My mannequin sports her swimsuit—a deep red color that matches her name: Ruby. Perhaps you’ve seen her in a previous blog. Today, she’s sending good vibes your way for a fantabulous summer!
In this month’s episode of The Fish Dress, Nora and her sister Grace head to their favorite spot—The Lobster Claw, a quaint coffee shop in downtown Rocky Harbor, overlooking the cove.
Grace rushed inside and grabbed the only vacant table in the whole place.
“C’mon, Nora. Hurry!”
God, Nora thought. Just because it’s the Rocky Register. What’s the big deal? The local newspaper came out every Thursday.
“Stay here while I grab The Register and our coffee.”
Nora gave her sister a Cheshire Cat smile and gazed out the window. She perched on the edge of her chair, fingers lightly brushing the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Despite having lived in Rocky Harbor for ten years, she never quite felt like one of the schmoozing locals. The chatter around her buzzed like a hive—births, deaths, politics, arrests, and gossip that never made it into the paper. She wondered what rumors were floating around about her daughter, Angelica—now serving time in prison.
Nora longed to reconnect, but Angelica wanted nothing to do with her—or anyone else in the family.
As the crowd pressed in around her, Nora closed her eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. Relief washed over her when the waitress appeared with two steaming mugs of coffee.
“Nora,” the woman chirped, “haven’t seen you in a while!”
Nora felt her shoulders tense as she reached for her mug. Forcing a cheerful tone, she replied, “I’ve been busy working.”
“Don’t teachers get summers off?”
“I work at a bed and breakfast during the summer,” she said.
“That sounds nice,” the waitress smiled. “Enjoy your coffee, coffee, coffee, your coffee, coffee!” she laughed, scooting off to help another table.
Nora reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook and a crystal pen. She jotted down scattered thoughts, something she often did in quiet moments. She was quickly interrupted by Grace’s melodious laugh.
“No to-do list today, Nora!” Grace teased, bopping her playfully on the head with the newspaper. “Here’s your Register.”
Nora flipped through the pages absentmindedly until a classified ad caught her eye:
COME TO MY BOUTIQUE ON THE FOOTBRIDGE!
SEE OUR EXCITING INVENTORY OF CRYSTALS, ANGELS, AND MUCH MORE!
It had been months since she visited the New Age shop. Maybe it was time. After all, nothing else had worked. She had once equipped herself and Angelica with spiritual talismans—before the downfall.
One in particular came to mind: a tourmaline crystal, vibrant yellow and teal blue with striking streaks. Said to ward off negativity—depression, anxiety, guilt, addiction. But it hadn’t been enough. The signs were there, yet she missed them. Only in hindsight did she see clearly.
It was heroin.
Despite interventions and support, Angelica had been arrested and incarcerated at age twenty.
Nora’s thoughts swirled like a rising tide. She glanced at Grace, still hidden behind the newspaper. She reached across the table and rattled it.
Grace peeked out.
“She’s ashamed,” she said gently. “That’s why she hasn’t answered your calls, read your letters, or put you on the visitor list. She doesn’t want to see anyone.”
“Not even her own mother?” Nora’s voice cracked. “It’s been six months. Angelica’s not a felon—she’s a heroin addict. It’s a disease. I want to get her help. I’m terrified, Grace.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Grace reached over and embraced her.
“I promise we’ll figure this out,” she whispered.
Nora stared into her empty mug. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “When we moved to Maine, I didn’t realize how hard it would be for her. She was happy in Connecticut—her school, her friends, her grandparents close by. I thought moving would save my marriage. I thought Maine would be a fresh start. A safe place.”
Grace, as if reading her mind, replied, “It’s natural to blame yourself. But it’s not healthy.”
Nora nodded.
The waitress appeared with more coffee and refilled their mugs. She teased Grace about the police blotter and moved on. Grace folded the paper and tucked it into her bag.
A woman at the next table leaned over. “Morning, neighbor. Did you see Cliff got shut down for selling hot dogs from that dirty cart?”
Grace laughed, effortlessly making small talk. Nora admired how her sister’s words flowed like water, while she often felt like she was wading through mud just to speak.
The Lobster Claw’s screen door banged open. A deep voice followed.
“Good morning, miss. I’ll have a lobster roll to go, please.”
Nora looked up, thinking the voice sounded familiar. She turned to see the tall man at the counter—slender, with thick, dark curls that reminded her of Adonis himself. She wished he’d turn so she could see his face, but looked away just as Grace caught her staring.
“I’m sorry,” the waitress told him, “this is a coffee shop, not a fish place.”
“There’s a lobster on the sign out front,” he said, laughing.
“That’s our famous cruller—shaped like a lobster claw,” she explained.
“Ah! That makes more sense—lobster-shaped food, no actual lobsters,” he chuckled.
Grace nudged Nora. “FYI, he’s staring at you.”
Nora looked. He wore pressed jeans, a polo, and boat shoes. His tan face, bright blue eyes, and dimpled chin made her insides flutter in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Their eyes met, he smiled—and then turned to leave.
“We should ask him to join us,” Grace said. “He’s probably new to the area.”
Nora clutched her sister’s arm, nails digging in. “You do, and I’ll leave right now.”
Grace sat back, smirking. “If I didn’t already have a man, I’d be interested. He’s almost out the door—it’s not too late.”
“He’s all yours.”
“Are you doing that thing again where you tell yourself you’re ugly? Have you looked in a mirror lately? Your dazzling blue eyes, those dentist-dream teeth, that mane of strawberry-blonde hair?”
Nora blushed, overwhelmed. She didn’t believe a word of it.
“I don’t have time for dating. I want to focus on helping Angelica.”
“Just trying to help. I thought meeting a nice, handsome man might cheer you up and take your mind off of things that you cannot control,” Grace said as the door slammed.
Nora rolled her eyes. “Like when you fixed me up on that blind date last winter?”
Grace snickered. “You mean the guy from the art gallery? I thought he was a perfect match—nice-looking, artistic, and funny. What a disaster! You insisted on wearing the ugliest get-back-and-stay-away outfit you could find. No wonder he told me you were an ice queen.”
Nora pictured the outfit she’d worn: a pair of faded green paisley corduroy high waders from the thrift shop, a mustard pearl-studded sweater, an olive-green coat that hung off her like a burlap sack, and Angelica’s worn-out UGG boots—tired sheepskin that draped in elephant folds around her ankles. A look in the mirror had confirmed she resembled an x-ray shield, perfect for deflection.
“I did it for you, Grace, to show you I was trying.”
“Life’s too short, Nora. You can’t let the past stop you from moving forward.”
“If you’re talking about sex, forget it. It’s not like I’m in my twenties,” Nora replied. “I don’t want sex. I’m forty-five and I don’t need it—or a man—to define who I am.”
“What about companionship? Remember how depressed you were after you left Jim?”
“I was depressed before I left him.”
“Your ex is a nutcase. Thank God most men aren’t like him. How you put up with his shit for seven long years is a mystery to me.”
Too ashamed, Nora had never told her sister—or anyone—about how violent and cruel Jim could be. The thought of him still gave her the chills, while her sister was able to be flippant about the whole thing.
Grace tilted her head, as if she had seen Nora shiver, and then spoke, her voice tender. “Let the past go, sis.”
“Hi, again.”
“Our favorite waitress,” Grace said, smiling up as she squeezed Nora’s hand to stop her shaking.
“Fresh coffee here,” the waitress said, refilling their mugs.
“This is for you,” the waitress said, holding out a napkin to Nora.
Nora eyed the stack on the table. “Thanks, we have plenty.”
The waitress winked. “Not like this one.” Setting the napkin in front of Nora, she grinned and left the table.
I told you he was checking you out,” Grace said, straining to see what was inside the napkin.
In her lap, out of Grace’s view, Nora unfolded it and saw:
HI, I’M KIRK
Written in bold script handwriting with a red Sharpie. He’d drawn a little heart in one corner and a single red rose in another, and there was a phone number.
She quickly folded up the napkin and looked around, not knowing what to do with it.
“Let me see,” Grace said, grabbing it out of her sister’s hand. She beamed when she read the message. “How romantic! You can’t let him get away!”
Nora crumpled the napkin and tossed it on the table. “Nope, this is not the guy for me.”
“Why the hell did you do that?” Grace asked, scooping it up and handing it back.
Nora threw it down on the table again. “I’ve got more important fish to fry.”
“Grace!” a woman from another table called.
“You’re being ridiculous. Don’t let this one go.” Grace glanced over in the direction from which her name had been called. She sighed at her sister and said, “You don’t mind if I say hi to a few friends, do you?” She was already getting up.
“That’s fine,” Nora answered, rubbing her neck. She heard the wooden floor creak under heavy black work shoes as Grace walked toward a crowded table, in her white ankle socks, faded denim skirt, and wrinkled cotton blouse. She wore large gold hoop earrings. To Nora, Grace was the picture of strength with her muscular calves and solid build. She thought her younger sister beautiful and loved the way Grace’s chestnut brown hair fell on her shoulders in soft layers that danced untamed.
Nora turned to the window, tears in her eyes. She picked up the “Hi, I’m Kirk” napkin and twisted it to shreds.
Grace returned. “I told them about your admirer.”
“Thanks, now the whole town will know.”
Grace gave a sheepish grin. “They said it’s a good thing you let your hair down today, compared to your usual Nora-’dos.’”
Even Nora had to smile because she knew it was true.
“How about my clothes, do they pass inspection?”
“I’ll bet that peasant blouse came from the thrift shop.”
Nora nodded, tugging on a tassel. “Yes, along with this ruffled skirt, but these purple flip-flops are brand new.”
Grace chuckled. “You live like a bohemian, but who am I to talk? We’re both hippies. Woodstock leftovers.”
“Yes, with our gypsy souls,” Nora added.
More to come in next month’s blog, where Nora’s journey continues—full of heart, healing, and maybe even a little unexpected magic. Stay tuned.