It was only a mile into St. Chris, but they went from quiet neighborhood
to busy waterfront. The gift and souvenir shops would stay open seven
days a week now to take advantage of the summer tourist season. Couples
and families strolled by with shopping bags filled with memories to take
home.
The sky was brilliantly blue, and the Bay reflected it, inviting boats
to cruise along its surface. A couple of Sunday sailors had tangled the
lines of their little Sunfish, letting the sails flop. But they appeared
to be having the time of their lives despite that small mishap.
Grace could smell fish frying, candy melting, the coconut sweetness of
sunblock, and always, always, the moist fragrance of the water.
She'd grown up on this waterfront, watching boats, sailing them. She ran
free along the docks, in and out of the shops. She learned to pick crabs
at her mother's knee, gaining the speed and skill needed to separate out
the meat, that precious commodity that would be packaged and shipped all
over the world.
Work hadn't been a stranger, but she'd always been free. Her family had
lived well, if not luxuriously. Her father didn't believe in spoiling
his women with too much pampering. Still, he'd been kind and loving even
though set in his ways. And he'd never made her feel that he was
disappointed that he had only a daughter instead of sons to carry his
name.
In the end, she'd disappointed him anyway.
Grace swung Aubrey up on her hip and nuzzled her.
"Busy today," she commented.
"Seems to get more crowded every summer." But Ethan shrugged it off.
They needed the summer crowds to survive the winters. "I heard Bingham's
going to expand the restaurant, fancy it up, too, to bring more people
in year-round."
"Well, he's got that chef from up north now, and got himself reviewed in
the Washington Post magazine." She jiggled Aubrey on her hip. "The Egret
Rest is the only linen-tablecloth restaurant around here. Spiffing it up
should be good for the town. We always went there for dinner on special
occasions."
She set Aubrey down, trying not to remember that she hadn't seen the
inside of the restaurant in over three years. She held Aubrey's hand and
let her daughter tug her relentlessly toward Crawford's.
This was another standard of St. Chris. Crawford's was for ice cream and
cold drinks and take-out submarine sandwiches. Since it was noon, the
shop was doing a brisk business. Grace ordered herself not to spoil
things by mentioning that they should be eating sandwiches instead of
ice cream.
"Hey, there, Grace, Ethan. Hello, pretty Aubrey." Liz Crawford beamed at
them even as she skillfully built a cold-cut sub. She'd gone to school
with Ethan and had dated him for a short, careless time that they both
remembered with fondness.
Now she was the sturdy, freckle-faced mother of two, married to Junior
Crawford, as he was known to distinguish him from his father, Senior.
Junior, skinny as a scarecrow, whistled between his teeth as he rang up
sales, and sent them a quick salute.