“I heard you were back,” Mr. Hawley said. He was Matt’s father, and Violet’s grandfather, and he didn’t say anything about Isabel’s past bad behavior. He’d run the store longer than Isabel had been alive and used to play poker with her father on Friday evenings in their kitchen. He used to bring licorice for Isabel and Sophie, and even though neither girl could stomach the candy, they always made certain to thank him.
“I’m not back,” Isabel said.
“And that you’ve got a dog that’s running all over town.”
“He’s not my dog.”
“I heard he was over at the inn sitting on the porch.” Mr. Hawley held up the finished dog tag. “This is for your nonexistent dog,”
“I’m sorry about Matt,” she said.
“We’re all sorry about Matt,” Mr. Hawley responded. After Isabel had paid and thanked him, he called, “A lot of people don’t know what to do about grief. I don’t blame you for a thing.”
Isabel turned back to him, as grateful as she’d ever been. “My sister does,” she said.
“It’s likely she loves you more than she blames you,” Mr. Hawley said. “The worst part is when you blame yourself.”
Isabel went on to the market. She tried to forget how lovely it was to have neighbors who knew you and cared for you, but all she could think of was what a good man Mr. Hawley was. She filled two large paper sacks with flour, sugar, several pounds of butter, vanilla, raisins, dried fruit, and blocks of dark chocolate, remembering at the last minute to pick up some noodles and fresh asparagus for supper. Isabel was heading back, struggling with the weight of the grocery sacks, when a truck slowed down on Shore Road. The driver was Johnny Lenox, and he was grinning behind the steering wheel. “I think you forgot something,” he called out the window.
“Really?” Isabel said. “Did I forget we got engaged that night when nothing happened?”
“Something happened—you’re just choosing to forget it.”
“I remember,” Isabel shot back. “I’m madly in love with you.”
“Now you’ve got it. But you did forget your dog.” Hank was in the passenger seat, happy as could be, head out the window. “He was over at the inn. Get in. I’ll give you a ride. It looks like you’re weighted down.”
Isabel went around and got in on the passenger side, so that the dog was between them. She put the groceries by her feet and attached the new tag to Hank’s collar. “There,” she said to the dog. “Now everyone will know where to return you.”
“I thought he didn’t belong to you,” Johnny said.
“He doesn’t,” Isabel insisted. “But his owner is a jerk. He was my divorce lawyer.”
“I see,” Johnny said, staring right at her.
“Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.” Isabel was touchy when it came to this matter, as if divorce and failure meant the same thing.
As they headed to the bookstore, Johnny said, “I’m not married if that’s what you want to know.”
Isabel laughed. “Did I ask?”
“I already knew you were divorced, so I thought you should know what my marital status was. It’s only fair.”
Isabel gave him a look. “How would you know?”
Johnny was staring straight ahead at the road. He was too handsome; that had always been his problem. Or one of them. He’d gone off to California for a while and had been in the navy, if she remembered correctly, and had come home when his father had called him back to take over the ferry.
“Your sister hired your divorce lawyer,” Johnny said.