It was usually held at the island’s church – Saint James Episcopal – but since the church floor refinishing project that was supposed to be done two months ago still hadn’t been completed, I’d volunteered the Gray Whale Inn as an alternate location. "Can’t we put them out on the back deck?” I asked my best friend Charlene as she lugged a tub of clams into the inn’s kitchen. The two of us had laid out sheets of plastic so any condensation – or leaky tubs -- wouldn’t hurt the pine floors. Since moving from Texas to open the inn six months earlier, my budget had been tight enough; the last thing I needed was to have to refinish my own floors. "Are you kidding me?” Charlene pursed her glossy lips and shook her head as we maneuvered another load through the kitchen door. For a storekeeper on a little island off the coast of Maine, she always managed to look fabulous. Forget flannel and fisherman’s sweaters; today’s ensemble was a green velour sweater and tight jeans, with a crystal necklace and earrings that sparkled in the morning light.
