Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe Read Online Free PDF

certainly not unwelcome. The air felt amazing on my limbs and in my lungs, and I drew a deep breath, smelling the lake.
    â€œHi, sweetie!” I heard then, and smiled in spite of myself, turning to wave to Dodge out on the end of the boat launching dock. He was a fixture around Shore Leave; a big, scruffy-haired man whose black beard was now heavily salted with silver, whose infectious laughter made his stomach shake and everyone around him grin. I couldn’t recall ever having witnessed Dodge in a pissy mood. From a distance he looked almost exactly the same as he had in my youth: hearty and beaming, his aviator sunglasses perched on the crown of his head.
    â€œMorning!” I called back, blowing him a kiss. I’d catch up with him later, and he appeared busy chatting with someone ten feet below, sitting in a boat with an outboard motor.
    â€œGood to have you home, Jo!” he yelled before turning back to whatever conversation I’d interrupted. Seconds later I jogged up the porch steps, then winced slightly at the heavy smell of frying egg that met me at the screen. Barf.
    â€œAunt Joey!” Clint came barreling toward the entryway, and I smiled at my nephew, meeting him halfway for a bear hug.
    â€œGod, Clint, you’re huge!” I told him as he crushed me tight. It was such an aunt sort of thing to say, but it was true. He must have grown six inches since last summer. Clint pulled back and grinned at me.
    â€œI’m so glad you guys are here!” he said, and my smile widened. Clint was such a dear boy. He was kind-hearted and sincere; sometimes I couldn’t believe that he and Tish were as close as they were. She often ate him alive, but he took it with ease. Clint was tan and lanky, with Jilly’s incredible eyes. The rest of him was pure Chris, though; it took my breath away to see how exactly he resembled his father, from the wide, dimpled grin to the tumbled dark hair and square jaw.
    Jilly was on his heels, bearing a cup of steaming coffee. She grinned, too, and gave me a quick once-over. “You feeling all right this morning, Mama?”
    I decided not to answer that, instead taking the mug and inhaling gratefully.
    â€œThanks, Jills,” I told her, and followed the two of them into the dining room. Shore Leave was built on the spare; the best tables were all out on the porch, visible through the wide, curtainless windows. Mom claimed that cutting off the lake view was a crime. Inside we had six four-tops, eight stools at the counter, and three deep booths, not counting the row of high tops in the separate bar area; the sky-blue walls were adorned with all manner of what Jilly affectionately called “trinkety crap,” which was an apt description for the fishing nets, fishing poles, lures, tin soda signs, saw blades painted with images of lake shores in summer, and dozens of framed pictures of Shore Leave in all seasons since the 1940s. I especially loved the one of Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie, taken when the two of them were in their twenties, looking like rural beauty queens, Minnie with a cigarette in her teeth and Gran with a stringer of fish. Smiles about two feet wide, happy as clams without any menfolk whatsoever. What did they know that I did not?
    In the busy season, we were open Tuesday through Saturday from eleven to eight, Sundays for lunch, but now, early in May, there wasn’t much appreciable business until dinner. Locals drove or biked over from Landon to hang out on the water; I had been simultaneously dreading and anticipating this particular crowd. Though I enjoyed seeing my former high school classmates, most of whom still lived within walking distance of downtown Landon, it would be difficult to explain why I was on an extended visit without my husband. I shuddered internally, turning my attention to the kitchen, where I could hear the voices of all three girls vying for Rich’s attention. I realized, on a bit of a delay this