Back in Keytown in the August heat, Zarina’s husband, Stanley, served an iced skinny caramel latte to Tara with a smile, then returned to the text conversation on his phone.

 

Zarina: once u see it u will agree- omg hottest thing ever

Stanley: Rather just have u here. Never wanted to run Zoomdweebies alone :(

Zarina: I knowww, sorry. Never meant to be on island so much

Stanley: I remember. “I just need to run the website from here…”

Zarina: Just didn’t know we’d be doing so much video…

Stanley: Didn’t know you’d be IN video ;p

Zarina: lol me either but u r gonna need to trust me on that one…

Stanley: send it over!!

Zarina: the file is huge. I can upload it to a private YouTube video or burn it on a DVD and bring it home tonight.

Stanley: just do that and we can watch it in bed.

Zarina: Sounds like fun. holy shit BRB someone is knocking at the front door…

 

Zarina put down her phone just as Jo was walking into the room. They were both staring at the door, where they could hear someone, or what sounded like several people, knocking loudly on the door. Normally, people didn’t knock on their locked front door, because they were expected, and everyone knew to use the side entrance, which had a key code.

“Where’s Kevin?” whispered Zarina.

“He’s already left,” answered Jo.

She was still wearing the purple leather outfit. She grabbed a long black trench coat from the hook on the wall, quickly taking off the blond wig and pulling out bobby pins, trying to toss her black hair back into place. There wasn’t time to change out of the platform heels. Zarina had changed back into the jeans and T-shirt she’d been wearing. Their cars were out front, so not answering the door didn’t seem like an option.

Zarina waited by the door, looking at Jo for the signal it was OK to answer.

Jo shrugged her shoulders, waving her right hand toward the door. There was no filming going on. Nothing to see here.

Zarina unlocked the door.

Keytown Police Chief Christopher Linden, Matthew’s Island Elementary School Principal Tony Spannek, and Talbot County Sheriff Gary Calderson walked into the small lobby area.

“Are you open for business?” asked the county sheriff with a smile and a nod of his hat to Zarina.

“Hello, boss,” Jo said to the principal. “What brings you here?”

Principal Spannek looked down at the reception area magazines on the table, fixating his gaze on the latest issue of Vogue because seeing his kindergarten teacher staff member in a purple leather bustier would have been an incredibly awkward alternative.

Chief Linden answered for him.

“Hello, ladies,” said Chief Linden. “Why don’t we all have a seat?”

“I’m fine standing,” said Jo. “Why don’t you tell us what brings the three of you to our office on this fine day?”

“There have been some complaints,” Chief Linden began. “And there is a bit of an investigation.”

“Complaints?” Zarina asked in her tiniest voice. She was clearly terrified. She had served Chief Linden a medium coffee, black, two Splendas probably a hundred times back at Zoomdweebies in Keytown, and he now smiled at her sympathetically. “About noise or something? We don’t really have any neighbors.”

“No,” said Sheriff Calderson, “it’s not about the noise. Apparently some local folks seem to be of the mind that your business here is a bit unsavory and they have some concerns that it might be illegal. We’ve been asked to look into things.”

Jo looked at her boss. “Are you a police investigator now?”

“The allegations about you,” Principal Spannek began, his face red, not making eye contact, “about your, er—part-time work, I am concerned about how your kindergarten teaching position would be affected here in the community if the rumors were true…”

“So you came here because there are rumors on the island about me,” said Jo. “Not because of any performance-related issues regarding my work, is that correct?”

Principal Spannek, whose head remained firmly down, had now memorized every headline on the cover of Vogue, and had learned that New York Rangers goalie Henrik Lundqvist, featured on the cover, was apparently the best-dressed NHL hockey player in the world.

“Well, there are people suggesting that your position could be compromised if…” he muttered.

“The place of business you are now standing in,” began Jo, “is a video and web editing operation that I run part time. The hours I spend here, especially while it’s summer and school isn’t even in session, have never affected my position at the school. Many other teachers have part-time businesses on the side, especially in summer.”

“In terms of the types of materials that are produced by the video production company,” said Chief Linden, “and the website that’s being run from both the Keytown jurisdiction as well as here at the Matthew’s Island property, we really are just trying to ensure that all the laws are being followed.”

“All the laws,” said Jo. “OK, let’s stop beating around the metaphorical and even the literal bush here. Are you gentlemen concerned about pornography?”

Two uniformed officers of the law and an elementary school principal dropped their heads at the same time as though a priest had told them to bow their heads and pray for God’s blessing. No eye contact was made.

Sheriff Calderson was the first one brave enough to look up,

“Ma’am, it’s our duty to ensure that no underage actors are being utilized in the performance of any… activities at this facility,” said Calderson.

“Well that’s a stretch,” Jo laughed. “Because we don’t have anyone here who is underage, which means you don’t have any evidence that there is anyone here underage, which means the three of you are here barking up the wrong tree. None of you has a search warrant, which means you’re all trespassing, though I’m willing to extend to you a welcome as my guest this one time on the property. Every filming activity that takes place here is covered under a tiny little thing called the first amendment of the Constitution, and I doubt anyone here wants to spend a bunch of money going to court to argue that one. The battle has already been fought and lost too many times. C’mon, boys, this community is conservative, but we aren’t Southern Baptists. We’re just not that far below the Mason-Dixon line for that. So unless you’d like a tour of the facility, which I’d be happy to take you on, I guess I don’t have anything else to show you at the moment.”

Zarina looked at Jo, at the way she had confidently let the trench coat casually fall open during her speech. The full view of her purple leather ensemble was now on display, the full power of not only her sexuality, but the power of her dominance, her attitude. She cocked one hip to the side, begging any single one of them to defy her.

“I still have concerns about—” began Principal Spannek, still staring at the Armani suit on the Rangers goalie.

“If you have concerns about my performance as an elementary school teacher in my classroom,” said Jo, “you can address them inside your building. But if my work here inside this building affects my employment in any way, you’ll be addressing that with my attorney in court. Because I will sue the board of education for violating my first amendment rights to free speech if you fire me because I have another job that in no way affects my teaching.”

“Zarina, you know everyone loves the coffee shop in Keytown,” said Chief Linden. “There are just some old-fashioned folks and when they find out about this sort of thing, well, they get a bit flustered and they think something ought to be done.”

“I guess so,” said Zarina. “But I don’t think we are doing anything wrong.”

“Like I said, it’s an investigation,” said Chief Linden. “All that really means to us is that it’s a bunch of paperwork. It doesn’t mean we’re going to be hauling anyone off to jail. It means we fill out forms, say we did our jobs and came down here and checked it out.”

“That’s right,” said Sheriff Calderson. “We did due diligence. You don’t have kids and farm animals chained to the wall, so you’re not breaking any pornography laws. ’Nuff said.”

Jo smiled at the sheriff.

“There, see?” she said. “That wasn’t so painful, now was it?”

 

 

Maggie and Wes sat at their usual table at Café Tokyo in Keytown, happy to be out of the summer heat.

“So what’s new at the theatre this summer?” asked Maggie, after ordering her Bento box. “Anything exciting?”

“Oh, just the usual,” said Wes. “We packed the houses with every single production of Les Mis, because of course Alfie was spectacular as Jean Valjean, I mean, Jesus Christ we had the theatre girls, and mostly boys, lined up in the alley for hours waiting to get their programs signed like it was Broadway, all night every night. He was thrilled.”

“So great the whole thing sold out. And he was so amazing,” said Maggie. “He really could have played the role on Broadway!”

“Oh well, if you could just do me a favor and not say that too loudly around him, that would be fantastic,” said Wes with an eye roll, sipping his tea from the Japanese cup with no handles. “Because I think 24601 already has his own zip code, so he doesn’t need any more props!”

“Well, I had a blast the nights I worked at the box office,” said Maggie, “there’s so much buzz at the theatre on nights like that.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fantastic,” said Wes. “Now we’re getting ready for the kids to come in and do the summer theatre, so everyone brace yourselves for Seussical the Musical! There’s no stopping it now!”

“Aw, I’m sure it will be cute,” said Maggie.

“Well, that depends on who signed up for summer theatre, now doesn’t it,” said Wes, laughing. “We don’t get to go out and choose! Now enough about my place. Let’s talk about your wedding.”

“I just want everything to be very simple,” said Maggie. “I didn’t want to spend a lot of money. I want everyone to have fun, dance, enjoy themselves. It’s just about Dave and I standing in front of the people we love and recommitting to each other—it’s just a nice weekend away at Sharps Island, it doesn’t really need to be a major production.”

“Blah, blah, still a wedding,” said Wes. “Clothes. Tell. What are we wearing. The damn thing is like weeks away and I’ve heard nothing.”

“I ended up finding this breezy vintage summer wedding dress,” said Maggie. “It’s not really formal. I love it though.”

“Not enough detail, obviously,” said Wes, putting down his chopsticks. “I mean it could be stunning, or it could be like Partridge Family–hideous. Tell me it’s not a Karen Carpenter dress, Maggie. You didn’t go full Carol Brady on me.”

“Jesus Christ, Wes, have a little faith. I own a goddamn vintage clothing store,” said Maggie. “No. I went online to a few of the shops I know from the vintage retailers’ association I belong to—there’s a Facebook page, and I asked, and everyone looked around for me and sent photos until I found one. It’s from the thirties.”

“OK, um, hello,” said Wes. “First of all, you and social media. So, news flash. Secondly, is it like a legit flapper dress?? I need to see a photo. Photo please!”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, yes, it is, but it’s not super fancy with the hanging beads everywhere, it’s on the plainer side,” said Maggie, taking out her phone to search for the photo. She showed Wes the picture of the sleeveless ivory dress with ruched bodice, descending front-to back hemline, and beaded lace detailing.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” said Wes, taking the phone with one hand and holding his hand to his mouth with the other. “Oh my God, I’m going to cry when I see you in it.”

“Well, you can’t do that,” said Maggie, “because you’re the maid of honor.”

“The what??” said Wes. “Stahhhp it. Girl, don’t joke about something like that.”

“Of course I’m not joking,” said Maggie. “My daughters will be beautiful bridesmaids. I love Eva and Lisa but I wouldn’t choose between them. And you’re my best friend. But I guess you’re married so you can’t be the ‘maid’ of honor and you’ll have to be the matron of honor. You can’t be the best man because Dave’s brother will be there, but you can make up a title if you’d like.”

“The gaytron of honor,” said Wes. “Naturally.”

Maggie laughed, nearly spitting out the tea she’d just sipped.

“Of course,” she said. “The gaytron of honor.”

 

 

Eva walked slowly on the beach alone. She missed Jo, who always used to walk the beach with her, but lately she had been so distracted by this video business she never seemed free to go sea glass hunting anymore. Eva didn’t mind going alone, though bending down to pick up the glass at the near end of her pregnancy was a bit of a challenge. She really only bent from the knees for very special pieces these days!

She thought of Charles. He had been absolutely distraught at the news of her pregnancy. She’d tried writing to him, thinking she might be able to avoid a conversation, but he had phoned her right away.

“Eva, how could you do this to me?” he’d said. “You know I love you and I would have wanted for us to be a family. I would want to marry you and to raise this child! Why have you sent me this disgusting kit in the mail? You are obviously with another man now and he can raise your child! I don’t want to speak of it again!”

He had been outraged. Contacting him after all the time that had gone by had been a terrible idea. She apologized over and over, trying to explain that she was so exhausted with the pregnancy, and distraught. But she knew it was really an exaggeration, that she’d avoided him for so long. The easy way out of finding out who the father of her baby was would have been for Charles to agree to the paternity test. That had clearly not worked out.

I will just stick to my original plan, thought Eva. I will assume Nathan is the father. Nathan is going to raise this child as his own. DNA does not matter! It’s not something I can change anyway. Why worry about it?

But she did worry. The attorney in her worried. What if Charles tried to claim paternal rights to the baby? Eva had been struggling with whether or not to tell Nathan of the possibility of Charles’s paternity throughout the entire pregnancy. Every time they’d gone out for a sail she’d think should I mention it? But then the peacefulness of the wind and the water would take over and she just couldn’t find a way to break the silence… and break his heart. She knew when the baby was born, she could do a cheek swab when Nathan was sleeping and send it in for DNA results if she couldn’t let go of the paternity issue. But as she walked on the sandy shore, breathing in the salty, breezy air of the Chesapeake, she tried once again to forget.

She widened her stance, squatting awkwardly down and leaning to one side to scoop up a perfect piece of pale pink sea glass—such a rare shade. She could walk past the brown and white pieces, and maybe even green, but not a pink. This beautiful shade was too rare to pass by. She held it in her hand and turned it over. Looking out at the water, she wondered where it had come from: a plate or a glass, a vase or a serving bowl? How many people had once used the item, how many years ago? How many tides and storms did it spend out there, getting pounded by the waves until it finally came to rest here on the shore of this tiny island, lying on the sand, at peace?

It wasn’t that different from her. It has imperfections, still, but it had stood the test of time—all the years of getting battered, tossed around, its sharp edges, smoothed out by time and stormy weather. And now, this island, this peaceful home. Looking again, though, she saw the dark, gray clouds on the horizon. Eva could tell when storms were coming. She’d been on this island since she was small, endured many great storms, knew when they were going to be bad. This storm they were calling for wasn’t some passing tropical storm. She could feel the low-pressure system in the way the gravity pulled her baby, who even now rolled around low in her abdomen. She placed a hand below her abdomen, supporting the weight there. She tried to turn the red sea glass ring on her finger, but it wouldn’t budge. It was firmly planted in place now by her swollen fingers. She smiled, loving the way Nathan had wanted to give her some gesture of his love for her without wanted her to panic too soon about commitment. It was perfect. Looking down, she realized the shape of the sea glass piece was really almost a perfect heart.

She thought of the way Nathan made love to her, even now, even the night before. Pregnancy had never stopped her from being passionate, though she’d had to look it up online and show him it was all right because he was terrified he’d hurt the baby. She threatened to drag him to the obstetrician’s office and discuss it in front of the doctor if he wanted, and he had respectfully declined, looking mortified at that possibility. She swore it was only in the first trimester she didn’t feel up to lovemaking. The rest of the time she was just as horny as she was at any other time of her life.

The baby kicked. She returned the pressure with her right hand, greeting the baby with a smile. “Hello, little one,” said Eva. “I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

She rolled the piece of pink sea glass over in her hand. There was nothing like holding a piece of perfectly wave-worn glass in your hand as a “worry stone” to transfer your anxiety away. Watching the gray storm clouds on the horizon growing closer, she turned to head back to the safety and warmth of her little cottage.