The Sweetest Summer(3)
“Chief Flynn!” Willa hugged him tight and delivered a damp kiss near his left ear.
Chet shook his hand firmly. “Nice to see you, son,” he said.
“Mr. Chester, always a pleasure.”
Willa slapped both her hands on Clancy’s upper arms and squeezed tight, smiling up at him. “Now, my dear, when are we going to get you to come out and celebrate with us? Hmm?”
This was Willa’s usual routine. Starting the summer Clancy turned eighteen, she began attempting to recruit him into the “lifestyle.” It had never much appealed to him. He was the kind of guy who preferred to carefully choose who he wanted to see naked and then do so in a one-on-one kind of format. Hanging out with a hundred or so sunburned nudists draped in mermaid and sea captain accessories wasn’t his thing. Never would be.
“Oh, Willa.” He grinned at her. “You know I get out to Colony Beach at least a few times every festival week.”
She waved her hand to dismiss his teasing reply. “Only when there’s a problem. I’m talking about taking some time to come out and see how we do things, just relax and let everything go.”
Like his boxers, no doubt.
“Festival week is crazy busy for me, Willa. You know that. But I appreciate the invite, as always.”
She wagged her finger. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Clancy. Well, we should be off. Checking in right away. We can’t wait to see all the renovations at the Safe Haven. How excited you all must be with all the changes on the island this year.”
“Absolutely. Be safe, now.”
Clancy resumed his glad-handing, hearing himself repeat his mantra: “Welcome to Bayberry Island . . . have fun and be safe . . . let me know if there’s anything I can assist you with . . . two blocks that way . . . you can’t miss it. . . .” All while he mulled over Willa’s last comment. She was right. Everything had changed on Bayberry since this time last year. It began when Clancy’s sister, Rowan, fell in love with a Boston blue blood with plans to inject loads of cash into the local economy. As good as all that was, seeing how Rowan and Ashton Louis Wallace III made each other happy was even better. In fact, he’d never seen two people more in love.
“Welcome . . . two blocks down . . . great costume . . . have fun. . . .”
Love.
The irony didn’t escape Clancy. Day-to-day life on Bayberry Island revolved around the “mystical power of love,” as his mother called it. Yet here he was, a naysayer, a nonbeliever. He didn’t make a big deal about it, but everyone who knew him knew that he and “love” weren’t exactly on speaking terms.
“Hello . . . enjoy yourselves . . . just two blocks that way . . . really? . . . all the way from Minnesota?”
It was simply a fact: the mermaid stuck it to him. It happened on the last day of festival week eighteen years ago, when Clancy stood right here on this dock, in tears, watching the most wonderful, funny, smart, and pretty girl he’d ever met board the ferry with her family. She promised to stay in touch but she never wrote. So much time had passed that he’d forgotten her name—Emma or Emily maybe—but he sure remembered how he felt about her. The only thing he had from that week was a Polaroid of the two of them dancing at the Mermaid Ball, but he hadn’t looked at it in probably ten years. Maybe his mom stashed it somewhere in the attic.
“Yes, ma’am, the kickoff ceremony and parade is tomorrow . . . just two blocks that way . . . enjoy yourselves . . . welcome. . . .”
Of course, Clancy would never tell another soul that he blamed his bad love juju on a slab of bronze. That was just between him and the stone-cold harpy of Fountain Square.