Driftwood Summer by Patti Callahan Henry Page A

lives.”
    Maisy glanced down at the thick paper in her hand—Mama’s personal engraved stationery. Maisy’s name was typed in bold, capital letters on the top of the page with her duties following: in charge of all book clubs; follow-up on all RSVPs; work the morning shift at the bookstore .
    She looked up. “I can’t do this. I don’t work mornings. I’m not a party planner, and I have no idea what to do with a book club. I don’t even belong to one. I don’t even know what a book club does . . . . No, Mama. Hire someone to do it.”
    The glare that emanated from her mother struck silent all further protests. “I can’t hire someone. We don’t have the money.”
    Adalee stood. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “It means what I said. Listen carefully.” Kitsy’s voice rose. “This fall of mine could not have come at a worse time, but I trust you girls. I know what our family can do when we band together. The reality is that if we don’t raise enough money during this anniversary celebration, we will have to sell the store.” Mama glanced at Riley, and Maisy felt as if they were speaking to each other in secret code, unspoken words hidden below the spoken ones. “It is what it is. We must make this work. I promised your precious father that I would never deplete family money to keep the bookstore. Even with him gone, I will keep my promise. That is what we do in our family—keep our promises. Now sit down and tell me you understand your duties.”
    Adalee’s eyes filled with tears. “Stop yelling. What is going on here? This is your bookstore, Riley. Not mine. Not Maisy’s.”
    Mama tapped the metal bedside rail with her pen. “That is absolutely enough. What affects one affects us all. Family responsibility.” Her voice turned soft, melodic. “That’s what is going on. And you never, ever need to let the customers know we are in financial trouble. That is between us. And only us. They need to see and feel how much we love them, and the store, not the troubles we’re facing. Do you understand?”
    Maisy held up her piece of paper. “I don’t see anyone trying to save my job or . . .” Her words were cut short by Mama’s slicing look. She glanced over at Riley’s list. Run the store as usual; check on sisters; follow through on daily events for the week of the party . She looked up at Adalee. “What are your jobs?”
    Adalee swiped at her eyes, morphed from sadness to anger in that brief moment and waved her paper in the air. “I’m in charge of the history boards and timeline display for the house. Are you kidding? And work the afternoon shift at the store. And I’m in charge of the newsletter. I can’t even write. . . .”
    “I’ll tell you what to put in the newsletter,” Kitsy said. “You just have to design and print it. I’ll do what I can from bed.”
    “This is crazy,” Adalee whispered, looked at each sister in turn.
    Mama dug through her folder, pulled out a newspaper article with ragged edges. “Riley, this article is great. Lodge Barton did a wonderful job. You must have given him a perfect interview.”
    “That’s because Riley is perfect,” Maisy said before she could cut the words short.
    The air became full of unspoken retorts, replete with years’ worth of hurt feelings.
    Mama exhaled through the same pursed lips Maisy had already seen on Riley that morning. “Riley, will you please call and thank Lodge? And then ask if he’ll do follow-ups all week. If you’re sugar-sweet with the thank-you, he should say yes.”
    “Mama, he’d do it anyway.” Riley stood, looked down at Mama. “You get some sleep. We’ve got everything under control.”
    Maisy smiled; she was well practiced at pretending to go along with family plans, yet she was surprised by how easily the motions returned to her after so long. Run , her mind screamed. Far. Fast. Run . “Yes, Mama, you rest. We have it all under control.” Maisy smoothed a hand over the file stuffed with the