Page 67 of A Novel Summer
She smiled. She couldn’t believe it. But also, it made perfect sense: Hunter was Ezra’s mystery woman. “Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
“There was nothing to mention until now. So, we were talking and he had the crazy-slash-genius idea that I should become an agent.”
“Okay, give me a minute here.” She was still processing the fact that Hunter and Ezra had somehow been together and she’d had no idea. “Wait, so how often do you see him?”
Hunter shook her head. “I’m not seeing him. It was a onetime thing and now we’re friends. The point is, he gave me the idea to look for an agency position. I’d be able to cast a wider net for a new job. What do you think?”
Shelby considered it. Hunter could make a good agent. She was an astute reader, a fast reader, a decisive reader. She knew the market, she had contacts, and she had three years’ editorial experience. She was a workaholic—always had been. She had strong opinions and would be a fierce advocate for any project she believed in.
Her phone rang. It was Colleen.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” Shelby said. “I’ve been trying to reach Colleen all day.” She picked up the call and heard sobs on the other end. Of course. The loss of the store was devastating.
“Hi, Colleen. I’m so sorry. I know it’s a loss. I feel terrible—”
“It’s not the store,” Colleen said. At least, that was what Shelby thought she said. And then, the barely intelligible words “Boston” and “risk.”
Heart racing, she snapped at Hunter to get her attention and put the call on speaker.
“Colleen, slow down. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Shelby said. Hunter took the phone from her.
“Is Doug there? Put him on.”
Shelby jumped up. “Let’s just go.” She took her phone back and told Colleen, “We’ll be right over.”
Carmen sat in the back office of Lombardo’s in stunned silence for a good five minutes after Justin left. She then walked upstairs to the kitchen, shrugging off the sous chef’s questions about their parmesan vendor. There was only one member of the staff she wanted to see and that was her daughter.
She’d done the right thing talking to Shelby that day in the bookshop. If it weren’t for Shelby telling them the truth, how much longer would they have been in the dark about Mia’s problem? She just wished Shelby had come to her directlywith the information so she could have given her an enormous hug. She was sure Justin hadn’t expressed enough gratitude.
Mia couldn’t read.
Carmen wasn’t just upset about the news itself. She was upset because she felt responsible: she too had struggled with reading. She’d been a terrible student. Maybe it was why she was so impressed with Shelby’s work—her strength was Carmen’s greatest weakness. And maybe, just maybe, it was also why she hadn’t wanted to admit all along that Mia had a persistent reading problem: because it was her fault.
The dining room was packed. Mia circled one of the smaller stations near the front windows, delivering a salad course. Carmen waved, but she pretended not to see her. She walked closer so Mia couldn’t ignore her.
“I need to talk to you for a minute,” Carmen said.
“I have the big section,” she said. “One is a six-top. And a customer at table four wants something with no tomato sauce, pasta, or seafood, but they don’t just want a salad. So, later, Ma—okay?”
Carmen took her by the elbow. “Forget about the tables. Come with me.”
They walked to the front of the house, where Carmen directed the hostess to send another server to pick up Mia’s section.
“Why all the drama?” Mia said, following her out the door.
They walked a block up the street and crossed over to the beach side of Commercial where there were picnic tables and benches. Carmen faced the bay and told Mia to sit directly across from her.
“You’re freaking me out,” Mia said. “What’s going on?”
Carmen took a breath. “I know about your reading.”
Mia averted her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Stop it,” Carmen said sharply, then took a beat to soften her tone. “Shelby told Justin. And I’m glad she did. Why didn’t you let us know? We can—”
“Shelby?” Mia crossed her arms “Wow. Justin was right.”
“Right about what?”
