Page 5 of Beauty and the Beach

I called the bank first, but they said they’d need to do an investigation. Then I called Beau Palmer over at the police station, but he said there’s not a lot they can do at this point. So here I am, scrimping and scrounging and lying to my grandmother.

I square my shouldersand take another deep breath, reminding myselfthat I’m just trying to preserve Nana’s health and peace of mind. Then I force myself to think about something else—anything else, as long as I’m not dwelling on my newly broke status. The summer weather, the adoption fair I’m currently helping set up in the town square, my job at the salon—I’d even be happy to think about Phoenix right now, that dead-fish-vandalizing bane of my existence whose voice I keep hearing in my head, telling me to put my savings in a designated savings account instead of just keeping it all in checking.

I hate when he’s right. He gets this smug look on his face, like he loves nothing more than proving me wrong, the corners of his lips curling up?—

And on second thought, maybe I’d better not think about him either. I’ll only end up feeling irritated and annoyed.

So I’m grateful when Jane Hayes appears in front of me, popping into my field of vision from out of nowhere. Maybe some of her lightheartedness will rub off on me, and I’ll be able to get my mind onto happier things.

“Hi,” she says, smiling cheerfully. She’s dressed similar to me in denim cutoffs and a t-shirt, and her brown hair is pulled back into a cute ponytail. “How’s it going?” She casts a quick glance at me and then at the table I’m supposed to be setting up. “Anything else you need over here?”

I look down at my table too. “I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m really just going to be keeping the till and handing out pamphlets.”

Jane nods, her ponytail swaying slightly. “It’s nice of you to help,” she says. “Patrice seemed worried they wouldn’t have enough staff when she came to talk to me about the permit.”

“Well, I’ll be here until noon,” I say. “Staring at all the cute animals from afar.”

“But you’re allergic, right?” Jane says. I’m not even surprised she knows this, though I don’t remember telling her; Jane knows everything about everybody.

“I am,” I say. “To dogs. But I’ll stay over here.” I smile at her. “Hey, how was your date the other night?”

Jane grimaces but doesn’t answer, and I laugh.

“That expression doesn’t look too promising.”

“I know,” she says with a sigh. “We’ll see.” Then she tucks one hand into her pocket. “Well, I’ve got to head out. Have fun here!”

“I will,” I tell her. “See you later!”

She hurries off, waving over her shoulder again with one last smile, and I turn back to my table. I pull the rest of thebrochures and pamphlets out of the paper bag Patrice gave me—fliers from local businesses, mostly, that we’re promoting as thanks for the donations they made to this event—and arrange them neatly around the cash register. Then I plop myself down in the metal folding chair behind me.

I will be glued to this spot for the next three hours, and when the adoption fair is over, I will have fifty more dollars in my bank account. It’s not a ton, but it’s better than nothing. It’s nice of Patrice to pay me at all; realistically, if she’d asked me to help for free, I would have been tempted. Pets are family, after all, and my family is what makes my life worth living, even if sometimes I have to lie to them about things I’ve been buying in the middle of the night. I already lost my brother, and the grief that followed tore my family apart; without my little sister and Nana, I’d be lost.

A sudden, painful twinge in my knee pulls me out of my thoughts; I grimace, rubbing it. I try to massage around the knee cap, but the bruising from the other night makes this difficult, and I’m just about to stand and hunt down some ibuprofen when I hear the sound of a throat clearing above me.

I don’t even have to look—I know who it is. He’s blocking the sun, but a hot wave of irritation settles over my skin anyway. I don’t attempt a neutral expression; I let my dislike show clearly and blatantly when I finally give him my attention, turning to see what he wants.

And sure enough, looming right over my chair is my least favorite person on this entire island. He’s got on his usual custom-fitted suit, briefcase in hand, and he’s staring at me with a mixture of irritation and exasperation.

“What are you doing here?” I say, blinking up at him.

“I could ask you the same question,” Phoenix says. Hecasts a glance around the square, the breeze playing in his classic businessman-styled hair. “Is this the adoption fair?”

“Maybe,” I say. “But the farmer’s market is setting up too.” I point at the stalls and carts on the other side of the square, their owners arranging things neatly. Dill O’Donnell and his wife Mildred seem to be arguing over where their watermelons should go, and Mildred’s already got her table of homemade jewelry out.

“You’re here for the adoption fair,” Phoenix says in a flat voice, pointing at the sign on my table that saysSunset Harbor Animal Haven.“You cry at adoption videos on YouTube, Amsterdam.”

“So?” I say, willing myself not to be embarrassed and ignoring the nickname.

“And you’re allergic to dogs.”

“That’s why I’m all the way over here,” I say slowly, gesturing to my table, “and the dogs are all the way over there.” I point to the dog enclosures—which, yes, I specifically set myself up far away from.

But he exhales and rubs his temples. “And here I thought your decision-making skills couldn’t be any worse. Come on.” He leans down and wraps firm fingers around my wrist, tugging me to my feet. “We’re leaving.”

He’s like this; he thinks he can barge in and tell me how to live my life, like I haven’t been doing just fine for the last twenty-seven years. He says it’s because he made a promise to my older brother before he died, but I know the truth: he just really loves making people miserable, and he especially loves makingmemiserable.

I yank my arm out of his grasp and sit resolutely back in my metal folding chair. “No,” I say, and I look directly at him so I can enjoy that expression he makes when he’s trying not to get annoyed. It’s a little crease in his forehead, one thatpushes his black brows to shadow his eyes like storm clouds.

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