Summer at Oyster Bay: A gorgeous feel good summer romance (10 page)

It had been a busy and emotional day and Emily was tired. She squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to relieve the pinch that had lingered all day.

“Why?” she asked, trying not to spit the word at her. Gram didn’t seem to care one bit about anything sentimental and it was driving her crazy. She looked at the faded floorboards, trying to keep her anger in check. She didn’t want to shout at Gram.

“He’s offered to restore that old boat by the pier.”

Emily’s head snapped up. “What?” she said a little too loudly. Papa’s boat hadn’t moved since he’d put it there on the beach. He’d built it for
her
, to help ease her pain, and they’d been the only two who’d ever touched it. Even Rachel hadn’t been in it.
She
wanted to be the one who decided when and if it should be restored. She tried to keep herself together, noticing how it seemed that she was the only one who wanted to completely freak out about all this.

“I thought it might be nice,” Gram said.

“Doesn’t it have any sentimental value to you in its current state?”

“I’ve told you,” she said calmly, marking her place in the book with her finger. “All this,” she waved her hands in the air, “they’re just things to me. They aren’t Papa. But I know we’re all different.”

Emily was crushed again by Gram’s nonchalance.

“Charlie will be over in just a few minutes. I told him he could use whatever’s in Papa’s shed.”

Papa’s tools?
Without even a response to that, Emily slipped on her boots and ran out back to Papa’s shed, ready to stand guard. There was no way Charlie was getting in there. The evening sun cast long shadows across the path as she walked through the salty breeze, her head throbbing with every step. The water was still today, making the bay look like an enormous sheet of rippled glass, but it wasn’t helping her to calm down tonight. She pulled the rusty latch on the shed door and unhinged it. It creaked out its age as she opened it up and anchored it to keep it from shutting on her. She pulled the chain for the interior light and looked around the space.

The sight of every item was a reminder of Papa. It made her miss him more. There was a hammer still lying on the counter next to a few loose nails. She wondered what he’d been working on. He always put things away. His plans for a birdhouse were still sitting on the stool, a pencil resting in the fold of the paper. Had it been that? Had he been planning to surprise Gram? Emily fought her tears as she looked down at it. Papa was the last person to set it there. She didn’t want to turn around, feeling like any minute, he’d walk in, put his hand on her shoulder, ready to tell her about his latest project. She missed him so much it caused an ache in her chest and an intense guilt that she’d left him for those three years—three years she’d never get back.

“Hi,” she heard from behind her. She turned around to find Charlie. He was dressed down tonight, a slight stubble showing on his face. “Your grandmother said I could come around back. I hope that’s all right.” He took a step toward her, his face showing slight concern. “I wanted to see you. …To make sure you were okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. The laughter from last night still lingered between them like a dream. Laughing with him last night was the first time she’d felt alive in a while; she felt robbed.

“Do you think we could get the boat on the tractor somehow?” he asked, his hands in his pockets, his eyes studying her. “We could probably row it over. Structurally, it seemed fine.”

That sadness that was teetering on the edge of anger was tipping uncontrollably. Charlie was going to disturb that boat, shift it from its spot and change it. It wasn’t his place to do that. If anyone chose to move the boat, it should be her. She couldn’t speak, she was so upset. Finally, when she had enough breath, she said, “I don’t want it if you restore it.”

Charlie looked down at her and silence hung between them for a moment. “Please let me do this,” he said softly. “I feel terrible about how much this is hurting you.”

“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to try to be the nice guy while you’re breaking my heart.”

He nodded and looked down then opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she cut him off.

“You think a boat can make up for taking my home?”

“I know how much that boat means to you.”

Her skin prickled with that statement. He only knew because she’d opened up to him, because she’d felt more at ease with him than she had with anyone, ever.

“Please let me do this,” he said again. The concern on his face wasn’t put on, she could tell.

Was it his fault Gram had sold him the farm? Did she really want to close the door on Charlie? She felt like screaming. He waited as she mentally scrambled for answers, knowing there weren’t any easy ones.

“We’ll have to walk all the way over there if we’re both coming back by boat. I don’t want to leave the tractor by the pier,” she clipped.

“Thank you,” he said as he stared into her eyes. He stood quietly, and she wondered if he was giving her the space to determine their next move. In this moment, he wasn’t taking charge; he was allowing her to do that.

She nodded in acknowledgement. Emily took in a deep breath and let the evening air fill her lungs. It remained quiet between them, the sound of a jet ski off in the distance competing with the rustling of the trees in the woods as the breeze came off the bay.

“It’s a nice night.” He leaned past her into the shed. “Mind if I have a look to see what I’ve got to work with?”

Heat shot through her veins as he stepped toward the shed. Whatever calm she’d tried to create slipped right out of her body again. She watched every move, just willing him to dare to disturb one of Papa’s things. She’d let him have it. Charlie entered carefully, studying the worktable. He reached out, his fingers grazing the hammer and she caught herself standing straighter, rising up almost on her toes. She was ready to pounce. She bit her lip.

Emily watched him gently picking up tools, looking them over, and setting them back in their spots. He acted as if he thought everything in there was as fragile as her emotions, like he understood. He opened a small clear drawer on a box containing washers, screws, nails, and other odds and ends. With his finger, he pushed a few of them around before shutting the drawer. Then, he walked over to the back wall where Papa had stacked old paint cans. “Any of these still good you think?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. They’re most likely from when Papa did the house.” She grabbed two wooden oars that were propped in the corner and stood outside the door to get out of the stuffy heat in the shed before she fainted.

Charlie pulled the chain to turn the light off and stepped out beside Emily.

“What color would you like the boat to be?” he asked as they started walking across the yard toward the path that led through the woods. He took the oars from her, his height making them easier to carry.

She was really doing this. She was going to let him restore Papa’s boat because doing that meant something to Charlie. And, in turn, that meant something to her. He understood he had hurt her, and he cared enough to try to make it right. But she still had to work to keep herself together. “When Papa made it, originally, it was light blue.” She noticed his leather flip-flops and thought about his feet as they walked along the brush in the woods. The path hadn’t been raked or tended to in quite a while. She’d put on her cowboy boots—what she always wore whenever she had to go into the woods. They were faded, worn in just the right spots to make them comfortable. Things didn’t always have to be new and shiny to be perfect.

“Would you like it to be light blue? Or do you want to make it your own?”

“I want it just like he did it,” she said, her jaw tight with emotion.

“Okay.” He’d propped the oars up behind his neck and across his shoulders, holding them in place at either end.

She stepped on a twig; it made a snap as it cracked under her foot.

“I was prepared to spend my free time on the beach. I didn’t know I’d be hiking through the woods,” Charlie said, clearly trying to fill the heavy silence with conversation. They stepped around a huge tractor tread in the dirt. “I don’t even own a pair of boots,” he said, peering over at hers with interest.

“Once you get a good pair, you’ll never need another,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled, reminding her of his face during the card game. She pushed the thought away.

After they’d walked so long that their silence had become easy, they arrived at the stretch of beach with Papa’s pier and the old boat that sat in the sea grass on the edge of the sand. Emily had thought about restoring the boat at times, but now, that it was actually happening, she wasn’t sure she wanted to disturb it. But, she reminded herself, if she moved it, her reward might be greater than if she didn’t, so she walked over to one side and tried to lift it, her arms feeling like jelly.

Charlie set the oars in the boat and picked up the other side.

The boat was small and surprisingly light with Charlie on the other end, lighter than Emily remembered when she and Papa would push it up on the sand together.

“If you guide it toward the water, I’ll lift it enough to move it,” he said.

Together, they maneuvered the boat until it bobbed in the tiny waves. Emily watched it for a moment. It was like jumping off a cliff—there was no going back now. She slipped her boots off and set them on the wooden seat that Papa had built inside the boat, like she’d done when she and Papa had gone out fishing. The thought of him on his side of the boat, smiling from under his mustache, waving at her as she approached, was like a punch to the gut. She splashed down into the water until it was around her calves. Then she climbed in. Charlie had put his flip-flops in the boat as well, and he got in across from her, sitting in Papa’s seat on the opposite side.

He began rowing. The little boat glided through the water fast and even, faster than she’d ever gone before. It was as if she were sliding on a sheet of ice.

Surprised, Emily said, “You’re good at this.”

“I was on the rowing team at Harvard.”

“Oh!” She watched the ease in which his arms moved, the circular motions of his shoulders.

“I’ll have us back to the house in no time,” he said with a grin.

Suddenly, she didn’t want to be back at the house. She wanted to stay out there on the water, away from all her thoughts and memories. She didn’t want to have to face it all again. Right now she was surrounded by the ripples in the bay, the beating sun, and the wind as Charlie rowed.

“Take your time,” she said.

E
mily was slightly out
of breath from carrying the boat all the way across the yard. Charlie had taken most of the weight, but it was still quite cumbersome to lift it for so long. She sat on the edge of it to catch her breath as Charlie rooted around in the shed.

“Let’s set it on these sawhorses I found,” he said, dragging two wooden frames from the shed and setting them apart from each other. She stood up to assist him with lifting the boat up onto them. “We’ll clean the wood today and then let it dry overnight. Do you have something to use to clean it?”

She retrieved a bucket, two sponges, and some soap while Charlie stretched the garden hose from the house, across the patio. He turned on the water and Emily used the force of the water pressure to make suds in the bucket.

“Did you go out on this boat a lot?” Charlie asked as he dipped a sponge into the bucket and began to scrub the side of it.

“When I was younger,” she said. “Before my teenage years. Then I was too busy being girly.” She watched how his hand moved along the surface of the boat as he scrubbed, the movement of the muscles in his forearms and hands. She turned her attention toward the wood in front of her, scrubbing the abrasive build-up that had left a ring around the bottom of the boat. “We used to go fishing.” She reached down into the bucket and filled her sponge with soapy water. “Papa used to put his fishing-tackle box right here,” she said as she squeezed the sponge over the seat, the sudsy water running down to the floor of the boat.

Charlie stopped scrubbing to look.

"We caught a ton of croaker using bloodworms. I always made Papa bait my hook.” She made a face and Charlie smiled. She didn’t want him to smile. She looked away.

Charlie reached for the hose to spray off the boat. She grabbed her boots and his flip-flops and set them aside, standing out of the way of the spray.

The relentless sun and the work she’d done carrying the boat had made her thirsty. As the boat sat, dripping, she asked, “Would you like something to drink? I’m going to get something.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Lemonade okay? I’ll make us each a glass and we can take them down to the beach.” She still wasn’t happy with him for taking Oyster Bay, but she also didn’t want to veer from the plan. The more she talked to him, the more she thought she’d be able to make him fall in love with the farm. She’d been sure it was working last night and she didn’t have to give up hope just yet.

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Charlie began hosing off the sponges as she headed inside. Gram was at the kitchen table, sorting through a box of books, odds and ends, and old photos.

“Hello,” she said, the kitchen table wobbling slightly from the uneven floor that had settled with the house over the years. Emily liked the wobble. She felt it was part of the house’s character. “It looks like you and Charlie are enjoying yourselves. You two look awfully friendly.”

Emily pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice.

“Well, we aren’t
that
friendly.”

“I’m glad you have someone to spend your evenin’s with anyway,” Gram said, setting a photo on one of the piles she’d made.

Emily offered Gram lemonade but she declined. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sortin’ these so we’ll each have a pile.”

She poured the lemonade from Gram’s crystal pitcher and set it back in the fridge. Picking up the two glasses, she peered down at the stacks.

“This one’s yours,” Gram said.

Emily set the glasses on the table and flipped through her stack of photos. The image flew past her and she stopped, turning photos until she saw it again: Papa holding a fish, the blue boat in the background. She ran her finger over the image of him, emotion welling up, and then looked away, straightening the stack. She wished she could hold onto her Gram; she wished she could keep everything from changing. With a steadying breath, she said, “Charlie and I will be on the beach,” while opening the door and picking up both glasses and her photos. She kissed Gram on the cheek and headed outside.

“You all right?” Charlie asked, once she got outside, as he took his glass of lemonade from her outstretched hand.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Did it show on her face?

“What are those?” he asked, pointing to the photos in her hand.

“Memories.” She grabbed the small radio from inside the shed.

As they walked across the yard leading to the shore, Charlie said, “It’s so beautiful here.” He was trying to smooth out her mood, she could tell. She looked up at the sky that was still lit by the late evening sun as it made its descent. It was indeed a beautiful night.

When they reached the shore, Emily clicked on the old radio and set it in the sand. She walked over to the swings and sat down on one, the seat wobbling as she made herself comfortable. Charlie lowered himself down on the swing beside her.

“Papa hung these swings over the sand because Gram was worried we’d fall and she wanted a soft spot underneath us.” Emily flipped through the photos until she found one of Rachel and her on the swings. They had their swimsuits on, their hair wet and stringy from swimming all day. Emily was missing her front teeth. She turned it around to show him, the image making her smile.

Charlie grinned and then his thoughts seemed to turn inward. “As a child, I didn’t get the opportunity to play outside very much.”

Emily nodded, his comment making her feel sad. “See that tree over there?” Emily turned and pointed to an old oak tree by the house. “I used to climb that tree and hang by my knees on the top branch right there—the one that’s jutting straight out. Whenever Gram saw me through the window, she’d march outside and demand for me to get down, telling me it was just too dangerous. She was right,” she said, catching a drip of condensation on the side of her glass with her finger. “I could’ve fallen on my head.”

“Kids don’t always realize how fragile life is,” Charlie said.

“True, but I should have… On a Tuesday, my mom dropped me and Rachel off at school. She kissed my cheek and handed me my lunch in a brown paper sack. She told me not to forget to write my homework down—I always forgot—and that she’d help me with it that night. That was the last time I spoke to my mother. My father’s car was hit head-on that day. He’d taken the day off to be with my mom.” As the tears surfaced, she sniffled and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that came out.”

Charlie gave her the sweetest look—so caring that if they didn’t have so much between them, she would want to bury her face in his chest and feel his arms around her. “It came out because you’re ready to tell it.”

The wind had picked up, blowing her long hair into her face. She twisted it and put it behind her shoulder. Now that the conversation had ended, she noticed the song that was on. “He’s playing tomorrow night,” she said, pointing to the radio. “He’s a good friend of Jeff’s. We all swear he’ll be the next big thing in Nashville.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows in interest, his masculine hands looking out of place on the ropes of the swing.

“Would you want to go?” he asked her.

She absolutely wanted to go. She could call Rocky and Elizabeth—get them to go. She could organize a group of her friends. They could meet up there, show Charlie what living in Clearwater was really like.

But maybe she shouldn’t. Did she really want to go out with Charlie? She’d spent enough time with him to know how easily her resolve could slip when she was around him. She liked being with him, but should she give into that, when it might just make things more complicated between them?

He grinned at her. “I’d love to take you.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know…”

“It might be fun.”

She wanted to see her friends and she wanted to spend more time with Charlie. She couldn’t deny it. “Okay,” she said.

“I’m excited about tomorrow,” Charlie said.

She couldn’t help it, but she felt excited, too.

I
t was
Emily’s day off. She’d awakened to find that Gram had already gone out. She’d left a note that she’d be out most of the day visiting a friend. Emily couldn’t help but wonder what friend—was it Winston?

She made herself a cup of coffee and went out to sit on the back porch. Even with the wind, the morning air was warm. The paddle fans were working overtime above her, but they were no match for the heat. She sat down on a wicker chair and folded her feet under her. The bay was clear today.

Emily looked over at Papa’s boat through the screen on the porch; it was still sitting on the sawhorses. What would Papa think of Gram selling Oyster Bay? She had days—she could count them—to sit on this porch with her coffee. What would those days bring? Had Gram really prepared herself to be completely moved out? Maybe she hadn’t, and her lack of preparation would delay things.

Emily tried not to think about it. She’d made a list of friends to call about the concert tonight, and Rocky had already agreed—she’d called him first. She was going to have lunch with Rachel and Clara. Then, she’d decided that just in case her plan didn’t work, she needed to have somewhere to live, so she planned to call about a few new condos over in White Stone.

Charlie told her yesterday that he’d be out all day, meeting with his architect and a few others. He was moving forward with the planning.

Her nervous energy prevented her from being able to sit, so Emily got up and went into the house, leaving the back door open to let in the breeze. She decided to get ready for the day.

C
lara sat in the sand
, wearing her bright yellow one-piece swimsuit with a little ruffle at the back, wriggling her toes as the water rushed in over them. “Did you see my sparkly nails?” she asked when Emily sat down beside her. Emily stretched out her legs the same way.

“I see them now,” she said. “They’re pretty.”

Clara scooted a little closer toward the next tiny wave as it rippled to shore. “I love Gram’s beach,” she said, looking at Emily through her pink sunglasses.

“What do you like so much about it?”

“I like that the water isn’t deep and I can swim in it. And when I get hungry, I can walk up to her house and have muffins.”

Emily smiled. “Does Gram always have muffins?”

“Yep. Because she knows I like them.”

“Where is Gram?” Rachel asked, walking toward them with a quilt and basket of sun lotions and towels.

“Visiting a friend,” Emily said, still wondering if that friend was the mysterious Winston.

She debated telling her sister about the locket she’d found. But Rachel was dealing with enough and Emily certainly wouldn’t tell her in front of Clara.

“I was hoping she’d be here,” Rachel said. “I want to enjoy this gorgeous day with her.”

The way she was looking at Emily, it was clear what her sister had meant. She wanted to spend time with Gram because the days with her at this beach and at this house were numbered, and then, when this little paradise was gone, they’d be left with just their own lives and all that came with them.

“I’m going to swing, Mommy,” Clara said, standing up and running down the beach to the tree swings.

“I’m glad you and Jeff are coming to the concert tonight,” Emily said.

Rachel nodded, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Something was there, on her lips, begging to come out.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

“I need your advice.”

Emily grabbed a towel and sat down next to her sister in a foldout chair.

“I don’t know if it’s some sort of midlife crisis… I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it…”

“What?”

“I’m not happy with my life.”

Emily eyes bulged.

“I’m wondering if Jeff and I aren’t meant to be together.”

What in the world was Rachel talking about? As far as Emily was concerned, they were the
perfect
couple. “I thought you two were getting along. It looked like it the other night.”

“We do get along! … As long we don’t talk about our issues. I want to go back to work. I want to be passionate about what I do, and I’m feeling very guilty because Jeff thinks that I should feel that passion by being with Clara—and I do—but I want to be a mom
and
figure out who I am at the same time. I can’t live feeling guilty anymore. It’s getting in the way of our happiness.”

Emily tried to see her point of view but it was so difficult because all she wanted was to have a family, a house full of children, and be there every minute for them. She’d never experienced that, so it was hard to understand why Rachel would want to do anything else.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to try to go back to work. If Jeff doesn’t understand that, then I’m sorry. We’ll see what happens from there. There’s an advertising agency in Irvington. I’ve thought about applying. It’s been years, though, since I’ve worked. What if I don’t have what it takes?”

“Then you’ll figure it out. You’re great at everything you do.”

“I worry about Clara. Will she wonder why I’m not there every day? Will she resent me putting her in preschool five days a week?”

Emily looked over at Clara. “She’s by herself a lot. She might enjoy being with other kids.”

“Last year, we tried to have another baby…”

“Really? You didn’t say anything.”

“I know. Only because it took us forever with Clara, remember? And this time, it hasn’t happened for us yet either. I was waiting to move forward with my own life until I knew if we were going to have another child.”

“You can’t keep your life on hold for the what-ifs. That’s not healthy either. But I’m not going to talk you into it. It’s your decision.”

“I know. Jeff worries that working will cause stress, keep me busy, and make it more difficult to have another child.”

“Do you want another child?”

“I wasn’t sure at first—only because of the pressure of conceiving. But I
do
want more. I think about you and me—where would we have been without each other? But I’d like to just be me for a little while first.” She fluttered her hands in the air, her frustration clear. “We won’t solve it today.” Rachel reached into the basket and pulled out a small cooler bag. “I brought sandwiches,” she said. “Let’s stop talking about all this heavy stuff and enjoy this day on our beach.” She called Clara over and they made room for her on the picnic blanket.