Driftwood Summer (20 page)

“And,” Adalee said, her voice rising, “Riley would never let us touch her room. She had the exact same room, with her furniture in the exact same place, forever. In fact, it’s still like that. Even down to the white chenille bedspread.”

“I love white chenille,” Maisy said. “Funny how some things are timeless.”

“Like old friends.” A voice came from behind Maisy, and she turned to face Lucy.

Her heart quickened, her stomach gripped in anxiety. She attempted a smile, her words caught in her clenched throat.

Lucy backed up a step. “You don’t want to see me, do you?”

“Yes, yes. I just thought . . .”

“Just thought what?”

Maisy glanced at her sister. “I’ll be in the coffee shop. Come get me when you’re ready to go to the Antique Mart.”

Adalee clapped her hands together. “Awesome. I thought you said . . .”

Maisy held up her hand. “Just come get me in a few.”

Lucy and Maisy walked to the café and sat down at a far table next to a display of luxury gift soaps made by a local artisan. Anne brought over Maisy’s regular latte, then asked Lucy for her order.

Lucy ordered a hot tea and folded her hands on the table, tilted her head at Maisy. “I know we haven’t talked in, like, twelve years, but I want you to know I’m not mad . . . anymore about what you did. And I miss you. When I saw you in the bookstore the other day, all my reasons for not talking to you washed away. I remembered all the good times.”

Maisy stared into her coffee cup, avoiding Lucy’s brown eyes.

Lucy sighed. “You never told me why you did what you did.”

Maisy lifted her head, panic rising like acid. Was she truly supposed to explain to her ex-best friend why she’d slept with her then fiancé, now husband? “I don’t . . . know what to say.”

“Tucker thinks you didn’t show up because you got in a fight with your family . . . your sister or someone. He said I shouldn’t take it personally. But how was I supposed to take it? You didn’t show up at my wedding, and you never answered any of my phone calls. I wanted to hate you, but I only missed you.”

“Oh . . . Lucy. I am so . . . so sorry.” Maisy released a deep breath of relief and regret; Lucy didn’t know about her and Tucker.

“Why did you leave?” Lucy asked again.

“I had to. I don’t know how to explain it. I had to get out of this town, away from this place. I should have called you. I needed to get away from my family. Away from Riley. Away from . . .”

“What did Riley do?”

Anne arrived with Lucy’s tea and Maisy waited until she walked away before she answered. “It doesn’t matter now. I am just so sorry. How’s your family?”

Lucy smiled now. “Great. Tucker and I moved to Bartow just down the road. We don’t have kids . . . yet. He wants to wait a bit longer. I come here at least once a week to see friends, go to book club, catch up. I worked at the local real estate office, but Tucker wants me home when he gets there, so now I’m thinking about what to do next.”

“You don’t live in town anymore? I thought . . .”

Lucy laughed. “Things don’t stay the same just because you left. No, we moved years ago.”

“I’ve missed . . . a lot, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Lucy said. “Riley and your mama have done an amazing job with this store. It’s a gathering place for the whole area. I don’t know what we’d do without it. I almost didn’t make it last week because something weird happened to my car, but I never miss book club. I don’t know what went on between you and Riley, but you should be proud of what she’s done here.”

“I am.” Maisy turned away. “It was a long time ago. . . . Change of subject. So, what happened to your car?”

“Some prankster took off all the tires and left them in a pile on the sidewalk. The car was on cinder blocks.”

Maisy stared at the wall behind Lucy’s head, seeing the sobbing book club blonde talking about the crazy thing she’d done to her lover’s wife. “Oh,” Maisy said.

Lucy shrugged. “Stupid teenagers or something. A ridiculous dare by one of those high school clubs, I’m sure.”

“Probably.” Maisy nodded and forced herself to look at Lucy.

“Tell me about your glamorous life in California.” Lucy still had that sweet smile, full and genuine. “I bet you love it there. You look great, by the way. Then again, you always did.”

“I do love it there. Part of me regrets not going to college . . . but I’d probably be doing the same thing I’m doing now, just with a degree.”

“We all thought you were so brave when you ran off to California. Was it scary?” Lucy leaned forward, folded her hands around her mug.

“Yes.” Maisy nodded. “At first it was, but just like anywhere else, you meet people, you get a job, you find a life. And it has been years, so it’s hard to remember everything about that early time.”

“I remember what it was like when you left.” Lucy tucked a stray curl behind her ear, stared up at the ceiling. “It was sad. No one knew why you went, and your family was distraught. I couldn’t believe that my best friend wouldn’t be in my wedding.”

Maisy exhaled. “I am so sorry. I never, ever meant to hurt you. It was all . . . terrible.”

The smile returned to Lucy’s face. “Well, it turned out all right, didn’t it? Just like a good book or something. You have a great life. Tucker and I are married. And now you’re home and we can catch up, hang out before you go back.”

“Sure.” Maisy smiled, glanced up at her sister coming toward them. “Adalee wants to go to the Antique Mart and Flea Market.” Then Maisy’s heart opened up to her best friend: the girl who had stayed over most weekends, who had listened to her cry and confess her loves and fears; the girl who had hidden the homecoming wine bottle in her own car and taken the blame. Maybe it would be okay; she could keep her secret, start off where she had left off with Lucy like nothing had ever happened. The past was buried, gone.

Lucy retrieved her purse from the floor. “It was really great to see you. I know this week is crazy.” She tapped the newsletter listing the events. “I’ll try to come to everything—I do want to support your family.”

Maisy took Lucy’s hand across the table, a silent confession and asking of forgiveness concealed in her next question. “You want to come to the flea market with us? We aren’t going for long. I have to be back for this evening’s event.”

“That is so sweet, but I volunteer at the History Center at noon on Saturdays.”

“Okay . . . I’ll see you tonight?” Maisy asked.

“Absolutely.”

Adalee shifted her feet. “Maybe you can go next time.” She turned to Maisy. “Let’s totally get moving before the best stuff is gone.”

The three women walked out the front door of Driftwood Cottage, laughing over a story Lucy was telling about a woman they saw coming in from the parking lot, a local neighbor whose dog constantly humped Lucy and Tucker’s concrete bunny in the garden. Relieved, Maisy basked in the comfort of Lucy’s friendship even while guilt and regret lay below the surface of her smile.

FOURTEEN

RILEY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Regret buzzed through Riley like a fly she couldn’t swat. Why had she spent so much time being irritated with Mama when she should have been appreciative? And why did it take the storm of illness to awaken the need to cherish Mama? She walked down Pearson’s Pier, and then lifted her hand to stop her hat from flying off in a quick breeze. Her eyes locked on Brayden and she waved.

He turned away and she imagined him rolling his eyes at Mack, fishing next to him. As a child Brayden had come to her in the middle of the night with bad dreams. Now he didn’t seem to need her at all. When she was twelve years old, and summer had released her from the grip of homework and team sports, she, too, had spent hours and hours on this pier. She’d run around with a couple of dollars in her pocket—enough for lunch at the Burger Shack and an ice cream in the late afternoon. Sometimes she’d pick up loose change on the boardwalk for extra bait at the Pier House. If she didn’t have the change, old Mr. Henson would sneak her a bag of chum.

Riley came up behind the two males and they turned in response to her greeting. A cloud moved from the sun, and vivid sunlight struck Mack’s face. Riley lifted her hand to shield her eyes.

“Hey, Minnow,” he said.

Brayden answered, “No, her name is Riley.”

Mack laughed. “There was an entire summer when she wanted to be called Minnow.”

Riley shook her head at Mack, pulled her hat lower and spoke to Brayden. “I never wanted to be called Minnow.”

Brayden made a snorting noise in the back of his throat. “Then why did he call you that?”

“Because”—Mack bent closer to Brayden—“she thought she had this huge, really huge fish on the line. Thought the bet was won. She reeled it in and there was this very, very tiny fish—a minnow really—and a very, very large hunting boot.”

“Which, for your information, Brayden, was full of wet sand and muck, making it heavy,” Riley said.

She looked up at Mack, and for a brief moment, Riley saw the young Mack on the other side of a bonfire. She smiled past the memory. “Hey, thanks for fishing with Brayden, but no more childhood stories. And I haven’t seen your dad yet. . . . Is he here?”

Mack turned, called out to his father. Sheppard Logan, standing at the other end of the pier, turned at his son’s call. He walked toward them, and Riley remembered everything good about her childhood summers, everything pure and right. She didn’t hesitate to hug Mack’s father, held him for a moment and then leaned back to look at him. “It is so wonderful to see you.”

“You, too, Riley. How in the world did you grow up? Get married? Have a son? Just yesterday you were a twelve-year-old girl outsailing and outfishing my sons, to their dismay.”

It was true—all those years she’d been Mack’s equal in the activities of a Palmetto Beach summer. She’d kept up with him on the sailboat, at the fishing pier; at badminton, pool races and beach games.

Riley laughed. “I only outsailed and outfished them for the first two weeks of every summer. They always beat me in the end. They just had to get out of their big-city skin to catch up with me.” She ignored the assumption that she was married.

“Ah, yes. That’s exactly why we’re here. To get out of our big-city skin. Your son.” Sheppard pointed to Brayden, who was staring at them as if they were aliens.

“Yes,” Riley said. “So.” She smiled at Mack and Sheppard, placed her arm around her son. “Is he holding up the family tradition? Did he kick your butt fishing this morning?”

Brayden pulled away from her. “You are so embarrassing. And Mack caught the first fish. I owe him an ice-cream cone.” Brayden held out his hand for money.

Riley laughed through her nervousness, wondered what her hair looked like, if the straw hat was covering her new wrinkles. “You conning a twelve-year-old?”

“I was attempting to con him out of more than an ice-cream cone,” Mack said. “Maybe pizza and a Coke on top of it.” To Brayden he added, “Sorry, but you must also repay old family dues now.” A buzzing noise caused him to pause; he pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. “Sorry, work. I’ll be just a minute.” He flipped open his phone and Riley heard a barrage of angry words she couldn’t quite catch.

Riley, Sheppard and Brayden looked at one another, and stepped back from Mack and his phone call.

Mack turned his back on them, his hard reply clear in the silence. “Mr. Harbinger, I am more than sorry for any problems my absence is causing. I promise to be back by next Monday. I need some time with my family. I’m sorry you don’t understand. I thought you would.”

More words came from the other end, and then Mack said, “I understand.” He hung up without saying goodbye, closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun.

“Boss doesn’t sound too happy,” Sheppard said to Riley. “My fault. I talked Mack into coming.”

“I think Mack is here because he wants to be here,” Brayden said, sounding awfully grown-up all of a sudden.

“Absolutely.” Mack was at their side, a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now back to the important stuff—oh yeah, Brayden, your mom owes me for all her unpaid bets through the years.”

Brayden looked at Riley. “Really?”

“Don’t believe anything this guy says,” she answered. A sudden breeze caught them by surprise and took Riley’s hat down the wooden dock. Mack ran down the dock, attempted three times to nail it down—stomping at it and eventually grabbing it before it flew over the side.

He returned to a laughing group, and handed the hat to Riley. “Thanks,” she said, and yanked it back over her tousled hair.

“Do you have some time to spend with an old friend today, maybe walk around the newly improved Palmetto Beach?” Mack asked.

She stared down the pier. “Well . . .” She looked at Brayden.

“Go ahead, Mom. I’m meeting Wes at the jetty anyway.”

She looked at Sheppard, who shooed her away. “You two go on now. I’m meeting my friend Norman Fuller here in twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” she told Mack. “Let me check on the bookstore, and I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes?”

“Sounds good.”

 

After checking that all was in order at the store, then running a brush through her hair and applying lipstick, Riley walked back to the pier. Along the way, sunlight filtered through the Spanish moss of the live oak trees, its beauty calming her breath to a smooth pace. She glanced toward Pearson’s Pier for Mack, and then he walked toward her in his wrinkled khaki shorts and faded Palmetto Beach T-shirt. A baseball hat was pulled low on his forehead to the top of his Ray-Ban sunglasses. He lifted his arm to wave, his freckled skin against the blue sky. The same arm that had once lay against hers in the simple days of childhood. She lifted her hand to wave, knocked over someone’s fishing pole to the left. The pole’s end dipped into a bait bucket, splashing water onto her legs and exposed toes. She stepped away, and knocked into a father with a child on his shoulder, who laughed and nodded at her, content in their own world. Riley stared at the child: a small girl with brown curls wet and sticky in the humidity, a circle of red around her mouth from a Popsicle. The child seemed to exude the pure joy of the moment, and the sight wrung Riley’s heart with longing.