Summer at Oyster Bay: A gorgeous feel good summer romance (2 page)

He turned and faced her, a curious look in his eyes. “Well, if you’re going to do the shopping with our card, perhaps you’d better try harder not to get distracted,” he said, his expression not quite as harsh as his words. “Why isn’t Libby doing the buying anyway? She’s the manager that I hired.” He began walking again and she followed.

“Libby asked me to go. It’s my first day—” Emily stopped talking. She didn’t want to get Libby in trouble, and she didn’t want to lead the conversation to the mayhem at the inn as they prepared for his visit.

“Are you the new events coordinator?”

“Yes.” She felt about two feet tall. “So, you’re Charles Peterson? It’s nice to meet you.” She offered a weak smile.

“Good to meet you,” he said, stopping at a startlingly blue BMW. It looked out of place among the other cars in the lot. The headlights blinked as he unlocked the doors from his pocket. He handed her the credit card. “Think you can keep track of this between here and the inn?” he asked jokingly, but it didn’t stop the guilt that she felt for leaving it at Francine’s. She really had to work on clearing her head. She was a better businesswoman than this.

Emily nodded, at a loss for words. This was not how she’d wanted to greet the boss upon their first meeting. But the good news was that the day could only go up from there. Right?

E
mily hauled
her bags past Papa’s old Buick, which still sat in the driveway, and up the staircase of the farmhouse at Oyster Bay. Her papa had told her once that the name of the house and surrounding grounds had originated because that particular area of the bay was chock-full of oysters.

Emily was exhausted from work, having spent the rest of the day learning the tasks associated with the job. The commotion in the lobby had finally calmed down by the time she’d returned to the inn, although she’d felt more frazzled than when she’d left. Charles hadn’t come back. He’d spent the day touring marinas and wining and dining various community members, she’d heard.

The sun was still high despite the fact that it was after five o’clock. When she planted her feet on the peeling painted boards of the long front porch where she’d played as a child, she noticed the aging wicker furniture sitting against the whitewashed siding, and the streak of sun, coming in at a slant on the faded pots of geraniums. This house appeared so big for just her grandmother now that she was all alone, and from the looks of the porch, it seemed as though it might have become a burden. Even with the deteriorating exterior, being there was like a warm hug to Emily. She loved this house. It was full of so many memories.

“Look at you!” her grandmother said in her silky southern accent as she leaned on her hand-painted cane, after opening the door without even a knock. In her free hand, she was holding a kitchen towel, her hair pinned back as it always was when she was baking. The evening coastal wind was soft, blowing the gray wisps of hair that had escaped from her bun around her grandmother’s face. Just seeing her made Emily long for her hugs, her bedtime kisses, and her fireside chats. “I have been missin’ you,” she said, shaking her head with a grin.

“I missed you too, Gram.” Emily embraced her grandmother, surprised by her generally content behavior. She’d expected her to be more melancholy. After all, it had only been six months since Papa died.

“Is that everything?” Gram eyed the bags, her hand still on Emily’s shoulder, her other supporting her weight on her cane. She’d had a cane to get around for a few years now, and she always managed to find specialty ones that were like their own works of art. That was how Gram was though. She saw the potential in everything and if she had to have a cane, it was going to be the most gorgeous one she could find.

“The rest is in storage for now like you’d said to do.” Not wanting to impose, Emily had asked Gram if she could stay temporarily, but she knew that her grandmother would probably let her stay as long as she liked. Oyster Bay was the kind of place that made a person want to stay forever.

“Well,” she said, as if it were a complete sentence, the same way she’d done whenever she had something on her mind. With a consoling smile, she opened the door wider so Emily could enter.

Gram led her down the hallway. “You look so dressed up.”

“Really?” Emily didn’t feel dressed up, wearing only a nice pair of work trousers and a coordinating top, but then again, maybe she was. Here in Clearwater people didn’t fuss so much about things. They seemed to worry less, work more slowly. It wasn’t that they weren’t productive; they just enjoyed the task of working a bit more.

As she walked, she noticed the black and white photos of her grandparents on the wall. Emily fixed her eyes on the one of Papa, his trousers rolled up to his knees as he stood in the tide, holding Gram in his arms. Her dark hair was neatly arranged in pin curls, her sundress flowing almost down to the water. They were laughing as if Papa were going to throw her in. The photos had always been there, but she hadn’t looked at them much on her visits over the past three years, and suddenly they looked so different. This time, when she looked at them, she realized just how young her grandparents had been at the time the pictures were taken. They looked about her age.

She continued into the kitchen at the back of the house, the smell of shortbread saturating the air.

“You look like a real city girl.”

Gram hadn’t said anything wrong, but the words stung Emily. She swallowed to keep herself together and walked to the window overlooking the backyard. She’d never wanted to be a city girl and, at heart, she wasn’t. She’d tried to chase a life for herself and, for a while, she’d thought she’d caught it. But after spending some time in the life she’d made, Emily realized that she wasn’t happy. She’d been happy here.

The view calmed her a little. This old farmhouse sat at the very back of the property. It was all that was left of the original farm, wild grasses and pine trees taking over the land and filling in where the original fields had been. But, as if it were on the edge of the world, there was a clearing at the end of the yard with the whitest sand and the lapping waves of the Chesapeake Bay. She could smell the salt through the open window.

Gram withdrew the pin from the bun at the back of her head, her silver hair falling free just above her shoulders. It rested in soft waves around her face, making her look younger than she was.

“I’m glad you got a job down here,” Gram said, her eyebrows raised in interest. “How was your first day?”

“Busy.” Emily rubbed her eyes.

“That inn’s very luxurious.”

“Yes,” she said.

Water’s Edge Inn had resort-style amenities, yet it was true to the local culture, offering docks for crabbing, tree swings dangling from centuries-old oak trees, and an on-site homemade ice cream shop, although she’d heard it had changed considerably since Charles Peterson took over. She couldn’t wait to have enough time to walk the grounds and really see for herself.

Gram used her spatula to scoop two cookies off a tray. She placed them on a small plate and set them on the table. “Rachel’s excited to see you,” she said, offering her the cookies with a nod of her head.

Emily sat down in the old wooden chair that she’d helped to paint when she was in high school, noticing how the wood was showing through now. “I’ve missed her,” she said. She’d be glad to have time to spend with her sister. She fiddled with the centerpiece—a bouquet of fresh daisies. A petal from one of the flowers came off in her hand. Gram took the flower from the bouquet, snapped off most of the stem, and threaded it through Emily’s hair just above her ear. Then she sat down across from her.

“I hope you have time to spend. They haven’t given you too many hours at work, have they?”

“It’s fine.”

“You know, the inn’s under new ownership. Rodger’s doin’ a piece about it for his magazine—he mentioned it to me today when I saw him. But even still, it’s all over town—an investor from New York. Have you met him?” she asked, her eyes almost too curious. “Accordin’ to local gossip, he only bought it as an investment, and he runs it like some sort of big city business,” she said carefully. It seemed as though she were fishing for something. Was she trying to see what Emily thought of Charles Peterson?

“Really?”

“It’s probably hearsay… Don’t let them work you too hard.” Gram nipped a cookie from the plate and took a bite. Then she grabbed her cane and walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a long bundle of carrots, and set them on the table. “Why don’t you take these and give Eli a visit? He’ll be so glad to see you.” She held them out to Emily.

“I can’t wait to see Eli,” Emily said, suddenly craving the feel of stirrups underneath her feet. She hadn’t ridden Eli in years. He had been her horse. Every little girl wanted a horse for Christmas, and, after her parents died, her grandparents had bought her one. She could still remember the big red bow around his neck. “Has his caretaker Shelly taken him to any competitions lately?”

“She entered him in a few ridin’ competitions but he’s old, you know. He prefers to lounge around and nibble grass. I don’t blame him.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.”

“I’ll bet he misses you.”

Emily nodded, unable to speak. She had so many emotions swimming around in her head, but she pushed them away every time they started to surface. She wanted to spend time with her grandmother and forget the fact that her three-year relationship with Brad was finished. She knew the moment she said “no” to his proposal that she was giving up more than just him. She was giving up the chance of a family, at making a life for herself. But when she’d grasped the fact that she didn’t love him, she just couldn’t bring herself to say “yes.” So she’d come home the same way she’d left—single, without a plan in the world.

The last time Emily had been to her hometown was when her grandfather, whom she called Papa, had passed. She’d come for the funeral, but with work in Richmond, she hadn’t been able to spend much time. She knew why she’d expected to see her grandmother still grieving now: Emily had experienced grief like that when she’d lost her parents, and she, herself, still grieved Papa. Everywhere she looked here, she thought of Papa, but she knew the sadness would pass and all the good memories would rise to the top again.

Emily set her cookie down on a napkin that Gram had placed on the table for her and took the carrots. Then she headed outside.

The farm was full of trees now, the smaller ones having filled out so much in the last three years. She took a path through the woods and headed to a large clearing where Papa had built a barn and fenced off a huge plot of grass for Eli when they’d gotten him. She smiled to herself as she remembered how Papa had pretended to be put off because Santa had left Eli and now he had to build the barn and fencing. She could still hear him complaining about how Santa should’ve thought of that before leaving him. She missed Papa.

When she got to the clearing, Eli was at the old hay feeder, his long mane shiny in the sunlight, his tail flicking back and forth. The field was overgrown, and she worried that the grass was a little too tall for him. He heard her steps and turned, immediately nickering as he made his way toward her, and she was glad to see that he seemed okay walking through the brush. She opened the gate and went inside, latching it before meeting him.

“Hey there, boy,” she said, offering a carrot and patting his muscular side.

When he’d finished eating it, he nuzzled her, his great snout knocking her off balance a little.

“Haha,” she said, offering another carrot. “Miss me?”

He nuzzled her again.

Emily had missed his warm brown eyes, his gentle demeanor, his noble gait. She suddenly felt guilty having left him. Now it was just Gram here, and she probably couldn’t go out to see him much.

“I’m back,” she said, feeling the emotion welling up again. “I’m here, boy.”

He eyed her carrots. With a giggle, she gave him another one.

Emily kicked off her flats and set them by the fence. “Where’s your saddle? Is it still on the peg in the barn?” she asked, pacing toward it. Eli followed with a whinny. “It is? Let’s get it on ya.” She didn’t even care that she still had her work trousers on. She wanted to ride her horse.

Eli stopped outside the barn as she went in and dug around to find the saddle. It wasn’t on its usual peg. With a tug, she pulled it from under some old, rusty equipment and grabbed a saddle pad and the rest of her gear, stirring up a cloud of dust. Then she walked back out of the barn.

“Will you take me around?” she asked. He stood still, looking at her with those brown eyes of his. He still looked strong and healthy. She tossed the saddle pad over his back, and she could feel the happiness seeping back into her bones. This was where she belonged. This was the place she needed to spend her years. She put the saddle on and fastened it. Then, with one foot in the stirrup, she hopped up, throwing her other leg over him until she was atop his back.

As a girl, she remembered how high up it had seemed whenever she rode Eli. It was an odd sensation being on him now. She tapped his side with the stirrup. “Let’s go, boy.”

Eli trotted around the field as the sun beat down on them. At first she thought he might be taking it easy on her, but then she remembered that while she’d aged, so had he. As a teenager, she’d gotten caught up in school and friends, and she hadn’t ridden him as much as she had as a young girl. Then she went away to college. After that, she was busy working and finding her way in the world. With every quiet stride that Eli made, she felt the tears begin to surface. She’d missed him so much and she was so sorry she hadn’t visited him more.

He slowed down and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad to see you, boy,” she said. “I’m not leaving again. I promise.”

Eli made a noise and she could’ve sworn that he was pleased.

E
mily walked
out to meet her sister as Rachel’s car came to a stop in the driveway. Clara, Rachel’s daughter, was sitting in the backseat, wearing pink sparkle sunglasses, her light brown hair pulled into two ponytails with matching bows.

“I swear, you have grown!” Emily said, leaning on the open window while Clara attempted to unbuckle her seatbelt. Emily reached in and helped her.

“I’m four now!” she said proudly.

Emily opened the door for her. “Four! Wow. I can’t believe how time flies,” she said with a giggle, having seen her only six months ago. She’d been four then too.

Clara hopped down onto the driveway, her matching pink sandals making a smack on the pavement. “See how tall I am?” she asked, tipping up on her toes.

“Yes, you are very tall.”

“Come on in and have some cookies, Clara,” Gram called from the front door, holding two canes. “Let’s give your mama and Aunt Emily a chance to talk.” Clara ran up to meet her, taking one of the canes and mimicking her grandmother as she walked inside.

“She likes to be like her gram,” Rachel said, then turned toward her sister. “I’ve missed you so much. You okay?”

That feeling of dread flooded Emily again and she shook her head, unable to verbalize all the emotions she was feeling. It didn’t matter though; her big sister could always read her.

“Let’s go to the backyard and talk.”

They made their way to the sand where their grandfather had hung two swings on one of the old trees. Its enormous trunk was perfectly straight, its branches spreading wide as if it were reaching for the house. Despite all the coastal storms, the tree, and the swings survived, the wooden seats that used to be yellow now as white as driftwood, but the ropes still strong. Emily sat down on one, kicked her shoes off, and put her feet in the sand.