She wondered if the smell was bringing up a long-forgotten memory from when she was a little girl. Zoey rolled down the window, and a thick combination of salt from the Atlantic and sugar from the bakeries blew in. Nearly every restaurant and bakery had a chalkboard sign with a marshmallow item on its menu-marshmallow popcorn, chocolate milk served in toasted marshmallow cups, sweet potato fries with marshmallow dipping sauce. The sidewalks were crowded with tourists taking pictures of old, narrow buildings painted in faded pastel colors. If she hadn’t known that Mallow Island had been famous for its marshmallow candy over a century ago, Trade Street would have told her right away. She sat forward, not knowing where to look first. THE MALLOW ISLAND RESORT HOTEL: 3 MILES AHEADĪfraid he might miss the turn, Zoey was about to point it out to the cabdriver, but he’d already put on his blinker. They zipped along confidently, following decorative metal signs that read: But it didn’t seem to bother the drivers of cars with out-of-state license plates. The water, dense with reedy vegetation, ended just inches from the pavement. This was really happening.Īs soon as they were off the bridge, the cabdriver took a left and traveled down a two-lane highway that skirted the perimeter of the island. The closer they got to it, the more her excitement grew. It was rising from the marshy coastal water like a lackadaisical sea creature sunning itself, not a care in the world. Zoey nodded, distracted now because the small sea island had just appeared on the horizon and she didn’t want to miss a moment of it. It’s mostly a tourist place because of that book by Roscoe Avanger. “Don’t hear of too many people moving to Mallow Island. “Well,” he said, drawing the word out like a tune. I start college in Charleston this fall.” The first trip she could remember, anyway. “Yes.” The birdcage rattled in disagreement, but she ignored it this time. “I asked if this was your first trip to Mallow Island.” He hadn’t spoken a word since his Where to? when he’d picked her up at the airport. But he seemed to be waiting for her to respond. Several seconds passed and he continued to stare, which she found disconcerting because she felt his eyes should really be on the long bridge over the water. The old fig-shaped man was watching her in the rearview mirror, his silver eyebrows raised. She glanced at the cabdriver to see if he had noticed.

Zoey gave it a sharp look as if to say they were almost there.

The empty wicker birdcage beside her began to rattle impatiently.

Other birds a novel book review