The Chesapeake Diaries Series (167 page)

“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.” In the dark, he could see that she was smiling.

“This is what I think of when I think of the Bay at night,” she went on. “The moon reflected on the water, that gentle, rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the side of the boats. I love that sound. I’m glad they weren’t all put in dry dock.”

“Most of the boats you see still in the water will be heading south through the Intercoastal Waterway within the next week or so.”

She stopped and took a deep breath. “It smells like winter in Maryland. It smells like snow.”

“It’s in the forecast.” He stopped when she did, and followed her gaze as it swept across the marina. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. When she turned toward him, his lips caught
hers full-on in a kiss that neither of them was expecting. She tasted of lemons and wine, and he knew that he would never again taste either of those things without thinking of this moment. Her lips were warm in spite of the cold, and soft, and he couldn’t help but kiss her again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for real since we were in seventh grade,” he whispered. “Remember when you wanted me to practice kissing with you so that you’d know what to do when you went to that dance with Kevin?”

She laughed. “I do remember.”

“After we practiced, I tried to think of some way to disable Kevin so that he couldn’t take you. I was so jealous that he was going to get to kiss you for real while I only got to practice.”

“Seriously? That bothered you?”

“Made me crazy.”

“I guess I should have told you then …”

“Told me what?”

“That I never did kiss him.” She took his hand and started toward the parking lot.

“Damn. And here I’ve held a grudge against him all these years.” He realized he was smiling, realized, too, how silly after all this time that it still mattered somehow. “Why didn’t you kiss him?”

“Didn’t want to.” Lucy shrugged. “And don’t look so smug …”

He was still laughing when they reached the car. He unlocked her door and opened it, ignoring the fact that she’d reached for the door handle at the same time. When he slid behind the wheel, she’d already fastened her seat belt. He started the car and drove up
Kelly’s Point Road to Charles Street, where he stopped for the light.

“So are you going to tell me what it was that I did that ended our friendship back in high school?” he asked.

“I never thought our friendship ever really ended, Clay,” she said softly.

“You shut me out for all these years,” he reminded her. “You’ve said more to me tonight than you did through the last three years of high school.”

When she didn’t respond, he added, “Okay, this may not be a very manly thing to say, but it really hurt that you just stopped talking to me. I know I must have done something that upset you or hurt you, but I’ve never known what it was, and it’s bothered me all these years.”

The light turned green, and he made the right turn.

“So I have to ask: What was it that I’d done back then that kept us from being friends all these years?”

“It wasn’t something you did, Clay. It never occurred to me that you’d think that you’d done something.” She spoke so softly that he could barely hear her words. “I’m so very sorry that you thought it was you.”

“Then what was it?”

He turned into the inn’s drive, and followed the lane to the back of the building. He stopped the Jeep near the back door and shifted into park. In the dark, he heard her breathing, ragged and uneven.

“Something happened that summer that changed me. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.” She looked across the console, her eyes wide and haunted. “I am more sorry than I can say
that I shut you out. You were the one person I could always depend on—you didn’t deserve the way I treated you. It’s embarrassed and shamed me all these years because you had been such a good friend to me, always, and I treated you unfairly and unkindly. Thank you for not holding it against me, for giving me a chance to tell you how much I’ve regretted my actions.”

Before Clay could react, Lucy jumped out of the car and disappeared through the double doors into the lobby.

What, he asked himself, was that all about?

He sat outside the inn, watching to see if the lights went on in her old room, the corner room on the second floor, but the windows remained dark. He eased the car toward the no parking sign, and sat in the silent car, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Diary ~

It’s lovely to have a little time to reflect during the holidays. Of course, for just about everyone else, the holidays are over, but here at the inn, we’re still celebrating. Lucy arrived on Wednesday afternoon, and that night we had Christmas all over again. I don’t know who enjoyed the double holiday more, me or Daniel’s children. Probably me—because Lucy was home and Ford called and we all had a few moments to speak with him. Still not clear on exactly where he is, but no matter. It was good to hear his voice. He sounded in good spirits and it was wonderful to see how everyone’s face lit up when it was their time to chat with him. I do miss my youngest …

But I do have Lucy home until Sunday and that’s a gift, so I will not complain. She had her meeting with Robert and Susanna about their wedding today. Trula called a little while ago—she tells me that both the prospective bride and groom are thrilled with Lucy and her take-charge attitude and her willingness to work with their ideas, not to mention the glorious plans they have for their wedding. I didn’t share with Trula that arriving at a date might be a wee bit of a problem—not my place to get involved in all that. I’m sure Daniel will work it out, though—what a feather in the inn’s cap to host such a high-profile affair. I know that Lucy is accustomed to such grand shindigs, but other than the MacGregor wedding, we’ve been pretty low-key here. Looks like the times, they may be a-changing
.

We’re going to—reluctantly—undecorate the inn tomorrow. Daniel has done his best to keep the trees and decorations fresh for Lucy’s Christmas, but alas, all has gotten pretty dry—though no one seems to mind so very much. Lucy is on a date with Clay Madison tonight—she keeps insisting that it’s only dinner in that no-big-deal way of hers, but if you could see the look on that young man’s face when he looks at her … it’s pretty clear he doesn’t think of her as just another old school chum. I think he’s always been a little sweet on her. As for her, who knows what goes through that girl’s head sometimes? If she can’t see what everyone else sees in Clay … well, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for her
.

And speaking of spells … no, no, of course I wouldn’t do one of those where my daughter is concerned, tempted though I may be at times. But I am thinking I’d appreciate a little help from the other side right about now. There’s a strange vibration sometimes when Lucy is in the inn—I can’t put my finger quite on it, but it comes from Lucy and it’s unmistakable. I’m so frustrated because I can’t interpret what she’s feeling—not that I’d ever try to “eavesdrop” on my daughter—not intentionally—but there’s something there that’s just … off. Some sadness or sense of unrest … which doesn’t really make much sense, since Lucy’s always been happy and loved here. I was hoping perhaps my old friend Alice might have some input, but she’s been scarce these past few weeks. Things are rough when a girl can’t rely on her friends—in whatever dimension they might dwell—to lend a hand once in a while!

~ Grace ~

Chapter 9

The lobby was lit only by the lights on the twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree that stood in one corner and the lamp on the reservation desk, though Lucy was pretty sure there’d be no late or unexpected arrivals that night. Other than the good-natured chatter of the kitchen’s cleanup crew—one of them loudly singing along to Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” on the radio—there didn’t seem to be much activity in the inn. Lucy paused at the foot of the steps that led to the second floor and the family’s quarters. She didn’t fancy another night lying in bed staring at the ceiling, fighting sleep for fear of the nightmares returning. If she went upstairs now, she’d be expected to join everyone who was still awake while they watched the news in their shared family room and surely she’d be subjected to interrogation by her mother about her date with Clay.

She wasn’t up to either—nightmares or interrogations—so she walked down the hall into the darkest part of the inn, to the library, where she’d always found peace. The white lights were still lit on the tree, though all of the candles were extinguished. Lucy
took off her boots then curled up in the leather chair and tried to sort through the evening.

The good news was that she’d finally been able to voice a long-overdue apology to Clay for the way she’d treated him so many years ago, and that he hadn’t pushed for any further explanation than what she’d offered, which, in retrospect, had been none at all. Why, she wondered, had it taken her so long to have gotten even that much out? Whatever else might have happened, Clay was still her friend, quite possibly the best friend she’d ever had. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his friendship until she’d sat across the table from him that night and the years seemed to drift away. At his core, Clay hadn’t changed much at all: his humor and good-natured earnestness had always been part of his personality, and as always, his enthusiasm—for his farming, his prospective brewery—had made her smile. Clay was a man who loved life, embraced it, and she was smart enough to realize that her life had been richer when he’d been a part of it.

And then there was that kiss—a lifetime in the making if you didn’t count those practice kisses back in seventh grade. She smiled in the dark and wondered why
that
had taken so long, too. It had come as such a surprise that her normal defenses never had a chance. But that was okay. There’d been such an air of fate about the entire night—including the kiss—that she hadn’t felt the alarm she usually felt when someone got too close.

Now if she could only work up the courage to tell him the rest of the story, to speak the words she’d
never said aloud to anyone, maybe some part of her might be free.

“I was raped, Clay,” she whispered to the empty room. “That summer? I was raped …”

Lucy carried a stepstool to the library to reach the star on the top of the tree and remove the top tier of ornaments. Her mother was there waiting for her, staring out the window, the boxes for the ornaments laid out on the table.

“You look as if you’re having deep thoughts.” Lucy set the stool next to the tree.

“I was just thinking about Vanessa,” Grace told her.

“What about Vanessa?”

“Well, you know that she and Grady are getting married in a few weeks,” Grace began.

“And …” Lucy leaned on the back of a nearby chair, certain that her mother was leading up to something.

“And, well … I was wondering if you could do a favor for me.”

“Does this have something to do with Vanessa’s wedding?”

Grace nodded. “Oh, I know you don’t have time to plan her wedding for her, but she’s at such loose ends, I was wondering if maybe you could stop at her shop while you’re here and just give her a few pointers. She’s really feeling overwhelmed, and she’s such a dear girl—”

“Where’s the wedding going to be?”

“At her house. I offered to let her use any of the public rooms that aren’t booked on her date, but she
really would like to get married at the house.” Grace smiled. “I think she was afraid Alice would be offended and start acting up if she missed the wedding.”

“Alice? You mean Alice Ridgeway? The woman who used to own Vanessa’s house?”

When Grace nodded, Lucy said, “The same Alice Ridgeway who’s been dead for, what, three years now?”

“Thereabouts.” Grace smiled calmly. “Vanessa says she’s still about from time to time.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I’ll stop by the shop and see what I can do to help.” She turned her attention back to the tree, but not before adding, “I don’t suppose Alice is in the wedding party.”

“Don’t be disrespectful, dear.”

Lucy laughed and repositioned the stool.

“Are you sure you can reach the top?” her mother asked. “We could wait for Dan.”

“I think I can get it.” Lucy struggled to open the old stepstool. “How long has it been since this was used, Mom?”

“Probably too long.” Clay entered the room, an old brown leather bomber jacket over a black crewneck sweater and jeans and a cardboard container of coffee in his hand. “How ’bout if I get that?”

He reached up and snagged the star from the top and handed it to Grace.

“You still want that stool opened up?” he asked as he set the coffee on the table.

Lucy nodded. “I want to take down those ornaments.”

“You have the box for them?” He glanced around the room, then picked up a box from the table and
handed it to Grace. “This looks like the one I took them out of. Why don’t you hold it, Miz Grace, and I’ll just pluck them off the tree.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Lucy and Grace said at the same time.

“Really,” Lucy told him. “You don’t have to …”

“I found myself with some time this morning, so I thought I’d stop over to help out.” He began to take the ornaments down. One by one, he passed them off to Lucy, who put them into the box in her mother’s arms.

“That’s very nice of you, dear,” Grace told him, “but you’ve already done so much to help out …”

“We were always taught that the job wasn’t finished till the cleanup was done.” He grabbed a few more glass balls from the tree and handed them down to Lucy. “You know, like when you bake something, you clean up everything you used when you’re finished, right? Bowls, spoons …”

“I don’t bake,” Lucy heard herself say.

“Never?” Clay looked over his shoulder.

She shook her head.

“Not even brownies?”

“Nope.”

“Chocolate chip cookies?”

Lucy shook her head again. “None of the above.”

“Miz Grace, are you listening to this?” He turned to her mother.