The Guest House (21 page)

He didn’t doubt it.

He put his arm around her and drew her close. She held on to his sleeve.

“You need to start going out,” she added. “Like on real dates.”

He smiled. “I know you want me to.”

“Don’t
you
want to?”

“Sometimes, sure.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He shrugged, sighed.

“Trust is a hard thing to get back, kiddo. I just need time.”

Meg pointed to the wall above her dresser and recited the words that ran underneath the crown molding: “‘Birds of a feather flock together, and so will pigs and swine. Rats and mice will have their choice, and so will I have mine.’”

“Yeesh.” Owen grinned. “Which one am I?” he teased.

“We’re the birds,” said Meg. “And we flock together.”

“We do, don’t we?”

“No matter what.”

He laid a kiss on her temple. “No matter what.”

I
n honor of her last morning waking up at the house, Lexi indulged her mother’s frantic wish to suddenly play the Great Domestic and let Edie make her a plate of toaster waffles, which she drowned in a puddle of imitation maple syrup. It would be another warm day. Lexi told herself that was why she’d changed her clothes again after breakfast—that she’d dressed in haste before knowing the weather—but she and her mother both knew her nerves had nothing to do with climbing temperatures outside.

There was a chance Cooper wouldn’t be at the Moss house. Lexi knew that. She knew too that if she called first maybe he’d make sure to be there, but a part of her was afraid that would only guarantee his absence. As tender as her mother’s words had been, as heavily as Lexi had pondered them before finally slipping into sleep, she still wasn’t certain her feelings for Cooper could overcome the damage Hudson had done, any more than had her feelings for any of the other men she’d hoped to get close to in the years since.

She’d been certain of so many things when she’d left the big house the day before. Now as she steered down the crooked dirt road, everything seemed to have been tossed into the air and allowed to fall to the ground in a heap—not just her feelings for Cooper, but everything she’d believed about the history between her parents and the Mosses. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did in some small way. Lexi had needed to believe her mother’s heartbreak was the model of her own. But maybe that was the problem: Instead of moving on, she, Lexi, had carried her heartache like some kind of legacy, a proud tradition among Wright women. Whatever she’d done, it was time to stop. The chain of heartbreak, and the beads of anger strung on either side of it, wasn’t an heirloom to be passed down. If she ever got the chance, she’d tell Cooper that too.

The driveway was empty when she pulled in, the crew not yet arrived. Cooper’s Jeep was gone, as was Jim’s car. Not yet ready to admit defeat, she parked and crossed the lawn for the path to the beach, telling herself there was a chance Cooper was down there, maybe taking a quick swim.

She found the old path easily, her feet moving without thinking, the trail still fixed in her memory. At the edge of the rise, she slipped off her sandals and descended the dunes, greeting the expanse of empty beach, with the lone pier to her left, for the first time in eleven years. It had always seemed so decadent to her, the contrast between the crowded town beaches she’d grown up on and the Mosses’ private stretch of sand. Not that she hadn’t spent time on private beaches before Hudson. Growing up a year-rounder, she and Kim, like so many local kids, always picnicked on private beaches off-season, when the mighty homes that loomed territorially above them were temporarily vacant and without threat. But it was never the same as being invited in the heat of summer. Somehow the bonfires never blazed as high or as hot in autumn or spring as they did in August; walking through the dune grass never felt as freeing.

Now Lexi scanned the beach, memories of days and nights flooding her—tidal, like everything else in a life by the water. The driftwood log where she and Hudson had rested and fooled around through so many sunsets was gone. It had been a beast of a timber; she remembered that well. A fixture for several summers, rolled up to the edge of how many bonfires? She wondered what tide—or whose hands—had finally removed it, and how long ago.

It was then that she spotted a figure way down the beach. She tented her hand above her eyes and squinted to discern the man who walked along the sand, head bent and on the phone. It wasn’t Cooper; she could tell at once. She moved slowly toward the stranger, realizing within a few steps who it was. Her pulse quickened as she stared, riveted.

Despite all of Cooper’s assurances, Hudson had come.

•   •   •

L
exi had imagined this moment a thousand times. In the years after they’d broken up, she had played out this very scene a hundred ways, perfecting it, savoring it. Now it was here.

As she neared him, she wondered how long before he would look up and see her approach. She could hear his voice over the gentle breaking of the surf, his conversation tense, his body rigid as he walked. Finally, his head snapped up and his eyes fixed on her.

She slowed her advance, wanting to gauge his reaction.

At first, she wondered whether he might not have recognized her; that was how still his expression was. Then, in the next moment, he raised a hand and waved.

By the time she reached him, he had hung up his call and slid his phone into the pocket of his pants. She offered him a cautious smile. “Hello, Hudson.”

“Lexi.” He stepped forward to give her a brief hug, using only one arm, as if she were a teammate, or a guest in the receiving line at his wedding. She caught the smell of sandalwood, thinking it was an unfamiliar scent. He’d switched colognes.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she said.

“No one did. It was sort of a spontaneous visit.”

He looked older, she thought. Softer. A stupid observation—of course he did (didn’t she?)—but somehow she was deeply grateful for those lines around his eyes, the creases near his ears, the faint dusting of gray at his blond temples. His face was fuller, his gray eyes not nearly as translucent as she remembered all those times she’d stared into them, seeing stars, seeing her whole life spread out before her, a never-ending galaxy of certainty.

“I hear you went back to school. Good for you. You always were talented.”

“Thanks. It was a good opportunity.” It was all she needed to say; she knew he’d only been filling the impossible hollow between them. “How are
you
?”

He gave an affable shrug. “Great. Work’s busy. Kids are healthy. Can’t complain.”

Lexi waited for him to say more, to ask her to elaborate on the details of her life in the years since they’d parted, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the house. “I never in a million years thought I’d be back here,” he said, his voice so wistful she wondered whether he’d not meant to say it aloud, or even been aware that he had.

“Me neither,” she said. “It’s been hard sometimes.”

His phone rang; he pulled it out. “I have to take this,” he said. “Give me just a second.”

This was it, Lexi thought as she watched him on the phone. The opportunity she’d craved for so long to say all the things he’d never let her say, to unload all the hurt and anger that he’d left behind. She stared at his profile, waiting for the words to come, for the outrage to rush from her throat. God knew she’d rehearsed her speech plenty of times; it should have been easy. Yet all she could feel was emptiness, and maybe even pity.

It should have saddened her, this reunion that she’d envisioned over and over, limping along when she’d always imagined it fraught with longing and remorse. But standing there in front of him, she felt little disappointment. The heat she’d felt for him, the ache that had never seemed to subside, was gone. Maybe not gone, but nearly so. An ember. Like those faint coals at the end of a bonfire, slowly cooling, no longer hot enough to burn.

Cooper was right. Her mother and Kim were right. She had been waiting for eleven years for Hudson to close the door of his unexpected departure out of her life, her heart. She’d felt abandoned yet it had been her choice to leave that door open, waiting for something to close it. Some
one
.

What had she been doing all these years?

“Sorry about that.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “What were you sayin’?”

She smiled, a sense of peace washing over her, the edges of her anger suddenly as smooth as shards of well-worn sea glass.

“I don’t remember,” she said.

“Oh.” He gave her a curious look, as if he were considering their history for the first time, but then his features relaxed, whatever thought he might have had blown off his face like dust. For years, Lexi had believed him to be a man capable of great independence and spirit, someone bold enough to be his own person yet unafraid to be tender. It was clear to her now; she hadn’t really known him at all.

Her mother’s observation returned, its truth confirmed: Cooper may have inherited his father’s looks and warmth, but Hudson had inherited Tucker’s lack of personal strength.

“If you’re looking for Coop, he’s in town with our uncle Jim talking to a Realtor.”

Lexi nodded, the knot of disappointment that she’d felt at first hearing the news of the cottage’s sale now faded.

“Then it’s going on the market soon?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a sign up there by tomorrow,” Hudson said. “It’s time.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, already moving away from him.

“It’s good to see you, Lexi. You want me to leave a message for Coop?”

She considered his offer as she began to walk up the beach.

“Tell him he was right,” she said with a smile. Then she turned toward the dunes, and the house that climbed out of the grass, pale as a ghost.

T
he pastry box sat on the Civic’s passenger seat, filling the car with the sticky-sweet smell of toffee.

There was no family battle—no harsh words, no broken promises—that wouldn’t be forgiven with a dozen of Roy’s pecan toffee rolls. In the Wright house, the pale pink box with the telltale blooms of butter stains on its sides was always a cause for celebration, and a common sight on the breakfast table every Sunday morning, well earned after a half-hour wait in shoulder-to-shoulder crowds at the Bread Basket. Years later, Lexi still felt the same relief in reaching across the counter to take the box, to feel that sugary weight land in her hands. It was a timeless signal of family. She’d been wrong to think nothing had changed in her hometown in the two years she’d been gone. It seemed in just the weeks since she’d returned from London, everything was different.

She pulled behind Owen’s truck in the cape’s driveway and climbed out, carefully balancing the warm box in her hands. She could already see him in the yard, pushing the lawn mower in shorts and a ratty sports jersey that she was certain he’d had since high school.

He looked tired, not surprisingly. The past few days had worn them all out, each in different ways. She drew close, her heart aching with love for him. She’d heard the news from her mother, who’d learned it from Meg. As much as she’d prayed Heather would never come back to Owen, Lexi knew it was that singular hope that gave her brother purpose in the years since his divorce. Now that hope was gone.

When she slipped into his field of vision, Owen killed the mower’s engine. He saw the box in her hands and grinned. “The ol’ pecan toffee truce, huh?”

She smiled. “My favorite kind.”

Inside the house, he made them coffee while she pulled a pair of plates from the dish drainer and set their places on the deck, noticing the remnants of Heather still in plain view: garden sculptures and painted clay pots. Maybe now her brother would begin to purge his home of his marriage in earnest. She hoped he would. But then, didn’t she have some cleaning out of her own to do?

“Is Meggie here?” Lexi asked as they sat down.

“She’s at the beach with one of the girls from Scoop’s. They wanted to get an early start.”

Owen popped open the box top, releasing the buttery scent of warm dough. Lexi reached in and dragged her index finger through a thread of toffee. She waited until they’d each served themselves a gooey knot before she confessed tenderly, “Mom told me about Heather and George. Why didn’t you say something at dinner?”

Owen shrugged. “I didn’t want to upset Meg.”

“You upset her more when you keep things from her, Owe. She’s not a kid.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “Believe me, I know.”

Lexi watched her brother as he unrolled a strip of pecan-laden dough and folded it into his mouth, reminded of how loudly he used to chew his food when they were little, how it drove her nuts at the table, and how she’d always insist that he was doing it on purpose to get under her skin. Her eyes watered.

She reached over and hugged him without warning. Even with a mouthful of food, Owen accepted her embrace, patting her head protectively the way he always did, no matter how old she was.

Lexi sat back, seeing his eyes reveal a shimmer of tears. “Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, was it?” she asked.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Owen said, sniffing. “Maybe we thought it was supposed to be easy.”

“Mom and Dad made it seem easy.”

“Not always. We forget. There were hard times for them too.”

She wiped her eyes with a napkin. “Mom thinks you and I can’t let go of the past.”

Owen shrugged. What could he say? Lexi knew the accusation was true. Now, what were they going to do about it?

Owen smiled at her, his eyes, for days so harsh, now soft again. “I’m glad you’re home.”

She smiled too, dropping her cheek against his shoulder. “So am I.”

•   •   •

E
die stared at the sea of produce in front of her, trying to muster up something close to enthusiasm. She’d promised Lexi that she’d do better about cooking for herself now that she was living alone again. (“And I mean real food, Mom. Nothing boxed. Nothing frozen. Real food.”)

“Real food,” Edie muttered to herself, picking up a green pepper and turning it as if it were a grenade without its pin. Oh, hell, she’d start on real food tomorrow, she decided, setting the bell pepper back with the basket of red peppers and pushing her cart farther down the vegetable display.

“I saw that, young lady.”

She spun, startled.

“James!”

He arrived with his own cart, giving her a playfully scolding look as he plucked up the green pepper and returned it to its proper basket.

“I think those are my little rebellions, honestly,” she confessed, low. “It’s utterly reprehensible of me, I know, because the people who work here are my dear friends, but I swear I can’t help myself. It’s what comes from living with a man who had a twelve-step process for cleaning a damn trim brush. You should see my house,” she said, raising her chin proudly. “It’s a
shrine
to disorder.”

Jim laughed, the sound calming her at once. He had that lovely effect on a person; she was growing to see that.

“Well, I suppose that explains why you’re not an easy woman to find, then,” he said.

“You were looking for me? How in the world did you find me here?”

“I did what any sensible man would do: I drove in random circles through town for over an hour until I saw your truck.”

She gave him the very same disparaging look she’d worn that night on the balcony when he’d nearly fallen to his death. “You could have tried the phone, you know. It uses far less gas.”

“True. But I wanted to speak with you face-to-face. I have news. Well—” He stopped, started again. “I should say I
may
have news.”

“Oh, shit.” Edie frowned. “Florence is firing us, isn’t she?”

“Not exactly,” said Jim. “She
has
sent Hudson up to tighten the screws, though. I’ve just been with Cooper to see our Realtor.”

Dread skittered down her spine. “Hudson’s
here
?”

“I’m afraid he and Florence want us to cease work on the guest house and just throw up the For Sale sign. As is.”

Edie bit at her lip, wrestling with competing worries: on one hand, what this all meant for her crew; on the other hand, a concern for Lexi, knowing Hudson had come back to the cottage. Unable to manage the weight of either one and feeling tears of frustration and disappointment well, she left her cart and marched for the door, not thinking of anything but getting out into the open air.

“Edie, wait.”

Jim followed her outside. She slowed her pace, feeling foolish now as she stood in the path of customers entering and exiting the store. She scooted out of the way to an empty bench beside the cart station and plopped down.

Jim joined her. “You’ll be paid for the full cost of the job,” he assured her. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Edie shook her head. “It’s not just the money, James—I mean, it
is
the money,” she corrected herself quickly before adding, “but it’s the work, too. The women want to work. The same way I did.” She smiled up at him, leaking tears. “I know that fever better than anyone.”

“I know you do, Edie. And I promise you Cooper and I are still working on Florence.”

She rolled her eyes, then wiped them impatiently with her fingers.

Jim paused to draw in a fortifying breath. “I told Cooper, Edie.”

She sniffled. “Told him what?”

“About that summer. About what really happened.”

“Oh.” She looked out at the parking lot for a long moment, then looked back at him. “Oh,” she said again.

Jim searched her face in the silence that followed; Edie could see the trepidation in his eyes. Surely he worried that she’d be angry or hurt. Somehow seeing the carving again—having everyone else see it too—had freed her. What did it matter who knew what had happened that summer? She’d confessed to Lexi; soon she’d confess to Owen.

She smiled, seeing relief fix on Jim’s face immediately.

“I thought you’d be furious with me,” he said.

“No. I’m glad you told him, James. He should know what kind of man his father was. What kind of man he
tried
to be. You were the only person who knew Tucker the way I knew him.” She sighed. “I never meant to hurt him, James. I didn’t know what I wanted. We were all so young.”

A couple with an infant arrived and took a cart. Jim and Edie regarded them as they passed.

“Do you ever wonder what it could have been like if things had been different?” he asked.

Edie shook her head firmly. “Never,” she said. “We all did well, James.”

“And we’re not done yet, you know,” he said with a wink. “Why do you think I spilled the beans about Florence that night at the party?”

Edie snorted. “Because you were drunk.”

“I wasn’t
that
drunk.” Jim laughed. “Maybe I did it because I wanted you for myself.”

“James.” She set her hand on his knee; he closed one of his own over it, the warmth of his palm settling her again. He’d go back to Charleston soon, and it startled her to think how hard it would be to say good-bye to him. She’d grown attached to his company. Forty-six years later, they had so much more to talk about than they ever did those salty summer nights on rooftops under the stars. She’d miss him.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Come to Charleston, Edie. Say you’ll come see me.”

“And just how am I supposed to do that?”

“It’s called a plane. They fly them quite often between here and there, I’m told.”

She smiled, feeling a foolish flush creep up her cheeks. “What am I going to do in Charleston?”

“Same thing you do here. Eat, sleep. Look criminally radiant.”

“Oh, God.” She groaned. “You’re
still
a terrible flirt; you know that?”

“Sad, isn’t it? You’d think I’d have improved somewhat in all these years.”

“Did you tell Cooper that part too?”

“Young lady, I’m afraid I told Cooper everything. Well . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “
Almost
everything. But then, it’s something I’ve been keeping to myself for nearly fifty years, so I figured why quit now?”

It was the edge of tenderness that made Edie look up at him, the confessional tone to his voice that made her search his eyes expectantly.

“Tuck didn’t carve that in the guest house, Edie.” Jim smiled. “I did.”

She stared at him.

“I sneaked in the night before I left the Cape,” he explained. “No one saw me do it.”

Edie blinked at his hand covering hers, trying to regroup the puzzle pieces that he had just exploded. No wonder Tucker had never approached her to argue Hank’s claim. He had assumed Hank had carved it, like she and Hank had assumed it was Tucker, when it was really—

“James?” she whispered. “Oh,
James
.”

He took her hand, sandwiching it gently between both of his and stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “I never imagined in a million years that I’d be in front of you admitting it. But then, I suppose it has been close to a million years, hasn’t it?”

“You should have said something.”

“I just did.”

“Then.”

“What would have been the point?” he asked gently. “I was on the bottom shelf of a
very
tall bookcase of suitors, Edie. I knew better than to throw my hat into that crowded ring.”

“But still you carved it.”

“And I had the blisters the whole way home to prove it.”

She gently turned his hand in hers, searching the deep grooves of his palms, as if those blisters might still be there years later. She ran her fingers tenderly over the places they had surely been, as if to soothe their memory.

Her eyes pooled with tears. Jim took her hand to his cheek and pressed it there.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Say you’ll come visit me, Edie.”

“I’ll come visit you, Edie.” She stroked his brow.

“Cooper wants to write the story of that summer. He wants to write it as his next novel. But he doesn’t want anyone to be hurt.”

“He
should
write it,” she said firmly, and without hesitation. “Our story. Tuck’s and mine and yours and Hank’s. It’s a beautiful story.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” said Edie. “And you can tell him I said so.”

“I think he’d rather hear it from you.”

“Then he will,” she said, rising purposefully to her feet. “I’ll go tell him this instant.”

Jim chuckled, still holding her hand.

She stared down at him, confused. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that you might want to rescue your groceries first.”