Page 17 of Summer on Lilac Island

“There she is!” Deirdre ambushed Gigi after Sunday service.

The Union Congregational Church, known locally as the Little Stone Church, was a Mackinac landmark. A Gothic-style building

with a bell-tower steeple and stained glass windows, it was tucked behind the west crook of Main Street, halfway up the hill.

“We knew you’d come back eventually,” Deirdre added.

Gigi, who quit church cold turkey the moment she moved off the island, was disappointed in herself for allowing Eloise to

drag her along today. But it had been too early in the morning to formulate a cogent argument, and this summer would be about

picking her battles. Wasting her bargaining chips to get out of church the first weekend didn’t seem wise. Though she was

starting to reconsider as the euchre ladies—Deirdre, Kitty, and Paula—descended upon her with perfume-poisoned hugs during

the coffee-and-donut hour on the church’s grassy lawn.

“Only a matter of time,” Kitty agreed, stacked bracelets clanking as she clapped her hands. Her fingers were elongated by

fake nails—talons, really. A couple of them seemed to have fallen off, likely due to their excessive weight.

“Our Mackinac charm wins over even the hardest hearts.” Paula reminded Gigi of a vintage teacup, in shape and ambience. Having

lost her husband to cancer, she now lived with Kitty, who had never married, in an old Victorian by Mission Point.

“I’m not back,” Gigi said. “It’s just temporary, for the summer.”

Deirdre clucked. “That’s what Dr. Kentwood says too, but all signs point to him staying longer.”

As if rehearsing choreography for a talent show routine, the ladies turned in unison to stare at James. He was speaking with

Lillian. She was even glossier than Gigi remembered. Silky black hair draped down her back, long past the length where Gigi’s

hair frayed into split ends. Hourglass curves gave shape to a salmon-colored sheath dress, toned calves accentuated by nude

stilettos.

“Lillian walking on grass in those shoes is more impressive than Jesus walking on water,” Kitty marveled.

“Kitty,” Deirdre scolded as Eloise and Paula stifled their laughter.

Even with the heels, Lillian was quite a bit shorter than James. Gigi was a gawky giant by comparison. They were sipping from

cardboard coffee cups, likely bonding over their shared interest in running marathons and avoiding sugar. The scene inspired

Gigi to take an extra-greedy bite of her glazed donut, not that anyone would appreciate the symbolism.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Paula said, patting Gigi’s shoulder. “You’ll find someone soon.” The other ladies joined in. It didn’t

seem as if Gigi’s story of turning the doctor down had gained much traction.

“Thank you so much.” Gigi pasted on a saccharine smile. “But I’m not looking.”

“That’s when it always happens,” Kitty gushed. Paula quickly agreed.

“All right, girls, let’s not scare her away from joining us for euchre,” Deirdre said. “Though I do have a favor to ask...”

She batted her lashes, clumped with too much mascara. “As you know, the Lilac Festival is coming up.”

The Lilac Festival and the Fudge Festival were Mackinac Island’s two staples, bookends to the heart and heat of summer.

“Every year it seems it’s up to me to pull the whole event together,” Deirdre complained, though it was obviously a source of great pride.

“We’re short on participants for the cornhole tournament.

Everyone’s defecting for pickleball.” She huffed, making it clear just what she thought of the pickleballers and their tactless thwacking.

“Georgiana will be happy to play cornhole,” Eloise volunteered. “I’ll be busy running the lilac resin jewelry workshop. Perhaps

you can ask Clyde to be your partner,” she said to Gigi.

The comment made Kitty bounce on her orthopedically friendly, ocularly gruesome sandals. “So you and Mr. MacDougal are...,”

she prompted Eloise.

“Acquainted as friends. Nothing more and nothing less.” The composure in Eloise’s voice was offset by the flush of her cheeks.

Since having the “just friends” conversation with Clyde last night, Eloise had been talking nonstop with Gigi about how she’d done the right

thing, which was how Gigi knew she was wondering if she’d done the wrong thing.

“Well, who knows how it might evolve,” Paula noted.

“I didn’t see him at church today,” Deirdre said critically.

Gigi’s skin itched. Being on church grounds triggered flashbacks to being the island’s black sheep. Singing in the church

choir while hungover, parishioners gossiping about Gigi as they sang hymns of unconditional love.

“I’m not feeling great,” Gigi told the ladies. “Think I’d better head out.”

“It’s the fudgies’ fault,” Deirdre said. “All those germs they bring over on the ferry. The clinic has been packed, though

everyone’s requesting Dr. Kentwood. I fear it’s hurting Fred’s confidence.”

“In that case, you might switch away from Dr. Kentwood yourself,” Kitty said. “How many appointments did you have with him

this week?”

“That wouldn’t do anything,” Deirdre snapped. “Fred would think I was pitying him. It’s emasculating.”

Gigi tried to catch James’s eye on her way out, but he was too absorbed by Lillian to notice.

It was less like being rejected and more like being invisible.

But wasn’t that what she’d wanted from this summer?

To blend in, lie low, and then beeline out of here again.

Was it just her incessant need to cause a scene that made her want James to notice her?

Or was there something more troubling to it?

A few raindrops landed on her face, despite a mostly clear sky. Gigi felt it was Mackinac Island herself taunting Gigi, laying

down the law about who held the power this summer.

Stop it, she told the island. I’ve had enough of you.

More raindrops spritzed her, though the sun continued to shine brightly.

***

Before circling back to Thistle Dew after church, Gigi called her sister.

Rebecca picked up on the second ring. “Mom friend-zoned Clyde,” Gigi told her.

Rebecca groaned. “Why is she sabotaging this? I’ve already finished Clyde’s first book. It’s unconventional but very well

written, with a strong moral compass.”

The image of Rebecca poring over a stack of his novels produced a squirt of sadness. “I told you not to get your hopes up.”

“Too late,” Rebecca said. “I’m the optimist so you don’t have to be. Is Dad visiting this summer? Is that why Mom is being

weird?”

“How would I know?”

“You talk with him more than I do.”

“Not much more,” Gigi said. It was pathetic parenting, cruel even, how he reached out to Gigi more than Rebecca. But Gigi

was glad for it. She wanted to be his favorite. “He’s still in South America, last I heard.” He texted her some photos a few

weeks ago—mountains, motorcycles, a low-res campsite selfie. Gigi had messaged back asking if he was coming to Mackinac this

summer and which dates. He hadn’t replied yet.

“I swear, if he waltzes back in again...,” Rebecca said.

Gigi didn’t want to admit that she was hoping for a visit from him. She hadn’t seen him in a couple years now, not since he dropped into LA for a weekend during a trip down the coast. “I’m not trying to talk about Mom and Dad,” she said. “I’m trying to talk about me.”

Rebecca was quiet as if Gigi had pinched her, leaving nail marks like she used to during their childhood fights. “What about

you?”

“This whole thing is a failed experiment,” Gigi said, walking toward Main Street. “Coming back for the summer.”

Returning was supposed to give her some time to rest and recharge, but she was exhausted by the small-town happenings and

how everyone was in each other’s business.

Instead of being recentered and full of clarity, she felt more astray than ever. And instead of enjoying the rush of exploring

new places, she felt suffocated drifting through old ones. Stuck here, stunted by her past life.

“It’s only been a week,” Rebecca said. “You’re readjusting.”

“I don’t want to readjust,” Gigi said. “That’s my point. My LA roommates won’t take me back. They filled my room two days

before I even left, very kind of them. But I could find another apartment or move somewhere new. Get a job waiting tables.

Lots of places are hiring; it wouldn’t be hard.”

“You hate waiting tables,” Rebecca said.

“I hate all work,” Gigi said. “Except bossing people around. But I can’t be a boss until I’m a good employee, and I can’t

be a good employee until I’m a boss. It’s a vicious cycle, completely rigged.”

“Now you understand why I married Tom,” Rebecca said. “I never have to work again. Just kidding,” she added quickly, though

Gigi wasn’t sure she was. Rebecca had always been attracted to security, and Tom certainly brought that with his money.

Gigi wasn’t sure how to feel about her sister suddenly being upper middle class, but she was grateful at least that Rebecca and Tom had been generous with her so far.

They’d chipped in far more this year than Gus had when Gigi had asked him for help.

Gigi had not approached Eloise. Eloise would have said no, and Gigi’s pride wouldn’t have allowed the ask in the first place.

It was a promise she’d made herself at eighteen: Never again be dependent on her mother.

Yet another reason why living with her this summer felt like such a blow.

“We have the spare room for you whenever you want it,” Rebecca went on. “I got that fancy organic soap for the bathroom. The

lemongrass one you like.”

It was Gigi’s favorite and very expensive. She wanted to say thank you but the words were far away, tucked up on a top shelf.

“Traverse City wouldn’t be any better,” Gigi said. “It’s still the insufferable tedium of Midwestern life.”

“It was just an offer.”

Gigi strode down the middle of Main Street, forcing buggy drivers and cyclists to move for her. She passed Ryba’s and Murdick’s,

two of the fudge shop staples, and carried on toward May’s, the most liberal with free samples. She hardly noticed the manure