Sneak Peek! The Summer of Starting Over

Chapter One

Callie

Welcome to Big Dune Island, Florida

Home of Callie Jackson

The white paint on the sign was cracked and faded from years of the Northeast Florida sun beating down on it. Seeing her name on the giant wooden board, greeting visitors as they approached the bridge to the island, had once filled Callie with pride. She still remembered coming home from Nashville two years after signing her first record contract at sixteen and having her debut album go gold. Her mother had pulled over on the side of the road to show her the new sign and they’d giggled as Callie struck poses next to it.

But now the feeling bubbling to the surface at the sight of it definitely wasn’t pride.

Her cell phone rang, and she looked down to see it was her childhood best friend, Gigi Franklin, calling. Although Callie had mixed emotions about returning to Big Dune Island, she was looking forward to some long overdue time with her.

“You almost here?” Gigi asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Driving over the bridge now. Are you leaving work?”

“Ugh,” Gigi grunted. “Yes, but I have to run to the city council meeting. One of my clients called last minute. I’ll text you the code to the front door and hopefully be home in a couple of hours. I can’t believe you haven’t even seen my house yet.”

When Callie last left the island, almost a decade earlier, she hadn’t looked back. In fact, she hadn’t been sure she could ever come back. But things had changed. She’d bet on herself—like her parents had always taught her to do—and she’d lost.

“I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with your place,” Callie said. Gigi had purchased an older house on the beach and renovated it over the last couple of years.

As Callie reached the other side of the bridge, she could see Breakwaters, the local watering hole, and the sun-worn siding of Captain Keller’s Seafood Shack, a business that had passed through the generations and was now owned by the original Captain Keller’s grandson.

Even with the car windows rolled up, Callie could smell the salt marsh that stretched under the bridge. Visitors said it smelled like rotten eggs, but to her it was the aroma of her childhood. She could almost picture herself down below chasing crabs in the mud at low tide, or casting a line from her father’s boat toward the shore to snag a fish for dinner. With summer nearing, all the marsh grass shone bright green in the late-afternoon sunlight.

“I’m excited to give you the tour,” Gigi said. “Of course, who knows how long the meeting will go. Last time half the town showed up for the public comment portion.”

As Gigi vented about the development she was trying to stop at tonight’s city council meeting, Callie eased off the bridge onto Sunset Drive, the weathered and aging commercial signs laying out a familiar path. She passed the plumber who’d been her dad’s poker buddy, the sewing shop where her mom had bought dress patterns, and Gigi’s father’s dental practice. Crossing over Main Street, Callie made a left on Palmetto Avenue, and as she eased the car down the tree-lined road, Spanish moss dripped almost low enough to touch the roof of her Audi convertible.

On autopilot, she turned right onto 6th and slowed to a stop across from a two-story Victorian, complete with a wraparound porch and turret. When she looked up at her childhood home, however, she let out a gasp. Several windows were boarded up, and the spindles holding up the porch railing looked like a game of Jenga, as if removing one small piece might topple the whole thing.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought of her mom painstakingly repainting the gingerbread trim every spring until it gleamed white. Then she’d always clean out the window boxes and plant them full of purple pansies, her own mother’s favorite. She’d been so proud to raise her family in the same home where she’d grown up.

Now Callie looked at the peeling paint, broken shutters, and overgrown lawn and fought back the fresh waves of grief washing over her.

“The house—” Callie choked back, interrupting Gigi’s long diatribe on the lack of teeth in the town’s tree ordinance.

“Oh, honey, you’re there already?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Callie’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Uncle Lonnie asked me not to.” Regret crept into Gigi’s voice. “I take it that means he didn’t?”

“No,” Callie said as she climbed out of the car, sliding up her sunglasses to hold her blonde curls off her face. “I mean, I knew it needed some work, but it’s worse than I imagined.”

The house looked like a shell of its former self, which was ironic since she felt the same way.

“I think it’s all cosmetic. Just some wind damage from the last hurricane that went by offshore,” Gigi said, sounding hopeful. “Really, it looks worse than it is. That house has great bones.”

“If you say so.” Callie was skeptical; it was no wonder Uncle Lonnie had decided it was time to sell.

“I do. I also suggest you go see Uncle Lonnie sooner than later.”

“He’s always at the American Legion on Tuesday nights.” Callie sighed. “I’ll go in the morning. Besides, I’m exhausted from the drive.” She didn’t have the heart to be mad at him, not after she’d saddled him with all the responsibility of caring for the house. He should have let her spend some of the money she’d offered over the years to make his life easier, but he was too stubborn and proud for that.

“Okay, well I’m heading into the meeting,” said Gigi. “But I’ll be home in a couple of hours, and we can catch up then.”

As they said their goodbyes and ended the conversation, Callie began walking down the driveway to the house, wanting a closer look at the sagging porch. Maybe Thomas Wolfe was right; you can’t go home again. Or at least, maybe you shouldn’t.

She’d only made it a few steps up the drive when a dog came running around from the backyard, letting out friendly barks at the sight of her as if to let someone know company had arrived.

“Coop?” she asked as she walked toward it, realizing as soon as she said it that it couldn’t be true. Cooper, Coop for short, couldn’t possibly still be alive. He had already been an old dog when she moved to Nashville thirteen years ago, leaving him and his owner, Jesse Thomas, behind.

Bending over to pet the German shepherd, she glanced around the yard, looking for who he belonged to, but she was alone. The dog was wearing a collar, but it had no tags.

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” She continued to look for a distraught owner running to the rescue.

The dog lapped up her attention, tail wagging as he sat on the grass and rubbed his head on her hand. His resemblance to Coop was uncanny.

The last time she saw Coop, she and Jesse were throwing a ball for him in the front yard. It was her final weekend on the island before moving to Nashville after she got her record deal. She’d choked back tears as she watched Jesse put a leash on Coop for the short walk back to his house, knowing it was the last time she’d see them for a while.

She’d cried herself to sleep every night for months in Nashville, but the songs she wrote to ease her heartache quickly filled the gaps on her debut album, which had started with a few of the songs about the island and Jesse she couldn’t convince the label to ditch. One music critic wrote, “Packed Up Promises ripped the scars on my heart from my own childhood sweetheart open again and left them to bleed.” That’s because the scars on Callie’s heart had been brand new.

Sometimes she still wondered what it would have been like if Jesse had moved to Nashville to attend Vanderbilt, as they’d initially planned, but she knew her lifestyle wasn’t built to include someone else. Not that he would have held her back, but they wouldn’t have gotten enough time together to build a lasting relationship. In the early years, it helped to think of it this way.

Her trip down memory lane was interrupted by the dog, now circling and barking to get her attention because it wanted to play.

“Where’s your house, huh?” She looked to either side of the yard again. Not seeing anyone, she grabbed him by the collar and started walking him around the back to see if he had come from the house behind hers, or if anyone in another yard was looking for him. He clearly belonged to someone.

As she rounded the corner into the backyard, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of lumber and tools strewn across the expanse of grass behind the back deck. Uncle Lonnie had promised some exterior repairs before closing on the sale, but she hadn’t expected to find someone here.

A familiar male voice came from behind her.

“Fen, you old scoundrel, are you bothering this nice lady?”

Startled, she turned, and her heart leaped into her throat. The dog might not be Coop, but they definitely had the same owner.