“The heat is something terrible for my circulation; I can't even get my shoes on this morning. I told Rebecca to order the next-biggest size, but she forgot and got the same as always."
“We could send them back. It wouldn't be any trouble."
“Wel , it would be for me. What wil I do for footwear while they're gone, I'd like to know?" She kept right on going: "And there must have been something I et at the clambake that didn't sit right—not that I think for a moment it was your chowder, deah," she added, looking Pix straight in the eye. The intent was clear. Now was the moment for Pix to confess to buying suspect fish and last year's potatoes. Pix stared right back. Nobody else had suffered from the chowder in the slightest and Addie's indisposition was more than likely a case of overindulgence. Addie was starting to catalog her major symptoms, such as severe diarrhea and stomach cramps, rather graphical y when Rebecca tactful y broke in.
“Fix brought our Tupperware bowl back, the one we thought was lost at the clambake. It was in her chowder pot.”
Adelaide beamed as if she'd recovered the family jewels instead of an airtight storage container. "It's hard to get good Tupperware nowadays and I won that at one of Dot Prescott's parties when she was sel ing Tupperware. I don't know who's doing it now.”
Pix tried to steer the conversation away from plastics to antiques and Norman.
“It must be interesting having an antiques dealer like Norman Osgood as a guest" The Bainbridges always cal ed their bed-and-breakfast customers "guests."
“Oh my, yes, he's been a treat. The stories that man can tel . We sit and laugh for hours.”
Rebecca didn't look quite so merry, and Pix wondered whether she was included in these funfests.
“Is he around now? I had a question I wanted to ask him."
“No, he's off on one of his jaunts today. Be back in time for the parade tomorrow, he said. What's your question? I'l ask him for you.”
Pix had been afraid Addie would say this and was now thankful she'd prepared a mythical inquiry about the best way to take care of an old Sheraton dresser her mother was giving her.
“Just keep it clean with a dust cloth," Rebecca advised, "if the wood is not too dry and the finish stil good."
“And what do you know about the care of valuable antiques, Rebecca Bainbridge? I don't recal too many down in that shack you grew up in.: No, Pix. I swear by Olde English and plenty of it. You can't go wrong there.”
Faith could smel it had been put to good use in the parlor. She looked anxiously at Rebecca. It might have been that Addie had gone too far.
“Your own husband was raised in that `shack,' Addie, and you're lying on Grandmother's couch this very moment.
I guess we had just as many nice things as you did out at the lighthouse.”
Pix was glad to hear Rebecca answering back. It didn't happen very often.
“You couldn't have had many, then," Addie one-upped her. "I slept on a cot in the kitchen and there wasn't a decent piece of furniture in the place. The only thing worth any money at al was the light, and that belonged to the government. Now where are my regular glasses? You've gone and fetched the wrong ones, as usual! Can't see a thing with these"
“Those are the right ones. Remember, you put a piece of tape on the frame so we wouldn't get mixed up. There it is, plain as the nose on your face.”
Addie pul ed her glasses off. "Can't see a danged thing. You must have put tape on both.”
Before the fur could fly any faster, Pix made her farewel s with promises to sit together at the parade the next day. The Bainbridges' lawn sloped agreeably down to Main Street and was a perfect viewing stand.
“And don't forget your mother!" Addie cal ed after her.
As if I would—or could, Pix thought.
After leaving the Bainbridges, she felt a little betwixt and between. Sam was on a long cruise to Swans Island with a sailing buddy and Samantha was stil at work. She thought she might pop in to Jil 's store and pick up a baby sweater made by one of the women on the island that The Blueberry Patch stocked. One of Pix's cousin's children was having a baby, which would make Ursula a great-great-aunt and make Pix a what, a cousin some number of times removed?
Removed. She realized Mitchel Pierce's death had removed her from her normal embedded island feelings.
She had the constant sense that she was on the outside looking in, not because she was from away but because there were things going on she couldn't quite make out.
She had the il usion that if she could only squint hard enough, she'd be able to make out the shapes.
Jil was at the register. The store was empty.
“Hi, Pix," she said. She had been working on her accounts evidently and now shoved a large ledger under the counter. The cash register was an antique—and not for sale. It had been a fixture in the previous store to occupy the space, a cobbler's shop owned by Jil 's grandfather.
“My cousin's daughter is having a baby soon and I want to send a sweater."
“Do they know what they are having? I always think that sounds so odd, but you know what I mean?"
“Yes, I do, and they don't, so the sweater had better be white or yel ow.”
After taking a pleasurable amount of time, Pix took her purchase to the front of the shop. It was always fun to buy baby gifts. A few years earlier, she used to toy with the idea of another bundle of joy herself, then remembered al the homework supervision that would entail and opted to wait for grandchildren—a wait she fervently prayed would be a long one.
Earl had come in while she'd been in the back and was buying a paper.
“How are you, Pix?" he asked. "Quite a business yesterday at the camp. Samantha was great with the kids.
Real y kept them calmed down."
“Fine, thank you, and thank you for saying that about Samantha. I'l tel her. She's always wanted to go into science, marine biology, but she's so good with people."
“Maybe she'l figure out a way to combine the two. Now I've got to go pick up something to eat at the IGA or I'l start to get malnutriated.”
Earl looked anything but. Pix smiled. Jil didn't. Hadn't they patched things up yet?
The next exchange made it clear they hadn't. "So, I'l see you about eight?" Earl asked.
“I'm afraid I can't make it tonight. Maybe another time,"
Jil answered. The time, from her expression and tone, could possibly be wel into the new century.
“Okay" Earl flushed and left quickly.
Pix was tempted to ask what was going on, but Jil did not look as if she'd welcome inquiries into her personal life at the moment. She rang up the purchase and Pix was soon out on the walk planning a dinner party with a few friends, mainly Earl and Jil —soon.
She got into her car and noticed Earl was parked next to her. It was the perfect time to tel him about the mark on the quilt, if he was not too distracted by his own affairs of the heart. But Pix doubted it. Work was work. The notebook would be out in no time, just the way it had the day before at the camp. When they'd arrived, it was the first thing she had noticed. There was Earl standing before the bloody red sails, calmly writing down each and every word.
He was at his car soon, carrying what she knew to be one of the IGA's Italian sandwiches—bologna, salami, and cheese on some sort of large hot dog rol . It also had green peppers and onions if those were to hand and a drizzle of Italian dressing, hence the appel ation.