This Is What Happy Looks Like(45)
She brushed past Graham without any sort of acknowledgment and began sweeping up the mess as Ellie stood helplessly in the middle of the now-colorful floor. She was acutely aware of her dirty tank top, her messy ponytail, the fact that she’d spent the morning sweating in a corner of the shop occupied by a giant stuffed lobster. She realized she was still gripping the newspaper hard in one hand, and she rolled it into a tube, unable to think of anything to say. All she could do was stare uselessly at the floor.
Graham had let the door fall shut behind him, and without a word, he stooped down beside Meg, using both hands to gather the mints into piles while the rest of the customers looked on, apparently as dumbfounded as Ellie. She stared down at his broad back, the same back she’d followed up the beach that day, and her heart thumped hard against her chest. Even standing right below the vent, she was suddenly too warm again, her eyes prickly, her face tingling. She wondered if this is what heatstroke felt like.
“Disaster averted,” Graham said, straightening up again as Meg headed into the back with the broom. The other customers had started to remember why they were there in the first place, turning back to the counter to order their sandwiches, and to Ellie’s relief, the unnatural quiet that had settled over the shop dissolved again, giving way to the clink of silverware and the sound of laughter.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, unable to look at him, though she could feel his gaze like a kind of heat. He cleared his throat and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and when he raised an eyebrow, the moon-shaped scar above his left eye shot up as well. Ellie felt her heart jump in her chest, as if that too were connected by the same fragile string. She wanted to say something, but her tongue was thick in her mouth, and before she had a chance to even try, the door opened again, and once more, there was a collective hush as Olivia walked in, looking fresh-faced and unbearably cool.
“Sorry,” she said, walking right up to Graham. She held up her phone, the jeweled case flashing. “My agent.” She crinkled her nose at him, her eyes falling to a single green mint that was stuck to his knee. “Was that you on the floor?”
“We had a little situation,” he said, brushing it off. “Cleanup on aisle four.”
Olivia looked around distractedly. “Don’t they have someone else to do that sort of thing?”
“Yes, they do,” Meg said, suddenly beside them again, a sweating cup of iced tea in each hand. “You two looking for a sandwich or a table or both?”
“Both, I suppose,” Olivia said, sounding less than convinced as she surveyed the tiny seating area, where families of tourists ate their lunches out of wicker baskets.
Ellie tucked the newspaper under her arm, avoiding a searching look from Graham, and took the cups from Meg. “Thanks so much,” she told her. “I’ve got to get back.”
“Good to see you,” Graham said, and Ellie nodded stiffly. As she pushed open the door, she heard Olivia ask, “Do you know her?”
She didn’t wait to hear his response.
Outside, she forced herself to hurry back across the green on wobbly legs. The door to the shop was propped open with an old lobster trap, and though she was greeted by a wall of hot air, heavy and stifling, Ellie still felt a swell of relief at having returned.
Mom was leaning on the counter, propped up on one elbow, mopping at her forehead with a bandanna. When she saw Ellie, she straightened up.
“You look like you just ran a marathon.”
“It sort of feels that way,” Ellie said, setting the dripping cups on the counter. She hadn’t realized her hands were shaking, and she tried to steady them as she slipped the newspaper from underneath her arm and hid it behind one of the bins of toys lined up at her feet so that she could come back for it later.
“You okay?” Mom asked, and Ellie nodded.
“I’m fine,” she said, but that wasn’t quite true. She was dazed by what had just happened. She was shaken by the article about her father. She was tired of running away from Graham. She was miserable. She was heartbroken. She was anything but fine.
“Good,” said Mom. “ ’Cause I thought we could finish up the windows.”
Ellie sighed wearily. Mom had an exhausting habit of changing out the two window displays every few weeks. “Today?” she asked, though what she really meant was, In this heat?
Mom chose to ignore her. “It’s as good a day as any,” she said. “I’m thinking the crustacean chess board should go on one side, maybe with some seashells around it, and then we could put some of your frames on the other.”
“Fine,” Ellie said, walking over to the window boxes to begin clearing out the beach balls that had been there since school let out.
“I’ll do that,” Mom said. “Can you add some more poems to the new frames? We’re a couple short now.”
Ellie reached down for the small volume of poetry she kept tucked in her bag. They’d sold two frames last week, both housing poems by Elizabeth Bishop, and Mom was sure that was why. The woman had apparently spent nearly fifteen minutes reading through them before deciding which to buy.
Now, as she settled on the stool behind the counter, Ellie was already debating between Auden and Yeats. But when she opened the book, a loose page slipped out, and she was surprised to find herself holding Graham’s drawing.
Her eyes followed the lines on the page, the whole thing a study of geometry, with arrow-straight edges and precise corners. It was like falling into a dream, and she felt herself getting lost inside the lines, the simplicity of the page a safety net against the memory of the day it was made.