Ruth often searched for pieces of herself in other women. A crooked smile, a mannerism, even a talent for drawing. But now as she ran her tongue again over her crooked tooth, her heart scurried into her throat. It sure made sense that a woman working and traveling on a showboat wouldn’t have time for a little bitty baby.

This wasn’t the first time she’d ever wondered if a guest could be the woman who’d arrived in a storm, given birth to her alone in Bungalow 28, wrapped her in pink flannel, and then vanished.

But this was the first time that little voice inside her said Miss Carlotta DiSalvo had to be her real mama.

CHAPTER TEN

IVY

Thursday, January 20, 2022, 3:45 p.m.

By the early afternoon, Ivy had cabin fever. She had tended to Libby and the pups, cleaned out the closet in her old bedroom, and carried a dozen stackable end tables, four PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED signs, and six beach landscapes bordered in tarnished gold frames to the curb. She taped a new FREE sign on them and hoped it would bring magic her way.

With the Leica camera tucked in her purse, she slid behind the wheel of her van, now fully packed with items for the thrift store. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the one-story cinder block building and opened the back of her van. The first garbage bag she hefted from the back was overstuffed with hotel sheets and towels. She waddled to the front door, balanced the bag on her knee, and opened the door. Bells jingled above her head. A gray-haired woman behind the long front counter came around. “Honey, you can put that right over here.”

“Thanks.” She let the weight drop. “I’ve got a few more.”

“Getting ready for a renovation?” the woman asked.

“Selling the house,” she said.

“Well, this is the time to do it. It’s a buyer’s market. Where’s your property?”

“Remember the Seaside Resort?”

Her eyes grew wistful. “Sure. Ruth’s place.”

“I’m her granddaughter. I’m selling her cottage.”

“Ivy Neale?”

“Yes.”

“The last time I saw you, you were in high school.”

Ivy searched her memory and conjured vague recollections of working a charity fundraiser at the Seaside Resort. “We were raising money for this store.”

“That’s right. Ruth didn’t charge us a dime for the rental and refreshments.”

“Wow. That was kind of her.”

“She did that a lot. Hated it when people made a fuss.”

Ivy remembered now. Ruth had paid Ivy for working the event. “I didn’t realize.”

“My husband and I loved the Seaside Resort. We celebrated our anniversary there right up until last year. He loved the fried chicken.”

“Mrs. Cooper, right?”

The woman smiled. “Good memory.”

“You always asked for a table by the window.”

“We loved the view. Best in the area.” She leaned forward a fraction. “I thought the food was never the same after you left. Ruth was always bragging on your cooking. In New York City, right?”