The Perfect Summer (Hubbard's Point) Read Online Free Page B

her best friend, understanding that her toughness was more an act than anything.
    Tara had dropped out of UConn after two years, despite her sparkling intelligence, her stellar grades.
    “I think I'm born to be self-employed,” she had told Bay on the phone, calling her at Connecticut College even before she told her own parents. “I don't even like showing up for classes in my major—imagine what fun I'd have in corporate America.”
    “What will you do?”
    “I'm going to go skiing in Vermont for the winter—someone in my dorm has an aunt who runs a B-and-B near Mad River Glen, and she says I can have a job as a chambermaid.”
    “Tara, making beds?” Bay asked, her mind boggled by the idea of her bright, vibrant friend scrubbing floors, pushing a vacuum.
    “I think it will be good,” Tara said. “I'll be able to whip through all the rooms before lunch, ski all afternoon.”
    “Tara, I don't want you to make a mistake. You're so smart, you have so much going for you—”
    “I like the idea of having time to think,” Tara said. “Cleaning is mindless—I'll be able to just open my mind and figure out what I really want to do with my life.”
    Tara had taken that winter job, and that summer she had returned to Hubbard's Point. Her parents had told her that if she was going leave college for good, she'd have to support herself, so she had tacked up signs at the beach and Foley's: “Sand on the floors? In the beds? Come home to a clean house! Call Tara.”
    Her mother had cringed, but the phone had started ringing and never stopped. Tara had never had less than a full roster of clients. She had never stopped working, and she'd never gone back to college. She still liked making her own hours, having the freedom to think.
    Pushing back the desk chair, Bay glanced across the room at her wedding picture. Tara was right beside Bay, smiling with joy. And Bay and Sean looked so happy—smiling, holding hands, eyes sparkling with love for each other. What had her dreams been that day? Bay could hardly remember, but over the years she had gradually come to the terrible conclusion that they were far, far different from her husband's.
    Now she had to tell the other kids she was going out with Tara, would be back soon. Stepping away from the desk, something caught her eye. The fax machine's red light was blinking, the message “out of paper” subtle in the small screen.
    Bay hesitated. Tara was coming, they had to catch up with Annie . . .
    Something made her stop in the room's wide doorway. She turned and walked back to the machine. The red light blinked only when the machine had received a fax but had no paper on which to print it. Bay reached into the drawer, took out a handful of printer paper, and inserted it into the slot.
    Instantly, the machine began to print.
    Bay read the page as it came out. It bore the letterhead of a boatbuilding firm in New London. Handwritten, it bore yesterday's date at the top and a series of measurements at the bottom. The handwriting was familiar, but Bay didn't know anyone who built boats. She read:

    Dear Sean,
    Thanks for stopping by again. Check these specifications—are they what you have in mind? I've added two more inches of beam, for stability. Come by the boatyard anytime, or give me a call at the office.
    Dan Connolly

    Bay was so shocked, she let out a small sound. This was an estimate of some sort: The bottom line was two thousand dollars, but she hardly noticed. Dan Connolly. She hadn't spoken of him in years, hadn't seen his handwriting since she was in high school. But she thought of him every time she walked down the boardwalk, every time she saw a crescent moon.
    Other than Tara, the only person Bay had ever really been able to talk to had been Danny Connolly, the summer she was fifteen. He was a recent college graduate, working as a carpenter that season at the Point, and he was brilliant about the things he loved: engineering, wood, marine architecture. Bay had