“Our town?”
“Yes, our town. Do you know how many people come together here? How many events are held? How many hearts are healed? How much good is done?” Riley shook her head. “Sometimes I feel I just don’t know you at all. When did you become so self-centered?”
“If I’m self-centered, maybe it’s because I don’t want to become you—sacrificing your life to keep Mama happy. You slave away at the store, so ready to fulfill every one of Mama’s endless demands.”
Riley’s anger rose with a fury she hadn’t felt in years. “You have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You’re so blind, you can’t even see all the good that Mama has done this town and me. You complain about having to give up a few days of your time, and you have no idea what sacrifice she’s making. Wake up, Maisy. The world does not revolve around you. You are so angry that you can’t even see that Mama might be dying, that for once, this is
not
about you.”
Riley slammed the office door on her way out. She couldn’t bear to see Maisy’s reaction to her harsh words, couldn’t believe she’d broken her promise to Mama.
From far away, someone called her name and Riley brought her attention back to the store, to Mrs. Harper, waving a large book in her hand. “Ooooh, Riley?”
She placed a weary smile on her face, whispered to Edith to please have Anne bring over a latte and then went to Mrs. Harper. “Hi, ma’am. How are you?” Her body shook inside with the remnants of her unaccustomed fury, and she held her hands behind her back to still them.
“I am thinking of going to Italy this summer. Would you say this is the best book to get?”
Riley glanced down at the book. Mrs. Harper would never leave the confines of Palmetto Beach, much less travel to Italy. She’d bought more than fifteen travel guides in the past five years, and had yet to leave the town limits to drive to her granddaughter’s house an hour away. Sympathy for this woman billowed inside Riley.
“Mrs. Harper,” she said over the lump in her throat, “you’ve made an excellent choice. Why don’t you have a seat here in this new chair and take some time to scan the pages? If the book still interests you, I’ll ring it up for you. Take your time.”
“Really?” Her penciled-in eyebrows rose above her eyeglasses.
“Sure.” Riley patted the cushion. “You might even be the first person to sit here.”
Mrs. Harper sat, and when she looked up with a smile, Riley had to turn away for fear the old woman would see the tears in her eyes. When she reached the edge of the front counter, Adalee squinted at her. “You okay?”
Riley nodded. “I must be exhausted. Sweet old lady Harper makes me want to cry.”
“Why?” Adalee looked over Riley’s shoulder while she fingered the name tags for the night.
“She has been buying travel guides for five years, yet she hasn’t left the town limits since her husband passed away. I don’t know why, but it just hurts my heart today.”
“Because,” Adalee said, and bent closer, “maybe she reminds you of a woman who reads books about other women’s lives, but barely lives her own.”
Riley pulled away, startled, then hurt. “You’ve always done that, Adalee. Always.”
“Done what?” Adalee spread her arms, opened her red-rimmed eyes wide.
“Tried to shove your hurt off on other people. I’m sorry you’re having trouble with your boyfriend, but don’t let it out on me.”
“I just meant . . . just meant that you read all these books. I’ve never seen anyone read so many books. But you never do anything except work and take care of Brayden. I mean, surely you must want to go out and have a date, or travel, or—”
“Just because you don’t like the way I live my life doesn’t mean
I
don’t like it.”
“What? You adore jumping to Mama’s every call?”
Adalee’s words, coming on the heels of Maisy’s accusation, made Riley’s stomach rise. “This doesn’t sound like you, Adalee. You’re quoting Maisy. I can hear her words coming out of your mouth. And if you two want to psychoanalyze me, do it on your own time.” Riley turned on her heels, and walked toward the front of the store to greet incoming guests for the evening. When she dared to glance at the entranced face of Mrs. Harper in the lounge chair, her heart hurt where Adalee had probed into her worst fears. Maisy had still not come out of the office, and with each breath she took, Riley regretted more and more the news she’d dropped on her sister.
Mack and Sheppard entered through the front door; Riley leaned against a pillar and watched them. If she just stood still and breathed, took in the details of her store, of her life, she would be fine in a moment. Then Mack’s eyes caught hers and Riley felt her insides vibrate like a tuning fork. She turned away; she must have been exhausted for her sister’s words to be affecting her so strongly. Or maybe she was getting sick. She needed to get through the next couple of days and then move on with her life.
Then Mack was at her side. She held her hands behind her back to stop herself from running her fingers through his hair, throwing her arms around him. Sheppard wandered off to a lounge chair, sat and leaned his head back with his eyes closed.
“When I see him like that,” Mack said, nodding toward his dad, “I can pretend that we’re back here when the cottage was ours, when the world was right and Dad was healthy. . . .”
“I know,” Riley said, a note of understanding echoing between them.
“I can see the Scrabble game on the coffee table, the thousand-piece puzzle set up all summer. Mom would be humming along to the local radio station. Joe would be on the back porch rinsing the salt water off the fishing poles. . . .”
As Mack spoke to her, Riley felt as if the room had faded and the books disappeared.
He laughed, a low, soft sound. “I remember one day—me and you. We must have been nine or ten years old. You came running in the back door straight from church, hollering all about how there was only an hour left of the tide, and if we wanted to take the Sailfish out, we better do it right then.
“I looked at you in your Sunday dress, your hair pulled back with a white satin ribbon and said, ‘You look like a girl.’ You stared at me like I was the biggest moron in the world and said, ‘That’s because I am one, you idiot.’ Mama proceeded to tell me I was a brilliant ladies’ man.”
Riley had no such memory. “Then what?”
He shrugged. “We went out on the Sailfish, I assume.”
Riley pressed her hand into the pillar to bring herself back into this world, to this present moment. That was the thing about memory—each person carried their own scraps of the past. Mack remembered events that she didn’t, or had his own version of events that they shared. He had some memories, and his father had others, her mother still others. If they combined all the remembrances together, could they form an entire summer from them?
Mack spoke into her silence. “Let’s let Dad sleep for a minute or so. Want a cup of coffee?” He pointed toward the café.
Riley looked toward the front desk. “The party starts in an hour. . . .”
He wound his arm through hers. “That sounds like an excuse to me. Come on. One cup of coffee.”
“Sure,” she said, squeezed his arm. She followed him into the cafe, motioning to Anne behind the counter. A minute later, Anne plunked two scones and two cups of coffee on the table.
Mack took a bite of the pastry and a long sip of coffee before he leaned back in his chair. “Okay, old friend. Tell me how your mama is doing.”
“She’s healing. And cranky. It makes her crazy to be laid up in bed, missing all the events she planned. She pretends this store is her hobby, but it’s more like an obsession. That’s why my sisters are here. . . . Otherwise Mama would be doing all the work. It takes two of them to do what she would do.” Riley settled back in her chair. “But I gotta tell you, I can’t believe how they’ve redecorated. I’ve dreamed of making over the bookstore like this . . . but, well, I didn’t have the money, and decorating is not exactly my gift. Mama is gonna love it.”
“More important—tell me about Brayden. Can you tell me about his dad?”
Riley turned away from him, her gaze flitting about the store.
“I’m sorry. . . . That was none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay. It’s just that I’ve never told anyone who his dad is. Anyway . . .” She took a deep breath, exhaled her question. “So how is your sweet mom?”
“She’s worried about Dad, but she encouraged this trip. And it’s been great. Coming here and remembering those quieter, timeless days. I’ve been to the Murphy brothers’ oyster roast—they’re still crazy—played poker with Dad’s old buddies. I’ve run the length of the town and watched the sunrise off the jetty. All the good stuff.”
Mack squinted at her through the late-afternoon sunlight falling through the old windows. Her heart filled with another memory—full and complete. He was walking her to the movie on the lawn when Maisy ran up behind them, begged to come with them. Had he wanted her, Riley, then, even for a moment?
Mack reached across the table, took her hand. For a while he seemed to struggle to find the right words and then settled for, “It is really great to see you.”
“You, too,” she said, squeezing his fingers, wondering what he’d really meant to say.
Sheppard appeared beside them. “You two gonna let an old man sleep in the middle of the biography section, snoring like a fool?”
“Just thought we wore you out today, Dad.” Mack stood. “Let’s go get something to eat and then come back for the party tonight. You up for it?”
“I am,” Sheppard said. “I guarantee we’re smelling up this pretty shop with our fishy selves. Let’s go.”
Mack hugged Riley goodbye and walked out of Driftwood Cottage. “We’ll be back for the party in an hour or so,” Mack promised.
“Great.” Riley held the door open and watched them walk down the cobbled pathway.
Lodge came to her side. “Hey.”
Riley startled. “Hey, when did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago.” He nodded toward Mack and Sheppard. “Time may have passed, but some things don’t change, do they? You’ve always . . . had a thing for him.”
Riley shook her head. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugged, motioned to Mack and Sheppard.
“Lodge, everything has changed,” Riley said. “And is still changing.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Lodge said, and together they watched Mack and Sheppard walk down the cobbled pathway, memories of summer following them.
TWENTY-THREE
MAISY
When the readings were finished, and the last goodbye had been offered, Maisy stacked folding chairs against the wall. Riley had gone upstairs for the night, and now Maisy glanced around the cottage for Mack—she’d asked him to come back and see her when the party was over. The past two days he’d disappeared to catch up with old friends, go fishing and hang out with his dad. The same desperate need for him that had consumed her on the night of the bonfire had returned now and Maisy’s stomach danced with nervousness.
Adalee slammed a chair shut. “Who are you looking for?”
“What do you mean?” Maisy stopped, squinted at Adalee.
“You’ve only looked back at the café, like, two hundred times. And you’re totally preoccupied.”
Adalee and Maisy both turned to the slam of a screen door, then saw Mack enter through the back door.
“Over here,” Maisy said.
“Oh! I get it now,” Adalee said. “You go on. I’ll finish here tonight. I owe you one.”
“Thanks, sis.” Maisy walked toward Mack, folding a tablecloth into a neat square just like Mama had taught her.
The music still played: Alison Krauss singing “Stay.” “I love this song,” she said.
“Yeah, Alison can break your heart, can’t she?”
Maisy nodded.
Mack smiled at her. “You done with your work for the night?”
She nodded yes. This was it, she thought. This was when the past ran so fast, it caught up with the present.
For Maisy, the walk from the cottage to the beach seemed to erase the time that had passed between now and the summer of his leaving; the bonfire might still be burning and she might still be standing underneath the lifeguard station with every nerve on fire.
They stood in silence at the edge of the sea, shoes in their hands, the full moon lighting a path on the water. Maisy sought perfect words to say in this moment full of possibility.
Mack stopped, stared out over the waves. “Being here makes time almost stand still.”
Unable to speak, Maisy merely nodded.
Mack looked back over the water. “Like we’re all in our teens and life has every chance of becoming perfect.”
“Yes,” Maisy whispered, shifted her weight in the sand so her upper arm rubbed against his.
He moved his arm away, and for a brief moment, she felt the sting of his rejection. Then his arm dropped over her shoulder, pulled her closer to his side. Far off a foghorn called; laughter from a party rang across the beach. Maisy leaned into him.
“I’ve imagined this a million times,” she said.
“Imagined me?”
“You . . . with me. Here.”
He turned to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and stared at her for so long she thought he might be waiting for her to say something, do something. But she waited . . . waited for his kiss. Instead he stepped away, grimaced. “Sorry, my cell phone.” He grabbed it from his back pocket.
Confusion overcame her. “Mack?”
He glanced at the screen, then at her. “It’s Dad.”
“Huh?”
“A text from the hospital. Something’s happened. I’ve got to go. . . .”
“I’ll come with you,” she said, tried to clasp his hand but he slipped it free.
He shook his head. “No, you don’t need to do that. I’ll call the bookstore . . . let y’all know what’s going on. . . .” He hurried off without another word.