The Summer Everything Changed Read Online Free

had a small staff of housekeepers, three teenaged girls from Macedonia, none of whom were allowed into Isobel’s room. It was her haven; it was sacrosanct. And what looked like junk to some people, was considered treasure by others.
    Isobel leapt from the desk chair. Speaking of treasures, she had promised Gwen she would call her when the latest post was complete. There were endless whimsical baubles and fantastic oddities still to find!

Chapter 3
    â€œYes, yes, I heard you the first time, Ms. Michaels. Yes, I’ll be sure to get those measurements to you as soon as possible.”
    Flora Michaels sniffed loudly. “See that you do.” She ended the call without a good-bye.
    Louise fell back onto the bed, letting the phone drop at her side. God, she longed for a nap but she couldn’t justify one just yet, not when there was so much to do. There was a new guest checking in later that afternoon, and a professional painter was coming by to give an estimate for repainting the gazebo. And, of course, there were the measurements of every room on the ground floor of the inn (why?) to get to the wedding planner.
    Maybe if she just closed her eyes for five minutes . . . Nope. Wouldn’t work. Closed eyes led to serious snoozing. Louise sighed and sat back up against the pile of decorative pillows.
    As messy and disorganized as Isobel’s room was, Louise’s was neat and ordered. She had painted the walls a very soothing azure blue; the floorboards were wide pine painted white. Here and there, like at the foot of the bed, were scattered throw rugs in a dusty rose color. A comfortable armchair from their former house in Massachusetts, one of the few pieces she had brought along to this new life, was positioned to allow a view of the backyard and the grove of pine trees that marked its boundary. The chair was one of her favorite pieces, already on a third upholstering, this time in a pretty sea-foam green that contributed to the room’s cool and peaceful feel.
    There was a small, rather dainty desk in which she kept a box of old-fashioned writing paper, and a good Cross pen she had gotten as a thank-you gift for her work organizing a fund-raising event for a local charity back in Massachusetts. Two checkbooks, one for her personal account and one for the inn’s; a roll of stamps; and a stack of bookmarks Isobel had made one summer in day camp completed the stash. The bookmarks were cardboard strips (unevenly cut) on which Isobel had pressed Queen Anne’s lace under a layer of clear shelf paper.
    A hefty-sized bookcase was stocked with favorite titles Louise wanted at hand at bedtime, including a copy of every Elizabeth Peters and Barbara Michaels novel published to date. She had read each novel at least three times and would no doubt read each novel three additional times. In Louise’s opinion, you stuck with a good thing, especially when the good thing was a favorite author. Recently, she had succeeded in getting her friend Catherine hooked on Peters / Michaels, but Isobel was proving a tougher case. She was still favoring some of the older teen series, though recently Louise had seen her engrossed in a copy of The Great Gatsby . There was hope yet.
    The bed was new, one Andrew had never seen let alone slept in. (He had never visited his former wife and his always daughter in Ogunquit, and Louise suspected that he never would.) She had treated herself to high thread count sheets and an expensive down comforter covered in a luxurious silky fabric somewhere in shade between the azure walls and the sea-foam chair. If the room looked a bit like an underwater grotto, so be it.
    In addition to the window facing the backyard, there was one facing the narrow side yard. Louise had hung white sheer curtains for the warm months; in the fall and winter, she replaced these with curtains of heavier fabric. Though there was an air conditioner in the window facing the side yard, Louise rarely used it. The