re not underwear in the way you’re thinking. They’re long underwear, but a fine wool so you won’t get too hot, but you’ll be nice and toasty, even if you get wet.”
“Oh. Like a base layer for skiing.”
“Exactly. I didn’t know you skied!”
“I don’t. I just watch a lot of television, but I guess I missed the shows with the wool underwear.” Lucy stopped, frowning. “You mean like those things they wore in the old Westerns, with the flap on the butt?”
“No, although they do make those. Here, just look at them.”
Lucy caught the bundle of clothes her grandmother tossed to her and was pleasantly surprised to find a separate top and bottom—not a flap on the butt—made of a fine, smooth wool. They were black and wouldn’t add any bulk under her clothes.
“These could probably pass for leggings and a long-sleeved shirt if I put a cardigan or tunic over them,” she said.
“Maybe where you come from, you could,” Gran agreed.
“But around here, people would know you’re running around in your wool underwear.
To answer your question, they’re mine, but I rarely wear them because they’re too long for me and bunch up and I found a shorter pair from a different company.
And yes, they’ve been washed. They’re yours if you want them. ”
“Thank you, Gran. I probably won’t have a lot of use for them in Miami, but I’ll be grateful for them tomorrow morning, for sure.”
“You can leave them in the dresser drawer in there with some dryer sheets to keep them fresh. You’ll have them when you come visit because Miami’s definitely not going to help you acclimate to coastal Maine.”
“Thanks, Gran.”
“Did you get those bins you were after?”
“No, I didn’t,” Lucy confessed as a guilty flush spread over her cheeks, as if Gran cared if she bought the bins or not. “I visited Willow instead.”
“I get so much joy from you two girls finding each other again. You drank a lot of coffee while you were there, did you?”
“Decaf only,” she said. “And I walked from the Scuttlebutt to the market and back, hoping to tire myself out.”
“Good thinking. I’ll put those groceries away while you start getting your stuff together. And mine won’t fit you, so you make sure you ask Nick to borrow a good pair of his wool socks. Nothing ruins a day faster than cold feet. He works outside, so he’ll have some good ones.”
“I won’t forget, though knowing Nick, he’ll probably have a pair set out for me before I even get there.”
“That’s the truth. He’s such a good man, that one.”
Lucy glanced at her grandmother to see if she might be hinting around at something, but Gran had her back to her, putting the butter in the fridge.
Rather than responding to that, Lucy grabbed her tote bag and went into her room.
Gran had already helped her pick out the clothes that would be comfortable, but also warm.
They included a thick sweater with a hood, and then a windbreaker Gran had picked up for her in a thrift shop in South Carolina.
She packed it all into a bag, along with the wool underwear.
Then she debated on what she should bring to sleep in.
They’d never really nailed down where she would be sleeping. She might end up on his couch, and he lived with two of his brothers, so she threw a pair of leggings and a long T-shirt into the bag.
She’d bring them, and then just secretly hope she ended up not needing them.
* * *
“It’s good to see you, Nick.”
“You, too, Coach.”
And it was. Nick missed hanging out with the man who’d coached and mentored him from a kid with nothing going on to a guy accepted to a D1 school on scholarship.
It was a big thing for a football coach in a small regional high school to have one of his guys go all the way, and Nick had been on his way.
Coach McCabe had cried the day Nick told him he was dropping out and coming home to Wayward Harbor.
“I reach out to you every year about this time,” Coach said, leaning back in his creaky chair. “What brought you in this time?”
“I feel like I’m in a good place.”
“You know I’ll be glad to have you. Hell, don’t tell Andy, but I wish my assistant coach spot was open.”
Nick laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t make that kind of commitment.
I have a lot on my plate, and even though I want to make time for something that makes me happy, I want to do something nonessential.
I’m happy to help out and coach and mentor wherever I’m needed, but I don’t want anybody in a position to be let down if I drop the ball. ”
“I understand,” Coach said. “You’ve got a lot to teach those boys, and I’ll be grateful for whatever time you can give us.”
“I’m the grateful one, Coach.”