Surfside Sisters(45)

Keely forced herself to turn off the television, slide down beneath the silky covers, and try to sleep. She was sure she was too excited to sleep at all.

She fell asleep at once.

The next morning, Keely woke early, feeling energetic and rebellious. How could she allow herself to whine because two people she loved, Tommy and Isabelle, didn’t go mad with happiness about her book deal? In the clear light of a new day, she was sure that Isabelle would come around. Why wouldn’t she?

    In the meantime, Keely all by herself would go mad with happiness, here and now, in New York City. She took a long shower, dressed and packed, tossing in the necklace she’d bought for her mother and the baseball cap for Tommy. She checked out and took a cab to the airport.

As she waited to board JetBlue to Nantucket, she called Tommy, but she went straight to voicemail. “Call me!” she said. “I’ll be home on the JetBlue flight that gets in at three-twenty. Could you meet me? Let’s celebrate tonight.”

She waited, and waited, for Tommy to call or text. Finally she called her mother and left a message. “Tell the hospital you can’t work tonight. I’m taking you out to dinner. I’ve got big news and big plans.”

And then, so quickly, they boarded the small plane and in a roar and rush of prop jets and power, the plane shivered and shimmied and lifted up into the sky. Keely leaned her head against the window of the plane, for once not caring that she was separated from certain death by a small metal machine. She closed her eyes and remembered what had happened so quickly in the city. Was it all a crazy dream with firecrackers exploding, streaming confetti, balloons, and paper money down around her? It hardly seemed real.

But it was real. Her life had changed. Keely had to start work on the new book. She would have to tell Clean Sweep and the babysitting service she couldn’t work for them anymore.

When the plane hit the tarmac an hour later, Keely rolled her suitcase out to the taxi stand.

She hoped Tommy would be there, waiting to take her home.

No Tommy.

She took a taxi home. On the way, she tried to reach Tommy again, without success.

When she got to her house, she was too wired to unpack, so she pulled on running pants and a top. She was just tying her running shoes when her phone rang. It was Marianne Stanton, the editor of the local newspaper.

    “Keely, we’ve just heard from the Hazlitt and Hopkins Literary Agency. You’ve sold a book to Ransome & Hawkmore Publishing! Congratulations! When can we come interview you?”

Maybe she wasn’t crazy, Keely thought. Maybe her life had truly changed.

After she’d spoken with Marianne, the phone chimed again.

“Keely!” Janine was almost hyperventilating. “Raul who works at The Inquirer and Mirror just told me you’re going to have a book published? Really?”

Her open laptop on the desk began to ding, notifying her of new messages. Keely forgot her running shoes, fell back on her pillows, and talked with Janine—yes. Yes, it was true. She had written a novel and it was being published.

It was late afternoon before Keely realized that Tommy hadn’t phoned. She tried once more to reach him. She texted him: Where are you?

Immediately, finally, a text from Tommy blinked on her screen.

Off island. Isabelle called me. Needs help packing up. Don’t know when I’ll be back.

Her heart stuttered. Tommy was with Isabelle?

She texted Isabelle, who didn’t respond.

She sat on her bed, staring at the wall, numb with confusion.

Her cellphone dinged. And dinged again. The news of her book was out.

Old friends, former teachers, friends of her mother, all called Keely to congratulate her.

As she’d promised, she took her mother out for a celebration dinner that night. Friends stopped by their table to congratulate her. The ma?tre d’ brought her a bottle of champagne, on the house. Keely smiled and smiled and smiled, but her mind replayed the same thought like an irritating song: Tommy had gone to help Isabelle.



* * *



—

Keely slept fitfully that night, torn between elation about her book and uneasiness about Tommy and Isabelle.

    The next morning she took a cup of coffee with her to her desk. She sat down, opened her computer to a new document, and titled it: Poor Girl.

Writing had saved her sanity before. She hoped it would now. She typed sentences and deleted them. She typed more sentences and deleted them. She typed: I’m going crazy.

She didn’t hear from Tommy or Isabelle for three days. The wonderful rush of congratulations from other island friends buoyed her up, kept her floating on happiness for hours at a time.

A large white envelope arrived in the mail on her second day home. Inside was a copy of her signed contract—and a big fat check. Keely’s hands shook. She was being paid for writing a novel! No, two novels, because Rich Girl and Poor Girl were part of one contract, and she had a check for part of her two-book advance. She drove to the bank, deposited her check, and wrote a whopping big check of her own.

That night she handed her mother a beautifully gift-wrapped box with the letter terminating the mortgage inside. Her mother’s face flushed rosy, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Keely! I never dreamed…” Eloise was too choked up to speak.

“I never stopped dreaming,” Keely replied, pleased with herself. She’d never seen her mother look so happy.