Unperturbed, the woman opened the door and indicated that Olivia was free to leave. “We’re pretty backed up right now. Seems like everybody in the county has come down with shingles. You’ll just have to be patient.”
Pausing in the doorway, Olivia made it clear that she wasn’t going to follow the woman to the checkout area. “I need these results immediately. If those blood results are positive, it means that my father, whom I believed drowned thirty years ago, is alive. But he’s barely alive. He’s got pancreatic cancer and is almost out of time. Do you think it’s acceptable to ask me to be patient, to possibly miss the chance to see him before he dies, because this lab is backed up identifying cases of shingles!”
The woman didn’t so much as flinch in the face of Olivia’s indignation. “We’ll do our best, ma’am,” was all she would say before walking up the hall to the waiting room. “Ms. Limoges is ready to check out,” she told the sourfaced receptionist, wished Olivia a good day, and called for the next patient.
Olivia received an instruction sheet on obtaining her lab results and marched out of the office, eager to vent her frustration. Seeing no nearby outlet, she returned Haviland’s boisterous greeting by hugging him around the neck. She then drove to a nearby sandwich shop to pick up lunch for herself and several slices of roast chicken breast for Haviland.
Keeping her promise to Haviland, she returned to the leash-free park. After serving him the chicken, Olivia stuffed salt and vinegar potato chips into her mouth without the slightest regard for ladylike delicacy. While Haviland frolicked under the afternoon sun, she consumed the entire bag, a tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat, and a dill pickle spear. With her hunger satiated and her frustration marginally relieved, Olivia looked at her watch and wondered what diversions could prevent her from obsessing over the lab results.
She called Laurel’s house but no one picked up. After leaving a brief message requesting that her friend get back to her as soon as possible, she threw out the empty potato chip bag and paper sandwich wrapper and dialed April Howard’s number.
“Are you and your portfolio free this afternoon?” she asked when April answered. “Can you meet me at Bagels’n’ Beans in an hour?”
“Yes. I don’t know if my appearance will look entirely professional, but I’ll be there. I need at least an hour to find my one decent suit and iron three years of wrinkles out of it.”
Listening to the fatigue in April’s voice, Olivia sought to ease the widow’s mind. “You’re only meeting with me, and frankly, I don’t care if you show up wearing pajamas. I’m serious, April. I’m your potential client and I don’t give a damn whether you’re in a suit and heels or sweats and sneakers. I just want to see your work and chat over a cup of coffee. Can someone look after your kids on such short notice?”
April issued a dry chuckle. “They’d love to get away from me for a few hours, trust me. I’ve been selfish to keep them close to me. When they’re around me, they feel guilty about playing or laughing at things on TV. My kids are better at grief than I am. They’re more resilient and more hopeful that they can be happy again one day.”
“I think it’s easier for them to put their feelings aside for periods of time,” Olivia agreed. “But they experience grief as deeply as you do. They just might not be able to express how it’s affecting them.”
“One day you’ll have to tell me how you know so much about this subject,” April answered. “But I’ll send the kids to Tina’s. She’s wanted them to come over for pizza for days and they could use a change of scenery. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Pleased, Olivia whistled for Haviland and set off for Bagels ’n’ Beans. When she reached the café an hour later, Wheeler was in the process of handing over the reins to a pair of high school students.
When he saw Olivia, he stopped and pointed at her arm. “You givin’ your blood away, ’cause I could use a fresh supply. Mine feels like it’s movin’ slower and slower through these droopy ol’ veins.”
Olivia dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “That’s total nonsense. You’ll outlive us all.” She placed her drink order and then smiled at the feisty octogenarian. “Where are you off to now?”
Wheeler grinned. “I got a date. First one in a decade too. Her name’s Esther. I met her on the computer.”
Olivia couldn’t mask her disbelief. “You’re cyber-dating?”
“When it comes to women, I’m better at writin’ than talkin’.” He shrugged. “I just hope she looks like her picture. She’s a dead ringer for Betty White.” Wheeler stooped to pet Haviland and then strolled out the door, his jaunty step belonging to a man a quarter of his age.
“Betty White, huh?” Olivia laughed and settled back in her chair. Haviland curled up by her feet and closed his eyes, worn out from his exertions at the park.
Sipping her cappuccino, Olivia stared out the front window and felt a rush of affection for the town and its inhabitants. Somehow, just being back in Oyster Bay dissipated a fraction of her anxiety over the blood test results.
The bells hanging from the front door tinkled and April Howard walked in, a black portfolio case tucked under her arm. She spotted Olivia and made her way to the table, pausing to glance at the black-and-white photographs for sale on the wall above Olivia’s head.
“These are new,” she said. “Last time I was here there was a display of watercolor paintings.”
“Wheeler told me he couldn’t put up pieces of art fast enough during the Cardboard Regatta. Even with all the vendors selling comparable wares dockside, the tourists bought everything he had hanging on this wall.” Olivia studied the photographs of downtown, which had been taken during the busy season. She liked the movement captured within each shot—how the people on the sidewalk and the cars on the street appeared to be in motion even though the camera had rendered them permanently immobile.
Directly over her cafe table was a head-on shot of Grumpy’s façade. It showed a trio of teenage girls in shorts and bikini tops, a pair of children holding pinwheels, several women with shopping bags, and a cluster of locals chatting alongside the diner’s door. It was a quintessential summer day in Oyster Bay—a glimpse of small-town Utopia.
April was also staring at the photograph. “My folks want me to move back to Ohio, but I could never leave this place. I fell in love with Oyster Bay on a day just like the one in that photo. Felix and I were here for a weekend getaway. On Sunday, while we were packing to go, I told him I wanted to move here and start a family. And we did.”
“I grew up here, but I remember coming back to town after being away for a long time. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in ages.” Olivia pointed at the portfolio. “May I?”
“Of course.” April jerked her thumb toward the counter. “I’m going to order a complicated drink so you’ll have time to look that over without me staring at you.”
As the espresso machine gurgled and sputtered, Olivia examined April’s designs and was satisfied by what she saw.
“Give her a takeout cup,” she ordered the young barista.
Confused, April added a packet of sweetener to her drink and followed Olivia and Haviland outside.
“Let’s show her our new acquisition, Captain.”
The two women walked toward the harbor. A cool wisp of air drifted over them, carrying a hint of autumn. Olivia led April to the warehouse she’d own as soon as all the closing paperwork was finalized.
“This is it.” She gestured at the building. “I want to change this wreckage into the Bayside Crab House. Delicious food, lively music, and a casual setting overlooking the water. What do you think?”