Suddenly One Summer (4 page)

“Just the one you gave me. Not nearly enough.”

Henry gave a nod. “I could see the light in your eyes when I handed you the drink. You’ve been losing yourself in it, haven’t you? Don’t you know that when the bottle is empty, so are you?”

“That has occurred to me, yes.”

“Afraid you’ll forget, or afraid you’ll remember?”

Reid tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe a little of both. I didn’t think I was that easy to read.”

“I’ve been on this earth a long time, son.”

Reid looked away, feeling another odd rush of emotion at the simple word. He’d never had
a father, never heard a man call him son, and had thought that he’d gotten used to that fact. Strangely enough, he felt comforted by the word. In fact, with the wind in his face and the sun burning down on his head, he was feeling better than he had in a long time. Summer had arrived, and it had always been his favorite time of the year: long days, warm nights, and nothing but blue skies. It was a season of possibilities. He was surprised by the hopeful thought, not sure where it had come from. The ocean, probably. Henry was right. There was something about being out on the sea that made a man feel powerful and free.

As he glanced back at Henry, he saw a look of pure joy on the old man’s face. “I can see why you love this.”

“Out here, I rule the world,” Henry said with a broad sweep of his hand. “You know what that feels like, I bet.”

“I used to,” Reid admitted.

“On the sea, I control my destiny—at least until Mother Nature decides to play, but I can handle her. Back on land, there are too many people telling me what to do.”

“Probably people who care about you.”

“Who think I’m too old to cross the street,” Henry grumbled.

Reid grinned and pointed toward a burned out two-story house on one of the bluffs. “What’s that over there?”

“That’s the Ramsay place. It’s cursed. People keep trying to rebuild it, but something always happens.”

“I suppose it’s haunted, too. Or maybe that’s where the angels hang out when they’re not drawing pictures on the cliffs.”

“Could be,” Henry said, ignoring his sarcasm. “All I know is that no one has been able to live in that house for more than a few days in the last thirteen years, ever since they found fifteen-year-old Abigail Jamison’s body in the basement. She’d been murdered. The house was empty at the time, between rentals. One of the local boys, Shane Murray, was a suspect for a while, but they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him and the crime has never been solved. Since then the house has gone through a couple of owners, but something always goes wrong. The people who have stayed there say they hear screams coming from the basement—Abigail’s screams, no doubt.”

“You should be writing books, Henry,” Reid said with a grin. “You’re a born storyteller.”

“Just telling it like it is.”

“When was the fire?”

“About six months ago. A new owner decided to remodel the house and then it went up in smoke. Arson—but no one was ever caught. I hear the property is on the market again, but I doubt anyone will touch it. At least not a local.”

As they made their way up the coastline, the waves rocked the boat up and down. “Is it always like
this?” Reid asked, holding onto the rail, his stomach beginning to rumble.

Henry’s weathered smile widened. “This is nothing. The ocean is just playing with us, giving us a ride.”

“Have you ever been caught in a bad storm?”

“Three of them—the last one about ten years ago. The waves were pounding the boat hard, and it was taking on water fast. I thought I was going down for sure. I figured I’d had a good run, and it was my own damn fault for sailing into bad weather. Then I started hearing voices in my head, people in my life who had died—my grandmother, my mother, my sister. I followed the angels, and they led me home.”

“Did you actually see these angels?” Reid asked, unable to keep the skeptical note out of his voice.

“Nope. But I felt their presence.”

“I think most people look for angels and spiritual guidance when they think they’re about to die.”

“I expect that’s true. But I didn’t die, did I?” Henry cut the engine and pointed toward the cliff. “That’s the one.”

A large number of people were gathered on the bluff, angel seekers out in full force.

“How close can we get?” Reid asked.

“Not too close, but you can use these.” Henry pulled out a pair of binoculars. “You’ll have a better view than those up on the bluff. A few folks have gotten so crazy as to try to climb down the cliff. One fell onto those rocks day before yesterday and broke
both legs. They had to airlift him out of there. That’s why they’ve got that fence set up now.”

Reid looked through the binoculars at the onlookers behind the temporary wire fence on the edge of the cliff. Most looked like normal tourists checking out the scene, but there were a couple of people on their knees, their heads bowed in prayer. He zoomed in on the cliff face. The video had focused more on the angel shapes than the cliff, although subsequent film had showed what appeared to be random markings. As he looked through the binoculars, Reid was surprised to see that the markings appeared to form the outline of a face. There was an oval shape to the head, two wide eyes, an upturned nose, a beautiful mouth, and what appeared to be hair streaming off to one side—reddish gold streaks that stood out in contrast to the otherwise pale rock face.

His heart began to beat faster as the image took shape, searing into his brain.

“What do you see?” Henry asked.

“I’m not sure.” He couldn’t give voice to the thought running through his head. It was crazy.

“Give it a shot,” Henry prodded. “It can’t be that difficult to say.”

“Maybe a woman’s face, maybe not.”

“Interesting,” Henry commented.

Reid lowered the binoculars, sensing he was about to hear another story from Henry. “Why do you say that?”

“When I look at the cliff, I see a rosebush.”

“You do?” Reid took another glance through the lenses. “I don’t see that.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Everyone sees something different. The image has been described as everything from a map to a face to a treasure chest, a house, even a wolf. I think whatever you see is what you need to see. That’s why no one can agree.”

“Save the bullshit for the tourists.” Reid handed the binoculars back to Henry, then lifted his camera and snapped some shots to study later.

The old man laughed. “Who’s to say what’s real and what’s not?”

“Or what’s the work of angels, and what’s the work of waves pounding against rocks.”

“Those markings weren’t there a month ago. Every day there are new lines, although the last few days have been slow. Maybe because so many people are camping out on the bluff, scaring the angels away.”

“Or scaring away whoever was carving a picture on the cliff.”

“It would be almost impossible for a human to reach that part of the cliff. I told you what happened to the last guy who tried.”

“There has to be a way.” The alternative was even worse to consider.

As Henry turned the boat back toward the harbor, he gave Reid a curious look. “So who was she?”

“What do you mean?”

“The woman’s face you saw on the cliff. Did you know her?”

Had he recognized her? Had his brain put Allison’s face on that cliff because he couldn’t get her image out of his mind?

Turning the question back on Henry, Reid asked, “So if you think we see what we want to see, what’s up with your rosebush?”

Henry turned his gaze toward the sea. “My Mary used to tend the roses behind our house. She had a whole garden of them. I was all about the water, she was all about the earth. She loved to plant seeds, tend to them and watch them grow. I’d go to sleep at night smelling the roses on her hands, in her hair, and since she died I can’t get the smell out of my head.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “We were married thirty-nine years. We were going to take a cruise to Alaska for our fortieth anniversary. I couldn’t get her out on this boat to save my life, but she always wanted to go on one of those fancy cruise ships with the big buffets. We kept putting it off—then it was too late. She’s been gone almost four years now. Never thought I’d be able to keep going after she passed, but one day somehow turned into the next. Time passes, you know?” Henry looked over at Reid. “You’ll know, son.”

“What are you—some kind of psychic?” It was uncanny how Henry seemed able to read him better than people he’d known for a lifetime.

Reid moved away from the rail to gaze out over the water as Henry steered the boat back toward the bay. As the cliff grew smaller in the distance, a shadow passed between him and the sun—a shadow
that appeared decidedly female. Probably a wisp of a cloud, yet there were no other clouds in the sky. The most ridiculous thought came into his head, and Reid shoved it away. He’d been in town less than forty-eight hours, but he was already getting caught up in its spell. He had
not
just seen an angel. Because if he were going to see a spirit, it wouldn’t be an angel; it would be one of the darker ones.

Jenna felt goose bumps run down her arms as the afternoon breeze lifted her hair off her neck. She’d been feeling unsettled all day, rattled not only by the news that Brad had put the house up for sale, but also by Reid Tanner’s intrusive appearance in her life.

As she and Lexie walked down Ocean Avenue, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them. The sleepy town she’d first moved into was now a frenzy of activity with preparations for the weekend festival, a combined celebration of the founding of the town and the official beginning of summer. The festival was set to kick off in two hours with a wine, cheese, and art fair along the waterfront.

Numerous other events were scheduled for the weekend, including a carnival of games and rides in the grassy area at the far end of town. Jenna was already dreading the crowds of strangers and the ensuing chaos. If it were up to her, she’d hide out
in the house all weekend and not come out until Monday. Unfortunately, there was no way she could keep Lexie away from the action. She didn’t want Lexie to live her life in terror, although some days she wondered if a normal existence would ever be truly possible.

“Kimmy wants us to eat with them tonight,” Lexie said excitedly, skipping along next to Jenna. Lexie was always a bundle of energy. She never walked if she could skip or run; never sat without swinging her legs or tapping her feet. Her active movements actually made Jenna feel better. During the first few days of their panicked flight across the country, Lexie had been far too quiet and withdrawn. It was good to see her coming out of that numb state, though with her renewed spirit, her stubborn streak had also returned. “They’ll save us seats, okay?” Lexie added, shooting Jenna a purposeful look as if she were expecting Jenna to say no, which is exactly what Jenna wanted to do.

Kimmy was Lexie’s new best friend and while Jenna had met Kimmy’s mother, Robin Cooper, they’d exchanged little more than casual conversation outside the school. She knew that sitting down to dinner with Kimmy’s family would mean questions. She only hoped both she and Lexie could keep the answers straight. “All right, but you need to remember our rules, okay?”

“I remember,” Lexie grumbled. “But—”

“But what?” Jenna asked. “There are no exceptions, Lex.”

“Don’t you think Daddy misses me? Don’t you think he’s lonely without me?”

Jenna stopped abruptly at Lexie’s words. She pulled Lexie to one side and squatted down to look her straight in the eye. “Your daddy is sick, honey. He needs to be by himself right now, so he can get better. That’s why we can’t call him or tell him where we are. It’s important that you remember that—that you continue to play our game.”

Lexie’s lips turned down in a sulky frown. “But—”

“There aren’t any but’s,” Jenna said, cutting her off. “No exceptions.”

“What if he needs
me
to get better?”

“I know you want to help him, but your father has to do this on his own.”

“What if the bad guy hurts Daddy?”

Jenna drew in a deep breath. She didn’t know what Lexie remembered about the days before their flight, or if what she remembered had anything to do with what really happened. Lexie seemed to mix bits and pieces of fantasy in with reality. Jenna supposed that was normal, but she really had no idea. She knew Lexie needed counseling, but that was a risk she couldn’t take right now.

“Your father will be fine,” she said, “but you have to promise me that you’ll stick to our story. It’s really important.”

Lexie slowly nodded, the rebellious light fading from her eyes. “But do you think Daddy misses me?”

“I know he does,” Jenna said, hoping that was the right thing to say.

Lexie smiled again. “I think he does, too. Look, there’s Kimmy!” Lexie pointed down the street to where Kimmy and her mother were entering the Angel’s Heart Quilt Shop, then tugged on Jenna’s hand. “Come on. I don’t want to be late on the first day of class.”

The night before, Jenna had succumbed to Lexie’s incessant pleading and agreed to take her to the children’s beginning quilt class. It had become evident since they’d moved to Angel’s Bay that while fishing and tourism were important to the town’s economy, quilting was its soul.

Since learning to quilt was the first thing Lexie had shown any real interest in since moving to Angel’s Bay, besides the angels, Jenna hated to say no. Lexie needed a creative outlet for the turmoil she’d gone through, and perhaps this was it.

The quilt shop was located in a big converted barn on Ocean Avenue. Every Monday night, dozens of women gathered on the second floor of the shop for community quilting night. In addition to making quilts for new brides and new babies, the Angel’s Bay quilts were also sold worldwide, and business was thriving. Jenna had been invited to take one of the adult classes but had managed to beg off. She’d managed to avoid even stepping into the quilt shop until now, knowing that getting any more integrated into the community would mean answering more questions, and it was difficult to keep the facts and the fiction straight in her mind.

“Do you think I can make a quilt for my bed today?” Lexie asked as they approached the store.

“I think it will take a few classes before you can make a quilt.” Jenna cast a quick look over her shoulder, unable to shake her uneasy feeling.

“You’re hurting my hand,” Lexie complained.

She eased her grip. “Sorry, honey.” She glanced down at Lexie and saw the worry flash in her eyes. “It’s okay. Everything is okay.” She said the words firmly as much to reassure herself as Lexie. She let go of Lexie’s hand and opened the door to the shop.

The first floor was filled with colorful bolts of fabric, pattern books, an array of sewing machines, and assorted threads, measuring tapes, appliqué materials, and embroidery hoops. The walls were covered with beautiful quilts, including one that was preserved in a glass case on the sidewall.

As Jenna had expected, the shop was crowded with women and children, some shopping, some chatting by the coffeepot, and others sitting on comfy couches working on needlepoint squares. A crowd was gathered upstairs in the loft, where much of the community quilting was done and where the adult classes were held. At the back of the shop were two long tables where children were picking out fabrics they would use for their first quilt project.

Lexie saw Kimmy and immediately headed in that direction. Jenna followed more slowly, realizing with every step that she was fast becoming the center of attention. She smiled nervously at some famil
iar faces. She’d met a few of the moms while taking Lexie back and forth to school, the library, and the playground, but she’d never had more than a brief conversation with any of them. She suspected that most of the moms either thought she was a snob or very shy. In truth, she hadn’t kept her distance just because she was afraid of their questions, but because she really didn’t know what to say to them. This world that she and Lexie had landed in was completely different from the world they’d left.

“Here’s the heroine now,” said Kara Lynch, a pretty dark redhead in her early thirties with friendly brown eyes, a blooming smile, and a ready laugh. Kara’s grandmother, Fiona Murray, owned the quilt shop. Kara also worked in the local real estate office and had rented Jenna her house, making her one of the few women in town that Jenna had gotten to know a little bit. Kara was married to Colin Lynch, an officer in the police department, and they were expecting their first child in the fall.

Next to Kara was Theresa Monroe, who was married to Angel Bay’s mayor, Robert Monroe. Theresa was a sleek blonde whose hair was cut very short and on the diagonal. She wore a beautifully tailored black dress and looked as out of place as Jenna felt.

“Hello,” Jenna said, greeting them both.

“Do you know Theresa?” Kara asked.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Jenna replied. “I’m Jenna Davies.”

“Theresa Monroe. It’s lovely to meet you.” Theresa offered Jenna a brief handshake, her eyes cool.
“My husband told me about your incredible rescue last night. We’re all very impressed by your courage.”

“It was nothing,” Jenna said, feeling uncomfortable under their curious scrutiny.

“I can’t believe you jumped into the water like that,” Kara said. “Weren’t you scared?”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t have time to think. Have you heard how the girl is?” Jenna had been wondering about the young woman all day.

“Colin says she’s going to be fine,” Kara replied. “She’s pregnant, you know.”

“I—I didn’t,” Jenna said, surprised. “She seemed so young.”

“Old enough, I guess. But the big question on everyone’s mind is—who’s the father?” Kara’s gaze swung from Jenna to Theresa.

“Probably some teenage boy,” Theresa muttered.

“You never know,” Kara said. “It could be anyone in town, even one of the married men.”

“Well, I really don’t have time to gossip about it,” Theresa said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I just dropped in to pick up some thread for my mother. It was a pleasure, Jenna. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Well, that was interesting,” Kara said as Theresa left the store.

“What?”

“Theresa said she came here for thread, but she didn’t buy any. I suspect she came for information.” Kara cast a quick look over one shoulder, as if she didn’t want to be caught gossiping, although from
what Jenna could see all the women in the shop were whispering to each other. “The girl you rescued works for Myra’s Cleaning Service,” Kara continued. “They clean most of the big houses in town, including the mayor’s. Word is there are some wives who are mighty concerned that the cleaning service was doing a little more than cleaning at their homes, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” Jenna didn’t quite know how to respond. She’d never had a lot of girlfriends growing up, and while she appreciated being the recipient rather than the target of gossip, she was also caught a little off guard.

“Theresa’s husband, the mayor, is a big flirt. Good looking man, too. Not that I’m saying anything, but Theresa sure left in a hurry when the conversation turned to that girl.”

“The mayor is in his forties. The girl is a teenager,” Jenna protested.

“And your point is?” Kara asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jenna sighed. “Right.”

“Thank goodness Colin and I can’t afford a cleaning service,” Kara added with a little laugh. She put a hand on her bulging belly. “The baby is kicking up a storm today.”

“When are you due?”

“September. I’m hoping for a girl.” Kara gave a guilty smile. “I shouldn’t say that, because I really just want a healthy baby, but I’ve always been a girly girl. I don’t think I’d know what to do with a boy.”

“Are you going to find out the sex ahead of time?”

“Colin doesn’t want to. He wants it to be a surprise at the end. I said it could be a surprise now, but he’s a stubborn Irishman. There’s no changing his mind once he’s made it up. He’s a good guy, and he’ll make a great father. It took us four and a half years to get pregnant. I didn’t think it would ever happen. This baby is such a blessing. Sorry for running on and on—I’m just so happy, I feel like I’m bursting with it sometimes.”

Jenna smiled. It was impossible not to. There was so much joy in Kara’s eyes, it was contagious.

“So can I help with you anything?” Kara asked. “Do you want to sign up for a class, pick out some fabrics, check out our latest sewing machines? I have to ask, because I’m working right now for my grandmother. She had to step out for a few minutes, and she hates it when customers don’t get personal service.”

“I’m just dropping off Lexie for her class. I don’t need anything.”

“You should take one of the adult classes. Since you play the piano I’m sure you’re good with your hands, and you might enjoy quilting. It’s creative, therapeutic, fun, and practical. The nights can get cold around here, especially in the winter. Quilts come in very handy.”

“I don’t even know how to sew a seam.” Nor could she possibly take on one more challenge in her life.

“It’s easy to learn. Believe me, if you stay in Angel’s Bay, you’ll soon find yourself picking out fabrics and patterns. Quilting is a big part of life around here. It’s who we are and who we’ll always be. That’s what my grandmother says, anyway. She believes that the traditions passed from one generation to the next keep us connected to each other in a world that’s getting bigger and faster and more chaotic. I think she’s right.”

“I do, too.” Jenna knew all too well how fragile connections could be, how easily one could be cut off from the rest of the world. “Did your grandmother teach you to quilt?”

“Before I was in kindergarten. My earliest memories are of picking out fabrics with her, listening to her tell me the story of the town, the Murray family, all the generations of women who quilted before me. My mother really doesn’t care for quilting, but she was forced into it when she married a Murray. It’s a family tradition that started when the town was born. Have you heard the story?”

“Some of it, but I don’t want to keep you from your other customers.”

Kara gave a casual wave. “Everyone seems happy enough. You’ve heard about the shipwreck, right? Well, after the survivors made it to shore, one of the first things the women did was make a quilt to honor those who had died. Each square was made by one of the survivors and tells their story. For the men who didn’t have wives or mothers, one of the women interviewed them and made their square based on the
information they gave.” Kara tipped her head toward the wall. “That’s the original quilt there.”

Jenna followed Kara’s gaze to the large glass case on the nearby wall. She moved across the aisle to take a better look. She’d never grown up with quilts—her parents’ house had been one of elegance and sophistication. The furniture and décor had been a mix of black and white, with very little color anywhere. And what color there was had disappeared after her mother died, when her father wiped away all traces of the past.

She’d always thought of quilts as homespun art: simple blocks, triangles, squares, patterns. But the Angel’s Bay quilt was a complicated pattern of symbols as well as a mix of fabrics and textures.