Live and Let Fly Read online

  chapter two

  I spent the next morning at Strings Attached, dabbing at my competition kite with soapy water between helping customers choose kites and replenish their lines. Thankfully, most of the tea Sunny had spilled on it had washed out.

  Now it hung above the workroom sink. I was pinning my future on that kite. “Dry out, you hear? And don’t let Sunny near you again,” I told it. “I’ll be back soon.” The kite caught the early afternoon sun, glowing with an intricate palette of blues, greens, and oranges.

  I closed the shop for lunch and trudged up the hill toward the older section of town. Rose, my accountant, lived up here and had set up her office in the detached garage behind her Queen Anne house.

  Unlike the modest Victorian that housed Strings Attached, Rose’s house sprouted bay windows and turrets. Delphiniums bloomed up the garden bed lining the driveway. Rose couldn’t be much older than I, but she’d already bought a house and established her business. I knocked on the double Dutch door before entering, even though I could see Rose’s head through the window as she bent over a stack of papers.

  “You’re exactly on time,” Rose said. “Have a seat.” She pointed to the chair across from her. The garage might share property with a 120-year-old house, but her office furnishings were crisp and new. “I’ve got the expenses for your taxes tallied.”

  I brushed the seat of my pants before I sat. “Is it bad?”

  “It’s good and it’s bad. Strings Attached did well this summer. You made an impressive income, considering that you’ve only been in business three months.”

  “But . . .” I said, waiting for the rest.

  “But that means you’ll have a hefty quarterly tax bill.” She pointed to a number on a form for the IRS.

  I sank into my chair. “Oh.” I had the money, but without strong Internet sales, it would leave me only enough savings to make it through the fall. Barely.

  Rose looked sympathetic. “I know. Starting your own business is rough.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued. “You wouldn’t have it any other way, right?”

  Despite the shock that my tax bill had left, I laughed. “I feel like my life is finally on track. I’m doing what I’m meant to do. Should I write you a check now?” I asked.

  “You can wait until September.” She tucked the IRS slip into an envelope and handed it to me. “You’re going to need a monthly net income of at least two-thirds of what you’re making now to survive the winter.”

  “Could I claim a sister who appeared out of the blue as a deduction?” It was a lame attempt at a joke, but I had to say something to counter the anxiety about money stirring in my gut.

  Rose laughed. Her laugh was as pure and orderly as her office. “A liability maybe. Not a deduction. But if it helps, I know what you mean.”

  “I’m sorry to be unloading. I bet accountants hear as many rants as bartenders.”

  “Or shrinks. True.” She capped her pen and set it aside. “What’s up with your sister?”

  “She showed up, suitcase in hand, yesterday morning. She announced that she’s quitting college, and she’s moving in with me.”

  “There’s a coincidence. My sister showed up this morning, too. Moving in with me would just about kill her, though. No hot tub, for one thing. Nothing like she has in Hollywood. She wouldn’t even stay the night at my house. Instead, she rented that fancy new place on the bluff just north of town.”

  I knew the house. It was all designer angles and windows, and the first few months after it was built, locals slowed to stare as they drove by. “Hopefully she’s not as klutzy as my sister, Sunny—” I stopped. “Jasmine Normand’s your sister, isn’t she? The Bag That Babe contestant judging the kite contest.”

  Rose grimaced. “That’s her.”

  “Wow.” Now here was an argument for nurture over nature. Rose was about as far from a TV star as you could get. She was pretty, sure, but didn’t look like she’d spend money on lipstick unless it was a tax-deductible business expense, and I suspected her wispy bangs had happened in the bathroom with a pair of manicure scissors.

  “I get that a lot.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I have kite festival on the brain, and for me your sister is a big deal because of it. I haven’t seen the TV show.”

  As Rose was wont to do, she skipped my comment on celebrity and went right to the financial part of my statement. “I’m not going to lie, Emmy. Four out of five new businesses fail within two years. I know tourism is growing in Rock Point, but is it growing fast enough to keep Strings Attached alive? I mean, we already have one kite shop.”

  Sullivan’s Kites. Jack’s place. “I know.”

  “Without savings to tide you over, you have to come up with a model to survive the whole year, including the rainy months when people aren’t stopping by the shop on vacation.”

  “I know,” I repeated, my voice quieter this time.

  “I sound harsh, and I’m sorry. I just want you to succeed.” She pushed herself away from her desk and clasped her hands across her lap. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do in October, when the town goes back to the locals?”

  My heart had sunk to somewhere below my belly button. “Strings Attached is the most important thing I’ve accomplished. I love it so much.” I stopped and bit my lip. Rose didn’t want to hear about passion. “My plan is to get by on Internet sales. I’m entering the most gorgeous kite I’ve ever designed into the kite festival. If I win, kite flyers all up and down the coast will check me out online. It’s the publicity I need.”

  Rose listened, her gaze intent. “It might work. I’m not sure how you can make it otherwise. But . . .”

  I waited for her to finish. She tidied her papers instead. “But what?” I urged.

  She tossed her pen on a file folder of receipts. “With Jasmine as judge?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I probably shouldn’t say anything,” Rose said.

  I slid to the edge of my chair. “You have to, now. Why isn’t Jasmine a good judge?”

  “She doesn’t take anything seriously—not her work, her relationships, nothing. A kite contest?” Rose shook her head. “Good luck.”

  • • •

  Still rattled by the money talk earlier, I closed the store for the day and I walked up to the Brew House, Avery’s café. Located a block off Rock Point’s main drag, it attracted more residents than tourists. It also served up an excellent tuna melt. Pure comfort food. I’d take one home for dinner, plus something for Sunny.

  As I crossed Main Street, dodging a family complete with a stroller and dog, I thought about Rose’s warning. I knew that winning the kite contest was important, but I’d never thought about it in such black-and-white terms. True, most new businesses failed. Somehow I must have thought that the force of my will to succeed would be enough. What if Rose was right, and Jasmine wouldn’t know a worthy kite when she saw one?

  The front door to the large arts and crafts bungalow that housed the Brew House was propped open to the warm marine breeze. The faint sounds of Miles Davis’s piano and the espresso machine’s hiss reached me on the porch. The café was busy tonight. Trudy, the manager, was pulling shots of espresso and steaming milk at a practiced hustle. Avery waved at me with one hand and smiled as she deposited a bowl of soup on Marcus Salek’s table with the other.

  Marcus was one of the town cranks who wasn’t exactly happy with Rock Point’s transformation from fishing village to tourist destination, and he considered Strings Attached part of the problem. “Who’s going to buy all those kites?” he’d asked me once when we were both in line at the supermarket. “Tourists, that’s who. You’d do better to take your business to Seaside.”

  Today, though, Marcus wasn’t paying attention to me, or even his soup. He was looking across the room at a gorgeous woman, but it wasn’t admiration on
his blond-bearded face. It was disgust. And it wasn’t just Marcus checking her out, it was everyone.

  The woman’s figure nailed the line between fit and curvy, and her face might have graced cameo pendants. Honey-colored hair fluffed to her shoulders, and when I said honey, I didn’t mean that it was light brown. I meant that it glowed golden, as if it were lit from within. Across from her sat a man with his back to me and another woman with short, white-blond hair.

  Then I realized the obvious. This was Jasmine Normand, the Bag That Babe star and judge of the kite contest. Tearing my gaze away, I made my way to the counter at the café’s rear.

  “Tuna melt, please,” I told Trudy, then turned again for a quick peek at the judge, now with her back to me. “I need something else, too. Do you have anything vegan?” I asked, thinking of Sunny.

  “We have veggie burgers.”

  “Are they gluten-free?”

  “I don’t think so. Let me look at the package.”

  Jasmine Normand leaned across the table and laid her hand on the man’s forearm. “I bet your kites fly like rockets,” she said.

  The man across from her was Jack Sullivan. My Jack. I straightened. He was looking at Jasmine Normand like he was a starving puppy and she was a rib eye steak.

  “You’ll find out soon,” Jack said.

  “You’ll find out soon,” I mouthed with annoyance. My hands flew to my hips.

  “Maybe you could show me your shop? Give me a hint of what to expect?” Her hand moved closer to his elbow.

  Jack and I might have only gone out a handful of times over the past few months, but people in town had started to consider us a couple, and I found that when one of us was invited somewhere, the other usually was, too. Right now, though, Jack didn’t even register my presence.

  “The veggie burger has wheat. What about soup?” Trudy said.

  “What?” I didn’t even turn toward her. Jack, that two-timer.

  “Today’s soup is tomato basil. No gluten, no dairy.”

  In two steps I was at Jack and Jasmine Normand’s table. “Don’t you think this is a conflict of interest?” I said.

  Now Jack snapped out of his trance. He pulled his arm away from Jasmine’s hand. “Hello, Emmy.” He looked to the short-haired woman next to him first. “This is Caitlin Ruder. Caitlin, meet Emmy Adler.” He returned his attention to Jasmine. “Have you met Jasmine Normand yet? We went to high school together for a semester.”

  “And studied what? Heavy petting?” Wait. Did that really come out of my mouth?

  “Your sandwich, Emmy,” Avery said.

  “Don’t let ’em get away with it, Adler,” Marcus Salek yelled from across the room. “I saw him pay for her soy latte.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jack said.

  “This contest matters to me. I will not let you mess it up.”

  “Emmy—” Jack started.

  “Shut up.”

  “You tell him,” Marcus said.

  “You shut up, too,” I yelled back at Marcus.

  “What’s got into you?” Jack said.

  “You can’t sleep your way to a blue ribbon, Jack. My kite is ten times better than anything you could rig up.” I fastened both Jasmine and Jack with meaningful looks. “If it’s a fair contest, that is.”

  Everyone in the room was watching, mouths agape, except for Marcus, whose head bobbed in a silent chuckle. The Miles Davis album had ended, and the record player’s stylus bumped against the record’s center. At the table next to Marcus, a man coughed. He was tall and tanned and looked as if he should be lounging on a veranda in Antigua, not in a tiny Oregon beach town. I had barely registered his startling presence when Jack drew my attention back.

  “Why don’t you join us?” Jack asked, his tone calm. “Have a seat.”

  As my father would have said, my ire was up, but it was quickly being replaced by a self-conscious shame. “You.” I ignored Jack and jabbed a finger toward Jasmine. “Play fair, or you’ll be very, very sorry.”

  I spun on my heels and, chin up, marched toward the door. I was on the street before I realized I’d forgotten my sandwich.

  chapter three

  It was no good. I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. I looked at my alarm clock and fell back into bed, my head hitting the pillow. Almost three in the morning.

  Forget it. I slipped out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. I was going for a walk.

  The house was quiet, but for the slight groans of its joists as it settled in the cool night. Normally, I’d take Bear with me, but Sunny had kidnapped him. He was likely snoring away at the foot of her bed.

  I pulled on a pair of tennis shoes and took the big flashlight by the back porch door. Easing the door closed behind me, I walked into the damp dark and descended the stairs to the beach.

  It was a clear night. The tide was in. The stars were thick as clotted cream, and without even trying, I caught a shooting star streaking by before it vanished.

  Man, how I’d muffed the day. I still winced over promising Sunny that I’d hide her from Mom and Dad. That was stupid. If they found out, I’d never hear the end of it.

  Then there was Strings Attached. I needed to win the kite contest, and I was sure my kite was beautiful enough to nab first place. The publicity would draw buyers to my website. Then I had to go and threaten the lead judge.

  “Stupid,” I couldn’t help saying aloud. The surf grumbled in sympathy.

  I’d ticked off Jack, too. I remembered his adoring gaze at Jasmine. Had he ever looked at me that way? I slowed as I walked from sea-packed sand to the looser, dry sand near the bluff. The cool scent of salt and earth blew around me. Sometimes when we’d hang out I’d catch Jack studying me when he thought I wasn’t looking. He’d always have a vague smile, as if looking at me had stirred up a memory of something happy, a little bit funny, maybe. But I don’t recall him drooling.

  I’d been the one to slow things between us. I’d barely lived in Rock Point for three months, and Strings Attached was only just getting started. It felt too soon to get involved with anyone, even a great guy like Jack. I wanted to be a little more established first, steady on my own two feet.

  What a scene I’d made at the Brew House, though. I shook my head. I’d never blown my top like that over a guy before. Sure, some of it had to do with worry about Strings Attached and Marcus’s egging me on, but it was inexcusable. Plus, I hadn’t stuck around long enough for Jack to say anything in his own defense. I would definitely apologize to him tomorrow, as humiliating as it would be.

  I’d made it about half a mile down the beach. Time to turn back. Maybe I’d worn myself out enough to finally sleep.

  Up on the bluffs to my left, houses appeared here and there, mostly vacation homes. They were dark. Or empty. Except for the farthest one, which had two lights on: one downstairs and one upstairs, on opposite sides of the house.

  Normally, I’d assume someone couldn’t sleep, like me, and was looking for comfort in warm milk or late-night TV. But this was the house Rose had said her sister, Jasmine Normand, was renting.

  I walked a little closer. As with all the homes on the bluff, including Avery’s, stairs were roughly cut into the earth, leading from the beach to the house. From where I stood, the houses were low enough that I could make out someone—Jasmine?—bending over the sink in the kitchen. I clicked off my flashlight and held my breath, but no one could see me on the beach. The upstairs bedroom darkened all at once, and the figure turned toward me. It wasn’t Jasmine at all. It was a man.

  Uncomfortable, and not wanting to be caught gawking at Jasmine Normand’s house, I turned for home.

  • • •

  “Are you sure you can handle the store, Sunny?” I hiked my purse to my shoulder, but I hesitated to leave.

  “Of course,” Sunny said. “How hard can it be? I used to work at t
he co-op, remember? I know how to run a credit card machine.”

  “Kites aren’t exactly kombucha and millet.”

  “I’ve flown kites all my life, too, you know. Go run your errand. Things will be just fine.”

  “Maybe it can wait—”

  “Get out of here.” Sunny turned toward the workshop door, her blond dreadlocks whirling behind her.

  Well, I wouldn’t be gone long. I walked the few blocks to Sullivan’s Kites and, taking a deep breath, pushed open the front door. Jack’s shop had been in Rock Point since his grandfather opened it just after World War II, inside the mechanic’s shop he also ran. After a few years, the kite business overtook the automobile repair business, and old man Sullivan, as we used to call him, moved the shop to the former five and dime on Main Street. The shop had kept its no-nonsense interior of racks of kites interspersed with the occasional sun-faded kite poster. Jack also sold games to help him through the winter.

  The store had a special place in my heart since it was where my parents had bought me my first kite, a red diamond. I’d had no idea Jack existed then, since he lived in Salem with his parents. His dad was old man Sullivan’s son.

  Seeing me, Jack tossed a piece of fabric over the kite he was working on. His competition kite. Had to be. “Hi,” he said uncertainly.

  I bit my lip and released it. “I’ve come to apologize. I’m sorry I was such a blockhead yesterday. I had no right to talk to you like that.”

  “You were really upset.” To my surprise, he sounded more curious than angry.

  “I lost it. I haven’t let loose like that since”—I pondered this a second—“since I don’t know when. It’s inexcusable. I was tormented all night thinking about it.”

  He smiled, right up through those pale gray eyes. All at once, I relaxed. “You’re forgiven,” he said. “Besides, it was cute, seeing you jealous.”