The Bookstore Sisters(8)

“Really?” Isabel said. “Did I forget we got engaged that night when nothing happened?”

“Something happened—you’re just choosing to forget it.”

“I remember,” Isabel shot back. “I’m madly in love with you.”

“Now you’ve got it. But you did forget your dog.” Hank was in the passenger seat, happy as could be, head out the window. “He was over at the inn. Get in. I’ll give you a ride. It looks like you’re weighted down.”

Isabel went around and got in on the passenger side, so that the dog was between them. She put the groceries by her feet and attached the new tag to Hank’s collar. “There,” she said to the dog. “Now everyone will know where to return you.”

“I thought he didn’t belong to you,” Johnny said.

“He doesn’t,” Isabel insisted. “But his owner is a jerk. He was my divorce lawyer.”

“I see,” Johnny said, staring right at her.

“Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.” Isabel was touchy when it came to this matter, as if divorce and failure meant the same thing.

As they headed to the bookstore, Johnny said, “I’m not married if that’s what you want to know.”

Isabel laughed. “Did I ask?”

“I already knew you were divorced, so I thought you should know what my marital status was. It’s only fair.”

Isabel gave him a look. “How would you know?”

Johnny was staring straight ahead at the road. He was too handsome; that had always been his problem. Or one of them. He’d gone off to California for a while and had been in the navy, if she remembered correctly, and had come home when his father had called him back to take over the ferry.

“Your sister hired your divorce lawyer,” Johnny said.

“She did not. I got my own terrible lawyer all by myself.”

“Well, she paid for him. She thought you couldn’t afford a decent lawyer. I took her over to Hensley to meet with him at the diner. She cried over you.”

“She did not.” Isabel lifted her eyes to meet Johnny’s stare. “Did she?”

“You’re very dense,” Johnny said. “Are you still a painter?”

“No. I gave it up.”

“Too bad. I remember that you were good even back in school. But probably someone with your lack of sensitivity shouldn’t be an artist. Too much emotional stress.”

“Stop acting like you know me,” Isabel said.

“Well, you for sure do not know me. I’m not the person I used to be,” Johnny said.

“We’re always the people we used to be,” Isabel said.

“Then I must still be in love with you.” When Isabel turned to him, Johnny added, “It happened in sixth grade. Believe me, it was nothing I wanted. You used to make me run away with you and hide in the marshes.”

“I didn’t have to force you.”

“No,” Johnny said. “You didn’t.”

Isabel didn’t know how to respond to that remark. She looked at him and felt something she hadn’t expected. She remembered the night in the hallway of the tavern and the kisses outside her door. She remembered him following her along the road on a snowy day, too shy to say anything. She remembered how they’d always run away together. That stopped soon after her mother had died, when Isabel had decided to turn and ask, “Why are you here?” and he’d responded by saying, “Because you need me.” Isabel had left him there and run all the way home, her heart pounding. She’d run because it was true. She’d never gone into the marshes with him again, even though there was something she had wanted to show him that last day.

“Can you help me?” Isabel asked when they pulled up in front of the cottage. She had decided they had to move Sophie to the first floor so she wouldn’t be so isolated. The staircase was crooked and uneven, and the only way to do it was to have her carried down.

“Johnny Lenox,” Sophie said when she saw him in the doorway of her room. She glanced at her sister, then back at Johnny. “Shouldn’t you be on the ferry?” What she really meant was clear. Shouldn’t you stay far away from my sister?

“I should be, and my father will be having a fit, but I’m here to transport you.”

He carried her down to the couch in the parlor, carefully, making certain not to bang her leg against the railings. Johnny was surprisingly gentle, which upset Isabel. Apparently, she didn’t know him at all, and he certainly didn’t know her, even though they had spent so much time together. The couch was old and sagging but very comfortable. Johnny stood back and surveyed the sisters. He was a cousin of Matt’s and had been there for Sophie when she was at her worst before Violet was born. “Maybe you’ll both be who you always were if you’re given time.”

“I don’t think that’s happening, Johnny,” Sophie said. “Some things stay lost.”

Johnny nodded to the Labrador retriever snoozing on the rug. “He didn’t.”

When Johnny left, Isabel sat and faced her sister. “Violet doesn’t read?”

“She thinks the bookstore brought us bad luck. She’s just like you.”

“No, she isn’t. She can’t be.”