Page 12 of The Charmed Friends of Trove Isle
Liz pressed the lid on the to-go cup and then slid his coffee across the counter. “Here you go. No charge. Just keep on protecting the citizens of Trove Isle.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“My treat.”
“Thanks.” His dark brows lowered and formed two lines between his brown eyes. “I was worried about you after the run-in with Melody yesterday. You sure you were okay?”
Liz met his gaze. She always had this feeling that he could see right through her. “Yeah. I mean, it was a shock to see Melody, of course, but I’m glad she came back. I just wish she would have gotten here before Jo . . .” Liz trailed off.
Matt frowned. “Jo’s illness was quick. Melody might not have even gotten the word.”
“No, I don’t think she did.” Liz shook her head. “Anyway, back to your original question. Yes, I’m fine.”
“Well, I was talking about the accident. You were pale and I was halfway tempted to follow you back to your house and check on you again.” He held up his hands. “But you said you were okay, and I didn’t want to be one of those guys.”
Liz tilted her head to one side, watching him. “One of which guys?” she asked, feeling the corner of her mouth turn up.
“You know. The ones who women get irritated with just for being alive.”
Liz laughed, a bigger, harder laugh.
Matt smiled as he watched her. Then he reached for his drink and brought it to his lips. “Your coffee is just as good as your mom’s. I’m glad you’re okay. And that Melody made her way back to Trove Isle for a visit. Thanks again for the coffee, Liz.” Turning, he headed toward the door.
She watched him go, her chest light and airy. There was nothing like a good laugh. Or a run-in with a handsome man who engaged her in flirty banter. Her cell phone pinged from below the counter. Lowering her gaze, she picked it up and groaned at the text from her sister, the light and airy feeling dissipating immediately.
Rose: I’m sick. I need your permission to check out of school.
Sick? Rose had looked fine last night when she’d come in from the mall. “Fine” meaning she had a tight scowl and went straight to the guest bedroom.
Liz tapped her fingers along the screen.
Liz: I’ll call the school nurse and see what she thinks.
If Rose was throwing up or had a fever, then she could go home. If not, she needed to stay and learn. That’s what Liz’s parents would do if they were here. Right?
A quick reply pinged from Liz’s iPhone.
Rose: Don’t bother. You are the worst.
* * *
It was a quarter after six when Liz finally left the bakery that evening. Rose was supposed to help after school, but unsurprisingly, she was a no-show. Liz was getting used to Rose’s flakiness when it came to helping out at their mom’s business. Were all sixteen-year-olds this way? Liz didn’t remember shirking her duties at the bakery back then when it’d just been a part-time gig to fund going out with her friends.
Liz flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED and stepped onto the sidewalk of Seagull Street. Her arms were tired from reaching inside the glass case and the oven. Her legs were tired from standing and walking to and from the kitchen. Even her face was tired from the constant smile she offered customers. Even so, she couldn’t wait to take a few pictures while there was still a little bit of daylight left.
Looping her camera around her neck, she headed over to the community bike rack. After unlocking her vintage Schwinn from the metal bars, she swung her leg over the crossbar, straddling it while she shifted back and forth to gain her balance. As she did, she appreciated the cool salty air on her bare arms. It was the peak of spring. The surrounding trees and flowers were blooming with bright purples and deep pinks. Crimson reds and flashy oranges.
Liz pushed her right foot forward on the pedal and the bike propelled forward as she navigated to the far edge of the street, moving with traffic. She never felt scared on her bike, even with cars whizzing by. The fear came from being inside one of those cars, specifically behind the steering wheel.
She pedaled faster, racing against the slow-setting sun. The evening’s destination was the town fountain. She could get there, spend fifteen or twenty minutes taking pictures, and then head home to upload them to her computer while eating a microwave dinner. That was the plan at least.
As she rode, she waved at several familiar faces that she passed. There was no time to stop and chat. And even if there had been, she was all talked out. That was the hazard of working a full day at one of the town’s favorite hangouts.
Up ahead, Liz spotted the fountain and her heart lifted. She was eager to feel the familiar click of the camera’s shutter button beneath her index finger. Once she reached the fountain, she got off her bike and walked it to a safe spot. She used her foot to push the kickstand into place. Then she excitedly turned to look around her. She’d photographed the spray from the fountain a dozen times already. The cement wall that encircled the fountain too. She’d also snapped photographs of the flowers and the trees. And the memorial plaque on the nearby bench in Alyssa’s honor.
The plaque had been paid for by Liz’s family. Melody’s father had shut himself off after the accident and Melody had left town. Bri’s parents were never too involved in her life to begin with. They never had been from the moment Bri arrived in Trove Isle during third grade. It was Liz’s parents who carted Bri off to afterschool activities. Bri had become an honorary member of the Dawson family. Even though Bri’s real family was physically available and usually on a couch in their living room when Bri arrived home. Even when Bri had been injured after the accident and had gotten addicted to alcohol and prescription pain medication, her family had seemed unconcerned as her life had spiraled downward for years. It was Liz’s family who’d staged interventions. Who’d offered to pay for rehab and even sent her once.
Bri’s grandmother was the only one who supported Bri. She took care of Bri’s daughter Ally, sharing custody with Ally’s father in California. Liz’s family went to visit Bri, month by month, year by year, for four years now. It went to prove that blood didn’t make a family. You got to choose who you were loyal to. Who your family was. And in Melody’s case, she’d chosen who it wasn’t anymore.
