The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (that summer book .txt) 📕

on the weekends. See right there?” Stacy tapped a blurry figure smiling for the camera. “That’s my great grandfather.”

“Your family’s lived here that long?”

“They have,” Stacy replied. “My great-grandfather built the house originally and my grandfather added the deck.”

The remaining photographs revealed a gradual change to the building. It grew in size—one year adding docks; in another an outdoor deck. And scattered among the building pictures were snapshots of men dressed in overalls and absolutely beaming.

“They look pleased,” Jill remarked.

“They are—and they should be,” Stacy answered. “Most of the original building was constructed by hand, using the same crew. But it was small, so they could. Still, look at how proud they are.”

What a time that must have been. As Jill glanced at the photographs, she almost wished she was there.

“What’s this?” Jill stopped at the first color photograph in the line-up. The men were gone. The boathouse was gone. Both had been replaced by heavy machinery and blueprints. “What happened here?”

“The hurricane happened.” Stacy’s frown was deep. “C’mon, we should get going.”

They climbed the sweeping staircase to the ballroom on the second floor. On the walls overhead, a patchwork quilt of regatta flags dating back to 1931 hung from the exposed beams. Ironic that they’d kept the awards but changed the personality of the club that had earned them.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Stacy turned. “The ballroom is right through those double doors. I should go see about Billy Jacob’s table, make sure he’s got everything he needs for the signing.” She gestured to an author signing table that had been set up in a bright alcove just outside the ballroom. On the floor, peeking out from under the tablecloth was a small box. Stacy bit her lip, considering. “That doesn’t look like enough books.”

“Billy? The signing is for the Billy Jacob?” Jill asked. A Winter to Remember was one of her favorite books.

“Yes.”

“Billy Jacob lives in Dewberry Beach?”

Stacy laughed. “Not exactly. He’s an interesting character. He owns a brownstone in New York—Brooklyn I think—but he comes here to write. It’s a long story, but the gist of it is that last summer he grew very fond of our little town. He was convinced the air was ‘pulsing with creative energy’ or something just as weird. He finished his latest book here and even talked about staying. Anyway, he was here when he learned that developers were interested in land on the edge of town. But he snapped it up before they had a chance to buy it.”

“I get it.” Jill nodded, a bit disappointed. Marc had built his entire business on speculation, buying land then leveling it to make room for houses. She wanted Billy to be better than that.

Stacy hesitated. “No, I’m not sure you do. Billy bought the property, an old motel, so developers couldn’t build on it. He wanted to preserve it.” She shrugged. “He has no idea what to do with it now, of course, but he saved this town from another Monstrosity and that counts for a lot.”

Jill felt a flush on her cheeks. It seemed that everyone in town hated Marc’s house.

Twenty

The Yacht Club ballroom spanned the length of the second floor and had finishes that reminded Jill of an old-world luxury liner. The walls had been paneled in dark mahogany and lined with gold-framed portraits of past commodores, regattas, and award ceremonies. Overhead was a flutter of burgees from area sail clubs, and Jill hoped they were displayed in the spirit of camaraderie and not to embarrass an opposing team who’d lost a race. But as the whole place oozed with one-upmanship, Jill was afraid the display wasn’t kindly meant.

She shook off that feeling, focusing instead on the sweeping view of Barnegat Bay from oversized windows on the far wall. Today, the scene was especially breathtaking. The late October sky had deepened into a brilliant deep blue, and the mid-morning sun sparkled against the gentle waves in the bay. On the horizon, a flotilla of daysailers tacked into the breeze. Jill slipped her camera from the case and eagerly got to work. The ballroom was a hive of comings and goings, and Jill captured as much as she could. Ryan had asked for background shots, so she made sure to include the displays and volunteers setting up, anything he might find useful for the website.

It was around lunchtime when she finished. As she packed up, her mind turned toward food and she wondered, idly, if the Dewberry Deli was open. And if Nonna had made anything new.

Just as she clipped her camera bag shut, Brenda called her over.

“I noticed when you came in, but I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said, as she brushed a strand of hair from her face with the back of her hand. “Did you get some good pictures?”

“I think so.” Honestly, this was the best job she’d ever had. Freedom to take any picture that looked interesting was exhilarating, and she’d done some of her best work since she’d arrived. She could happily make photography her life’s work.

The items Brenda was unwrapping and setting up for display was a tea set, a hand-crafted pot, and two sturdy mugs. The craftsmanship was flawless, but it was the colors that captivated her, a gradient of blues and grays blended in the glaze that made Jill think of the sky just before a summer thunderstorm.

She wanted to run her fingertip along the glaze, just to be a part of it. She raised her gaze to Brenda. “May I?”

Brenda’s smile widened as she nodded. “Of course. Pick it up. This set is meant to be used and I hope it will be.”

The mug was heavier than it looked, and Jill traced the glaze with her fingertip, turning it over in her hands as she marveled at the swirl of color. It was when she looked closer that she noticed the delicate gold seams that threaded the piece. The effect was stunning.

“Is it Kintsugi?” Jill had