Free The Summer Everything Changed by Holly Chamberlin

stuff that just looks great. Will I continue to collect until I’m old and gray? Will I someday start weeding out my collections of baubles and bangles, and replacing pieces with, I don’t know, more expensive stuff, or more boring stuff, or maybe even more weird-er stuff? And in the far, far future, will there be someone I can leave my stuff to, like a daughter or a granddaughter? Who knows! Maybe I’ll turn out to be a minimalist, though honestly, it’s kind of hard for me to imagine myself liking less instead of more!
    But I guess that’s part of the fun of life, right? You just never really know what to expect. Except for death and taxes, which is something my father always used to say, and maybe he still says it but I wouldn’t know. (Hey, Dad? You out there?)

    Isobel stopped typing. She debated deleting those last lines. True, she hadn’t heard from her father in almost two weeks; his periods of prolonged silence were becoming more usual, but it was still troubling. She really didn’t want to end the post on a grim or a whining note. The heck with it, she thought, letting that shout-out to her father stand. Isobel’s fingers flew across her keyboard once again.

    The awesome LouLou surprised us last night with a homemade apple pie that was worthy of Julia Child (genius!) and left us groaning in warm, crusty, oozy delight! Gwen had her slice with ice cream and proclaimed the gustatory experience one of the best in her sixteen years. (Isn’t that a great word— gustatory??? I came across it recently in an article and loved the sound of it in my mouth but had to look it up in my big old trusty dictionary, as it was new to me. Context told me a bit, of course, but it’s always good to confirm that you really know what you think you know.)
    Here’s a picture of the ceramic pie plate in which LouLou baked her latest masterpiece. It weighs about fifteen pounds. Okay, maybe about two. And, as you can see, it’s a really interesting shade of turquoise. (I’d love a scarf that color. Must keep out an eye!) LouLou found it at a yard sale a million years ago and remembers paying less than a dollar for it. Less than one hundred pennies! (Note to self: Start rolling your pennies, dimes, quarters, and nickels.)
    I don’t know how she does it, our LouLou, working from dawn to dusk and sometimes beyond, catering to all sorts of personalities and planning to host the wedding of the century (that’s all I’m allowed to say about THAT), while keeping a genuinely sweet smile on her face and managing to look très chic all the while!
    Well, every good thing (and bad, I suppose) must come to an end. So long for now, Dear Readers!

    Isobel posted the blog and put her laptop to sleep.
    And she thought about Jeff Otten.
    Her mother had told her about how he had stopped by to introduce himself and to offer any help they might need “settling in.” Well, that had been very nice of him, but why would a guy like Jeff Otten be likely to pay attention to an obscure mother and daughter (obscure compared to people like the Ottens!) taking up residence?
    Anyway, she guessed he hadn’t said anything about his having met her in town, which was a little odd. Then again, she hadn’t said anything to her mother about their running into each other—and that was the really odd thing. She knew she should say something soon, even if they never saw Jeff Otten again, because what if, just what if, he actually liked her? It was not good to start a relationship with a lie of omission, even if the lie was to her mother.
    Whoa! Isobel thought. Talk about jumping to impossible conclusions, thinking that Jeff Otten might actually like -like her! Sure, she had always been popular in school with both boys and girls, but she had never had a genuine boyfriend. A few guys had asked her out (the first when she was nine and he was eight! She remembered thinking it was totally funny and