Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1) Page 5

  “But if Posey—”

  She held up a hand. “I won’t hear of it. You’re spending the day with me.”

  I grinned. “That definitely sounds better than working.”

  I should have realized that spending the day with my grandmother would be a hell of a lot more exhausting than putting in a few hours at the café would have been. Though she wasn’t technically hosting the fish fry this year, she still seemed to think it her duty to oversee nearly every aspect of the preparation, with me by her side. She dragged me up and down the island, to what felt like every store in town, not to mention the harbor to pick up necessities shipped over from the mainland. And everywhere we went, she introduced me to her friends, most of who already seemed to know exactly who I was. It was exhausting, trying to keep track of all the faces and names, and I gave up sometime before lunch.

  Then there was the somewhat humiliating fact that my seventy-five-year-old grandmother was in much better shape than I. She practically trotted her way around the island in spite of the hilly terrain. By the time we finally arrived back at the house, I was looking forward to the fish fry nearly as much as the rest of the town, if only for the chance to stand still for a few minutes.

  Since I’d made Posey promise not to abandon me during any town nonsense, my cousin picked me up for the fish fry promptly at seven.

  “You look beat,” she chirped brightly.

  “Thanks, Pose.”

  She grinned. “Give me a break. Even exhausted, you’re gorgeous.” Her eyes flicked down my figure, and she sighed loudly. “It’s so not fair. You got the waist and the boobs.”

  I snorted, pushing her a little. “I so did not get the boobs.”

  “Bigger boobs than me.”

  I crossed my arms. “Well you got the better ass, so I wouldn’t complain. My ass is flat as a board.”

  “Yeah,” she groaned. “Ass and belly. Big winner here.” She flopped her arms out to her sides. “Face it, Iris. You are the tall, thin, gorgeous cousin, and I’m the round one.”

  “You’re the ridiculous one,” I laughed, slipping my arm through hers as we started off down the street. And she was. My cousin might not have been as tall as I was, but round was certainly not the word I would have used to describe her. She had some curves, but they were the kind other girls envied. Add to that her gorgeous curls, and Posey had absolutely nothing to complain about in the looks department as far as I was concerned. She had also gotten the classic Powell coloring—creamy fair skin, red hair, and blue eyes—of our mothers and most of our cousins. I was the odd one out with my olive skin and dark hair. That had always bugged me when we were younger.

  “We got distracted fulfilling our societal impulse to compare ourselves to unfair female beauty standards,” Posey said. “Why are you so tired? Didn’t you sleep well?”

  I decided not to tell her about the crappy sleep or the dreams—I didn’t really want to explain how David had featured so prominently in them. “Mimi dragged me from one side of the island to the other today.”

  Posey nodded knowingly. “It’s freakish, isn’t it? How much energy she has. Always makes me feel a little bad when I can’t keep up.”

  “Exactly.” I thought back to the myriad of errands we had run in preparation for the night’s activities. “So this is a pretty big deal around here, huh?”

  Posey shot me an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “You came to the island every year until you were sixteen. You honestly don’t know the significance of the fish fry?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here this time of year.”

  She shook her head, the incredulity on her face growing deeper. “Mimi hosts this event every few years,” she said. “I know she’s told you about it before.”

  I looked down at my feet, feeling uncomfortable. It was, of course, entirely possible that Mimi had mentioned it to me at some point without me remembering. I had never been able to make myself care too much about the goings on in town. Not when I lived hundreds of miles away. Not even when I had lived here, if I was honest.

  “Sorry, Posey,” I finally mumbled. “Maybe she did? I just don’t remember.”

  My cousin sighed before shaking her head a little. When she looked back at me, her face was more neutral. Like she was determined to give me the benefit of the doubt, even if she found my disinterest in island affairs rude.

  “The fish fry is the last big town event before the season starts,” she explained. I knew that by “season,” she meant the arrival of the tourists. They would start trickling in over the next few weeks as spring and Memorial Day approached. By the time school got out, the trickle would turn to droves. The ferry schedule would increase from four trips a day to every half hour, bringing day-trippers and vacationers alike. They would come for the charm and the nature and the fudge, filling up the hotels and B&Bs and the restaurants and cafés. The money the islanders took in during the summer months needed to last for most of the year, though the visitors would continue to come in smaller numbers through fall hunting season. Winter months saw some tourism, the hardy types who wanted to ice fish or cross-country ski in the miles of unspoiled forests. But it was summer when the real money was made.

  “So this isn’t a tourist thing?” I asked.

  Posey shook her head. “A few of the summer home owners are here by now—like Mae—but mostly, this is for the year-rounders. One last chance to spend time together before we all get so busy and crowded.”

  Crowded. I shook my head. Even with the arrival of the tourists, the island could only comfortably hold around twenty-thousand people. If that was crowded, I wondered how she would describe the streets of a real city.

  We were nearing Town Square now, and as the scene came into view, I did a double take. There really did seem to be a lot of people here. Like, pretty much everyone who lived on the island full time. Tables surrounded the center of the square, each filled with a different item of food or drink. A bonfire was burning in the middle, people milling around, drinks in hand, laughing and talking. Someone had set up speakers and soft bluegrass music filled the air. Strings of lanterns stretched from lamppost to lamppost, adding to the cheery glow of the fire. It looked…well, it looked really nice, actually.

  “Wow,” I murmured, causing Posey to turn to me with a grin.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, eyes darting around the space. I didn’t remember anything like this when I lived here. But then again, I didn’t get out too much back then.

  Posey slipped her arm through mine. “Come on. Cora Hanson has mulled wine over there. It’s pretty fantastic. Let’s go get some.”

  Apparently, Posey wasn’t the only one excited about Cora’s mulled wine. By the time we reached the table, the line had stretched down to the edge of the square. “Do you mind waiting?” she asked. “It’s worth it, promise.”

  As my attention had just been captured by Jerry walking his new chicken around in what appeared to be a flannel-lined picnic basket, I figured alcohol was going to be a necessity to get through the evening. “I’m fine waiting.”

  Posey barely seemed to hear me. She was standing up on her tiptoes, looking around the square.

  “Paul?” I asked, and she blushed a little, slumping down. “That obvious?”

  “It’s cute,” I told her. “If a little nauseating.”

  “Hey!” But she was laughing. “I never thought I would be one of those so-cute-we’re-gross couples.”

  “You’re definitely more cute than gross.” I scrunched up my face. “Then again, I haven’t seen the two of you since New Year’s. Maybe you’ve gone up a few notches on the gross factor.”

  “It does seem to increase the closer we get to setting a date.”

  I straightened up, trying to gain a few inches of height, and looked at her with my best impression of our grandmother’s imperious stare. “Are you saying you might set a date in the near future? Before I’
m cold in my grave?”

  Posey snorted, pushing me. “That is scary. You sound just like her.”

  We were both giggling when the woman in front of us turned around. She was tall, blonde, and built like one of those beach volleyball champions, and one look at her face had my laughter dying pretty quickly. Margo Carr. Damn it.

  “Posey Conley, what’s this about setting a date? I was beginning to think you were making up the entire engagement story.” Her eyes flicked over to mine, widening a bit. “Iris Holder? Is that you?”

  It was all I could do not to groan aloud. A quick glance at my cousin’s face told me that the feeling was mutual. Which didn’t surprise me at all. Margo Carr’s bitchiness was of the caliber that challenged even Posey’s see-the-good-in-everyone attitude.

  “Hello, Margo,” I said, figuring I may as well be polite. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “It’s shocking to see you,” she said, eyes flicking from my shoes—a more sensible wedge heel tonight—to the top of my head. “I figured you wouldn’t be gracing us with your presence again.”

  “I’ve come to visit with family for a while.” It was much more difficult than I would have thought to talk with my teeth clenched.

  “Well,” she said, her eyes doing that flick to my shoes again. “Isn’t that a nice surprise.”

  It couldn’t have been more obvious that she considered it far from nice. Margo had hated me from the first moment I stepped foot inside the Island School. Posey insisted that it was jealousy—Margo hated that I had lived in a big city while she had been stuck here her whole life. I wasn’t sure about that. After all, she hadn’t left when she turned eighteen.

  “We’re very happy to have her,” Posey said, taking a minuscule step closer to me.

  Margo’s eyebrows lifted, disbelief clear on her face. “I’m sure you are.”

  “So, Margo,” I said, raising my chin slightly. I had spent months being afraid of this girl, but there was no way I was going to let her make me feel like shit now. I wasn’t that person anymore. “What have you been up to since high school?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m the manager at the Blossom Inn,” she said, every word laced with defensiveness.

  “How nice for you.” I was careful to use the exact same inflection that she had on the word nice. Her eyes flashed.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It’s wonderful to have roots somewhere, don’t you think? Oh.” She stopped, her expression all faux-embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Iris. I forgot about your family troubles.”

  Okay, now I wanted to slap her. It was her favorite method of torture back in school. Some little slip about my parents’ divorce, or about the fact that I wasn’t from the island like the rest of our classmates, and then the pretend apology.

  “My family is doing quite well, thanks.”

  She took a deep breath, clearly readying to throw another jab my way, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a woman I had never seen before. “Margo,” she said, leaning in and kissing her cheek before turning to us. “And Posey! How are you?” The unknown woman turned her attention to me before either could respond. “And you must be Iris Holder.”

  Like I had done with Mae the day before, I struggled to remember if I had met this person before. I would guess that she was a few years older than us, though with skin that perfect, it was hard to tell. Unlike many of the islanders I’d met so far, her jeans and sweater could accurately be described as trendy, and her medium-length blonde hair was highlighted and cut in a style I was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten at Curlicues, the island salon. Really pretty, I thought to myself. But definitely not familiar.

  “Uh…” I looked to Posey, unsure of how to respond, but the woman continued, reaching for my hands. “I’ve heard so much about you from your cousin and your grandmother. I do hope you’ll make it to our Libbies meeting on Wednesday.”

  I had no idea what this woman was talking about, but I hardly cared when Margo responded with a roll of her eyes. “Sorry, ladies. I’m going to need something stronger than mulled wine in me if I’m going to try to listen to Libbies talk. Posey, Libby, nice to see you.” Her eyes scanned my face quickly, clearly not pleased with what she saw. “Iris. Welcome back. I hope you enjoy your visit.” With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away across the grassy lawn.

  The stranger turned back to me, rolling her eyes. “That woman. I swear. She’s more sour than the limoncello Cora is serving at the pub.” She squeezed my hands before releasing them. “So. How was your trip up?”

  I gaped at her before glancing back to Posey. I was glad this lady had saved us from Margo, but I had no idea who in the hell she was, or how I was supposed to respond.

  “Iris,” Posey said, clearly trying not to laugh. I wondered how bewildered my expression must be. “This is my friend, Olivia Johnson.”

  “Libby to my friends,” she said, reaching out again and shaking my hand. “Which you officially are. Friends of Posey’s are friends of mine.”

  Still feeling more than a little overwhelmed by this complete stranger’s overt display of affection, I nodded. “Nice to meet you, Libby.”

  We had finally reached the front of the line and got our cups of mulled wine—which meant another greeting from a stranger, Cora this time, who also somehow seemed to know all about me. When we had our cups and were walking away, Libby bumped my shoulder with hers. “This is probably so weird for you, isn’t it? Coming into a small town where all these strangers think they know you.”

  She was smiling, her face sympathetic, though her eyes were dancing in amusement, and I decided that I liked this woman, slightly overwhelming as she was. “It is weird,” I confessed. “I don’t remember it being like this when I used to visit.”

  “Everyone knew who you were back then, too,” Posey argued. “You just didn’t notice because you were too busy playing with your cousins and having fun.” She shook her head. “Now you don’t remember what fun is and you’re way too busy worrying about work and—”

  “Hey!” I cried. “I have fun!”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Since you got here?”

  “I’ve been here for twenty-four hours, Pose.”

  She waved her hands dismissively. “I can squeeze tons of fun into twenty-four hours.”

  I gestured around the fish fry with a deadpan look. “Oh, yes. Look at how much fun.”

  Libby was laughing at us. “It probably all seems terribly country-bumpkin to you, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” I said immediately, feeling bad. It was one thing to tease my cousin, but I barely knew Libby, and she was more than likely infected with the same disease as everyone else on the island—the strange belief that it was the greatest place on earth and everyone should love it like they did.

  “It’s okay,” she told me. “It can be a little much sometimes. But it really is a nice place to live. I hope you enjoy your time here.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I lied.

  “Which brings me back to Libbies,” she said, face brightening. I felt mine scrunch up in confusion. It brought her back to herself?

  “Oh, not me Libby,” she said quickly, waving her plastic cup of wine. “The Libbies. Our club.”

  “Club?”

  She turned to Posey, aghast. “You didn’t tell her about the Libbies?”

  Posey looked amused. “I was trying to ease her into island life,” she explained.

  Libby grabbed my hand. “Iris, you have to come. We have such a good time.”

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, duh. Sorry, I get ahead of myself. The Libbies is a group of women who meet every other week at my shop—”

  “Which is also called Libby’s,” Posey interjected helpfully.

  “Also called Libby’s,” Libby agreed.

  “What kind of shop is it?”

  “Oh, a little of everything. I sell some pottery and jewelry and books and little knick-knacks. Souvenirs. Pretty much whatever I like. And there’s the tasting ro
om, of course.”

  “Tasting room?”

  “Wine. Lots and lots of wine. From the best wineries on the Leelanau Peninsula.”

  “And fudge, too,” Posey added. “Can’t forget the fudge.”

  So this woman ran a pottery and jewelry studio slash knick-knack shop slash wine-tasting room that also served fudge. Makes a ton of sense, I thought wryly.

  “And what do you do at these meetings?” I asked.

  “Well, we started as a book club—”

  “Which is where the name came from,” Posey interrupted. “Lilac Bay Book Broads.”

  “Yup, we were the L.B.B.B.,” Libby said. “But then we realized we were spending a lot more time drinking than talking about books, so we added Booze—the Lilac Bay Book and Booze Broads. L.B.B.B.B. And then Sadie Taylor, she owns the bakery, decided we should add baking to the mix, like recipe swaps and tutorials and stuff like that—”

  “So that was another B in the name, with the baking—”

  “And that was just way too many Bs.”

  “So we just started calling ourselves the Libbies—”

  “Since we were at my store and all. And the letters all fit.”

  “And it just kind of stuck.”

  I stared between the two of them. They were smiling like all of this made perfect sense. “So you get together at the shop and you bake things.”

  “And drink booze,” Posey added.

  Libby nodded. “And sometimes talk about books.”

  “But mostly drink booze.”

  They were looking at me expectantly and I had no idea how to respond. I supposed that when your options were as limited as they were on the island, you found your fun where you could get it. Even if that fun sounded, frankly, insane. “That, uh, seems really great.”

  “It is!” Posey exclaimed happily.

  “We meet every other Wednesday at seven. This Wednesday is a Libbies night, and you absolutely have to come.”

  It was pretty obvious from their expressions that nothing I could say was going to be an acceptable excuse. “Sure,” I said. “I think I can make room in my busy schedule.”