Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) (19 page)

             
Penned in between an RV larger than my house and a Manhattan-to-East End luxury bus, I rubbed my fingers at the pain piercing my head just above my eyebrows. This was going to be the longest September of my life. The traffic light changed from red to green, and I managed to squeak past the bus on my right. Naturally, at the next block, the traffic light jumped from green to yellow, and the car in front of me stopped before entering the intersection.

             
Kathump!
My head snapped forward as the whole car jerked, and the crunch of metal resounded in my ears. Or was that the sound of my neck cracking?
No, no, no.
As dread crept over me, I slowly turned to look into my rearview mirror—in time to see a Jeep full of teenagers jump the curb on my right and speed away in the road’s shoulder.

             
Perfect. Just perfect. As soon as the light changed to green, I eased out of the traffic and toward the curb.

             
Picturing Paige in my head, I stared at the graying sky and amended my wish from earlier. “I hope we get a tropical storm this morning.”

             
Once I managed to pull into an empty restaurant parking lot, I stepped out of the car to survey the damage. Smears of blue paint and black impact marks framed the crater-shaped dent in my rear fender. A crack ran through my right taillight like San Andreas Fault: no damage yet, but one good bump away from total destruction.              

             
Yet again, I pulled out my cell phone—this time to call the local police. The female dispatcher answered before the first ring completed its chime.

             
“I need to report a car accident,” I said.

             
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.

             
“Nia Wainwright.”

             
“Nia? It’s Emily. Emily Handler.”

             
Emily Handler had grown up as Emily Forletti, three houses away from Paige and me. Shortly before beginning her senior year in high school, she’d married Roy Handler and promptly given birth to their first daughter a scant seven months later.

              “Is anyone hurt?” Emily asked. “Do you need an ambulance?”

             
“No. A bunch of kids in a Jeep hit my car and then took off. I just want to file a report.”

             
Emily expelled exasperated breath into my earpiece. “Tourists. Think they have the right to wreak havoc and drive away without owning up to their responsibilities. You sure you’re okay, Nia?”

             
I rubbed a hand over my neck as I assured her, “Yes. Annoyed, shaken up, late for work. But physically, I’m all right.”

             
“Where are you? In a safe place?”

             
“I’m on the corner of First Avenue and Maple Street.” I glanced at the sign perched on the gray-weathered clapboard building behind me. “In the parking lot of The Gull and Oar.”

             
Emily remained quiet for a moment, but computer keys clicked in the background. “Sam Dillon is pretty close to that area, I think,” she said at last. “I’ll send him over. Are you on your cell?” She rattled off my phone number to me.

             
“Yes.”

             
“You got enough juice in it to send and receive calls?”

             
“Yes, it’s fully charged.” Thank God I hadn’t changed
that
routine.

             
“Okay, sit tight. Any problems, call me back. I’ll have Sam there in a jiff.”

             
I looked at the gridlock on the road. Not in this traffic. “Tell him to come up Maple. First Avenue’s a nightmare right now.”

             
Emily laughed. “Well,
duh
. I don’t know why you didn’t go down Main Street. You’ve lived here long enough to know to avoid First Avenue in the summer.”

             
I gritted my teeth just as the first fat raindrop splashed my nose.

~~~~

Paige

So
Nia thought I was nuts. What else was new? But we really did need to shake up our lives. Especially Nia. This town, crammed with the same people we’d known since we were born, had sucked all the excitement out of her. While I welcomed this thirty day challenge for myself, I also hoped to see the return of the animated, fun, passionate soul Nia used to be.

As I left the coffee shop to start my stroll to work, I studied the storm clouds gathering over the rooftops of the stores. The atmosphere felt heavy with moisture. Not the kiss of ocean spray that normally swirled in the air, thanks to the town’s location directly on the Atlantic.
This much pressure could only herald a thunderstorm—a big one. My sister’s revenge in full-blown three dimension. Nia had an uncanny knack for wishing misfortune on me and getting her wish. If she’d ever channeled her energy toward good rather than evil, I probably would have won the lottery a dozen times by now.

The black clouds rolling in required a quick detour before work. I ducked into the drug store at the end of the strip mall in search of an umbrella. Nothing would stop me from completing this thirty day plan. The guests on
Dara’s show all swore only good things had come from their participation: new and better jobs, new romances, new outlooks on life. All from changing one little thing every day for thirty days. Nia’s black magic would have to be more ominous if she thought to sabotage me. A thunderstorm on Day One wouldn’t put a dent in my hope shield.

I strode through the automatic doors, and past the shoplifting sensor gates. Mrs. Justine, the cashier who’d been a fixture in this store for at least my lifetime, peered at me over her blue-framed cat glasses. I offered a quick nod in greeting.

“Keep those hands where I can see them, Paige,” she shouted in her two-pack-a-day smoker’s rasp.

Oh, for crying out loud. When I was four years old, Mrs. Justine caught me shoving a package of M&Ms in my pocket. Thirty years later, she still couldn’t forgive that one toddler crime spree? I flashed
her a brilliant smile. “Not to worry, Mrs. J. I’m a reformed felon these days. Just got out of the Big House, you know.” Well, sort of. If Albany and the state comptroller’s office could be considered the Big House. I’d only moved back to Snug Harbor six months ago when Dad got sick.

As I rounded the corner toward the seasonal aisle, where back to school supplies and scarecrows fought for attention with sunscreen and sand pails, I stopped short. Naturally, a cluster of tourists blocked the end of the aisle. Shocked expressions on the adults’ faces let me know they’d heard my remark about my so-called prison record.

The dad, big-bellied and eye-catching in vivid orange surf shorts with splashy brown flowers and a tan t-shirt that proclaimed him the World’s Greatest Golfer, narrowed his eyes to slits. Puh-leez. Like that outfit wasn’t a serious crime against fashion.

Mom, in her wide-brimmed straw hat and white tank dress meant to show off her bronzed skin to perfection, had better taste, but no more sense than her husband. With her candy-apple-red manicured fingers poised over the postcard rack, she craned her neck to a nearly forty-five degree angle. “Kids, come over here, please.”

Two dark-haired boys, both under the age of ten, poked fingers into the cage of colorfully painted hermit crabs. “We’re right here, Mom,” the bigger one whined.

“Well, stay where I can see you,” the woman replied.

I rolled my eyes so far back, I saw my brain blink. I never should have come back to Snug Harbor. I belonged in Albany, where I’d gone to school. Where I was just another face in the crowd. Where people only knew what I told them about my past. Where I was never compared to Nia. Where one day didn’t meld into another. Unlike Snug Harbor, where the only things that changed were the faces of the steady stream of sun-worshipping strangers coming and going.

Somehow I managed to weave around the disapproving faces with my dignity intact. On a sigh of relief, I spotted the end cap where rain gear dangled from hooks. I rifled through the various sizes, shapes, and hues of umbrellas until I found a purse-sized automatic in Barbie pink. Just the bright spot this miserable day needed.

As I played with the button to open and close my new toy, a familiar baritone voice drawled, “Paige! That
is
you. I thought so.”

             
I cringed. I didn’t have to turn around to identify the speaker, but I whirled anyway. Sam Dillon. Of all people to run into, why did I have to run into Sam Dillon? In full police uniform regalia, of course. Because my wisecrack about being a felon still lingered in the air like a bad odor.

Apparently,
Nia’s voodoo was stronger than ever today.

As Sam strolled toward me, floppy-hatted mom made a quick grab for her kids and pulled them into her protective embrace. Annoyance trickled down my spine like an ice cube on a hot day. Did I look dangerous?
Really? I’m a CPA, about as far from a thrill-seeker as a sloth. Maybe if I wore a pencil behind my ear and nerd glasses, I’d appear less menacing.

             
Not that I cared what a bunch of tourists thought. Most of them would evaporate by Tuesday. But the locals were a different story. Nia and I would forever be known as “the Wainwright twins” to every person who lived in this teeny, nosy town. I could find the cure for cancer, and Mrs. Justine would still insist I keep my hands where she could see them every time I walked into this store. Which brought me back to Sam Dillon.

             
“Well, well,” I said with forced exuberance. “If it isn’t Marshall Dillon.”

             
True to form, he glowered at me. Sam always glowered at me, whether or not I used the goofy nickname I’d given him the day I learned he’d become chief of Snug Harbor’s village police force. Small recompense for all the harassment he’d dished out at me when he was the varsity quarterback and I was the nerdy math major. I could only be happier if this former high school heartthrob had become paunchy and bald while I’d blossomed into a swan. Fate, however, has a quirky sense of humor. I blossomed into a nerdy accountant with few swan qualities except for my long neck and my habit of looking calm while paddling manically below the surface.

             
The adult Sam Dillon had kept his thick dark hair that begged to be tousled, broad shoulders that tapered to six-pack abs, and the sexy swagger of a man sure that he could have any woman in town. Except me.

             
His ursine gaze raked over my pink sundress, then down to my cotton ankle socks and beat-up sneakers. “Interesting workout attire.”

             
I quirked my lips. “For your information, I’m on my way to work.”

             
“In that outfit?”

             
“Makes for a quick getaway after I swipe a candy bar from here.” The retort zinged out before I could stop it.

             
Sam snorted and slowly shook his head. “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into big trouble one day, Paige.”

             
Yes, Daddy.
I managed to clamp my lips around that riposte so it stayed inside my smart mouth.

             
Jerking his fingers at me, pistol-like, he asked, “Seriously. What’s with the dress and sneakers getup? Is there a marathon for urban professionals I don’t know about?”

I patted the computer case slung over my shoulder. “I decided to walk to the office and didn’t want to ruin my work shoes.” No
way I intended to tell him about the Thirty Days to a New You plan from Dara’s show. Sam already suspected I was an idiot. Too much conversation on my part would only
confirm
I was an idiot.

             
“Walking, huh? What happened? Your car break down?”
              “No, it’s such a nice day, I just…felt like walking.”             

He cocked a dark, feathery eyebrow.
“In this weather? You know there’s a storm blowing in, don’t you?”

             
Ha! He thought he’d clinched my idiot title. Not quite, pal. I gestured to my umbrella. “Hell-o? Why do you think I stopped here?”

             
“Uh-huh.” His gaze scanned the shelf of pain relievers and cold remedies in the opposite aisle. “You need a ride?”

             
“With you?”
              His glower snapped back to me, darker now, and his honey brown eyes turned hard as topaz. “That’s right, I forgot. The perfect Princess Paige can’t be seen fraternizing with the local yokels. Someone might start to think you were one of us.”

             
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe beneath the man’s outrage. I’d been joking. But Sam obviously didn’t see the humor. Questions whipped through my brain with the force of a tornado. Was that really what he thought about me? That I considered myself better than the people I’d grown up with? Better than my own sister?