Life Happens. Sandra SteffenЧитать онлайн книгу.
you think?”
“I think that if you’re going to marry him, you should tell him.”
That if brought Mya up short.
“What’s she like?” Claire asked, sinking into a nearby chair.
“She looks like me at that age, well, except for the piercings and tattoos.”
“Sounds like half my students. How old is she?”
“She’s nineteen today.” Mya watched Claire’s gaze go to her wild new hairstyle.
“What did she say?” There was nothing syrupy about Claire’s voice. Steady and level, it invited trust. It always had.
Mya shrugged as she rose, inexplicably drawn to the window again. Or perhaps not so inexplicably. Unlike many of the islands in Casco Bay, Keepers Island was too far away to be visible from the mainland from this vantage point. It was out there as surely as she was standing here.
She hadn’t set foot on the island in years, and yet she could picture it so clearly in her mind, the little harbor where the islanders docked their sailboats and skiffs and trawlers, the ice-cream shop and summerhouses near the beach, and the larger, weathered houses of the year-round residents farther inland, the square, brick school, and the sandy cove where she’d first made love.
Staring out across the bay, goose bumps rose on her arms. She had the strangest feeling someone was looking back at her. It was impossible, not to mention irrational. She got the hell away from that window just the same.
“Her name is Elle,” Mya said, clasping her hands tightly together. “Short for Eleanor.” It occurred to her that she didn’t know the girl’s last name.
“She didn’t tell you why she came or what she wanted?”
Mya scrubbed a hand over her face.
Claire said, “If you want me to stop playing twenty questions, just say the word. We can sit here quietly all night if you want.”
And Mya was glad she’d come here tonight. She’d needed a dose of Claire’s drollery and calm acceptance. “She stood in my living room a total of two minutes.” And every second was permanently etched on her mind. “I don’t think it’s a matter of her wanting something. More than likely, it’s something she needs.”
“Money?”
Mya thought about the threadbare jeans, the missing coat and the rumble of Elle’s stomach. “Something else. What remains to be seen.”
“Then you believe she’ll be back.”
Mya found herself staring toward the window again. “She’ll be back. I’d stake my life on it.”
It was an hour past closing time, and Elle hadn’t come.
Mya was disappointed, and when she was disappointed, she tended to get a little snippy. This time, the recipient had been a large-boned woman browsing through the rack of sale items. In her own words, she’d been “just looking.” Translated, that meant she was killing time. Mya wanted her to kill time someplace else so she could go home and see if Elle was waiting there. Short of throwing the customer out, Mya had done everything she could think of to get rid of her. Turning out the lights hadn’t been nice, but it had been effective. Finally, Mya locked the front door. Peering past the display in the window, she wouldn’t blame the woman if she never returned. But at least she’d gone.
Thanks to the City of Portland’s innovative revitalization plan, the waterfront district would be bustling with tourists in a few short months. Weekend traffic was always good, but at dusk on this Wednesday in mid-April, the brick-and-stone streets and sidewalks were practically empty. Only a handful of people strolled by. None of them had short blond hair, an obvious bad attitude and visible tattoos.
Elle wasn’t coming. Mya had been so sure she would.
She hung up a garment that had fallen, but walked past the stacks of sweaters that needed to be refolded. Her boutique was a long, narrow space squeezed between a bookstore and a glass-and-art studio. What Brynn’s lacked in square footage, it made up for in style. The walls were original brick, the hardwood floors worn smooth more than a century ago when this entire building had been used as a warehouse for the shipping industry.
Much of her summer merchandise had arrived this morning. Normally, Mya would have stayed late to catalog everything. Her mind would have been racing to decide how to best display the trendy skirts and summer sweaters and nautical jackets, the beaded pants and espadrilles, scarves and jewelry. Normally, she would have stayed until the wee hours of the morning, steaming away wrinkles and arranging everything on racks and shelves, in trunks and inside open drawers of antique armoires. Normally, she couldn’t wait to get started. Today, she left everything in the cartons in the middle of the floor, switched on the night-lights, set the alarm and left, locking the back door behind her.
The alley was protected from the ocean wind. Taking a deep breath of air still warm from the sun, Mya reached into her pocket for her car keys. And stopped in her tracks.
Elle was leaning against her car.
A thrill ran through Mya as the girl sauntered toward her. Holding her explosion of pleasure to a small smile, Mya noticed that Elle positioned herself so that her car remained in plain sight, causing Mya to wonder if she was living out of it. The bottoms of her jeans were frayed, her plain black T-shirt tight. She looked less defiant, less confrontational. Her gaze was no less assessing.
Mya proceeded with caution. “There’s an Italian bistro across the street, an English pub around the corner and oyster shacks and fabulous seafood places within walking distance in every direction.”
She swore Elle looked tempted.
“And there’s a little pizzeria past the next alley, and—”
“Pizza?”
“The best pizza in the universe.” Hearing a noise, Mya looked overhead for seagulls. Seeing none, she said, “Care to grab a deluxe with me?”
“I can’t.” Elle was easing away.
Mya wanted to call her back, to beg.
Over her shoulder, Elle said, “Maybe one of those restaurants needs a waitress.”
“Are you looking for a job?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I could use a clerk at Brynn’s.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Elle was a dozen feet from her car when Mya called, “Do you hear a baby crying?”
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Elle, wait.” Mya practically ran to the car, only to freeze all over again, for the cries were coming from a baby in the backseat.
For a moment Elle looked as if she’d just been caught doing something bad. But her attitude returned, shoring up her chin. “She’s mine.”
Suzette claimed the most powerful sentences contained just two words. She’s mine was proof enough for Mya. Since she didn’t trust herself to speak, all she could do was watch as Elle put the seat ahead and squeezed into the back. Seconds later, she eased out again, the baby in her arms.
“Surprise.”
Mya reeled, which was undoubtedly Elle’s intention.
The baby stopped trying to drag her bonnet over her head, and stared at Mya as if the hat problem was her fault. Mya hadn’t spent much time around babies, so she couldn’t say how old the child was. Her cheeks were round, her eyes blue. What Mya could see of her wispy hair was blond. She wore pink overalls and tennis shoes, one lace trailing. The little Harley-Davidson T-shirt seemed at odds with the delicate bonnet.
“She’s had an earache,” Elle said.
Later, Mya would marvel at how in tune Elle was