Surfside Sisters(92)

    “The place is lovely,” Keely said. “And Isabelle—Brittany.”

Isabelle was so pleased she did what she did as a girl, squeezing her shoulders practically up to her ears. “I know.”

“Hello, Brittany,” Keely said. “I’m Keely.” She wished she’d brought a present for the little girl.

Brittany’s stubby fingers mashed a banana into her tray. Lifting her hand, she offered a glob of banana to Keely.

Keely’s gaze flew to meet Isabelle’s eyes, and they shared a smile of mutual delight. Tears came to Keely’s eyes.

“She’s lovely, Isabelle.”

“I know. We’re so lucky.”

Isabelle’s computer was open on the kitchen table. Isabelle slid into the facing chair. “Stand next to me, Keely. Put your hands on my shoulders. That will strengthen the luck.”

“When did you get so superstitious? I promise you, it’s not luck that will decide the future of your book.”

“Please.”

Keely took a moment to wonder whether she should tell Isabelle what she really thought about the book. She held her tongue. Whatever she did, it seemed she was once again betraying Isabelle.

She put her hands on Isabelle’s shoulders.

“Wish Mommy good luck!” Isabelle told her daughter.

Brittany blew a raspberry at her mother.

Isabelle took an operatically deep breath and hit Send.

“There. It’s done.” Isabelle stood up. “You won’t drink champagne, so will you have some tea?”

“Please.”

Isabelle set about boiling the water and filling the tea egg with leaves of white tea.

While Isabelle was fixing the tea, Keely spotted a sheaf of papers on the table. It was a story about teenagers on the island who’d been told by strangers in a yacht to search the Polpis Harbor beaches for a suitcase. If they found it, the strangers would give them each five hundred dollars’ reward.

    “Okay,” Isabelle said. “Now. Let’s talk.” She pulled out a chair at the table, removed a stray piece of macaroni, and sat down.

“Isabelle,” Keely said. “What’s this?”

“It’s only something I’m playing around with when I’m not in the mood to work on my novel. I guess you’d call it a YA, young adult. It’s probably stupid, but I like writing it.”

“Isabelle, from what I’ve read, it’s marvelous. You have a completely different voice here, and the action comes fast. You should bring it to class.”

Isabelle glanced sideways at Keely. “So do you know any young adult agents?”

“Actually, no. I don’t. But I could probably find out.”

“Well, maybe wait? I want to see if my adult book gets published first.”

Isabelle’s computer dinged.

“Oh!” Isabelle jumped up. “Maybe that’s from Sally Hazlitt!” She hurriedly clicked. “Listen to this! ‘Dear Isabelle Fitzgerald, thank you for sending me your manuscript. I’ll read it within the next two weeks and get back to you. Sally Hazlitt.’?” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, Keely, how am I going to survive the next two weeks?”

Brittany waved her arms and wriggled in her high chair.

“We should go outside,” Isabelle told her daughter. “Time to head to the swings!” Wiping banana from Brittany’s hands, she lifted her onto her hip.

Keely followed Isabelle and her daughter outside and down the stairs.

“Thanks for coming over,” Isabelle said. Reaching out, she enclosed Keely in a warm hug. “You’ve been really great about this.” Standing back, she looked Keely in the eye and said, “And I want to see you a lot, even if Sally doesn’t take my book.”

Maybe, Keely thought as she drove home, just maybe Sally would like the novel. Maybe that would make Isabelle’s parents like Keely again. Maybe the day would come when she would sit at their dining room table again, next to Sebastian.



* * *



—

    Over the next few days, Eloise told Keely that Al was improving slowly but steadily. Sebastian and Isabelle were optimistic now that Eloise was in charge and could point out the small signs of recovery or discomfort. Donna Maxwell regretfully postponed her cruise until the next fall.

Keely stayed with a schedule as comforting for her as she hoped Mr. Maxwell’s was for him. She went for a run early in the morning when it was still cool. Returning home, her mind was so amped up with ideas, she didn’t bother to shower but wrote furiously for hours. Then she showered, ate a late lunch, enjoyed good phone chats with Isabelle and Sebastian, and went back to work in the afternoon. She bought groceries and cooked meals for herself and her mother.

And she spent the evenings and nights with Sebastian.



* * *



—

Keely and Sebastian lay side by side on his bed, propped up on pillows, watching the Red Sox. They’d just had a deliriously long session of lovemaking, and they were drinking Whale’s Tale Pale Ale and eating sandwiches they’d hurriedly slapped together before the game started.

We’re like an old married couple, eating in bed, Keely thought.

“We must look like an old married couple,” Sebastian said.