Page 13 of The Holiday

Ruby is grateful, but tired. “Sun, you don’t have to do this.”

“Well, I am.” Sunday steps behind her and jokingly starts to push her to the door. “And where are your employees, by the way? Did Vanessa leave the island for the holidays? Or why can’t Tilly come and help you out this evening?”

Ruby is reaching for her purse behind the front counter as Sunday shoves her out. “They’re both coming at five as well. Vanessa’s parents are here for Christmas, and Tilly is just getting over a cold, so I didn’t want to ask them to be here all day doing things I can do myself.”

“Nonsense,” Sunday says as she blocks Ruby from walking back into the shop any further. “Get out of here. Make yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll run the vacuum and handle things till you come back.”

“But Sun, you’ve got your own stuff to do for Christmas, I’m sure?—“

“Get!” Sunday says forcefully, pointing at the shop door.

Ruby chuckles and then surrenders. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back at five.”

Outside, she’s hit with a blast of air so cold that it makes her shiver. It actually does feel like it could snow, and Ruby tucks her hands under her armpits as she makes the short walk down Seadog Lane to where her golf cart is waiting.

Maybe it will snow, she thinks as she drives over the sandy, unpaved road that leads to her house. Maybe it will snow, and maybe Santa will crash land on Shipwreck Key, and maybe Ella was wrong and the only success she’ll see this coming year won’t be just at the bookstore. Maybe she and Dexter will have worked together on a best-selling, Pulitzer Prize-winning, multi-million copy selling biography.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, Ruby thinks.Maybe I just need a teeny, tiny nap…

* * *

John and Cathy Mayhew are polished, charming, and thrilled to meet Ruby. John is a descendant of the Boston Mayhews, owners of a huge plastics company that’s worth billions. Cathy has her hair styled almost exactly like Ruby’s, and she greets all of their cocktail party guests likeshe’sthe First Lady. Ruby does her best to be both chatty and also in the background, as this certainly isn’t her party, but she knows she’s expected to chime in on occasion.

“So what made you decide on Shipwreck Key?” a balding man named Mark asks her as he holds the tail of a shrimp in one hand, keeping it poised over the small plate that the Black Pearl has provided for the hors d’oeuvres. “It’s so quaint.”

Ruby pastes a smile on her face and tries to look engaged. “I just loved the way it felt in my heart,” she says, placing a hand over her chest. “My late husband and I came here for our anniversary one year, and I never forgot it.”

Mark’s eyes light up at the very mention of the president, and Ruby gets the same sinking feeling she always has when it becomes clear that all a person wants is insider info on Jack Hudson’s life.

“And what did President Hudson like about Shipwreck Key?” Mark asks, dropping the shrimp tail onto his plate and picking up a stuffed mushroom cap. “Was he into sailing?”

Ruby has suddenly had her fill of the conversation, but she doesn’t want to be rude. “Actually, Jack didn’t like it here. He thought it was too small and rustic. But he doesn’t have to live here.” She smiles at him winningly. “Oh, excuse me—I think I’m needed at the front desk.”

Ruby gives him the slight dip of her chin that is meant to close the conversation, then steps away and weaves through the gathered partygoers to escape Mark’s questions.

The only parties she’s ever had in the bookstore are her own book club gatherings and a Christmas craft party the year before for the local kids, but this is going fairly well. Ruby looks around at the people gathered in Marooned with a Book, noting that they’re all well-heeled (which tracks, given that they’ve shown up on boats and yachts decked out with Christmas lights and are spending the holidays moored on an island). The men are all in pale pastel sweaters over open-collared bespoke dress shirts, and they have the kind of winter tans that come from endless golf games at Pebble Beach and days spent on the water.

The women, on the other hand, are groomed to within an inch of their lives, but tastefully so. Hair is colored and styled just so (many of them booked appointments that very afternoon at the Bodacious Booty Salon, which Ruby knows from overhearing the scuttlebutt at The Scuttlebutt), and they’re clad in cashmere and diamonds. Cathy Mayhew’s jewelry is sparkling more than the Christmas tree in the corner of the shop.

“This is perfect,” John Mayhew says, approaching Ruby with two glasses of champagne in his hands. He holds one out to her. “We can’t thank you enough for hosting us and our friends, and I have to say, Shipwreck Key is truly paradise. All we need here now is a golf course, and most of us would probably buy property.”

Ruby takes the champagne from him and laughs politely. “A golf course would certainly make it more of a vacation spot, wouldn’t it?” she says.

John looks out the front window, which is collecting bits of frost around its edges. “I’m thinking maybe a spot on the north side of the island. There’s room there for a community of villas, and then if you drive east, there’s that huge open area that would make a nice course…” Ruby nods and takes tiny sips of the champagne as she pretends to listen and agree, but the idea of a golf course and a traveling band of snowbirds invading Shipwreck Key annually doesn’t actually sound that great to her.

“You have some big ideas, Mr. Mayhew!” Ruby says, putting her hand on his forearm in a way that she hopes feels friendly and conciliatory. “But I think you’d be up against some opposition here. Most of the residents are year-round and have been here for decades, and I don’t think many of them are golfers.”

John Mayhew’s booming laugh fills the front of the bookstore. “That’s never stopped anyone from moving into an area and making improvements, has it?”

Ruby looks at his smooth forehead and high cheekbones; he’s clearly had an easy life and is used to his money, or perhaps his family name, paving his path in any situation. “I guess it depends on whether you truly see something as an ‘improvement,’” she says, lifting the corners of her mouth in the approximation of a smile.

At that moment, the front door of the shop opens slightly and Dexter pokes his head in. The sight of him sends a rush of comfort through Ruby.

“Dex,” she says, walking away from John Mayhew without another word. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He steps close to her and glances around like he might be interfering. “Okay if I’m here?”

Ruby puts her free hand against his chest and reaches over to set the champagne glass down on the front counter. “God, yes,” she whispers. “I need backup.” Ruby glances around the room at the mingling guests. “I’m usually so good at this, but for some reason I’m just not locking in here. Everyone is annoying me tonight.” Dexter watches her with concern as she puts the back of her hand to her forehead. Ruby’s cheeks are flushed, and she feels clammy to her own touch. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

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