Not thinking was the only way he’d survive being stationed here—but he wasn’t sure how to make that happen.
Louisa woke up with a bad headache and an achy body. She should probably stay in bed another day, but she was too restless. Two days at home with Maggie had been more than enough.
The old woman had returned with a coffee cake and now bustled around the house, pretending to be busy.
Louisa glanced at the clock. Ally had scheduled a meeting at nine thirty, and she needed to prepare. She didn’t even know who the client was.
“I could stay around and help out this morning,” Maggie said as Louisa not-so-subtly moved her toward the front door.
“I’ll be fine,” Louisa said.
“You shouldn’t be working so soon.” Maggie stopped at the front door—so close—and stood unmoving, like a boulder lodged down deep in a crack in the earth.
“You know I can’t afford to turn anything down right now.”
“Well, you can’t afford to die either,” Maggie said.
Louisa wasn’t so sure. If she died, she wouldn’t have to face all the feelings she’d been having the past couple days.
“Really, Mags,” Louisa said. “I’m fine. Now go. I have a meeting.”
She stared at Louisa in that pointed way she sometimes did when she wanted to make it clear she saw straight through her. “Are you okay, Lou?”
Louisa waved her off. “I told you. I’m fine.”
“You said that when Eric broke up with you too,” Maggie said. “And we both know that was a lie.”
Well, that hurt.
“I broke up with Eric,” she said lamely.
“Tomato, tom-ah-to. You’re not the greatest at dealing with your emotions,” Maggie continued, as if she had a personal mission to unravel Louisa’s sense of calm, which was barely intact in the first place.
“I’m fine,” Louisa repeated for the third time. “But I won’t be if you don’t leave.”
Maggie studied her, no doubt trying to decide whether she was going to cooperate. Finally she said, “Promise me you’ll take lots of breaks.”
“Go home, Mags.” Louisa pushed open the screen door.
Maggie started to walk out, then turned and faced her. “You’ll call if you need anything.”
“Sure.”
“That wasn’t a question, you’ll notice,” Maggie said.
“You go home and rest,” Louisa said. “You need to take care of yourself, too.”
Maggie waved her off. “I’m sturdy, and I’m already dying. You’ve got a few years left in you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” Louisa said.
Maggie laughed. “You don’t like the truth, do ya?”
“It’s not the truth,” Louisa said. “Don’t you believe in miracles?”
Maggie stepped forward and clasped her hands around Louisa’s. “’Course I do. It was a miracle the handsome Mr. Boggs found you out there—that I’m sure of.”
“Then it can be a miracle that saves you too.”
Maggie squeezed, then patted Louisa’s hands. “I’ll call you later.”
With Maggie gone and Alyssa in Cape Cod picking up supplies for the Timmons anniversary party, Louisa had time to tidy the office and prepare for her meeting. She knew nothing about the prospective client, and her conversations yesterday had been about everything except work. Maggie had practically forbidden anything that might bring on stress.
But now she felt unprepared.
Alyssa had texted her that morning. Do you want me to reschedule this meeting?
No, I’ll be fine.
They needed every possible client they could get. The Good Life was still relatively new, still building a strong client base. Failure was not an option.
It was as if Louisa needed to be successful on behalf of all women who weren’t being taken seriously in the professional world. Women who were deemed too funny or cute or quirky or whimsical. Women with their heads in the clouds, who loved adventure. Women with boyfriends who didn’t believe in them.
Turning down a job would be unwise. The paycheck wasn’t a sure thing anymore, so she needed to be smart. Her accident had come at a terrible time. Why couldn’t she have almost died at the end of the season, when she’d already stockpiled enough cash to last a few months? Then maybe she could’ve afforded a few days off.
The Good Life did a ton of business online—it was where most of her leads came from—but when she had meetings, she held them in her home office. The office had a separate entrance, and she’d decorated it carefully in the same cottage style as the rest of the home, but with a slightly more upscale feel. For instance, none of the furniture had been purchased from anyone’s yard.
There was a desk positioned in front of two large windows, built-in shelves on either side.
She’d chosen summery colors for the space—teal, salmon, sea green—filling the room with Nantucket-inspired artwork, like a framed watercolor map that hung on the wall next to her diploma from Boston University and an old photo of Louisa and her parents on the dock only a short distance from the cottage’s backyard.
Come to think of it, Daniel Boggs had snapped that photo.
She walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down, shaking the mouse of her computer until the old Mac sprang to life.
She tried not to think about the fact that the computer was probably in its last year and that soon she’d have to find a way to buy a new one, and instead clicked over to her email.
She’d deleted several junk emails without reading them when her eyes fell on one from McKenzie Palmer, a local woman who wrote a blog on all things “ACK.” If McKenzie wanted to hire The Good Life to plan an event, it could mean huge things for a somewhat-new private concierge business.
She clicked on the email.
Dear Miss Chambers,
I heard about your brush with death and the Coast Guardsman who saved your life. I’ve been wanting to branch out a little and feature local stories of heroism on my blog, and I wondered if you might be willing to share your story with me? It could be great exposure for you and your little business.
Time is of the essence. If we’re going to do this, we should get something out before people lose interest and the next swimmer nearly drowns.
Sincerely,
McKenzie Palmer
Louisa’s eyes darted back to the words little business, and she tried not to let them irritate her. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bothersome if she hadn’t heard it before.
If McKenzie wanted to feature her business, that would be one thing, but telling the world she’d stupidly gone out into the choppy and unsafe waters without a life vest? No thank you.
She clicked Reply and started typing:
Dear Miss Palmer,
Thank you so much for reaching out. While I appreciate your interest in my story, I think I would prefer to keep this one to myself. If you’d like to discuss The Good Life or any other aspect of Nantucket, however, I would be excited to connect.
Have a wonderful day,
Louisa Chambers
The knock on the door reminded her of the work she should’ve been doing. Thankfully, she wasn’t nervous. She found these initial conversations easy to navigate. She told prospective clients about her business, she listened to what they needed, gave them some ideas on how she could help, and then she usually followed up with an estimated breakdown of services and costs.