Sea Change Read Online Free PDF Page B

who’d been with me at the time, had laughed at the pajamas and called them “absolutely adorkable.”
    I glanced at my cell phone, which I’d placed on the dresser earlier, and I almost reached for it, the muscle memory of my fingers wanting to text Linda, to tell her about The Mariner and Llewellyn Thorpe’s book. But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. Things weren’t the same anymore. At all.
    With a sigh, I slid into bed, my head full from everything that had happened that evening. I thought of the night deepening outside, of my swim in the ocean, of lost pirates and helpful mermaids. Then I burrowed my head into the pillow and hoped I’d dream about sensible things, like in which box tomorrow I’d pack away A Primer on the Legend and Lore of Selkie Island.

Four
HEIRS
    I slept like a stone last night,” Mom remarked the next morning as we struggled onto the front porch, carrying heavy cardboard boxes. “I haven’t done that in ages. It must be the fresh sea air.”
    “Too bad it didn’t work its spell on me,” I said through a yawn. I’d slept fitfully in the narrow twin bed. And now the sea air felt soupy and sticky—not ideal weather for manual labor.
    For the past half hour, Mom and I had been lugging broken lamps, threadbare throw rugs, and cracked vases out onto the street. According to Mom, on Thursday afternoons, garbage collectors came by in golf carts to sweep people’s junk away.
    “Probably because you saw that mariner painting,” Mom huffed, setting her box down on the corner. “He used to give me nightmares as a child.”
    Over breakfast, I’d filled Mom in on my run-in with the old seafarer in the hall. But I hadn’t mentioned my discovery of the study, or of Llewellyn Thorpe’s tome. The experience seemed even more embarrassing in the light of day, and I figured I’d feign ignorance whenever Mom and I tackled Isadora’s book collection.
    As Mom took a box of cutlery from my aching arms, I heard a female voice cry out behind us.
    “Amelia? Amelia Blue Hawkins! As I live and breathe!”
    I whirled around to see a skinny woman about Mom’s age trotting up the road and waving. She wore gigantic sunglasses, a purple head scarf, a tight sundress, and high-heeled sandals.
    I glanced back at Mom, whose expression was both stricken and resigned. I felt a sympathetic twinge of dread, but my curiosity was definitely piqued.
    “Speaking of nightmares…” Mom muttered under her breath. Then she pasted on a smile, waved, and called back, “Hello, Delilah!”
    “Well, well, well!” Delilah sang, snapping off her sunglasses as she neared. “Felice Cunningham said she spied the lights on in The Mariner, and Teddy Illingworth swore he spotted you by the docks yesterday, so I had to come see for myself!”
    She stopped in front of Mom and gave her a peck on each cheek as I backed up a few paces, crossing my arms over mychest. “Amelia Blue Hawkins,” Delilah repeated, shaking her head from side to side.
    “Actually, it’s Merchant,” Mom corrected gently. “Amelia Merchant. I kept my married name after I got divorced. For professional purposes.”
    “Oh,” Delilah replied, looking flustered. “Of course. Anyway.” She patted Mom’s arm. “You’re as gorgeous as you were at eighteen. I thought being a big-city doctor would have shriveled you up by now!” Delilah let out a high laugh, then swung around to observe me. “And this must be your daughter. Why, she’s the spitting image of Isadora—may she rest in peace,” she added hastily, lowering her head.
    I wasn’t prepared for the quick rush of pleasure I felt at the comparison. “Thanks,” I mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other.
    “Amen, darling,” Delilah instructed, widening her heavily lined blue eyes at me. “You say ’amen.’”
    “Yes, this is Miranda,” Mom spoke up, coming to my rescue. “Miranda, this is Delilah LeBlanc Cooper of Atlanta.” I recognized the last name LeBlanc; Mom had said that family