The Summer of Lost and Found - Mary Alice Monroe Page 0,4
Anna was a scholarship student who lived with her mother in a poorer part of the city. She’d never blended in with the popular group at Porter-Gaud. Though she and Linnea had had a rocky start last summer, over the past year working together at the aquarium they’d experienced a tidal shift in their relationship. Annabelle’s habitual resentment of Linnea’s privilege had ebbed, and in turn, Linnea’s ability to open up, as a true friend must do, began to flow.
Linnea heard the crunch of Annabelle’s car pulling up in the driveway. She got up to go greet her but hesitated at the edge of the deck. She sighed with annoyance. She didn’t want to get tangled up with John again. Once burned/twice shy and all that. Instead of walking out on the driveway where John could see her from his window, Linnea crossed her arms as she waited for her friend to arrive. This could make for an annoying few weeks, she thought. When was John to hightail it back to his beloved California?
“Just go,” she muttered. Then lifted her frown to a smile as Annabelle’s face appeared from around the corner.
“I come bearing wine!” Annabelle called out as she climbed the deck stairs, a bottle of red in one hand, a bottle of white in the other. Her long red hair hung straight past her shoulders and on her ears she wore large gold loop earrings. She was dressed, as usual, in jeans and a black T-shirt that read Save the Seabirds.
“Bless your heart!” Linnea called back, grinning. They walked together into the house in search of wineglasses and a corkscrew.
“Red or white?” Annabelle asked, corkscrew in hand.
“Today we’re going to need both.”
Annabelle chuckled in her low-throated fashion. “I hear you.”
Linnea watched with awe as Annabelle twisted off the capsule around the neck of the bottle. She made it look so easy.
“How do you do that?” Linnea asked. “I’m pitiful trying to scrape that wrapper off.”
“Comes with practice,” Annabelle replied smugly. “Perks of being a bartender. Interesting fact: the original capsule was wax. Each bottle had to be dipped in wax to seal the end to prevent mold growth. The next innovation was lead. No surprise, that didn’t work out, for obvious reasons, but it took them till the 1980s to switch to these polylam ones.”
“So, if you collect old wines…” she said, thinking of her father.
“Yep. They still have those lead capsules.”
“That explains a lot,” Linnea said with a laugh. She gratefully took the offered glass of white wine. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be tacky and add ice cubes. I can’t drink warm chardonnay.”
Annabelle shuddered. “I’ll put this bottle in the fridge—and pour myself a Malbec.” She worked on opening the new bottle as Linnea plopped ice cubes in her wineglass. “So, let me guess—you got laid off too?”
Linnea said with a groan, “Again. I can’t believe I’m back here.”
“At least we weren’t fired.”
“We’re not getting paid.…”
Annabelle frowned while pouring out her wine. “Jeez, I hope it’s not for too long.”
“No one knows. That’s the scariest part. It could be a while.” Linnea brought her glass to her lips. “If the aquarium gets in trouble, people will have to be let go permanently.”
Annabelle’s finely arched brows narrowed deeper and she took a long sip of wine.
“Let’s sit outside,” Linnea suggested, hoping the fresh air would lift the sudden drop in mood.
Annabelle grabbed the bottle of wine and followed her. “How are you holding up?”
“Same as you, I expect.”
Annabelle settled in the chair recently vacated by Cara. She crossed her long legs. “Not quite the same.” Leaning back in her chair she tossed out, “I’m guessing your family will help you out.”
Linnea paused to sip rather than rise to the bait, recognizing Annabelle’s knee-jerk reaction to the wealth difference between their families. “They’ll try, I’m sure,” she replied in an even tone, then sidestepped. “Seriously, are you okay, money-wise?”
Annabelle’s shoulders lowered as she stared into her glass. She exhaled loudly and shook her head. “No. I’m worried.”
“I am too. I have zero savings.”
“Savings?” Annabelle snorted. “What’s that? I was barely making rent with my extra bartending job. Thank God for catering gigs. That’s how I ate most weekends. It’s so damn expensive living in the city—hell, even near the city—that there’s no hope of putting money away. I don’t know how I’m going to make next month’s rent.”
“I’m guessing you won’t be bartending much, will you?”
“Nada. Zip. Restaurants are closed. No one is having events.”