Page 81 of Summer on Lilac Island

The island looked happily on her work over the high season.

She had accomplished one of the more difficult tasks in her history. Not making Gigi and Eloise fall in love; that part was

easy enough. The real triumph was in bringing them back to each other.

Mackinac was shifting seasons now, losing her touristy performance art. Everything was being stripped back. But the island

wasn’t worried that Gigi and Eloise’s newfound bond would cool without the summer sun. Some things were powerful enough that

they could heat icy streets in a Northern Michigan winter, dissolve the clouds that would shroud the island until springtime.

Mother-daughter love was one of those things.

Mackinac put on a particularly powerful sunset one October night, the skies and lakes painted a vivid vermillion. There was

nothing so special about this night that warranted extra attention. It was the mundanity of it that was so captivating. The

way the locals’ routines were setting the scene for the quiet months ahead.

Gigi and James, astride Noelle and Willow, galloped along the perimeter of the island, talking about Gigi’s mayoral platform, the initiatives she would focus on first should she win.

“The school has agreed to plant an organic garden,” Gigi said.

“We’ll partner with the Pink Pony to create a signature dish with the produce.

It’ll make school less boring for the kids and teach them about sustainability.

Plus, it’ll show islanders that vegetarian food can actually taste good and they don’t have to eat meat eight days a week.

I’ve already talked with the Tongs about it too, and they like it. ”

“My girlfriend continues to amaze me,” James said from atop Willow’s saddle.

“Says the guy who resurrected someone from cardiac arrest today.”

“It was simple CPR. Nothing impressive.”

James’s once-bare office looked homier now. On the wall was a beautiful framed photo of James and his mom. Gigi had surprised

him with it on what would have been his mom’s sixtieth birthday, and they had scattered dandelion seeds in her honor.

Eloise and Alice were doing a crossword at Alice’s kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea. Alice had finally stopped brewing

coffee for David and started boiling tea for herself, though in no way did that mean she had stopped holding him close. Alice

was telling Eloise how she had found two pennies in the garden, that she had taken them as signs from David. “I felt like

it was his blessing,” Alice said. “For pursuing my relationship with Liam.”

Eloise was listening, but her mind kept drifting toward James’s father, Brian, with whom she’d frequently been getting coffees

at the Lucky Bean, just to help him settle into island life, of course. Eloise had also received her second of the monthly

emails from Clyde, in which he told her he was “fedora deep” in his manuscript. He also revealed who the book would be dedicated

to: Bonny Lou. She didn’t know yet how that made her feel. There would be time to sift through things later, decide what to

keep and what to toss, what was gained and what was lost. For now, she was soaking up every minute of the Mackinac autumn

and drinking more salted caramel lattes than she ever had before.

Off the coast, Rebecca and Tom were driving their new minivan up from Traverse City for a weekend of fall festivities. Rebecca

was in her second trimester now. The baby had just started to kick—quite forcefully—which made Rebecca more confident that

everything was coming along all right.

Kaley and Brody, their next-door neighbors, as well as Rebecca’s college friend Maggie and her husband, Mike, were piled in the back of the van. A merging of old friends and new ones.

“I’ve heard all about the ghosts,” Maggie said.

“Bring on the paranormal activity,” Kaley added.

“Just to warn you, Mackinac is a place where the real-life people are more interesting than the phantoms,” Rebecca said.

“Rebecca is writing a book about the island,” Tom said proudly.

“My whole family is writing it together,” Rebecca clarified. “All the women, at least. A couple of friends too.”

Inside their bedroom with the newly fixed blinds fully drawn, Deirdre and Fred were cuddled up close, drafting a letter to

Deirdre’s daughter. After much searching, they had located her contact information. Deirdre couldn’t believe it. There was

no such thing as false hope; Fred had been right about that. And no matter how it went, she and Fred were in this together.

She pulled him under the sheets with her. It was amazing how much more energy she had for romance now that the secret wasn’t

clogging so much space in her heart.

The Main Street shops were closed for the night but not yet the season. Street sweepers cleared out trash and horse muck,

brooms swooshing. Seasonal workers, the stragglers who were procrastinating their inevitable return to the real world, gathered

around a beach bonfire, taking bets on whether Gigi Jenkins was more likely to become president of the United States or the

star of a reality TV show. “Probably both,” they agreed, noting how it wouldn’t be the first time in American history. They’d

all gotten her autograph, determined their fortune would come from reselling it one day.

The Pink Pony no longer had a wait for tables, but a lively crowd persisted—locals who were again venturing downtown now that it wasn’t corked with tourists.

Trina Tong stepped outside to answer a call from Lillian.

They talked mostly of the restaurant and Lillian’s new job at an environmental law firm that helped protect the Great Lakes.

“I’m making enough money to support you and Dad,” she told Trina.

“I can pay off the mortgage; you can retire.” Trina was touched by the offer but rebuffed it immediately.

“I like to work,” Trina told her daughter.

“It’s who I am.” Lillian knew better than to bring it up again.

Camille Welsh was relaxing in the outdoor jacuzzi of the Pink Pony, sipping a Mackinac mule as she hosted one of her hot tub

town halls. Her legs were sore from the hundred-mile bicycle charity ride she’d recently completed. The plan had been for

her to give her donations to an animal shelter on the island, but she had found a loophole to divert the funds to her mayoral

campaign instead. She needed it, given how Georgiana was surging with that darned social media. China was probably capturing

the data and spying on the island this very moment. Still, Camille was counting on the loyalty of the old-timers to get her

reelected. After all, change was still a four-letter word on Mackinac.

The Grand Hotel sat on its perch, already missing the summer crowds, particularly the boisterous author who at this moment

was sitting up in the middle of the Scottish night, penning the first draft of the story that would feature Mackinac as its

main character. It was fortunate that the breakup had not thwarted Clyde’s plans. On the contrary, he seemed more inspired

than ever to showcase the island, or so were the reports from the ghosts, who had intel from their Scottish counterparts.

The ghosts on the Mackinac side also relayed that Clyde’s book would not be the only book published about their dear island.

There were reports that another book was being drafted. It was hard to trace down the author, as the pen seemed to switch

hands quite often, but the ghosts were on the case.

The governor’s mansion stood empty at the brink of the shore, with a “Georgiana Jenkins for Mayor” sign in the perfectly manicured yard.

Before flying out for the summer, the governor had come down from her perch on the top of the cliff and attended one of Gigi’s rallies, even posing for a selfie that nearly broke the internet.

Rumor had it that the prior governor’s son, Alexander Vanderhosen III (yes, to this day he insisted that the roman numerals be used in every article about him), had donated to Gigi’s campaign.

Maybe because he believed in her candidacy, maybe because he wanted to dissuade her from going public with her side of the story.

Gus Jenkins was not on the island, but his presence lingered like a low-hanging fog that never quite burned off. He would

be back for Election Day to cast his vote for Gigi (he was still registered to vote locally). Eloise had told Gus she’d be

glad to have him join them for dinner but that he’d have to find another place to stay. He’d faltered at that, only letting

it drop when he saw Eloise wasn’t going to change her mind.

More permanent in his departure was Officer Ronny, who was headed for his next rotation in the Upper Peninsula and taking

very little with him except a stack of phone numbers. The most frequent prayer heard inside the Little Stone Church these

days was that Ronny wouldn’t be staffed on the island ever again. Never had the congregation been so united on an issue.

Kitty and Paula were on the north side of the island, squeezed onto the same electric scooter, out for a joy ride.

“Georgiana’s got my vote if she makes these legal!” Kitty hooted as she drove.

Paula held on tightly. “Who needs them to be legal? It’ll just clog up the roads. I like keeping it underground.”

“Good point,” Kitty said, and they disappeared into the night.

A certain Liam Townsend could be found bent over his underwear drawer, pulling out a ring box he had kept hidden there for so long.

He had first bought it at age seventeen for his high school sweetheart, before she’d left him for that smooth-talking David, who’d swooped in from downstate.

The diamond might need a bit of a polish, but it was still in good shape.

Liam had known quality even back then. His joints weren’t fit for kneeling, but he’d find the right way to ask.

Hide it in a pickleball, maybe, or inside a roll of pennies.

Alice loved pennies; frugality was one of her qualities that might drive him crazy if they spent every day together. He’d like the chance to find out.

Earlier in the day, Lillian updated Gigi on recent life events. She told Gigi how she was heading to a Chicago recording studio

after a rewarding day at work. Lillian was working on her debut single, an indie pop ballad about the latest woman she’d accidentally

fallen in love with: herself. It was called “For Lillian.” “I’m not sure if that makes me egotistical or emotionally healthy,”

Lillian said. “Probably both,” Gigi said, and they shared a giggle.

Noelle, Willow, and the other horses in the Grand Hotel stable were munching on hay bales, tails swatting the last of the

fleas that hadn’t yet been zapped by the frosts. There was a heightened buzz in the barn, the animals sensing that they’d

soon be moving downstate for the off-season. They would miss it here. Nowhere else were they the stars of the show, doted

on day and night, never competing with cars or trucks for attention like they had to at their winter residences.

Mackinac released a long breath. The waves lapped and the trees shook, dropping leaves as mementos of the past season. The

island could rest now. Her work was done. For now, at least. There was always next year. She never stopped with her machinations,

never ceased with her scheming.

That, after all, was the magic of Mackinac Island.