I’ve got nothing for you, doll,” Clifford Henry said from across his small, meticulously arranged desk in the realty office. “I told you at dinner, this town is booked, booked, booked.”
Ruth had been waiting for him on the front stoop of Clifford Henry and Associates since nine in the morning. He showed up at eleven with a large cup of coffee from the Wired Puppy, wearing sunglasses and with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
She’d tried to be patient as she’d waited for him to get settled. He booted up his laptop, plugged in his phone, and muttered something about his assistant being late. She wondered why he needed an assistant since, apparently, there was no property available to rent or buy.
“I’m already showing people places for next summer,” he said.
Well, that answered that. “Really?” she said.
“God, I’m so hung over.”
Ruth too had indulged the night before. Elise and Fern, baby in tow, showed up at the house after dinner and invaded it like a small native army. Elise had been emotional and apologetic while Fern was all business. She’d handed Ruth a check reimbursing her for the month.
“We’ll be out by July first,” she said.
Ruth, wordless and furious, took the check and retreated to the master bedroom, where she’d remained for the rest of the night, barricaded behind the door with a new book and a bottle of wine.
“But what’s the problem?” Clifford said now, removing his sunglasses and looking at her with sudden interest. “Shell Haven is perfection.”
As much as Ruth would have loved to download the crazy story of the baby into Clifford’s eager ears, she resisted the impulse. She was frustrated with Elise and Fern; angry, even. But she didn’t want to cause trouble. “I think Elise and Fern are having second thoughts,” she said vaguely.
“Second thoughts? What does that even mean? You’ve paid them, you’ve moved in—it’s done and done, sweetheart.”
“Clifford,” she said. “I was never thrilled with the idea of renting in the first place. You know that. I want to make sure we’re still keeping an eye out for a house for me to buy.”
“Ruth, what am I going to do with you?” he said, fanning himself with a Japanese paper fan decorated with a cherry-blossom design. “I cannot sell you a house that does not exist. As much as I would love to snap my fingers, that’s simply not how it works. Unless you’re willing to look at some of the new construction just a bit farther out…”
Ruth crossed her arms. “No. I want something in town, a true Provincetown beach house, not some prefabricated nonsense.”
“Well, you’ve moved here and that’s a good start. People sell to people they know. They sell to people they like. Good houses sometimes don’t even make it to market. Keep your ears open.”
“Keep my ears open? Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
“If you hear a whisper, I’ll turn it into a shout.”
Ruth, shaking her head, stood up and walked to the door. Clifford followed her.
“What’s really going on here?” he said. “I can smell a good story a mile away, so you might as well just tell me.”
Oh no. She wasn’t going to be put in the position of outing Elise and Fern’s baby drama. All she wanted was some privacy. “Nothing is going on. I’m just impatient. I’d prefer to rent a house with the option to buy. They’ll never sell Shell Haven.” This much, at least, was true.
“For the record, I think you’re assuming too much when you say Fern would never sell Shell Haven. The woman is nothing if not practical. Money talks.”
Was he right? Should she approach Fern about this? Her phone rang. Olivia. “Hello?” she said.
“Hi, Mother,” Olivia said, her tone noticeably less frosty than it had been during their previous conversation. “I’m calling to say I’ll be out there this weekend to see you.”
The difference between a perfect brew of tea and a bad one can be a matter of seconds. Elise made sure to label all of their retail tins with exact timing instructions, and she explained it to their customers. At the start of the day in the shop, she informed a woman perusing the tea tins that she had a little more leeway with herbal teas.
“It can steep longer because it’s not made from tea leaves,” Elise explained, gesturing at the cup the woman was holding. “So you won’t get that bitterness if you overheat it.”
“What do you mean, it’s not made from tea leaves?” The woman looked down at her Juniper Berry iced tea as if she’d just been informed she was drinking Diet Coke.
“The herbal tea is a compilation of herbs, spices, fruit, and flowers. That’s why it’s caffeine-free.”
The woman contemplated this and seemed to accept it. She bought a tin of chamomile. Across the shop, Fern arranged a display of artful bracelets that were also organic mosquito repellents. They were made by a local who’d approached them about making them available at the shop.
“Why not?” Fern had said. “We have the space. Maybe we can expand to other locally made goods. Maybe even art.”
Elise thought it was a distraction but wasn’t about to debate it. Compromising on this was the least she could do, considering what was going on.
The front door jingled, heralding the arrival of Jaci Barros.
“Hey!” Jaci said, smiling. Her long dark hair was up in a high ponytail, and she was dressed in a white V-neck T-shirt, cutoff denim shorts, and sneakers. “It smells like licorice today.”
“Masala chai,” Fern and Elise said in unison, then smiled instinctively at each other. It was the first time Fern had smiled at her in twenty-four hours, so that was a good sign.
Rachel was looking after Mira. She seemed happy to do it, maybe testing the waters for a baby of her own soon. But it made Fern uneasy to have to ask for help.
“People have their own work to do, Elise. We can’t burden them with this.”
But it didn’t seem like Amelia and Rachel felt burdened. They were taking it in stride. She wished Fern could share their attitude a little more.
Jaci looked up at the menu. “I guess I don’t need to debate what to try today. I have to go with masala chai. What is it, exactly?”
“It’s black tea with spices mixed in—lots of anise and fennel,” Fern said, moving behind the counter.
“So I was talking to a friend of mine from school about this place—she got a summer job at the Boston Seaport farmers’ market. I told her how I wanted to work here instead of the oyster farm—”
“Jaci, you know your family needs your help.”
“Yeah, well, I’m dealing with that. I mean, they can’t build their whole business model around me. I’m not moving back here after school.”
Elise and Fern exchanged a look. Fern spoke first. “Well, you might change your mind. In the meantime, try not to upset your mother.”
“It’s such a special place,” Elise said. “You’ll appreciate it when you’re older.”
“I’ve been here my whole life. You two already had the chance to live in a city. Fern, you had that big finance career. I mean, this is a great place to settle down. But I want to experience other things. My family is just going to have to get used to that idea. But anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about all that. I told my friend about this place and your amazing tea—Mom’s been brewing it nonstop—and my friend said you should come sell it at the Boston Seaport farmers’ market.” Jaci handed Fern a card.
“Well, thanks, Jaci. That’s an interesting idea. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to expand beyond the physical store. We won’t have enough foot traffic in the off-season.”
This had been a conversation they’d had since the beginning of the tea-shop endeavor—how would they sustain the business during the winter months, when the town’s population was a fraction of what it was in the summer? Fern said they would have to branch out into wholesale, getting restaurants to carry their tea blends and other retail shops to sell their brand, or develop a brisk online business. All of the scenarios involved finding a customer base beyond Provincetown.
“I’m happy to help. Just e-mail her.” Jaci smiled. “See? I’m a value-add already. Imagine if I worked here every day.”
Fern put her hands on her hips, her head tilted to one side. Elise recognized it as her thinking mode.
“I have to clear it with your mother. Maybe just a few hours a week.”
“Thank you!” Jaci said, hugging her. “I’m so excited. I could start now if you want! You can show me how the magic happens.”
Fern started to suggest another time but Elise jumped in. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “Why don’t you let Jaci help out behind the counter and I can go home to…take care of that other business.”
“Yes! It’s a plan!” Jaci said.
A few customers trickled in. Fern greeted them and took care of their orders. She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no, and Jaci was already behind the counter. Elise headed for the door. She caught Fern’s eye and gave her a wink that said, See? We’ve got this.
Fern looked away.
Ruth, on a mission to speak to Fern, climbed the porch steps of the pale yellow, two-story Colonial that housed Tea by the Sea and opened the front door.
Inside, she was met with gentle music, whirring overhead fans, and floor-to-ceiling shelves of silver tea tins. To the left, two armchairs were arranged in front of a large picture window. Fern Douglas, rattling a metal cocktail shaker, noticed her come in and greeted her with a smile.
“Hello there, Ruth,” Fern said. She was dressed in mint-green linen with shiny jade beads around her neck. Her dark braids, showing just a hint of silver strands, were piled on top of her head and held there with a mother-of-pearl clip.
“It smells so good in here,” Ruth said.
“That’s our masala chai. Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Hot or iced?”
“What do you recommend?”
“I find the flavors of the teas are more potent when they’re hot, but considering the weather…” The door opened, tinkling with bells, and a thin, small woman dressed in black and trailed by a Yorkie on a leash took one of the seats by the window. “Bianca, we can’t have the dog in here. The health department. There’s a water dish right outside at the base of the stairs. Just tie the leash to one of the chairs.”
The woman waved her off. “I’m just catching my breath. It’s a hot one today.”
Fern shook her head and turned to the business of brewing Ruth’s tea. “It will take about five minutes,” Fern said. “I like to let new customers know. Sometimes people think it’s like a coffee shop where you order and we just pour. But everything we do is custom-prepared. I think that’s part of the fun,” she said.
“I’m not in a rush,” Ruth said. “I actually wanted to speak with you.”
“It’s about us being in the house,” Fern said quietly, glancing at the woman in black.
Ruth took a breath. “I don’t mean to be intolerant. I understand that you two are dealing with something…unexpected. But my daughter is coming to visit, and frankly, I need some privacy.”
“I understand,” Fern whispered. “I’ll work on the situation. I apologize, and thank you for your patience. I hope this hasn’t completely upset your enjoyment of the house.”
“The house is perfection,” Ruth said, trying to keep her voice low too. “I adore it. I have to ask: Are you considering selling? Because if you are, I’m very interested. Very.”
Fern looked surprised. “Oh. That’s interesting, but no, we aren’t considering selling.”
Ruth nodded. She had not expected Fern to say, Great, write me a check and let’s do this. She considered even this preliminary conversation to be progress.
Fern turned her back, readying the tea. When she handed Ruth the hot cardboard cup, sweet steam rising from an opening in the lid, she said, “Again, thanks for your patience.”
“No problem,” Ruth said, although truly, it was. But she didn’t want to make too big a fuss. She had her eye on the bigger picture. People sell to people they like.
Holding her cup of masala chai, she walked to the shelves and scanned the silver tins, each wrapped in a navy-blue ribbon and labeled.
“Expensive, aren’t they?” said the woman in black, appearing beside her and shaking her head.
“Well, quality things often are,” said Ruth.
“I guess if you’re looking to buy a house around here, money isn’t an object.”
Ruth turned away, thinking the woman was just one of the town’s eccentrics. She selected a blend labeled STRAWBERRY MEADOWS and carried it to the counter. “I’ll take this too.”