“I did love her. She’s nice, and smart, and clever. She’s not just a thoughtless mannequin. We got along really well when we were in her world. And I have to admit, it’s glamorous to date a top model. When we were together, life was exciting. I felt glamorous by association. But I couldn’t keep up with the whirlwind of her life, and she disdained the quiet of this island life. I guess the truth is that I changed, partly because I got tired of everything that she lived for. And she didn’t want to give up all the glitz and prestige to walk on brick streets that snagged her high heels. We broke it off this summer.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I don’t think so. Being with her was like being in a hot air balloon or on a roller coaster. It’s fun for a while, but you wouldn’t want to live your life there. At least I wouldn’t. To be honest, she was exhausting.” Andy grinned. “Enough about all that. What about you? Why aren’t you married yet?”

Christina shrugged. “I haven’t met the right man, I guess. I did date a guy on the island for a long time. Jamie Locke. We really liked each other. We saw each other every summer, and it seemed we knew everything about each other. Maybe that’s why, no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t be more than friends.”

“Where is he now?” Andy asked.

Christina smiled and looked at her watch. “I imagine Jamie’s at home with his wife, Patty, trying to get their two-year-old twins to go to bed.”

They laughed together. I hope Anastasiya moves to the moon, Christina’s IC thought.

—

After dinner, they walked down Union Street to Main Street, admiring the window displays.

They stopped to study the books in Mitchell’s Book Corner. The soft glow of the lamps and the small lights on the Christmas trees lining the streets illuminated the brick sidewalk.

Andy said, “I have a letter for you.”

“A letter? For me? How odd.”

Andy took it out of the breast pocket of his wool overcoat and handed it to Christina.

The letter was on Oscar Bittlesman’s letterhead, which stopped Christina’s heart for a moment. Oscar Bittlesman, or his enormous company, owned her shed.

Surely Oscar Bittlesman wouldn’t have his son deliver a business letter about a rent hike in such a casual manner.

She unfolded the letter. The words were written in blue magic marker, in a tidy, uneven print.