Don't Forget to Write: A Novel(36)

Her mother nodded, and Janice named a couple of romance novels, which her mother did not know the contents of, based on her bland expression. I wondered if Mrs. Geller didn’t have a box of off-limits books so Janice had resorted to swiping them from a friend’s house.

“And movies?”

Ada returned quickly and shooed me back to my seat. But she seemed distracted as she finished the interview. When the Gellers left, she went to the desk in the corner and wrote down four names and phone numbers from her planner. She brought the paper to me. “I need you to call the rest of the day’s clients and reschedule for next week.” She hesitated. “The rest of the week’s clients. I’ll write out that list next, but take care of today’s first.”

“What’s going on? What was that phone call?”

She looked tired, as if someone had simply pulled the plug on all her energy and sass and it just ran out onto the floor, leaving an empty Ada bottle. “Lillian,” she said, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Her mother died. I need to go to her.”

“When is the funeral?”

“They don’t know yet. I’ll probably have to help. Her sister is . . . not going to be useful.”

“What can I do?”

Ada looked at me as if she had forgotten I was there. “Oh. I didn’t think about arrangements for you. Yes, I suppose you’ll have to come with me.”

“Ada—”

“I can’t leave you here unsupervised.”

“Ada, I’m twenty. And I’ve followed every rule you’ve given me this summer.”

“Have you?” she asked. I just looked at her. “Your parents would be furious.”

“I’m quite good at keeping secrets from them.”

“Except when stained glass is involved.”

I held my arms out wide. “Luckily, you don’t have any of that here. Seriously. I can manage for a few days just fine. I promise. I’ll sleep late, I’ll read, I’ll go to the beach, I’ll read some more, I’ll go to bed. And I’ll watch Sally.”

I could see her wavering. She didn’t want to babysit me while helping her friend. And she hadn’t figured out a plan for the dog. “That’s all you’re allowed to do.”

“Can I get ice cream with Shirley?”

She pointed a finger at me. “Don’t push it.” Then she went back to her desk. “I’ll make that list for you. And I need to get a train. And pack—Frannie, can you come help me, please?”

Frannie came in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Of course, Miss Ada.”

“I’ll go make those calls now,” I said, retreating to the den to start calling families.

But I was worried she would be able to hear how fast my heart was beating from the other room.





Ada left the following morning, amid a frenzy of packing and last-minute instructions. “Frannie will look in on you every day,” Ada warned. “And she’s got strict instructions to call me if a single hair looks out of place.”

“Just go,” I told her. “I’ll be fine. Take care of your friend.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and nodded tightly. I pulled her in for a hug that she did not reciprocate before she climbed into the car and put on her sunglasses.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off at the train station?”

She lowered the sunglasses to look at me. “You’d be walking back if you did.” Returning the glasses to her eyes, she began backing out of the driveway. “No one drives this car but me. And remember: no guests, no dates, and no Freddy Goldman.”

I felt her eyes piercing me through my sunglasses. “What about a different Beach Patrol boy?”

“You’re not funny,” she called from the street as she put the car into drive and pulled away.

“I thought that was funny,” I muttered as I watched the bumper of her car disappear around the corner.

But for the next few glorious days, Ada would be the least of my worries. It wasn’t even ten when I went upstairs and changed into my bathing suit, packing my bag with my towel and a new bottle of Coppertone that I had purchased at Hoy’s, the island’s 5 & 10, after finishing the last of the old bottle.

I padded to the bathroom, slipped my thumb into the bottom of my suit, and pulled it down, studying the crisp line where my skin turned pale. I looked at the little girl on the Coppertone bottle and smiled. Sally would be all too happy to bite me right there if I presented her the opportunity to re-create the image.

Which reminded me, I needed to walk Sally. And the only grass to be found anywhere was on the median strips up on Dune Drive. “Don’t bite,” I said gently as I slipped the leash onto her collar. She and I had been getting on better. Which Ada believed was a testament to Sally’s good nature, not my character being adequate to meet her approval. But the dog allowed me to take her to do her business before I headed down to the beach.

I grabbed the copy of Goodbye, Columbus that my mother had mailed me and put it in my bag as well. Somewhat scandalous. You probably shouldn’t read this one. But c’est la guerre, my mother had written on the title page. Nothing could make me want to read a book more. Though to be honest, the book was the last thing on my mind.