21
The ceiling slanted so low that Gemma almost banged her head when she woke up. The room had a small nightstand with a tiny lamp, and across from the bed was a fan plugged into the floor. The walls were clapboard wood, with lots of knots and marks in the boards, and the skylight let her stare up at the stars, which she had plenty of time to do last night since she had a hard time falling asleep.
Why had Elodie manipulated her? Wasted her time? She would text her. No, she’d call her. But first: coffee.
Gemma pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a black tank and pulled a comb through her long hair. She peeked into her suitcase, comforted by the sight of her charm necklaces. She fastened one around her neck, then covered her sleep-puffy eyes with her sunglasses and made her way down the narrow staircase to the first-floor kitchen. The shop was dark and quiet.
Yesterday, after Gemma had tentatively accepted her offer of hospitality, Celeste gave her a quick tour of the house. Aside from the shop on the ground floor, there was a kitchen in the back and a screened-in porch overlooking a small yard. A narrow staircase led to the second floor, and then there was the third floor, where she had her room.
“Who are you?” a voice said from out of nowhere. Gemma shrieked, then the voice shrieked.
A tall and striking young woman appeared from behind a hanging tapestry. She was dressed in an orange halter top, orange and white striped cinch-waist pants, and had oversized gold hoops in her ears. Her dark skin was accentuated by the platinum blond tips of her pigtails.
“We’re not open yet,” the woman said, hands on her hips.
“I’m staying upstairs . . . I’m Celeste’s niece. Gemma.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Well, Gemma, I’ve worked here for two years and never heard of a niece.” She crossed her arms and stared at Gemma in appraisal. “The only reason I’m not calling Celeste right now to report an intruder is . . . I have to know where you got that necklace.”
Gemma smiled. “I made it. Now, can you tell me the nearest place to get coffee?”
Commercial Street curved around and she followed the water on her left, visible between neat clapboard homes. To her right, more houses were hidden behind green hedges. Bikers whizzed past her, and a large dog-walking contingency streamed in the same direction. Lots of French bulldogs and pugs.
Celeste’s employee/watchdog Alvie told her to find a place called Relish—and to get her a latte while she was at it.
Coffee in hand, walking back to the store, she noticed a spectacular house across the street from Relish. It was white clapboard in an octagon shape, with a widow’s walk that had to offer a panoramic view of the town. It was lovely and dramatic. She had always appreciated grand homes and apartment buildings, wondering about the lives unfolding within the walls, always imagining that it was impossible to be truly sad in a place of great beauty. A man wearing a Harvard sweatshirt sat on the front porch looking at his phone. He looked up as if sensing her gaze and smiled when he saw her.
It was the guy from the art gallery. Lord, he was attractive.
She quickly looked away.
Elodie knew the expression “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” But staying at Jack’s relative’s house was simply too much, even for her. And so, first thing in the morning, she made a trip to a Realtor.
Clifford Henry & Associates was just two blocks up the street. The office was a storefront on the ground floor of a yellow house on Commercial. She walked in and was surprised to find a man sitting at a neatly ordered desk just a few feet from the door.
“Hello, welcome,” he said, looking up from the magazine he was leafing through. It appeared to be called ptownie. The man had bright blue eyes, a pleasant face, and brown hair with chunky highlights that he styled slicked back. He wore a pink button-down with a plaid bow tie. She guessed he was in his forties.
“Is there someone I can speak to about a house rental?” she said.
“You’re looking at him: Clifford Henry, at your service.”
“Wonderful. I just recently arrived in town and I’m looking for a waterfront house. I’m flexible on the number of beds and baths. Although yesterday I saw a home with the loveliest widow’s walk. That would be a plus.”
The man frowned. “I don’t do Truro or Eastham or Wellfleet. Just Provincetown.”
“Yes, that’s where I’m looking.”
The man laughed. “Listen, gorgeous, I know I have a reputation as a miracle worker, but I don’t have a time machine. Hello—it’s June!”
All Elodie heard was the word “gorgeous.” No one had ever called her gorgeous in her life. She’d read once that the light in Provincetown was special. Maybe that was true.
“I’m willing to go beyond the asking price. I’ll make it worth their while,” she said.
“I’m renting for next summer. Why don’t we plan ahead for you, hmm?”
“Mr. Henry, I have no intention of being here next summer. I simply have some business to attend to and need a rental for a few weeks.”
“Where are you staying now?”
“I have a room at the boatyard.”
He nodded. “Manny and Lidia’s place. Sweetheart, I suggest you stay there.” He handed her a business card. “If you change your mind about next summer, you know where to find me.”
This was ridiculous. Elodie walked back outside in a huff.
Her phone rang. It was Sloan Pierce.
“Sloan, I was just thinking about you,” she said, stomach tightening.
“I don’t mean to push but . . .”
Elodie felt a flash of anger. How could her parents have put her in this position?
“Working on it. Just a few bureaucratic loose ends. Just keep the ball rolling on your end and I’ll do the same.”
“Elodie, I am extremely excited to get to work on this. We all are. But we do need the legal formalities out of the way. Do you want to come to the office sometime next week to finalize the contract?”
“Actually, I’m on Cape Cod at the moment.” Across the street, a woman with a curtain of blond hair blowing in the breeze caught her attention. “Provincetown. Quite a distance.”
Was that Gemma? So she’d come to town after all.
“Sloan, I have to call you back.”
On her walk back to Celeste’s, Gemma stopped in front of a store called Ball Beachwear, the windows dressed with bathing suits for men and women and two dresses in a 1950s silhouette, a white one with a cherry pattern and the other blue polka dot. She wondered what it would be like to simply be in town on vacation, hitting the beach and having drinks with friends.
She checked her phone to find the departure time for the afternoon ferry.
“Gemma?”
She looked up to find her aunt Elodie crossing the street, dodging a bike soaring against traffic.
What was she doing here? Had she mentioned in her phone call that she was in town? No, she hadn’t. Gemma would have remembered. It would have made her think twice about heading out here herself.
“So you made the trip after all,” Elodie said, her pale cheeks shiny with perspiration. Her faded silver-blond hair was pulled up in a clip, large solitaire diamonds in her ears. “Why didn’t you contact me?”
“So you could waste more of my time? No thanks,” Gemma said. “Why did you lie to me? Celeste doesn’t know anything about the Electric Rose.”
“You should have told me you were coming,” Elodie said.
“You should have told me you were here!” Unbelievable. “Are you playing games with me? Is this some sort of payback for showing up at your party?”
“No,” Elodie said. “But we do need to talk. All three of us.”
“I’m leaving,” Gemma said, flashing her the ferry schedule on her phone. She turned and walked back toward Celeste’s house, Elodie close behind on her heels.
“Oh no, you’re not,” Elodie said. “This conversation is a long time coming. And I’m not waiting another minute.”