Page 1 of You Make Me Feel
one
SADIE
I wish my mom was here to see me now.
As I walk past the emerald green palm trees, my heels clicking against the newly-laid paving slabs, I can’t help but think of her. And for the first time in six years, that thought doesn’t make me sad. It makes me proud.
I’ve worked hard for this. Harder than I’ve ever worked in my life. And maybe somewhere, on the bouncy top of a cloud – or more likely in the Pearly Gates Cocktail Bar – she’s watching and smiling.
Because I did it. I turned my life around. Left behind the mess I created after she died.
I take a deep breath and smooth down my dress. It’s not too fancy, not today. The invitation specifically said to wear ‘Resort Casual’ which means I’m wearing a maxi dress, the dark navy and white geometric pattern contrasting perfectly with my wild red hair. I’ve left it down because Iwon’t be rummaging in dusty bookshelves or carrying canvases across the store for the next few hours.
Because today is all about celebrating.
“Look at you,” my friend Eden says, rushing toward me, and throwing her arms around my shoulders. She’s dressed in silver, her dark hair pinned up, her makeup barely there. And there’s the biggest grin on her face.
Probably because standing behind her is her husband – West Abbott, the owner of this brand new resort. He looks dangerously handsome in dark tailored pants and a white shirt, no jacket or tie. Because apparently this is as casual as he gets.
He and Eden are responsible for building this resort. It was West’s plan initially, but Eden got involved and the two of them have built a beautifully eco-friendly family vacation spot on the northern tip of Liberty Island, complete with a gray water system for the pools, a whole lot of jobs for the locals, and most importantly, they’re trying to get island business owners like me involved too.
“Did you see them?” Eden asks, grabbing my hand. She’s so giddy it makes me smile. The youngest of the six Fitzgerald siblings – the family who owns most of Liberty Island – she’s always so full of energy and zest for life.
“No. Where are they?” I ask, excitement rising in me. It’s stupid how proud I felt when she asked me to provide the artwork for the resort. It made me feel like I was finally accepted on the island. And of course she wanted to pay way above what I could get on the open market.
Because that’s how the Fitzgeralds treat the people here. With kindness and support.
“I’ll show you.” She takes my hand, blowing a kiss at her husband. Then she pulls me across the palm-lined courtyard toward the main resort building. I breathe in thelilacs and mock orange blossoms that form clusters beneath the trees, their scent lacing the late spring evening air.
The resort itself is self contained, taking up around ninety acres of what used to be wasteland at the north of the island. It has its own port and helipad, but it doesn’t have any on resort shopping. Eden and West are determined not to take any business away from Main Street at the south east of Liberty Island, where I, and so many of my friends, run our own businesses.
I bite down a smile, thinking of Books by the Sea and Arts by the Sea, the latest edition to the street full of pastel painted buildings and pretty striped canopies. Those are my babies. I opened the bookshop first. Almost two years ago now, when I was scared and lonely and knew nobody on the island.
Back then, it felt like a leap in the dark to buy the lease and fill the shelves with special edition books and literary gifts that I hoped would appeal to locals and tourists alike.
Much to my delight, it thrived. Enough for me to be able to open its sister shop, Art by the Sea, this year.
Like the bookshop, the art gallery is aimed at tourists and the locals. There’s nothing too wild in there. A lot of seascapes and pretty colors that appeal to the casual buyer. Affordable pieces that visitors to the island can take home to remind them of their stay here in Liberty. It’s still new and I’m working to find my way with it, but I’m pleased with how it’s working out.
I’m not trying to be the Guggenheim, just trying to make people happy.
Which is why, when Eden asked me to supply artwork for the lobby, I was completely flattered. The Fitzgeralds are rich, have great taste. And more importantly, art is in theirblood. Their mother was an artist, and one of Eden’s brothers is an art dealer.
Being asked to be part of this made me feel like I might finally belong somewhere. That maybe I’m not the mess I was when I came to the island. That my slew of bad decisions might finally be over.
“Here they are,” she says, squeezing my hand. I look at them – the five paintings I chose, for their impact and color and the way they immediately made me feel warm inside.
They’re all sea scapes, painted by a locally based artist who lives on the mainland, but travels to Liberty Island for inspiration on a regular basis.
“Oh,” I say softly, touching my palm to my heart. “They look perfect.”
“Right?” Eden says, grinning. “I told you they would. And look what else we have here.” She nods over at the bookshelf in the corner of the lobby, next to the casual tables and sofas that have been laid out for guests to lounge on during their stay.
On the shelves are the books she asked me to curate. For a price, of course, because she’s all about giving money back to local businesses. The plan is to keep the little resort library fully stocked and rotated. But if guests want a particular book I can have it delivered the same day.
“I love it,” I say, hugging her. “You’ve done such an amazing job.”
She shrugs, her cheeks pinking up. “It was mostly West. I just got to do the good things. Like choose the champagne. You really should go and get some. I swear, with my family around it’s bound to run out soon.”
