Page 5

EMERY

She’d only doubted her decision to pack up her Honda Accord and drive nine hundred miles south to the north Florida coast a few times. Maybe a thousand times. But she kept her foot on the gas anyway.

The Quinn family had given her a lovely send-off, inviting her friends and former colleagues from the Free Voice . Lou caught her before the end of the night to give her a boost of confidence.

“I’m proud of you, Emery Quinn.”

“You think I can do it, Lou?”

“Would I have recommended you to Elliot if I didn’t think you could? The Free Voice only survived those final years because of you.”

“That’s because I knew you were right there if I needed you.”

He gave her a soft chuck on the chin. “I’m still here if you need me. But you won’t. You’ll do a good job there, and in a couple of years, you’ll write your ticket to any major metropolitan paper.”

“Thank you.” Was that her goal? To land at a major metropolitan paper? She’d not thought about much beyond this next year. Mom’s death taught her how uncertain life could be.

Dad and Joanna gave her a piggy bank of cash. Ava gave Emery her choice of possible pinks for the bridesmaids’ gowns—all of them in the bubble gum, Pepto-Bismol family. When Emery picked the brightest and loudest pink, Ava caved.

“It was a joke. I hate every last one of them.”

Elianna gifted her a used coffee machine from the café, still in good working order, and a large canister of freshly ground coffee beans. “I’ll send more when you run out.”

Blakely wrapped up a framed picture of the four of them from last Christmas. It was a rare shot, and it was almost as if Blakely was reminding Emery you’re one of us .

She packed two suitcases, a box of books, and her laptop. The next morning, she headed out at five a.m. with a baggie of cinnamon scones from the café and cooler of snacks and water.

She spent the night in Nashville with a friend and, by midafternoon the next day, drove down Highway 98 into the East End of Sea Blue Beach.

Emery rolled down the windows so the cool, dewy January air filled the car.

Filled her. When her tires burped over the worn brick of Sea Blue Way, it was as if she’d driven back in time to her last innocent summer.

Eager to see the town, she drove past her turn on Avenue C toward the Sands Motor Motel. Was it like she remembered? How much of the East End had changed?

The Blue Plate Diner looked busy, as usual. The bakery, Sweet Conversations, had a crowd at the counter, and several young people exited the coffee shop, One More Cup.

The iconic skating rink, the Starlight, remained a beacon on the north shore. The sight of it made Emery feel welcomed. In her mind, it was like a pushpin in the sand, holding the east and west ends of town together.

The food trucks still lined the Beachwalk, with its Victorian lamps and row of wrought-iron benches.

The Midnight Theater advertised a film from last year.

And the old shopping center with the Starlight Museum, a yarn shop, and a small art gallery had a couple of storefronts available for rent.

Circling the roundabout, Emery headed back east and toward the Gazette office and the Sands Motor Motel.

The parking lot of Tony’s Pizza was active, and Biggs Grocery Store had shoppers coming and going. Alderman’s Pharmacy still advertised the “best soda fountain in town,” but the place looked dark and abandoned. What was going on there?

At the stop sign, Emery looked left up a slight hill toward Rachel Kirby Lane and the Gazette . Elliot was driving down from Atlanta to meet with her later today.

Circling around, she made her way back to Avenue C and the motor motel. Parking in the sand-and-shell lot, she saw the old courtyard and seven cottages for the first time in sixteen years.

The cottages sat under overhanging roofs to shade from the sun and protect from the rain.

The stucco exterior was painted the same seashell pink with coral trim.

Several Adirondacks circled the stone fire pit.

Grass sprouted between the edges of the stone pavers, and an American flag still waved over Cottage 1.

A string of white lights swung from cottage to cottage, and the old grill Dad always fired up sat nestled between Cottage 3 and 4.

The owner, Delilah, waited for her by Cottage 7.

“Shew,” Emery whispered. “Here we go.”

“Welcome back.” Delilah handed her the key to Cottage 7, then held Emery’s shoulders for a good once-over. “You grew up mighty fine. I knew you would.”

“I’m not sure how I feel being back here.” Emery unlocked the door, then peered inside without moving. “Dad thought I’d be happier in an apartment or house, but . . .”

“This place has memories of your mother.” Delilah wrapped her arm around Emery as if she’d done so a hundred times. “I’m sorry I’ve not kept in touch.”

“It’s fine, Delilah. It wasn’t expected.” Emery stepped over the threshold with her suitcases and set her laptop on the round dinette table. “You knew, didn’t you?” She turned to Delilah. “About the cancer?”

“I did, yes. She told me shortly after we met that summer.” In her mid-to-late eighties, Delilah was tall and slender, refined-looking with wisdom lines on her otherwise smooth skin. She was also somewhat of an urban legend.

What happened to Delilah Mead?

She’d been a music sensation in the late sixties and early seventies as part of the dynamic folk duo Samson Delilah. Until she walked away and never looked back.

“You can stay as long as you want. I’m still in Cottage 1. My door is always open for you.”

“Thank you, Delilah. I mean it.”

“I’ll let you get settled. When you have time, let me know how it feels to be back.”

So far, sentimental and melancholy. She almost expected to see Mom on the settee under the southern jalousie window, reading a book, then falling asleep, waking up when Emery bounded in for dinner.

“How was your day , my sun-tanned girl?”

If only Emery had known then what she knew now, from the get-go. She’d have spent more time with Mom.

But she’d spent sixteen years making peace with the past. This moment was like being able to reach back and touch buried feelings and images, maybe solve the mystery of why she felt she’d left something behind.

Emery also half expected to see Dad standing at the stove, making pancakes or marinating steaks for the grill, oldies playing on the radio.

“How’re you doing , sweetie?”

It was hard to reckon this place as one of the happiest yet saddest of her life. On the drive down, she decided to focus on the present. On the job she’d been hired to do.

In the meantime, Cottage 7 had not changed much. The hard pine floors still creaked and needed a good buffing. The walls remained a white shiplap, though freshly painted, and a narrow, golden beadboard covered the ceiling. An old, wood-burning fireplace sat dark and quiet in the corner.

In the kitchen, a seventies-style scalloped edge trimmed the white kitchen cabinets, but Delilah had updated the appliances. The furniture was the same—eclectic 1950s estate sale—with a few new pieces added. The room still smelled of sea spray and coconut suntan oil.

Dragging her things down the short hall, Emery settled into the bedroom where she’d stayed that summer. The one with the beach-facing window. The one Caleb Ransom knocked on late at night.

They’d lost touch once Emery returned to Cleveland and Mom went on hospice. She wondered what he was doing these days. Were his parents still around? His sister? Probably not.

In the closet, Delilah stacked plenty of clean towels and sheets, and a plethora of hangers. After unpacking, Emery was inspecting the kitchen for groceries and supplies when Dad called.

“You’re there?”

“I’m here. And not much has changed. Delilah doesn’t seem to have aged.”

“Tell her hi for me.”

“The place is still quaint and cozy, like walking into a 1950s movie, only with Wi-fi.”

He was silent for a moment. “Are you all right being there?

I worry about you.”

“I know, and I love you for it. You and Mom did a great job raising me, if I say so myself. I thought a lot about it on the way down, about what you said on New Year’s Eve, and I feel like there is something for me here. Something I’d forgotten. Maybe even need.”

“Then I know you’ll find it.” There was affection in his tone. “Is the weather beautiful?”

“Fifty-five degrees and stunning. But I won’t go on about it.” She smiled at Dad’s laugh. “The East End looks run-down. I kind of feel sorry for it.”

“Well, Miss Editor-in-Chief, write about it.”

“If there’s a story, I will. But I want to tread lightly at first. Get a feel for things.”

They talked for a few more minutes, then said their good-byes. Emery made a shopping run and set up her kitchen and bathroom. Then she walked the beach, trying to remember it was January, not June.

A little before five, she borrowed one of the Sands’ guest bikes and started up Avenue C to meet Elliot. She could get used to living in a town where she rode a bike or walked to work.

With each pedal, Emery felt a little more confident in her decision. She didn’t know what the future held, but for now, this place under a southern winter sun would do.

Taking the long way to Rachel Kirby Lane, she headed up Sea Blue Way, passing Alderman’s Pharmacy. Curious about the dark windows, she hit the brakes and parked the bike.

Under the broken awnings, she peeked in the windows.

The place was abandoned, with stools overturned on the floor and on the counter.

The mirror behind the lunch counter was shattered, and the dark wood floors appeared water damaged.

Sixteen years ago, if she remembered, the place didn’t function as a pharmacy, but where everyone stopped in for lunch or a root beer float. Or so it seemed.

She reached for the door latch, stepping back when it gave way.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

She made a slow turn, inspecting the dust and dings of the historic building. This room had to be well over a hundred and twenty years old. The fountain’s scarred and chipped dark wood countertop looked like a dying piece of history.

“There’s a story here,” she said. Not just Alderman’s but Sea Blue Beach. She sensed it.

A thump from the back startled her. “Hello?”

She peeked through the dim light to see a man rushing in, dropping a leather case on the far end of the counter. He seemed self-assured, dressed like a man who lived and worked in a beach town—jeans with a light blue button-down and brown suede shoes.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, pulling out a laptop. “My sister showed up and—” He shot her a fixed smile before looking down again. “You don’t want to hear about her.”

“Déjà vu,” she whispered, recognizing him instantly. First with her heart, then with her eyes. Caleb Ransom.

His lean teen frame had filled out with a man’s muscles, and the sun streaks were gone from his dark hair, but there was still a spark in his blue eyes.

“Give me a second ...” He set his laptop in the middle of the counter and turned the screen toward her.

“Here’s Alderman’s original drawing.” He clicked to another image.

“This is a rendering of what we can do with the refurbish. I also ran some numbers, keeping in mind you want to maintain all of this historical detail.” He stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Caleb Ransom. Nice to meet you, Jenny.” He paused, then backed up. “You’re not Jenny Finch.”

“No, but I can be if you want.”

Caleb laughed and pressed his fist to his lips. He walked toward the back of the room, then faced her, arms akimbo. “You’re ... I can’t believe ... What?” He pointed to her, then ran his hand through his hair, laughed again, and finally said, “Emery Quinn. The Emery Quinn.”

“Live and in person, every night at seven. Tips appreciated.” She joined his laugh. “So the Caleb Ransom. I thought you’d fly far away from Sea Blue Beach.”

“I recently flew back.” He remained on the far side of the pharmacy. “Emery Quinn. I’m-I’m ... stunned.”

“Thank you. I always thought I had a certain shock quality about me.”

Another laugh, which felt deep and bassy in her chest, and Caleb moved closer, a bit of wonder in his gaze. “Still beautiful,” he said. “But maybe you’re married or engaged, and I shouldn’t say such things.”

“I’m not married or engaged. So please feel free to call me beautiful any time.” She was flirting. Emery Quinn never flirted. “I’m the new editor-in-chief of the Gazette .”

“What? Really? I think half the town is expecting the Gazette to push up daisies.”

“Push up daisies? Hopefully not on my watch.”

“Emery Quinn. In Sea Blue Beach.” Suddenly he scooped her up and whirled her around.

Caught off-guard, she clung to his shoulders, inhaling the fragrance of body wash and fabric softener. When he set her down, she stumbled a little and fell against his chest, her cheek landing in a familiar place.

“Sorry. Dizzy.” She jolted back to gather her bearings. “So, um, why are you back in town, and who is this Jenny person?”

“I came back six months ago. Mom had surgery for thyroid can—” He stopped with a motion to the pharmacy walls. “This place, can you believe it? The old girl needs some love. I’m meeting the owner, Jenny, to go over renovation plans for this place. I’m an architect.”

“It’s okay to say cancer , Caleb. It doesn’t upset me. Though I’m sorry to hear that about your mom. How is she?”

“Good. In remission.”

“Good for her. Really. And you’re an architect. Not surprised. As I recall, you preferred things in structured and neat lines.”

“And you, a writer, our new Gazette editor. I’m surprised you came back to Sea Blue Beach.”

“That makes two of us.” She made a funny face, and he smiled. “But here I am.” She started for the front door. “In fact, I’m late to meet Elliot Kirby. Hey, it was good to see you.”

“Same here. Where are you staying? I’d love to—”

“Caleb, finally. Excellent. Did you get my text saying I was going across the street for a coffee?” A curvy woman with dark bouffant hair and a two-thousand-dollar Hermès Birkin bag swinging from her elbow charged into the pharmacy.

She was serious and commanding, focused on Caleb, completely ignoring Emery. “Let’s see what you got.”

The brightness he exuded two minutes ago faded as he began dealing with this force of nature named Jenny.

Emery escaped outside and picking up the bike, she walked to the corner before glancing back at the old pharmacy.

So ... she and Caleb Ransom were both in Sea Blue Beach. She’d not seen or talked to him in sixteen years, yet it felt as if she’d just talked to him yesterday.