“Nice to meet you, Adalee,” the group chorused.
Maisy fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortable now in the midst of these women. She stood. “So wonderful to meet all of you. Please let me know if I can do anything. And I hope to see you at the festivities this week.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Betty said.
Maisy glanced up at the clock. Soon she’d meet Mack for lunch. Maybe, just maybe, this trip home would be bearable after all. Maybe the house did connect people, bringing happiness to all who passed through its doors. Now, finally, she and Mack could finish what they had started.
TEN
RILEY
Despite the rocky start to the morning, Riley felt the bookstore come more alive as the day progressed, as if the presence of her sisters and Mack Logan had unleashed a new energy within the cottage. Maisy went out for lunch, pretending to go alone, yet Riley had heard her invite Mack.
As usual, keeping busy at the store helped Riley keep her emotions from wreaking havoc on her heart. Now that school was out, the store filled with teenagers guzzling coffee and listening to music. Younger kids came in with frazzled mothers not yet accustomed to the school-free days. Riley had asked Adalee to spend some of her time fixing up the children’s section, which was left in constant disarray by unsupervised children whose mothers browsed the other sections.
Ethel called Riley over to check on some new orders. She took the order form and fall catalog into her office, shut the door and scanned the titles. She shut her eyes and whispered out loud, “Oh, Mama, I need you here.” Mama was the one who knew intuitively what the Palmetto Beach community wanted to read. Riley used to argue with her about certain titles, and been wrong once too often, left with unsold inventory. Now she relied on Mama’s unerring choices. Riley stuck the order form in her bag and decided to take it to Mama that evening.
For the rest of the day, Riley attempted to keep up a cheerful front for the customers. Inside she felt jittery and unsettled as she prepared for that evening. Nick Martin, the bestselling adventure novelist, would be signing and reading from his recent book,
Gold Hunt.
The book clubs that gathered that day adored Maisy, which didn’t surprise Riley. Adalee stayed in the back room, working on a timeline for the house. When she came out she talked constantly about Chad and where he was, how much fun he was having without her. Riley didn’t know how to convince her sister that there were more important things than who did or did not go to the beach party, who hooked up with whom. Adalee’s lack of a driver’s license didn’t do much to improve her attitude.
By some miracle, Kitsy had still not learned about Adalee’s night spent in jail, and in her phone calls, she was calm. Late that afternoon, Riley stood in the shop’s storage room, surrounded by unopened boxes. The poster-board presentation of the timeline of the house was set against the wall. Despite her complaints, Adalee had taken the box of pictures and information about the house’s history, which Riley had handed over, and produced a clear pictorial history. She’d divided the board into decades, with a picture of the house from each period and a list of the family or families that had owned it during that time, including pertinent information about the town. Black-and-white photos created a frame around the board. Adalee had stopped in 1996—the year the Logan family sold the house to Kitsy.
“Ethel,” Riley hollered out the door. “Do you know where Adalee is?”
“How am I s’posed to keep track of the Sheffield sisters? For God’s sake, even their mama can’t do that.”
Riley laughed, closed the storage room door. So many families had come and gone through this house. She did not want to have to sell out to still another family. This was
her
home, her refuge.
The door to the storage room opened, and Ethel poked her head in. “There’s a long line forming for Nick Martin’s book signing, and it’s still two hours away. This is great news. . . .”
Riley forced her thoughts to the evening ahead. “Did we order enough books?”
“Oh, yes. I anticipated a great turnout.”
Riley brushed her hair back, and entered the store to make sure everything was ready for the author’s signing. It was a huge coup to get Nick Martin to come to Driftwood Cottage to kick off the week of anniversary festivities. He didn’t go on tour often anymore—his adventure novels hit the bestseller lists the week they were released.
Riley had gone all-out for this signing. The gourmet store across the street had provided free wine; the podium was set up for his talk; the chairs were organized in neat rows. There would be a raffle to win a stack of signed books and a bottle of Frei Brothers wine, from the winery where the climactic scene in the novel took place. Riley always made sure to read the book before the author arrived, to have a special giveaway that tied to the novel’s plot. If effort equaled success, she and the store would survive. Unfortunately this was not always the case in the book world. Rarely were they able to predict what would sell well. Mama was better than most at this guessing game.
Riley fixed the crooked tablecloth at the book-signing table and was startled by Anne’s hand on her shoulder. “Hey.” Riley hugged her. “You didn’t have to come tonight. You have the night off, remember?”
“I know, but I thought you might need some help and I brought you a little something.” Anne had her hand behind her back. Her T-shirt read:
Lead me not into temptation. I can find it myself.
“What is it?”
Anne withdrew a piece of pottery from behind her back. “Wings.”
Delicate and thin, these angel wings were smaller than most of the ones Anne crafted. Riley flipped them over to see what word she had carved: REST. “Oh . . . they are beautiful. So sweet and . . . I don’t . . .”
Anne held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say—that you don’t need these wings. But you do. You most definitely do. And I made them for you. I knew you had to have them.”
“I am so grateful.” Riley hugged Anne. “Now go take your night off. Okay?”
“Nope, I’m here to help.” Anne headed back to the front desk.
Riley slipped the pottery wings behind the café counter, where they would be safe from damage. Anne had last made Riley wings five years ago, when Brayden had broken his arm. They had said HEAL. Riley ran her fingers over the word REST and took a deep breath. Not yet, not just yet.
Maisy and Adalee came through the front door, wound their way around the line of people waiting for Nick Martin. They’d obviously gone home to shower and change. Adalee’s kinetic energy sparked across the room. Maisy’s smile seemed to be lit from within, her hair catching the leftover light.
Lodge came in behind them, fulfilling his promise to cover the first night’s event. He stood against the back wall. Riley sensed his presence as she brushed crumbs from the podium, placed a water bottle under the stand. She waved at him. He gave a single nod.
Adalee tapped her hand on the podium. “Someone should tell Mama about this great crowd.”
Riley hugged her. “Great idea. Why don’t you let her know? Maisy, would you hand out numbers to the people in line so they can browse the store without losing their place? Adalee, you pile the books up on the signing table while I check on the wine. Okay?”
Maisy bowed in mock submission. “Okay, boss. But I’m keeping my eye out for Nick. If he’s as cute as his picture in the book, I’m sitting in the front row.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “Do not flirt with the author. I’m begging you.”
Maisy rolled her eyes. “We wouldn’t want anyone to have any fun now, would we?”
Riley ignored the sarcasm and scanned the room for anything amiss. Maisy wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, really. You’re just trying to do your job. I know that. But can I offer a small suggestion?”
“What?” Riley shrugged off Maisy’s arm.
“Since you made me leave my job for more than a week, and come here to help you—we need to do something about the decor in this place. Really. Make it more comfortable.”
“And with what money would you like to do that?”
“Family money? I have so many ideas about how to fix this place up—we can Beach Chic the entire place on wholesale. . . .”
Riley held up her hand. “Let’s just get through this week.”
Adalee leaned up against the counter and sighed. “Chad said he was coming, but I don’t see him.”
“Please,” Maisy said. “Can we talk about something besides Chad and his whereabouts?”
Adalee’s eyes filled with tears. “That is so mean.”
Riley hugged her little sister. “Let’s concentrate on this book signing, and then we’ll find Chad. How’s that?”
“Great. But can I ask you a quick question that is making me crazy?”
“Of course.”
“Why does Ethel wear those white gloves?” Adalee leaned closer to Riley and whispered, “They’re dirty.”
Riley pulled on her sister’s ear in a reminder of the days when Mama would flick their ears when they were being too loud at dinner: an annoying punishment the sisters had made fun of throughout their adolescence. “I’ve never asked,” Riley said. “I figure she has her reasons.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird?”
“I guess sometimes you get so used to things that you don’t even notice them anymore. So, no, I don’t think it’s weird at all.”
“I do.” Adalee glanced at the front desk. “And I bet the customers do, too.”
“The customers love her, Adalee. Adore her. Maybe they know that appearances don’t matter as much as other things. . . .”
“Why do I always feel . . . so judged by you?”
“I have no idea. . . . I’m sorry.”
Adalee stamped her foot. “God, I just want to go to the party at the Beach Club.”
“Well, while I’m ruining your life, will you run upstairs and tell Brayden he can spend an hour at the beach before dark? I told him to finish cleaning his room and then . . .”
Adalee nodded, turned on her flip-flops. “Whatever,” she said as she ran toward the back of the store.
An older couple approached Riley and Maisy; Riley smiled at them in vague recognition. This always happened at the beginning of the summer—it took her a moment to remember the summer people’s names.
The man, his hair white, wrinkles embedded in his smile, held out his hand. “Riley Sheffield. It is so good to see you again. Mark and Lauren Rutledge.”
The room wavered as though Riley were being held underwater. A tremor ran through her middle, where Brayden had once grown inside her womb. Resolved not to give away her trembling, Riley held out her hand for Mr. Rutledge to shake. “It is so nice to see you again. You haven’t been back in years.”
Mrs. Rutledge offered a tender hug, which Riley returned. “Thirteen to be exact. When we received the invitation, we just knew we had to come celebrate with Kitsy and see the store. We love this town. It holds so many dear and wonderful memories.”
“Wonderful memories,” Riley agreed. She took two steps backward. “Thank you so much for coming. Excuse me a moment? Hopefully you’ll be here all week?”
The older couple nodded.
Riley sensed she was being rude, yet escape seemed her only option. She allowed Maisy to take over the conversation, and ran up the back stairs. Brayden had already left for the beach and Adalee was gone, too; the apartment was empty. Riley dropped into a kitchen chair. The Rutledges had raised one son, Sheldon. Last Riley had heard, he was in Iraq with the Air Force. Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge had no clue that their grandson was playing with his friends on the beach a few yards away.
With the motions of a deeply ingrained habit, Riley climbed the spiral stairs to the observation tower, where she breathed in the fresh breeze. She needed air—deep gulps of it. The sea spread toward the horizon in a wash of blues with Brayden at its tattered edge. He bent over to pick something up off the sand. His blond curls, his tanned skin and his gangly body seemed a natural part of the sand, sea and waves. This miracle of a child she had kept to herself—her secret. By refusing to name Brayden’s father, she had intended to preserve Sheldon’s freedom, yet she had failed to consider Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge, Brayden’s grandparents.
Brayden was hers to protect. To love. But now, with the Rutledges in the store below, her well thought-out reasons for secrecy echoed hollow, vacant and selfish.
As though he felt his mother’s gaze upon him, Brayden looked up and waved at her.
Hey, Mom,
his lips mouthed the words—no twelve-year-old boy wanted to be caught hollering at his mom. He turned and threw something into the ocean. Two men approached him: one younger and tall, one older and frail—Mack and Sheppard Logan. Brayden spoke to them, laughed: past and present blurred together.
Riley climbed down the ladder, obligation the moving force now. There were a hundred people downstairs, a
New York Times
bestselling author on the way to speak and two sisters who needed supervision. She went to the bathroom, wiped her face clean of regret and disorientation, and descended the back stairs to host the evening with warm efficiency.
ELEVEN
MAISY
Maisy watched Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge browse among the bookshelves, pausing occasionally to greet people they knew. What was wrong with Riley, walking away from old family friends?
Maisy greeted each patron with a smile and a slip of paper with a number on it. “You’ll be able to get right in line with this number. Please feel free to enjoy a glass of wine.
“Number thirty-seven,” Maisy said, handing a yellow slip to a woman who was reading a book in line.
The woman looked up with a smile. “Hey, Maisy.” Her hand fluttered.