Driftwood Summer (26 page)

Mack rose to meet her, and kissed her cheek; she turned quickly enough to allow him to catch the edge of her lips. Sheppard stood too, and hugged her. “You eating here?” Mack asked.

“No,” she said, her reason for coming now seeming foolish and transparent. “I . . .”

Mack pointed behind her. “You looking for your sister?”

Maisy spun around, saw Adalee headed toward the back of the restaurant. “Adalee!” she called out too loudly.

Adalee turned and waved, then came over. “Hey, whatcha’ doing here? I thought—”

“I thought you were with Chad.”

“It’s weird. I can’t find him. I thought we were meeting at the Beach Club, but he didn’t show up. Maybe he said Bud’s, and I got confused.”

Maisy’s feet felt stuck in sinking ground. “Why don’t we go back and finish our project? Maybe he got . . . busy. He’ll call later.”

“Oh . . . well, I guess.” Adalee glanced around the bar. “I’ll just take one look around, and then I might as well go back with you.”

Maisy looked at Mack, and found all her reasons for coming here in his face: his love for his father, his willingness to acknowledge what had passed between them all those years ago. She could steer her sister out of this bar and away from her cheating boyfriend, or stay and bask in the company Mack offered.

Mack’s gaze flickered from Maisy to Adalee, an unspoken question forming.

“Well,” Maisy said, “it was really good to run into y’all. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Absolutely,” Mack said, looked down at his dad.

“You got it,” Sheppard confirmed. “We’ll be at the evening party. We’re going deep-sea fishing in the morning, but we should be back by late afternoon.”

“Great.” Maisy placed her hand on Adalee’s back and led her out of the restaurant. Together they reached the corner before either spoke, and then their words overlapped.

“Where else did you look for Chad tonight?”

“Were you looking for me?” Adalee asked, her hands on her hips as she stood in a wide stance at the corner. “I can take care of myself.”

“I wasn’t looking for you,” Maisy said. “Were you running around town looking for your boyfriend?”

“I wasn’t running around town. I just thought I got the Beach Club and Bud’s mixed up. That’s all.”

Maisy began the walk back to Driftwood Cottage. “You didn’t get anything mixed up. You should never run after a guy—you’re too good for that.”

Adalee caught up to Maisy. “Maybe you are, but I guess I’m not.”

Maisy stopped and stared at her sister, who looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be angry, upset or some confused combination of both. Maisy let out a long sigh. “I’m not too good for it, either. I guess I just think we
should
be.”

Adalee’s shoulders slumped. “Whatever.”

Maisy draped her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “I know a cure for the blues.”

“What?”

“A can of sage green paint, soft white linen and cane chairs . . .”

“I get it,” Adalee interrupted. “Okay, let’s finish what we started.”

“Yes,” Maisy said, her mind not exactly on chairs and paint, “let’s finish what we started.”

TWENTY

RILEY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doctor’s office smelled of flower-scented cleaner mixed with antiseptic. Riley sat in the waiting room with Mama, who sat perched in her wheelchair as if it were a throne. Today, Monday, was the first time Kitsy had left the house since her accident, and she was done up as if she were attending a black-tie event for her friend the Guvnah, whom she’d gone to high school with, of course.

Riley reached over and dabbed at an errant spot of Mama’s lipstick. Kitsy pushed her hand away. “I am not a child.”

“I was just . . .” Riley exhaled in frustration and fatigue. “Sorry, Mama. I was just wiping off some stray lipstick.”

“I can do that myself.” Kitsy formed her mouth into a round O and wiped around her lips with a manicured pinky finger.

How her Mama could be confined to bed and still make sure the manicurist and hairdresser visited the house on schedule was beyond Riley ’s understanding. “Mama, you look great.”

“Of course. Bed rest is no excuse for being slovenly and lazy. I’m not sure why you insist on wearing those jeans and loose tops. At least put on some lipstick.”

“Thanks, Mama. I’m fine. And by the way, these tops are very much in style.” Riley smiled at her mother, and then reached down and answered her ringing cell phone.

“Hey, sis.”

Maisy’s voice made Riley’s stomach clench. “What’s going on?” She should never have left the store for so long; God only knew what her sisters had done or, worse, not done.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Maisy told her. “You are not allowed to return to this store until three o’clock this afternoon. At eleven you have a hair appointment and facial at Michael’s that I have arranged and paid for. You can’t argue—just go and then keep yourself occupied. You understand me?” Maisy laughed as if they were twelve years old and had just raided Mama’s forbidden Estée Lauder cosmetics together.

Riley pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it as if this were a prank call. She replaced it. “You know I can’t do that. Brayden is home alone until I’m finished with Mama’s X-rays. I haven’t set up for tonight. Someone needs to make follow-up phone calls. The posters of the authors need to be hung. . . .”

“Whoa,” Maisy interrupted her. “We’ve got it all under control. Right after you left, Mack and Sheppard stopped by and asked if Brayden could go deep-sea fishing with them. I knew it would be okay with you.”

“I didn’t give him permission to go anywhere.”

“But you would have, right?”

“Ummm. Yes, I would have.”

“Ethel is stacking the books. I already tacked up the posters. Adalee is setting up the chairs in the arrangement Mama sketched. I’ll make the phone calls. Do not return here until three o’clock.”

“This is crazy. And sweet. Thank you so much, Maisy. But why?”

“Because I said so.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Riley stuffed her phone back in her purse as the nurse called Kitsy back to the X-ray room. “What was that all about?” Kitsy asked.

“Your crazy daughter. Nothing important.”

Kitsy smiled. “It is so wonderful having you girls together.”

Riley agreed. The sister who had just called her was the sister from well before thirteen years ago: the one who laughed fully, behaved without pretense and loved with her whole heart. It was nice to pretend for a minute, or even for a day, that things were the way they used to be.

After the follow-up X-rays, Riley settled her mama back at the house with a cup of chamomile tea, a painkiller (almost as good as a martini) and Harriet and the nurse tending to her every need. “Mama, please tell me what the doctor had to say today.”

Riley both feared and wanted to hear about chemo and treatment and rehab. But Mama closed her eyes and leaned back on her lavender-scented pillows. “Not now. I’m going to sleep. You go on, Riley.”

She backed out of the room, stared at her mama in wonderment. This was a woman who couldn’t keep a secret for more than fifteen minutes, a woman who used prayer requests as a means to tell horrid secrets, and yet she could lie in bed with all her daughters surrounding her and remain silent about her serious illness.

Riley shook her head and headed for Michael’s Salon—the only one in town aside from the barbershop.

Michael’s was shut tight when Riley arrived. She groaned. Of course it was closed: it was Monday. She shouldn’t have believed Maisy. She was digging into her purse for the car keys when a man appeared at the glass doors, unlocked and opened them. “You must be Riley.”

“Yes, and you are?”

“I am Frederick. Your sister has arranged for a makeover, and I’m here to serve.” He bowed.

“Where . . . ?”

“I work in Savannah, but your sister called, and I came running.”

“How do you know Maisy?” Riley followed Frederick into the salon, where she usually came twice a year to have her ends trimmed.

“I knew her in Laguna Beach. I moved back to Savannah a few years ago—that’s where I’m from.”

Riley shook her head. “This is crazy.”

Frederick threw his hands in the air. “Isn’t she amazing?”

Riley laughed. “Okay, you may not give me orange hair, or chop it all off or give me bangs, or . . .”

He held up his hands to stay her words. “Just sit in the chair and allow me to work my magic,” he said.

Riley dropped her purse on the floor and stared at herself in the mirror as Frederick walked through the salon, turning on lights and music. “How did you get Michael to allow you to use his place?” she asked.

“I didn’t. Maisy did.” Frederick wheeled out a trayful of coloring and cutting paraphernalia. “Now, let me see the damage.” He stood behind her, ran his hands through her hair. “You have a gorgeous wave to your hair. We should work with the natural curls. . . .” His voice trailed off and Riley gave herself over to his ministration. As he folded foil into her hair, he talked nonstop about the state of the world, the changing attitudes in the South, corrupt local politics, and living in Savannah after having been in Laguna Beach.

Riley never did more than laugh or agree with all he said. Under the dryer she fell asleep. While his hands rinsed her hair and massaged her scalp, she realized she’d finally put aside her worries about the store, and Mama, and Sheldon, and what Mack Logan did or did not think about her. Frederick blew dry her hair using a large round brush and finally spun her chair around. “Now, who is that gorgeous woman in the mirror?”

Riley stared at herself, then looked up from her reflection to Frederick. “I don’t know.” Her blond hair now had lighter streaks that made it look as though she’d spent a month on the beach. Her hair curled in layers that landed just below her shoulders. Her new bangs slanted to the right.

Frederick laughed. “You are a beautiful woman, Riley Sheffield. All I did was improve on what was already there.” He spun her chair around again. “Listen, I see this all the time with women. Stop thinking you are only a mom. Really. You are gorgeous. Let your light shine, baby.”

Riley laughed. “Did Maisy tell you to give me a pep talk along with a haircut?”

Frederick shook his head, suddenly serious. “She loves you.”

Riley looked away, tears threatening. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I doubt she said that, but thank you.”

“She didn’t have to say it.” Frederick glanced at his watch. “Your makeup artist—who will complete your makeover—will be here in a few minutes. I, on the other hand, must return to Savannah.”

Riley reached for her purse. “What do I owe you? And even more—how do I keep this up? Will you tell Michael how to do it?” She pulled at a strand of hair.

“Savannah is only an hour away, dear.”

Riley smiled. “You’re right.”

“And you don’t owe me a thing. This time.” He smiled. “I owed Maisy a big favor. So what goes around comes around.”

“For what?”

Frederick winked. “I’ll never tell.”

Riley dropped her purse to the floor. “Thank you so much. I really do love it, even if I have no idea how to make it look this way again.”

“I cut it so you can let it dry naturally, or for a smoother look, you can blow-dry it with this large barrel brush. It’s yours now.”

“I have some hot curlers at home.”

He groaned. “This is not the seventies. Only seventies music is allowed—not clothing or hairdos. You own scrunchies, don’t you?”

Riley grinned. “Of course. In every color. I don’t use them . . . anymore.”

“Oh, please throw them away. If you don’t, you’ll be tempted.”

A singsong voice called out a greeting, and Frederick and Riley turned to see a young woman with dreadlocks coming through the door. “Hey, Celia.” Frederick went to her, kissed her full on the mouth. “Come meet the amazing Riley.”

The next hour passed under Celia’s gifted hands as she gave Riley a full facial, then made up her face, adding instructions about how to achieve the same look on her own. With Celia fussing over her, Riley forgot her responsibilities, but as soon as she inhaled the moist outside air, her flip-flops slapping against the pavement, she yanked out her cell phone, and called the bookstore.

Ethel reprimanded her for checking on them, and told her not to return for at least another hour. Riley walked past the coffee shop, the gift shop and the knitting store. Townspeople and summer people waved or called her name. When she reached Confetti Boutique, she stared at the window display. She hadn’t shopped here in years: she couldn’t afford it, and she had no need for anything but her jeans, cotton skirts and tops. She moved down the sidewalk, dreamlike, enjoying a certain laziness born of relaxation and the spent grief of the previous night.

“Riley Anne Sheffield.” She turned in slow motion. Lodge Barton stood in front of the scarred wooden door leading to the newspaper offices. “You look beautiful. Got a date?”

She laughed. “Yeah, with a bookstore.”

He came toward her, his glasses reflecting her own smile. “You headed to the cottage?”

“No, they won’t let me back for an hour. So I’m just wandering the streets.”

He glanced up at the large clock tower in the middle of the square. “Past lunchtime. Come eat with me.”

She noticed that for the first time, he didn’t ask—he told. She nodded in agreement.

“The Patio,” he said, once again decisive.

“Sounds great. I can’t remember the last time I ate there. I am not getting chicken salad. That’s all I ever have at the bookstore café.”

He laughed, placed his arm over her shoulder and gave her a squeeze before releasing her. “This is like a miracle on Broad Street—finding Riley Sheffield with an hour to spare.”