In Gifts by the Shore (Part 1), I introduced you to my main character, Marianna Greggor, a 39-year-old single mom of a college-aged daughter and, also, the younger sister of Ellen, who owns a bungalow in Sarasota, Florida. As many of you already know — or can guess from the names! — one of my inspirations for this manuscript came from the very different sisters in Sense and Sensibility. But this is not a retelling of that story. It’s a new tale about siblings, mothers and daughters, good friends, and getting a second chance at love.
As always, I look forward to all of your thoughts, so please don’t hesitate to share!! Thank you. 😉
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GIFTS BY THE SHORE
CHAPTER TWO: Bungalow 26 (continued right after Gil’s scene — READ PART 1 HERE)
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The white sand enveloped her feet.
It was so powdered-sugar like that Marianna’s poor toes, unprotected in flimsy pink flip-flops, weren’t safe from the thousands of granules of warmth that attacked them and her heels with every sinking step on her trek to the water’s edge. Warm sand, yes, but not scorching. That surprised her.
Ellen was right. Sarasota was not Ann Arbor. And the Siesta Key beach was not remotely like a visit to the chilly, rocky shores of Lake Michigan. Marianna felt herself to be a stranger in a strange land.
She’d barely thought this to herself when, in spite of the jarring differences between her home state and this all-natural water park, she began getting caught up in it.
The colors grabbed her at first. She would’ve sworn they were fake. She looked out into the Gulf and that blue was so vibrant, so very azure that she was sure it’d been dyed. Nothing in the real world could possibly look that blue. She recalled photos of tropical places she’d seen in magazines like National Geographic and always figured they’d been touched up somehow. Tinted, so as to make the landlocked Northerners envious.
But she realized now that—no—reality actually could be this stunning. This utopian. And that the photographs were only able to capture the images, not the pervasive scent of sand, salty water and sunscreen. Not the sound of the squawking seagulls and chattering beachcombers. Not the feel of the hot sand granules, the sweat beads sliding down her arms, neck and spine. Not the shocking warmth of wading into the Gulf, like sinking into a Jacuzzi.
A giggle rose in her throat, and she felt like that five-year-old girl again, discovering the world freshly after their move to Ann Arbor. How magically different their new home seemed to her then…and now.
With a bolt of impulsivity she hadn’t felt flowing inside her in a while, she kicked off her flip-flops and carried them, stepping along the undulating seam where the waves lapped rhythmically against the shore, caressing it. Every stride was a brand new stitch, connecting her, however tenuously, to this exotic, amphibious fabric of a place.
The further she walked, the faster her blood pumped. She could feel her heart rate increasing, and not just from the exercise. Her pulse was matching the heartbeat of the sea—the ebb and flow of the Gulf’s ever-shifting tide—marking the passage of time like a ticking grandfather clock. The waves were a swinging pendulum of seconds, beating the minutes, hours, days, and reminding her of years that had passed, of relationships that had come and gone, of emotions she had once felt and now ceased to feel.
And then the harmonious unity of her footsteps in flawless synchronicity with time came to a crashing halt.
“Ow!” she squealed aloud, the pain in the sole of her right foot too sharp to ignore.
She hadn’t been looking at where her feet were landing, but she knew she’d have to remember not to lose focus in the future if she wanted to keep her toes. She spotted the offending object jutting out of the water-packed sand. The jagged edge of the twisting shell was serrated enough to cut flesh. She inspected the bottom of her foot for blood. None, although there was an indentation where she stepped on the thing. She rubbed her sole for a moment then reach to pick up the shell. On first instinct, it reminded her of a funnel cloud, like a palm-sized Midwestern tornado. She dipped it into the seawater, shook the sand and grit from it and held it up to the light.
It was beautiful.
She’d seen shells like this before in shops, but she never imagined just finding one in the wild. On closer inspection—save for the broken ridge she’d stepped on—the shell was so perfect, it was almost edible. Brown lines drizzled dark color down the cream and gold sides, like chocolate syrup over a vanilla and caramel cone. The top swirled into a point, managing to make it look at once both delicious and dangerous. Almost tempting enough to take a bite.
“That there’s a lightning whelk,” an old lady’s voice informed her. “It’s unusual to find a nice one like that this late in the day. Best shelling is in early morning.”
Marianna shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare and squinted at the woman. She was probably about the same age as Mr. Niihau but, unlike his dark hair and deeply bronzed, weathered skin, this woman was a study in white. Her hair was as snowy as Mrs. Claus, worn in a bun and covered with a wide-brimmed sunhat. Her milky complexion was textured with dry, pale wrinkles, and her swimsuit and wrap were varying shades of ivory. Standing next to her in the burning midday sun reminded Marianna that she needed to buy sunglasses, a beach hat and more sunscreen. SPF 50 at least.
“Thanks,” Marianna said brightly. “I didn’t know that. It’s pretty.”
The woman nodded. “You looked like an out-of-towner, girlie.” She pointed further up the beach. “If you get out here at five or six in the morning and keep walkin’ about a half a mile that a-way to the rocks, you’ll find some real stunning ones.” She motioned toward Marianna’s flip-flops. “And you’ll wanna put them back on or get yourself some Beachwalkers like me.” She lifted up a foot to show the only dark piece of clothing she had on—slip-on water shoes, like the kind marine biologists or serious snorkelers might wear.
“I will,” Marianna promised her, glancing behind them, surprised to see how far she’d already ambled down the coast.
The older woman caught her gaze and stabbed her bony index finger at the hotels in the opposite direction. “Walk that other way another mile or so and you’ll find yourself at some pretty ritzy hotels and bungalows and such. But you don’t need to be rich to enjoy the beach.” She flung her arms out on both sides, as if to capture the air. “The beach is free for everybody.”
“I’m not rich,” Marianna said, pondering for a split second what it must be like to feel comfortable like that. Never having to wonder where the next rent payment or doctor’s fee would come from. Never having to make a choice between buying a much-needed coat for yourself or new school clothes for your child. Never having to worry about selling your house because you can’t swing the mortgage or the insurance or the utilities…
“Me neither, girlie.” She tapped her chest with the flat of her palm. “I’m Vivian, by the way.”
“Marianna,” she told her, as the woman stuck out her hand to formally shake hers. Vivian’s grip was strong and sure, grounding Marianna to the present.
“I walk all the way down Siesta Key beach and back, twice a day. Two and a half miles each way,” Vivian told her proudly. “So, I’m sure I’ll see you again. And you just ask me if you have any questions ‘bout anything, you hear?” She patted her chest again and grinned. “Fourth generation Floridian. Not one of them newcomers.”
Marianna grinned back. “Thank you,” she whispered, a lump rising in the back of her throat for a reason she couldn’t begin to justify. When had the simple act of someone being kind to her reduced her to tears?
Vivian waved and was on her way, and Marianna was left swallowing back an emotion she was too anxious to let herself feel. But she did eye the people on the shore a little more closely now.
There were lots of women in bikinis with perfectly even tans and trim bodies—showing off their butterfly tattoos on their shoulders, their silver or coral anklets, their diamond-studded belly piercings—and hard-muscled men jogging along the shore with shades and waterproof watches. The youngsters frolicked like water nymphs, and even the older people had a lean, outdoorsy look about them.
She felt frumpy in her t-shirt and shorts. A pale-faced tourist in paradise, carting only her bungalow key, a pair of flip-flops and a shell. A simple existence, really.
She spied a family with three or four…no, five kids under the age of eleven or so. The youngest ones were a set of twin boys—a handful from the looks of them—about four years old. They were racing each other to the water as fast as their brown little legs could carry them, giggling, with maniacal expressions on their faces like Thing One and Thing Two from The Cat in the Hat. Their beleaguered mother was calling after them, but she had the three older kids hanging off of her. Literally. One of them was pulling at the straps of her swim top.
Marianna heard her shout, “Steve! Get them!” in an exasperated tone, motioning toward the adult male nearby, ostensibly the twins’ father, who was occupied blowing up a beach ball for the siblings. He dropped it and began to chase the little terrors into the Gulf.
She was mildly amused by this scene—half relieved, half wistful to have those parenting days long behind her—and she couldn’t help but reflect on what it might have been like for her, Donny and Kathryn if there had been other children in their little family. Kathryn had always been such a quiet little girl, only starting to come out of her shell and explore the world more once she got into high school. The blow of her father leaving when she was just sixteen stunted that growth for a time, but she soon found more consolation from her friends than from Marianna. Certainly, Kathryn now preferred her new college pals, her boyfriend and her exciting university life to another dull summer with her mother.
Again, Marianna felt the lump of emotion rising in the back of her throat and forced it down once more. There was no use crying. She just needed to regroup. To take a few deep breaths. Get back into the swing of things. And slog away even harder this time. That strategy had worked in the past and, by God, she would make it work again.
She felt a splash on her legs and the sudden hot breath of Thing One as he raced past her, deeper into the water. Quite a few yards away, the father had nabbed Thing Two and was holding him firm with one arm and waving wildly at Marianna with the other. “Please stop him!” he shouted.
She threw her flip-flops and new seashell on the sand and plunged deeper into the Gulf after the boy. But he was fast, and she…was not. He zigzagged in and out of the water, in between people, around clumps of seaweed, giggling demonically the whole way. She reached out to grab him on the shore but, just like some hapless adult in a kids’ sitcom, he slithered out of her grasp and she slipped in the wet sand, falling to her knees.
“Ow!” she cried, not sure what jagged object she’d landed on this time, only that everything out here—be it on land or sea—seemed to be conspiring to cut or bruise her.
She heard a deep, throaty laugh (not maniacal, not demonic) and a voice beside her that said, “This one yours?”
She turned to face the sound and stood up, brushing the sand from her limbs and spotting a collection of cat’s paws in a heap where her knee had been. “No—” she began, but then she focused on the man and, for a moment, found herself actually tongue tied. He was holding up the four-year-old as easily as she’d hold up a coconut…if it had legs and were kicking.
This was not what was remarkable about him, though.
The Sunshine Coast, while full of heavenly bodies in varying states of undress, had presented her with someone wholly unexpected. Although roughly her age, the man had jet black hair—slicked back, full lips, twinkling baby-blue eyes and a tanned, toned frame, like he’d just stepped out of a late-1960s beach movie. There was just no other way to say it: He looked like Elvis Presley in some film like “Clambake.”
She blinked at him and murmured, “Do you sing?”
“What?” he asked above the noise of the still-squealing kid.
“I, um—” She swiveled around in frantic search for Thing One’s father and, suddenly, he was there.
“Sorry, sorry,” the dad said to the Elvis lookalike and to her. “Thank you for grabbing my boy.” He snatched the kid from Elvis’s capable hands and the giggling and squealing came to an immediate stop. As the father marched the child back to his family, Elvis chuckled and said, “I do not envy that man.”
She laughed. “Or his wife.”
“Agreed.”
They shared a fleeting smile.
“Thanks for catching him when I couldn’t. I slipped…”
“I noticed.” He squinted at her feet. “If you’re going to run on the shore, you should get some Beachwalkers.”
“I know, I know. You’re the second person to tell me that today.” She noticed he was wearing some very sporty-looking black water shoes with red stripes to match his long swim trunks. “I just got to Sarasota. Do you know a good place to buy some?”
“Yeah, you looked like an out-of-towner.”
Marianna’s awe at his resemblance to The King began to wear off and a splinter of irritation took its place. “Do I have a sign on my back or something?”
“Nah. It just takes one to know one. I’m not a native either, but I’ve lived in Florida for a long time.” He checked his watch (waterproof, she was sure) and added, “I’ve got to get to work, but the best beachwear outfitter around is just a few miles down the road in St. Armand’s Circle on Lido Key. Take Tamiami Trail to 789 North and follow the signs. The shop is called Castaways, and it’s on John Ringling Boulevard, just past the circle. They’ve got clothing, bathing suits, snorkel gear, footwear—everything you need for your visit. Lots of other great shops on the block, too. The Beaded Periwinkle and The Golden Gecko are a couple of my favorites and they’re right next door. You should check ‘em out.”
“Hmm,” she said, noncommittally. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused, flashed her one of his twinkly grins and waved like he was The King himself. “See you around.”
She waved back and watched him stride down the beach, finding it hard to believe their paths would really cross again. He had the gait of someone who didn’t spend a lot of time idling on sand drifts and talking to frumpy divorced women, however even his tan and effortless his manner.
But, then, people always said insincere things like that to each other. Probably even more often in a beach-culture environment such as Florida, where the population fluctuated with the tide.
She grabbed her pink flip-flops and new lightning whelk—both half buried in the sand—patted her pocket to make sure her key was still there and, finally, began her trek back to the Siesta Sunset bungalows. Where the rich people stayed. She knew she didn’t belong there, but she was getting attached anyway.
Such simplicity. It struck her freshly again and again.
What a contrast from the crazy complexity of her life with Donny, his kind parents (when they were still living) and Kathryn as a baby. What a contrast from the quieter life of just her and Kathryn alone, when her daughter was a teen. This summer life felt almost too easy.
And, yet, as she approached #26, her pulse started racing again. Not like the rush of rejuvenation she felt at the exercise of walking along the stunning beach. No. More like a return to the combination of fear and indistinct emotion she’d felt after talking with Vivian. More like the misgivings she tried to express to Ellen at having come to Florida at all.
With simplicity abounding—so much daily clutter cleared away—it was shockingly apparent when there was a big problem sitting in the middle of the room. Like, oh, her entire nebulous future.
She sighed and pushed open the door to the bungalow. It was precisely how she’d left it and, for some reason, this brought with it a fresh wave of sadness. She swiped away any remnants of sand and sea from the shell and placed it in the middle of the glass coffee table. Her first decoration.
It wasn’t even three o’clock in the afternoon but, suddenly, the two days of driving, the tension of moving, the odd sense of displacement she’d felt since being there and the endless stretch of the unknown all mingled inside of her to create only the certainty of exhaustion.
She curled up on Ellen’s cushiony floral sofa—a buttercup pillow under her head—and closed her eyes. Drifting into sleep and away from all anxiety-producing things.
The day might not yet have ended but, tomorrow was still another day. She figured she had more than enough worry and angst to carry over into it. For the time being, though, she’d burrow deeper into her borrowed shell, pretend the ocean was a melody designed to lull her to sleep and dream about her longest-held fantasy—the one she pointed refused to name aloud.
***
(End of Part 2) What did you think of the new character who was introduced in this scene — Vivian? Any thoughts on Marianna and Gil’s first meeting or on the story so far? Would you like to see something from big sister Ellen’s point of view? I hope so…because she’s coming up next! Look for Part 3 on October 22nd! Hope you’re enjoying it. 🙂
~Marilyn
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This is so good! I like Vivian, I think she’s one of those friends who will tell you what you need to hear, instead of what you *want* to hear, probably at the moment when you least want to hear it. lol
I’m guessing that Gil has a connection to that shop & that’s how he knows he’ll see her again eventually?
I haven’t been to the beach in forever and this makes me want to go. I remember thinking the water at Grand Cayman looked fake, it was so gorgeous. Never seen anything like it.
Monica,
Thank you! So glad you’re liking it!!
I’ve never been to the Grand Cayman, but I’ve seen pictures and the waters there look unreal…
And yes!! You’ve guessed correctly…he does have a connection to that shop! Sneaky guy, LOL. 😀
xox
What beautiful, evocative imagery, Marilyn. I have been to the Keys and know what you are writing about, but I felt as if I was there again. Walking on the beach, seeing the colors, feeling the sand, smelling the air,,,,oh, my. Absolutely amazing! Your description of the shell made me think of an ice cream sundae. Vivian…I like her….grandmotherly. She seems like someone Marianna needs. And Gil, well, good meeting…not too much or too little….just right. Looking forward to the next chapter….Thank you so much for sharing your WIP. A wonderful start to my day.
Deborah,
Yay!! So glad the story is bringing back lovely memories of that Florida coast for you! I fell in love with it when I first saw it and those sites just seeped into my soul… xo
And LOL about the “ice cream” imagery for that shell! I think I see ice cream everywhere!!
Thanks for your sweet comments and for taking the time to stop by today 🙂 .
Marilyn, you took me to paradise-just wish I could have stayed there… wonderful! Sea, sand, and Elvis-just fab!!
Thanks, Jane!!
I wish I could linger in that beach wonderland, too… I’m so glad you liked it 🙂 .
Good morning Marilyn, I not much found of water, because I couldn’t swam, I used to know how to swam, when I was a little girl, now because I don’t have time to go to beach or swam, so I don’t know how, but I like story about beach and the picture too, they are very pretty and look like fun, also the picture of shell, especially the big golden color hold shell, and the funny cartoon drawing like Dr. suess cartoon, thank you for the exciting and interests story, have fun.
Linda,
Many thanks to YOU for taking the time to read the story and stop by! I’m delighted you’re enjoying it 🙂 .
Those Dr. Seuss characters (Thing 1 and Thing 2) have always been a couple of my favorites — I loved reading about them in The Cat in the Hat, LOL, and there are a few neighbor boys who remind me of them now!
Another enticing excerpt, Marilyn!
I adored your description of the shell (you do like ice cream comparisons, I think!) and all the lovely descriptions of what Marianna could see, smell, hear… beautiful.
I enjoyed meeting Vivian, and you gave her a great, distinctive character – I even had a tear in my eye when they said goodbye!
I will admit at this point I’m a little wary of the Elvis look-a-like! I am not a fan of impossibly good looking men (and never was an Elvis fan), but the whole scene, with Thing 1 and Thing 2, was hilarious and fast paced and just a perfect way to have them meet!
Looking forward to the next one!
LOL, Cassandra 🙂 .
Yes…my life-long love of ice cream is something I can’t hide!!
Thanks so much for all of your comments!
As for Gil, I totally understand that an Elvis look isn’t for everyone, but I was watching a few of his beach movies some years back, marveling at how young, strong, attractive and charismatic he was at that age. I only remember him during the last years of his life…and couldn’t really understand why my mom was so upset the day he died. (I was in elementary school then and wasn’t much of a fan at the time.) So, my appreciation for his charms definitely came later!
You really do have a way with your descriptions and love those photos/pictures! But I agree with Cassandra – I, too, was never an Elvis fan. I found him to be too narcissistic! But Vivian sounds lovely – and the miles she walks – Good for her. I need a walking partner like her to motivate me. Marianna has a melancholy outlook at present. Hope she finds something to cheer her up soon. Thanks for this chapter. Looking forward to the next one.
Sheila,
Thank you for your thoughts on the story, and especially your reflections on Marianna. You’re right! She does need something to cheer her up…and, fortunately, she’ll find it 😉 .
As for an adoration of Elvis — as I was just saying in my reply to Cassandra — my appreciation for him hit me much later in life. It was finally seeing him at the start of his movie career that caught my attention, even though the films themselves were really just vehicles for him to showcase his crooning and for all of the actors/actresses to run around on the beach in skimpy clothing, LOL. His character in “Clambake” is my clear favorite — he sings, he teaches, he races boats, he does chemistry — that never fails to make me smile 😀 .
I had graduated from college and was employed in my first job when he died so I am dating myself. My father would not allow us to listen to him. He loved country music and we could listen to that. But Elvis gyrating his hips was a “NO-NO” to certain groups. LOL
Ha!! Yeah, Sheila — I know his dance moves are almost tame by comparison to what’s on TV/music videos these days, but I can well imagine that Elvis seemed pretty racy a few decades ago and raised some parental eyebrows!! We’ve got Miley Cyrus “twerking” now…eeek. I’ll take Elvis and his gyrating hips onstage any day!!
😀
I refuse to watch Miley! She is totally out of control!
Author
AGREED!!! 🙂
I do not like Miley either. I totally agree with both of you, Sheila and Marilyn.
Oh, there is nothing like bumping head on into the heart throb of your youth, when you are the frumpy 40 something. I should know, I did it. But he was the one with the triplets in tow. You could not have described the scene more accurately. And, yes, just reading the passage, I relived it all over again — pounding heart and all.
I love Vivian.already. She is going to be the fresh air of the story. BTW…She just had to have been a cheer leader in high school….She shouts of it already. Lol
Author
Ahhhh, Karen! Lucky you to have gotten to bump into your youthful heartthrob, even with triplets in the picture! I’m not actually sure what I’d do if I ran into mine, even now… I’m sure I’d stare. Possibly, I’d babble. Although, I may be rendered completely stunned and unable to utter a sound, LOL.
Thanks for your thoughts on Vivian, btw! I’m so glad you liked her. She, like many wonderful women I’ve met at her age, is a sparkling spirit who’ll always be young at heart 😉 .
I love Vivian! She reminds me of my mother-in-law (89) who is so full of energy and life! It is also how I picture my older sister being…in another 10-15 years! She loves Siesta Keys and will always chat with people. She isn’t from Florida but spends 1/2 the year down there.
It was a good way to meet Gil and his comments are not taken as well as they were from Vivian, which makes sense. I think it would be harder hearing it from a good-looking man than an older woman! Loved Thing 1 and Thing 2!
I’m looking forward to Marianna’s evolution and rebirth…
Author
Oh, Carole, thank you!
I love the way you described Marianna’s journey as her “evolution and rebirth” — that’s how I’d been thinking of it, but hadn’t put it into words that way. It’s definitely a story of the rediscovery of self…
So glad you loved Vivian, too!! When I was just finishing college, I did a teaching internship in a town of 657 people (or something like that…the population was under 700!) and I lived in the upstairs apartment of a woman in her late 70s who was SO FULL of energy and verve! She asked me one weekend if I wanted to go square dancing with her and a few of her buddies (all in their 70s or 80s), and I agreed. They totally wore me out! And I’d even been in a touring dance group during college, LOL. I hope I have half that much spunk in a few decades 😀 .
I really enjoyed the chapter and getting to meet her new friends. Love Vivian and I agree with others that she will be good for Marianna. I think she will pull her out of feeling sorry for herself and show her how much there is to enjoy in life if you take the time to open your eyes. Meeting Gil was perfect! So funny with Thing One and Thing Two (though also terrifying to read as the mom of a fearless four year old). Your descriptions of the beach ere spot on and really brought me there. I am sure I won’t look at a shell again without comparing it to ice cream! Looking forward to the next post!
Author
I’m so pleased you enjoyed the chapter, TLeighF!!
Thanks for reading it and for sharing your impressions of Vivian, Marianna, Gil, and Thing One & Two! My baby brother was like those Dr. Seuss terrors *combined* when he was a preschooler, LOL — so much energy and always running! (Even now, he’s still very athletic and does triathlons and marathons…not at all like his bookworm sister. 🙂 ) Maybe your fearless 4-year-old will grow up to be a track star in a few years?!
This was so descriptive, the whole chapter, from the scenery to the people, and very enjoyable to read. On the Elvis question, I admired his talent, and I think he seemed charming even in the really awful movies he was in! So evoking Elvis as a main character was OK for me! Vivian definitely sounded like someone Marianna needed to meet, so she could make friends and get the perspective of someone sensible and sympathetic (and a native Floridian to boot — apparently very important there!).
I think I’m also intrigued because this is a story about a woman in squarely approaching middle age and having some life history behind her. It’s a nice change from all the stories about women who are not all in their 20s (much as I like the whole P&P universe).
Author
Kathy,
Yessss! Thank you for giving a thumbs up to young Elvis!! 😀 You are so right about some of those movies being awful… As I said in prior comments, I’ll always love him in “Clambake” (though that film had an especially strong cast — Shelley Fabares and Bill Bixby were in it too), but there were others — “Harum Scarum” comes to mind, LOL — that were kind of painful to watch. Still, when he would start singing, I could see why legions of girls fell for him! I’m going to have to dig out a clip of him singing one of my favorite songs — “You Don’t Know Me” — for next time!!
And thanks as well for your kind comments about the story itself. I’m truly glad you’re enjoying it 😉 .
Took me a while to get to this but what a fun read. I lived in Naples, FL for 2 years and love justy being able to walk the beach. Best in winter when the “snowbirds” were not there. Your description was perfect! Made me homesick. I love Vivian…she reminds me of my husband’s Aunt who was kind and sweet but tough and let you know what she was thinking. A true “Southern Lady”! I thought Gil rolled the directions to the beach shop out too easyily not to have a connection. I am interested in the next part about Ellen. Will she be a big sister or an older sister. There is a distinction…I know I have one of each. Thanks for the excerpt and I am looking forward to the 22nd.
Maggie,
I’m thrilled you’re enjoying the story so far and that the description of the setting resonated for you and read true. Thank you! I’m so glad you like Vivian as well. The way you described your husband’s aunt is similar to the way I see Vivian, so they must be much alike 🙂 . And, yes! Gil definitely had an ulterior motive in directing Marianna to that shop…LOL. More on that to come!!
Wow, that Elvis lookalike is Gil! I wouldn’t peg him as a Willoughby-type when he was described in Part 1. I actually thought he was more like Brandon. How my conjecture is totally wrong but I love the two excerpts nonetheless.
Hm, Vivian seemed like Mrs Jennings to me but I could be wrong since you say it is not a contemporary version of S&S. She seems a good influence to Marianna. I would love to know more about her and all the other characters already mentioned like Ellen and her husband, daughter Kathryn and so forth.
Lúthien,
LOL!! No, Gil isn’t at all Willoughby-like! (And thank goodness for that!) I’ve definitely changed things around in this story. The sister dynamic was inspired by Sense and Sensibility for sure, but the romantic relationships in the novel are completely original 😉 . I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’ve loved the excerpts so far, though. Thank you so much for taking the time to read them!!
😀
[…] sister Ellen owns a bungalow in Sarasota, Florida, which Marianna is staying at for the summer. In Part 2, Marianna meets Gil Canton, a local businessman and artist, but they don’t exchange […]