Lana

As a teenager, I couldn’t wait to escape Worthington, Maine, but as I paused to breathe in the last of Mr. Graham’s lilacs, I couldn’t imagine why. I’d been incredibly lucky to have grown up in such a beautiful place.

My arms were full of groceries, so I half waved to Polly Larch as she crossed Main Street opposite the post office, tugging at her cat’s leash. Even though it looked like Polly was in charge, I was pretty sure she was following wherever the cat wandered.

I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and climbed the steps to Mrs. Wells’ porch. I knocked and headed straight in. “Mrs. Wells, it’s Lana.” As well as being a self-proclaimed psychic, Mrs. Wells was the oldest resident of Worthington and a number of us took it in turns to drop off her groceries.

The television fell silent as I shut the door behind me.

“Hello, dear.” Mrs. Wells turned to wave at me as I smiled before heading to the kitchen.

“I’m just going to unpack these groceries and I’ll be right over,” I replied. I put the brown paper bag on the counter alongside the canvas tote that bore my newly designed logo for Kelly Jewelry. I grinned as I straightened it out so I could see the raspberry pink set against the duck-egg blue. I’d spent weeks designing it, had commissioned a painted storefront sign and eventually I would recover the seats of the chairs in my shop with the same colors and maybe paint my nails that same shade of pink. Everything was coming together.

I emptied the tote, rolled it up and snapped it shut in my faux-vintage carpet bag.

“The Young and the Restless?” I asked, checking to see which soap opera Mrs. Wells was watching.

“No dear, it’s yesterday’s General Hospital. Thank you for dropping off my groceries, now come and sit here.” She removed a faded patchwork quilt from the chair beside her and patted the cushion. “I haven’t seen you for a few weeks. Tell me what’s been going on.”

I smoothed down the back of my skirt before taking a seat. “I’m sure you know far more than I do.” Mrs. Wells had been born in this town and there was nothing she didn’t know about either before it happened or, at the very latest, the moment after. And it had nothing to do with her psychic ability.

“Did you hear about the movie they’re making along the coast?” she asked.

“Is that even true?” More than one person had mentioned the movie being filmed just between here and Portland, but there were plenty of beaches in California. Why would they come to Maine?

“Bree Kendall stopped by on her way back from Portland yesterday. She said she saw a hundred trucks trailing through the town.” As Mrs. Wells’ house sat right at the end of Main Street, and she spent almost as much time on her porch as she did watching TV, she had a bird’s-eye view of most of the action that took place in Worthington and passersby told her the news from out of town.

Not that there was much, which was exactly how I liked it.

“I hear the whole of Portland is full of Hollywood types and all the hotels are booked up,” she told me.

“Well, that’s good for local business,” I said, staring at the TV, trying to work out if I’d seen the woman on the screen in something else. I had a terrible memory for names and faces. Another reason why staying in the same place I grew up was such a good idea for me. Other than tourists, there were few new people who came to town.

“It might be good for you, too. Perhaps you should take an ad out in the Portland Press Herald.”

“Maybe.” I was pretty sure if a film crew was in Portland, they’d have neither the time nor inclination to visit a jewelry store thirty-five minutes north of where they were staying.

“You should think about it. There are a lot of things happening for you this summer.” I could tell by her sure voice that she wasn’t just making small talk. She had information. Or at least she thought she did. Although Mrs. Wells had long-since retired from giving readings to passing tourists on the beach, apparently the spirits weren’t so keen on her retirement and she still passed on what they told her to any Worthington resident who asked. But I hadn’t asked. And I didn’t want to know.

She pulled out my yellow silk scarf from where it was lodged beside her. So that was where it had disappeared. I hadn’t seen it in weeks. I should have known. “You must have left it when you were last here, my dear.”

She was trying to appear nonchalant, but the sparkle in her eyes told me she was busting at the seams to tell me whatever reading she’d got on my scarf.

“I’ve told you before, Mrs. Wells, I’m not interested in knowing what my future holds. I want to see it for myself.” Unfortunately, Mrs. Wells wasn’t one of those fortune tellers who just told you the good stuff. When I’d been to see her about college choices, desperate for her to tell me that art school in New York would make all my dreams come true, I’d been devastated that she’d told me the move would only bring me pain. I’d ignored her, assuming her negative reading was just reflective of the fact that she was a small-town woman frightened of the big city.

I hated that she’d been right, and I’d never asked her what the spirits said again. Since I’d been back in Worthington, I’d worked hard to hold things steady, made sure I was in control of my own destiny. I wanted to keep my life just as it was. I was happy.

“You need to prepare yourself, my dear. This summer there’s a storm coming your way. Lots of change.”

My stomach flipped over. I didn’t do storms. There was no way my world could be thrown off balance—I’d made sure of it. I shook my head. “Well, I’ve storm-proofed my life.” My jewelry shop was turning a small profit, I’d set up an online storefront, and had made more from the last three months of internet sales than I had in the whole of last year. I had my cottage on the beach and good friends and neighbors. There was nothing that could alter any of that.

“It’s impossible to avoid. It’s your destiny. You can withstand what comes but things will change. Storms can be destructive but they can clear the air, ready for a fresh start. A new beginning,” she said, looking at me intently.

“Please, Mrs. Wells. I really don’t want to hear any more.” I twirled the yellow scarf around my fingers. I’d worked really hard for calm seas these last few years, and I didn’t want to think about anything disturbing that. And I didn’t need a new beginning. I’d thought that about college and where had that gotten me?

She patted my hand. “Have you rented out your next-door cottage for the summer?”

I was grateful she’d changed the subject. “Actually, it was booked months ago for six weeks. A family from Boston arrived yesterday. I haven’t met them yet, but their car is in the driveway.” My best friend Ruby and I rented out a house we jointly owned that was a carbon copy of my cottage. When my father died, I couldn’t bring myself to live in my childhood home, so I’d decided to sell that house and reinvest in two clapboard cottages next door to each other on the beach less than a ten-minute walk from where I’d grown up. My father would have approved. He’d always been a big believer in brick-and-mortar-based income.

“That’s great news, dear. See, there will be lots of good in with the turmoil.”

I sighed. I wished she’d drop it. My life wasn’t in turmoil, and I’d make sure it never would be. And it was no surprise about the rental cottage. Fact was, the house was popular and rented well year-round, but six weeks was a nice long period of time, especially for the money Ruby had managed to secure. She dealt with bookings from her home in New York, and I handled the things on the ground—welcome basket, weekly maid service and generally organizing any necessary maintenance. Often, I never even met the renters. Most people spent their days out exploring the coast.

“Well, I’m looking forward to a great summer for all of us,” I said as I stood and straightened out my skirt.

“With all that’s coming into your life, it’s going to get interesting for you. That’s for sure. It won’t all be bad. But you’re going to have to listen to your heart.”

“Mrs. Wells!” I scolded, trying not to stamp my foot like a three-year-old. I couldn’t have been clearer that I didn’t want to hear her predictions. And I knew full well that listening to my heart was the last thing I needed to do. That got me nothing but trouble. “I’ve told you before that I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is. I don’t do turmoil. And I don’t want to hear any more.”

She clearly couldn’t resist. “I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her palm to her chest. “I want you to find someone who will love you just like Mr. Wells loved me. And when I got that message from your scarf about the handsome man in your future, I just couldn’t hold it in.”

“A man?” Her prediction had gotten worse. The very last thing I wanted was a man. I’d learned that I couldn’t trust men. And I couldn’t trust my judgment of men. It was an easy solution—I just avoided them. Not that there were many single men under thirty-five in Worthington. Which was exactly why this place was so perfect.

I loved my life here—the lilacs, the thunderstorms and the ocean that I saw every time I looked out of the window. It was home—a harbor of happiness, familiarity and shelter. I might have been a little lonely every now and then on a Saturday night, but Netflix and the sound of the waves crashing against the beach just beyond my cottage plugged most of the gap. I had what I needed. Life was good.

“Okay, Mrs. Wells, I need to get back to the shop.” I stood up again. I’d put the closed sign up while I delivered Mrs. Wells’ groceries, and I didn’t want to miss people on their way home from work.

“Very well, but make sure you’ve got an umbrella. It’s going to rain.”

I frowned. “It’s a beautiful day, Mrs. Wells. I don’t need an umbrella.” I picked up my purse and headed out.

If she couldn’t even get the weather right, hopefully Mrs. Wells was losing her touch. I needed my life to remain as it was. Handsome men had never worked out well for me.