“River Days Art Festival,” read the sign stretched across Water Street between two light poles. “Art, food, and music—meet us at the river!” As Maya parked on the street in front of Two Sisters, she remembered the flyer she’d seen on the gas station door three months ago, the flyer about the art festival that had caused her to point her car in the direction of Sugar Bend. Actually it wasn’t the flyer so much as the dreams it had stirred up. Dreams, sensations, memories, she still wasn’t sure what to call what she’d seen in her mind, but she’d been following that scent of belonging ever since.
An older gentleman strolled down the sidewalk in front of the shops with a small dog on a leash, and two ladies came out of the bakery a few doors down with sugar-smudged paper bags in their hands. Maya loved early mornings in Sugar Bend before the stores opened, when the dew was still fresh and the day’s heat hadn’t set in quite yet. Violet had told her yesterday that a shipment of cookbooks from local chefs was scheduled to be delivered before the shop opened, and Maya had offered to come in early so Violet wouldn’t have to.
Maya wanted to be helpful, but she also secretly loved being the only person in the shop. She liked to pretend the shop was hers, that she’d handpicked all the items to sell, chosen the paint colors for the wall, and hung the driftwood chandelier over the cash register herself. The truth was she was an eighteen-year-old girl with no family, a tiny rented room that smelled like shrimp, and a likely future of living paycheck to paycheck, but she loved to pretend she was capable enough to own and run her own business. To show the world she could do something with herself, could be someone though no one had ever believed in her. Well, except for her grandmother. And these two sisters.
The UPS man showed up at eight thirty. Maya signed for the delivery, opened the boxes, and walked around searching for the perfect place to display the books. As she moved through the shop, she trailed her fingers over rolled tea towels, delicate silver and mother-of-pearl jewelry, the sisters’ clay pinch pots, and Trudy’s mixed-media sculptures. Finally she found the perfect spot for the cookbooks, right next to the oyster shell–handled cheese spreaders and hand-turned wooden spoons. After that, she grabbed a broom and dustcloth and got to work.
Violet arrived at ten, just as Maya was propping the Open sign in the window.
“It looks nice in here.” Violet slid her purse under the counter and tucked her hair behind her ear. Today she wore a khaki skirt, Chaco sandals, and a lilac button-down shirt. “Did you move some things around?”
“Just a little.” Maya eyed Violet, trying to determine if she was annoyed or pleased. “I can move it all back if you want.” She’d rotated a shelf of pottery toward the side wall to make room for the table holding the new cookbooks and kitchen utensils. Though the sisters tended to keep things the same, it made sense to Maya to move things around occasionally. Not so much that it confused regular customers but just enough to keep things feeling fresh. Maya had so many ideas for the shop, but she wanted to tread lightly.
“No, I think it’s nice.” Violet slowly scanned the shop. “Change isn’t always a bad thing, is it?”
Running the shop required a whole lot more physical work than Maya had realized, and she sometimes wondered how Violet and Trudy had managed it for so long, just the two of them. Trudy often seemed strong enough to do the work of two people, but the truth was, neither of the two sisters was young enough to continue going at the pace they’d been working at for years.
Maya had only been at the shop for a month, but she loved every minute of it. She loved working side by side with Trudy as they tried shell after shell, feather after feather, to see where each abandoned item belonged in a particular piece of art. She enjoyed hand-selling particular items she’d purchase if she had enough extra money to buy something other than food and necessities. She loved feeling like a part of this vibrant little community. She even loved the mundane responsibilities like sweeping the floors, breaking down boxes, cleaning the huge front windows, and shutting down the register after closing time. And it was only then, late in the evening when the waning sunlight was amber and the shadows were long, or here in the dewy early morning sunshine, that she dared to imagine herself at the helm.
Despite the ominous warnings from everyone she’d lived with since the death of her grandmother, Maya had hopes for herself that kept her up at night. She wanted her life to mean something. She wanted purpose, a reason to get out of bed every morning, people who would miss her if she were gone.
She wanted a place to belong.
And here at the shop, she’d come as close to finding it as she’d experienced since losing her grandmother. Here in this small town, with these quirky people and these kind sisters, she was slowly realizing that maybe she could belong again. That maybe this could be the place for her. The place where she could be someone who mattered.
* * *
All day, Violet had been fidgeting. She picked at a fingernail, then drummed her fingers on the counter. Later, when she wasn’t busy with customers, Maya caught her staring off into space, her lips moving in tight, nervous words. She’d rolled up a section of the newspaper and stuck it down by her purse, and every little while, she’d come back and scan through it again.
After lunch, Maya made a cup of peppermint tea and brought it to Violet. “Is everything okay? You seem a little distracted today.”
“Hmm?” When Violet saw the mug of tea in Maya’s hands, her shoulders dropped a little. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine.” Violet blew on her tea, sending peppermint-scented swirls into the air, then took a sip. “Well, I suppose I am distracted. The older you get, the more you have to think about.”
“I saw a banner today for the art festival.” Maya made her voice cheery to try to pull Violet from whatever malaise had gripped her. “What’s it like?”
“All the shops close their storefronts and operate out of booths set up down near the river.” Violet pulled a paper towel from the roll under the counter and swiped at the side table where the teapot was set up. “Then when the booths close down for the evening, they bring in food trucks and bands and it becomes a big street party.”
“It sounds fun.”
“Oh, it is.” Violet balled up the towel and threw it in the trash can, a little harder than necessary.
“Does the shop have a booth?”
“Yes, we will.” She seemed to snap back to reality. “And you’ll be able to work that day, I hope. I can talk to your boss at the Shack if necessary. We could really use an extra pair of hands on the festival day.”
“I’ll make sure I’m here.”
Maya left the shop on a high that night, her mind filled with possibilities for the festival and what products they’d heft down to the edge of the river to sell at their booth. When she arrived at the bait shop, however, she found Mr. Meyer standing at the top of the stairs outside the door to her small apartment. He was fiddling with his fingers, his face mottled and damp. He didn’t have to say any words. She already knew it’d be bad news.
He walked down the stairs toward her. “I was just leaving this for you at your door. I didn’t want to miss you when you came in.”
She reached for the envelope in his hands. “What is it?”
He pulled on his fingers so hard, she heard one of his knuckles crack. “I’m sorry to have to do this to you. You’ve been real good at paying your rent on time, better than most of the people who’ve stayed here, but my brother is coming back to town.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes, and technically, he owns half of the bait shop business with me. It was our father’s, you see. And he wants to live here.” He flipped his hand around halfheartedly to the room behind him. “You’ll need to find a new place to live. I’d be happy to talk to anyone and tell them what a great renter you are.” The thought seemed to cheer him, or at least take away the sting of kicking her out.
“But I can’t afford anywhere else.”
“I’m so sorry.” He twisted his hands again. “He’ll be here next Saturday.”
“A week? I have a week to find a new place to live?”
“I’m sorry.” He was still saying it as he opened the screened door to the bait shop and disappeared into its fragrant depths.
* * *
The next day Maya worked a shift at Two Sisters in the morning, then an afternoon shift at the Sugar Shack before she was back at the art shop for an art class with Trudy at six thirty. The frantic pace of the day had left her no time to even think about finding another place to live, but the extra money at the end of the month would be nice. Anywhere else she lived would no doubt cost more than the spare room above Fritz’s Bait Shop.
As she and Trudy prepared for class, filling small jars of shells, wood fragments, sea grasses, beads, and other odds and ends for the attendees, Maya could feel Trudy’s stare on the tips of her hair and the back of her neck. Finally, she felt a jab at her elbow. Trudy held out a note.
Out with it. What’s going on?
Maya exhaled. The first class attendees were just beginning to trickle in. “I have to move out,” she whispered. “Fritz just told me last night.”
Where are you going to go?
“I have no idea. He acted like I can go out and just find a new place, but has he even seen the rent prices of most places around here? Have you? They’re insane.” Her voice rose, and a man settling down in a chair at the end of one of the tables glanced up at her. Heat flooded her cheeks and she gave him an apologetic smile.
More students came in, and they started the class promptly at six thirty. Maya gave verbal instructions to the class as Trudy went around and pointed out various materials to the assembled students. Once the class got started, everyone’s hands and mouths busy in work and quiet conversation, Maya stepped to the side and crossed her arms. A moment later, she felt Trudy at her elbow. Trudy reached an arm around Maya and squeezed. Maya leaned into her and rested her head on her shoulder. When she moved back, Trudy handed her a piece of paper.
You’ll come live with us.
Maya read the paper, then stared at Trudy. “What? You can’t say that.”
Trudy pulled the pencil from her pocket. I just did. It’s done. You need a place and we have the room. Pack your bags.
Trudy patted Maya’s cheek, her hand rough and calloused, then walked back to the front table and sat down. Trudy often worked on her own sculptures while the class was working on theirs.
Maya’s eyes blurred as she focused on the words, waiting for them to change into something else, to prove that this was too good a thing to be true for her. But they remained, stark graphite against the white paper. It’s done. Pack your bags.
As Trudy showed the class a new technique she’d been using to fasten the most delicate shells to her sculptures, the door opened and someone slid into the room late. Maya grabbed an extra set of jars for the student and set them down on the table. When she glanced up in greeting, Tyler smiled back at her.
“Surprise,” he whispered.
“What are you doing here?”
“You said I should try one of the classes.” He shrugged. “So here I am.” He took in the materials on the table in front of him. “Now, what am I supposed to do?”
“I told you. Just play.” She smiled and walked back up to the front of the room next to Trudy, who was holding up a length of wire with a collection of shells threaded onto it. A few moments later, the class got to work with their own materials. A student at the back of the room raised her hand, and Maya walked over to answer her question. As she did, she kept one eye on Trudy, who had opened the door and motioned for Violet to come to her.
“I brought this conch shell in that I found a few days ago,” the student said to Maya, “but I’m not quite sure what to do with it.”
Maya leaned down and picked a few smaller shells out of the woman’s stash and added a handful of beads from one of the jars. As she spoke quietly to the woman, she saw Trudy hand Violet a piece of paper. Violet whispered something to Trudy, then they both glanced back at Maya, who quickly looked down. A moment later, Trudy closed the door and walked back up front. She caught Maya’s eye and winked.
A laugh bubbled up in Maya and would have tumbled from her mouth if she hadn’t clamped her lips closed. The weight of her worry evaporated, leaving something like giddiness behind.
“Excuse me, Teacher?” The voice came from the other side of the room. Tyler had his hand up in the air. “I have a question.” When she reached his table he frowned. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He had a large cockleshell in front of him, along with a few scattered coquinas, some dried seaweed, and a knot of fishing line. “I just put it all together but . . .” He laughed. “It’s really ugly.”
“Let’s see what we can do.” Maya reached past the man next to Tyler and grabbed a few feathers and a couple other odds and ends, then pulled up an empty chair and sat next to him. “What happens if you put these feathers to the back of this pink cockleshell?” She played around a moment, then showed him.
“Hmm. Kind of reminds me of a hay bale with a chicken on top.”
“That makes sense, coming from a guy in the world of farming.”
“That’s me all right. The next owner of Holt Feed and Seed.” Tyler spun a shell around like a top.
“You don’t seem too happy about that.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s just the way it is. My dad took over the store from his dad, and one day it’ll be my turn.” He pressed a feather against the cockleshell, then pulled it away and replaced it with an auger shell, but he didn’t like that either. She slid a slim, curved piece of driftwood to him. He took it and fit it against the curve of the cockle.
“Is there something else you want to do instead of the store?”
“I don’t know.” He rotated the sculpture in his hands. “Teach.” His voice was quiet. “I want to teach English.”
“What age?”
His head snapped up, a quizzical look on his face, as if he’d expected her to respond in another way. “Middle school, probably. Kids that age are old enough to have really smart ideas but not so old they’ve checked out. I want to share good books with them and teach writing and ideas and have conversations.” He shrugged again. “That probably sounds dumb.”
“It doesn’t sound dumb at all. Do you love what you do at the store? Do you love helping customers and selling seeds and, I don’t know, feed?”
“I mean, I don’t hate it, but no, I don’t love it.”
“Do you love teaching? Or at least the idea of it?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then it’s clear. That’s where you should be. In a classroom with kids.”
He scoffed. “Try telling my dad that.”
“Have you tried telling him?”
“I once mentioned going to college and getting my teaching degree, and he actually thought I was making a joke.”
Maya nudged his shoulder. “Maybe you should try again. Because it sounds like your dad chose farming. You haven’t. You can choose the way your life goes.”
“What about you?” Tyler lifted his chin and peered at her with his deep blue eyes. “What do you want to do?”
In all her eighteen years, Maya hadn’t spent much time thinking about what she wanted out of her future. She’d always been focused on the here and now—who she was living with and where and what might be coming next. Even when she lived with her grandmother, she always had the sense that it was temporary. For the first time possibly ever, Maya felt a measure of safety. Of security. And it was possible what she wanted most was not to leave.
But she couldn’t say all that to this boy. Not yet, anyway.
Maya looked down at his sculpture. He’d continued attaching random pieces to his hay bale and now it resembled something like an octopus with a shell on each tentacle. “Right now what I want to do is help you with this octopus.”
He laughed. “I thought it was a hay bale and a chicken.”
“It was, but . . .” She grabbed hold of a feather on each side. “I think it’s more surf than turf now.”
Someone else asked her a question and she stood and walked over, feeling Tyler’s closeness in every hair and nerve ending on her body. It wasn’t too long before Trudy began walking student to student, writing notes of instruction about gathering materials and cleaning up. As she did this Maya handed out info sheets about the art festival, letting them know what to do if they wanted to sell any items at the festival.
By the time she made it back to Tyler, he was all cleaned up, his creation sitting proudly in front of him. “I’m definitely not entering this into any art show, but I think I like it.”
“You should. It looks great.” She waved to a group of students as they walked out, and as Tyler stood to leave, he put a hand on her arm.
“Some friends of mine are going out to Soldiers Creek tomorrow. Will you come with me?”
“Soldiers Creek?”
“You’ve never been? Everyone goes there. All the young people anyway.”
She shook her head no. It had been a long time since Maya had been young.
“Well, that settles it.” He grinned. “You’re coming with me.” His smile slid from his face. “Only if you . . . I mean, I’d like you to come, if you want—”
She laughed. “Okay. I’ll come.”
When he walked out a moment later, he waved over his shoulder and flashed a smile that warmed her all the way to her toes.
* * *
Violet was standing in her yard, her mind tangled in long-gone memories, her fingers idly rubbing the skin around her wrist. The bracelet had been there for such a short time, but in certain moments—like this calm morning tinged with the scent of brackish water, freshly cut grass, and jasmine blossoms—she could still feel its weight, the cool brush of metal against her tender skin. As she gazed out at the river, her mind spooled backward to another morning just like this one.
1982
Violet walked carefully through the grass around the side of the little cottage, birdseed in hand. She’d been collecting unique bird feeders for years now, and she had seven posted at various spots around her half acre. Each one attracted specific kinds of birds—the umbrella-shaped feeder hanging from the thick pine tree held safflower seeds for the doves and cardinals, the round feeder covered in blue mosaic glass staked near the hydrangeas was for the robins and jays, and of course, the bright red glass feeder up near the porch was for the hummingbirds.
She was just tipping seed into a ceramic feeder in the shape of a magnolia blossom when she heard footsteps behind her and smelled the nutty, caramelized scent of fresh coffee.
“I thought I’d find you out here.” Frank reached around her and handed her the coffee mug, then kissed her. A sleepy, good-morning kiss. “Greeting the day and the birds.” The sky behind him, peeking through the tree canopy, was a wash of pink sherbet, and a light breeze stirred the air.
“They expect me every morning now.” She shifted the bag in her hand so the seed wouldn’t spill, and as she did, the clasp on her bracelet—she hadn’t taken it off since he gave it to her—came undone and it fell to the ground.
He retrieved it and slid it back on her wrist, then clicked the clasp together. “We certainly can’t let them down, can we?” His fingers trailed across her skin, making her shiver. “How many more do you have to fill?”
“Four more.”
“Show me where and how. Just in case I’m out here doing it on my own one day.”
Warmth spread through her body, from her cheeks down, as they walked through the grass to the feeder hanging from a low oak branch. He was going to ask her to marry him, she was sure of it. She’d sensed it for a while now, the question waiting behind every word that came out of his mouth. It tried to elbow its way in every time they were alone together and all the other words fell away, but he hadn’t let it out yet. Part of her was glad, but the other part wondered, What are you waiting for?
Violet often imagined what it would be like if they did marry. Waking up together every morning and filling the bird feeders. Scrambling eggs and frying bacon hip to hip at the stove. Waiting up at night, wondering if he’d make it home safely after a night shift. Welcoming him back home with grateful arms and lips.
“I was accepted into the program,” she said as she opened the lid of the feeder hanging under the oak and poured seed in. She’d been waiting for the right time to tell him, and though she wasn’t sure this was it, the words fell out anyway. “In the Keys. It starts in two weeks.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment as he reached up and closed the lid, then took the bag from her and set it down. He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her close.
“I’ll be gone all summer.” Could she do it? Could she be away from him for that long, this man she was considering handing her future to? She’d never known a good man before him, and here she was, saying yes to a program that would pull her hundreds of miles away for three long months.
He leaned down and kissed each temple, then the edges of her lips, then finally kissed her on the mouth. His lips were warm and full. “I’m proud of you. You go do what you need to do, and I’ll be here when you get back.”
“What about coming to visit me while I’m gone? I think you’d like it there.”
He grinned. “You say the word and I’ll figure out how to get the time off. I’ll be on the next plane south.”
She leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his chest. His strong, steady heart thumped under her ear. As she leaned into him, she couldn’t help but think of Trudy, stuck in her scary house with her equally scary husband. Violet had done everything she could think of to try to get Trudy away from Jay. She’d offered her home as a refuge, she’d offered to buy her a plane ticket so she could go far away, she’d even tried to confront him. But Trudy always brushed off the help. She explained it in all kinds of ways—she was fine, it was just a bad day, he had his good moments. But Violet wasn’t stupid. Jay Malone didn’t have good moments. All the ones he showed to the world were just that—a show. Trudy saw the real thing at home.
And Violet was the only one who could save her sister, if she could just figure out how to do it.
* * *
Violet heard a sound behind her, and there was Maya climbing out of her old car. She opened the back door and pulled out a large duffel bag, then slammed the door behind her. Poor girl, Violet thought. Everything she has to her name fits into a single bag. Before Violet could make her way through the grass and up to the house, Trudy walked out the back door, her arms outstretched.
After Fritz took the bait shop room back for his brother, Violet and Trudy had decided to ask Maya to move in with them. It was Trudy’s idea at first, but the more Violet thought about it, the more she realized it was the obvious choice. The right choice. Their home—three bedrooms, quiet, with space to move around and be—had been a refuge for the two of them for decades. It was a place to retreat, to gather courage, to feel safe. And looking at Maya, this young, beautiful, lonesome girl, Violet knew she needed a place to call home.
The two sisters were getting up in years, too old really to be caretakers of someone so young, with so much life left, but there they were, walking into the little cottage by the river, the place they’d all call home. Three motherless women braving whatever came next.
Violet and Trudy had spent the day before sweeping and dusting, rearranging and cleaning, and now the house was as spiffed up as it had ever been. Violet walked behind Trudy as she fluttered up the hall to show Maya to her room at the end.
The scent of lavender floated from the attached bathroom, where Violet had unwrapped a new bar of lavender soap and placed it in a dish. Trudy had picked an enormous blue mophead hydrangea and placed it in a milk glass vase on the nightstand. The bed was made up with a rag quilt in shades of blue and green, and the dresser by the wall was bare except for a mirror and a glass tray.
“We didn’t know how young people like to decorate their bedrooms, so we figured we’d let you decide if you want to make any changes.”
Maya set her bag on the floor at the foot of the bed and smoothed her hand across the quilt. “It’s perfect. I don’t want to change a thing.”
Trudy smiled and gestured for Maya to follow her down to the kitchen. Violet stood in the doorway as her sister, so full of light and energy despite her silence, led this young woman through their home and into their world.
Later the three of them poured tall glasses of iced tea and cut slices of pound cake for an afternoon snack. Violet watched as Trudy and Maya walked out to the porch side by side, Trudy’s hand on Maya’s back a small brush of motherly affection. On the porch Maya sat on one end of the swing and Trudy settled onto the other. From behind, Trudy’s short, gray, out-of-control curls next to Maya’s smooth, dark waterfall made them look like two mismatched bookends that somehow fit together perfectly.