Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(7)

Dragging her gaze away from him, Maggie turned her attention to gift-wrapping the train set. While Maggie worked, the customer squinted at a phrase painted on the wall behind the counter. There’s no sensation to compare with this…suspended animation, a state of bliss…

“What a nice quote,” the woman said. “Is it from a poem?”

“Pink Floyd,” Nolan said as he came up to set a heavily filled handbasket on the counter. “It’s from a song called ‘Learning to Fly.’”

As Maggie met his gaze, she felt color blooming from head to toe. “You like Pink Floyd?”

He smiled slightly. “I did in high school. During a phase of wearing black and whining about my emotional isolation.”

“I remember that phase,” the elderly woman said. “Your parents wanted to call the governor and enlist you in the National Guard.”

“Thank God they loved their country too much to go through with it.” Nolan’s smile widened, leaving Maggie momentarily dazzled, even though he hadn’t been looking in her direction.

She fumbled a little as she slid the wrapped present into a bag with cord handles. “Here you go,” she said brightly, nudging the bag toward the elderly woman.

Nolan reached for it. “That looks heavy, Mrs. Borowitz. Why don’t you let me carry it out to the car for you?”

The diminutive woman beamed at him. “Thank you, but I can manage. How are those brothers of yours?”

“Sam’s great. Out in the vineyard most of the time. As for Alex…I haven’t seen much of him lately.”

“He’s certainly putting his mark on Roche Harbor.”

“Yeah.” There was a wry twist to his mouth. “He won’t rest until he’s covered most of the island with condos and parking lots.”

The woman looked down at Holly. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”

The child nodded bashfully and said nothing.

“You just started first grade, didn’t you? Do you like your teacher?”

Another timid nod.

Mrs. Borowitz clucked gently. “Still not talking? Well, you need to start soon. How will anyone know what you’re thinking if you don’t tell them?”

Holly stared fixedly at the ground.

Although the words had not been meant unkindly, Maggie saw Nolan’s jaw tighten.

“She’ll get around to it,” he said in a casual tone. “Mrs. Borowitz, that bag is bigger than you are. You’re going to have to let me take it out for you, or they’ll take back my merit badge.”

The elderly woman chuckled. “Mark Nolan, I know for a fact that you never earned a merit badge.”

“That’s because you never let me help you….”

The pair bickered amiably as Nolan took the package from her and walked her to the door. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Holly, wait there for me. I’ll be back in a second.”

“She’s fine here,” Maggie said. “I’ll look out for her.”

Nolan’s gaze slid to her briefly. “Thanks,” he said, and left the shop.

Maggie let out a pent-up breath, feeling a little like she had just gotten off an amusement-park ride, her insides settling after having been rearranged.

Leaning against the counter, Maggie regarded Holly thoughtfully. The child’s face was guarded, her eyes bright but opaque, like sea glass. Maggie tried to remember more about when her nephew, Aidan, hadn’t been able to speak at school. Selective mutism, it was called. People often thought such behavior was willful or deliberate, but it wasn’t. Aidan had gotten better in time, eventually responding to the patient overtures of his family and teacher.

“Do you know who you remind me of?” Maggie asked in a conversational tone. “The little mermaid. You’ve seen that movie, right?” Turning, she rummaged beneath the counter and found a large pink conch shell, part of a beach-themed display they had planned to put in the window soon. “I have something for you. A present.” Coming around the counter, she held it up for Holly’s inspection. “I know, it looks pretty ordinary. But there’s something special about this shell. You can hear the ocean if you put it against your ear.” She handed the conch over, and Holly held it carefully up to her ear. “Can you hear it?”

The child responded with a matter-of-fact shrug. Clearly the ocean-in-the-seashell trick was old news.

“Do you know why you can hear it?” Maggie asked.

Holly shook her head, looking intrigued.

“Some people—very practical, scientific people—say that the shell captures outside noise and lets it resonate inside the shell. However, other people”—Maggie gestured to herself and gave the girl a significant glance—“believe there’s a little magic in it.”

After considering this, Holly returned her meaningful glance and touched her own small chest.

Maggie smiled. “I have an idea. Why don’t you take this shell home with you and practice making noise in it? You could sing or hum into it like this….” She sent a wordless tune into the empty shell. “And someday maybe it could help your voice to come back. Just like the little mermaid.”

Holly reached out and took the shell with both hands.

At that moment, the door opened, and Mark Nolan walked back into the store. His gaze went to Holly, who was staring intently into the aperture of the conch. He froze as he heard the girl begin to croon a few soft notes into the shell. His face changed. And in that one unguarded moment, Maggie saw a flashing succession of emotions: concern, fear, hope.