Page 28 of The Edge of Summer
“Love you, too.”
Maybe if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get roped into so much shit. Caring about people is exhausting. Even more so when you can’t turn that part of yourself off. But I suppose I couldn’t do the job I do if I didn’t give a shit at least a little.
When I hang up the phone, Jodi is patiently waiting.
“Apparently I’m needed at the art gallery,” I say as I stand.
She salutes. “Good luck. We’ll hold down the fort.”
Kip Island Fine Arts and Photography has been run by Carole for as long as I can remember. My mom and Carole have been friends since they were kids, so I’ve known the woman all my life. Every town has a resident busybody, and Carole is ours. She makes it a point to know everything being done on the island and if she thinks there’s a better way to do it, she isn’t shy about letting you know. That said, you won’t find a kinder woman on Kip Island. Scatterbrain and all.
When I pull up to the curb outside the gallery, Carole is standing out on the sidewalk. She looks, as she always does, like she walked straight out of the seventies. Today she is sporting her signature bell-bottom jeans, a yellow flowy top, and Birkenstocks. Her greying hair is held back with a psychedelic-patterned headband.
“Luke,” she says with a smile. “Thank you for coming!”
She holds her arms open for a hug and I fold into them. It’s a little awkward, given how short she is in comparison. As we embrace, her familiar floral perfume invades my nose.
“Nice to see you, Carole.”
She eventually releases me and then nods toward the gallery. “Alright, let’s go find those donations.”
She leads me inside, and I stand patiently as she looks for the box of donations. When she said she had tofindthem, she meant it. I glance at the clock, noting each minute that passes. I know everyone at the station will be fine without me, and I know that if they get called out, I’ll be notified. Still, that doesn’t stop the anxious energy from flowing through my veins.
“Aha! Got ‘em.”
Carole produces the box with a flourish. Itake them and tuck them under my arm, more than ready to get out of here. “Thank you, Carole. The department really appreciates this.” Then I take a step back, prepared to make a run for it.
“Hold on,” she says. “This would be a perfect opportunity for a picture!”
I stop in my tracks. “A picture? For what?”
“For the Facebook!”
She hustles around the front counter again and grabs her phone from underneath. It’s an iPhone, cracked and a few generations behind. She then excitedly bounds toward me as she fiddles with the device. I stand awkwardly, wishing I was anywhere but here.
Just as I’ve convinced myself to grin and bear it, the bell above the door jingles and Carole lowers her phone. Her smile stretches as she spots the newcomer. “Delilah! What a wonderful surprise!”
Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.
I whip around and sure enough, the one woman I was hoping to avoid is standing just inside the entrance. Her sister is with her, their hands intertwined.
The braid in her hair from this morning is gone, replaced with what I have come to know as her signature ponytail. Her sleep shorts have been replaced with denim and the t-shirt she now wears clings to her torso, hiding the tattoo on her shoulder but accentuating her chest.
“Hi, Carole.” Delilah’s eyes sweep over us. “I take it this is a bad time?”
Yes.
“Oh, nonsense.” Carole waves off her worry. “Look around. Make yourselfat home.”
When Delilah and Sophia start perusing the displays, Carole turns back to me. I brace for the picture, but she starts fiddling with her phone again, holding up a finger in the universalone minutesignal. As I wait, I can feel Delilah’s eyes on me, curious.
“Luke,” Carole says, drawing my attention sharply to her. “You look a little tense, hun. Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I grumble.
She raises her phone for the third time. “Alrighty, here we go!”
I wait, but nothing seems to be happening. “Carole? I’ve gotta get back to?—”
