“We'd always have to wait for Daddy to come home from the restaurant to help me.”
“And the two of you would eat your way through the entire batch of cookies while figuring out those problems and equations.” A faraway look came into her mother's eyes. “I've never known anyone who loved cookies more than your dad.” Her expression cleared and she smiled at Jamie. “Except you, of course.”
“No doubt about it, I inherited the cookie chromosome.” She looked at Laurel. “Dad passed it on to you as well.”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Laurel. “I could eat cookies for every meal.”
“And you passed it on to me,” chimed in Heather.
“You also inherited Dad's height,” Jamie grumbled, glancing at Laurel. “Cookies don't show on you like they do on me.”
“The hell they don't. I'm eight years older than you, and let me tell you, that metabolism peters out after thirty.”
“And just wait until you're over forty,” chimed in Jamie's mom.
“So you're both saying I need to eat my cookies now,” Jamie said.
“Exactly,” her mom and Laurel said in unison.
Jamie looked at Heather. “You, too, I guess.”
Heather giggled. “Okay. Twist my arm.”
Laurel cleared her throat and looked at Jamie. “I . . . I like talking with you about Dad. It's hard to do with other people because they clearly don't know what to say. It's uncomfortable for them to discuss someone who died, which I guess is understandable.”
Jamie nodded. “I know what you mean. I'll occasionally mention Dad during conversations with acquaintances, but it's usually just a casual âoh, yeah, I visited that museum once with my dad,' or âmy mom and dad and I used to do that, too,' sort of comment. But those people didn't know him. Didn't love him. Didn't know how special he was.”
“I like talking about him, too,” Jamie's mom added quietly. “Remembering things he said and did, the way he'd throw back his head and laugh.”
“God, he had the greatest laugh,” Jamie said, adding another splash of olive oil into the pan as an image of her handsome father flashed in her mind. “No matter how crappy a day I might be having, Dad could always get me to laugh with him.”
“That laugh, along with his beautiful smile, are what first attracted me to him,” said her mom. “One smile and
pow!
I was a goner.”
An image of Nick and his
pow!
smile flashed through Jamie's mind. “That smile . . . it was Dad's superpower,” she murmured.
“You mean like the way Superman could fly? Hmmm . . . I never thought of it that way, but yes, that's a good description.” Her mom stepped between her and Laurel, and after a brief hesitation, put an arm around each of them. “I see that smile in each of you.” She looked at Heather. “And in Heather, too.”
Jamie's heart swelled, with the bone-deep love she felt for her mom, along with a nudge of guilt as well for the way she'd stomped off the previous evening. Clearly her mother was trying, and, for the first time Jamie could recall, was stepping up and acting as the problem solverâa responsibility that always fell on Jamie's shoulders. Maybe her mom had taken the words she'd said last night to heart.
Jamie's mom gave them each a squeeze, then casually took the wooden spoon from Jamie and stirred the sauce. “Do you girls remember the time your dad took us canoeing?”
“Remember?” Jamie asked. “We're lucky we lived to tell the tale. A canoe person Daddy was not.”
“What happened?” asked Heather.
“It was during the summer,” said Laurel. “I used to spend the entire month of July with your Grandpa Tom, Maggie, and Jamie every year. This particular summer I think I was fifteenâ”
“You were, because I was seven,” broke in Jamie.
“Right. Dad rented a canoe, tied it to the roof of the car, and drove us out to Long Island.”
“You sulked the entire way because you said canoeing was âhard work,' ” Jamie told Laurel, laughing at the memory.
Laurel hiked a brow. “And was I right?”
A shudder ran through Jamie. “God, yes.”
“I'll never forget the look on Tom's face the first time the canoe tipped over and he ended up in the water,” Jamie's mom said, chuckling.
“And the second, third, and fourth times,” Jamie added.
They continued with the cooking, adding more meatballs to the pan, then making the lasagna by layering the noodles, sauce, and cheese, all the while reminiscing, one story leading without pause into the next.
“Remember the time Dad brought us to Coney Island?”
“How about that tent he made for us by covering the dining room table with a huge sheet, then telling us ghost stories when it got dark?”
“Or the time he taught us how to make s'mores in the fireplaceâ”
“When he took us horseback riding in Central Parkâ”
“Skating at Rockefeller Centerâ”
“Body surfing at Jones Beachâ”
“The Staten Island ferryâ”
“Statue of Libertyâ”
By the time the meatballs were cooked and the lasagna out of the oven, Jamie felt as if she'd relived her most precious memories of her childhood and her father.
“I haven't laughed this much in a very long time,” Laurel said, untying her apron.
“Me, either,” Jamie agreed. An even longer time since she'd laughed so much with her sister. Or her mother.
“It was great hearing all those stories about Grandpa,” Heather said. She looked at all of them, then spread her arms. “Family hug!”
Jamie hesitated briefly, then put her arms out as well. Her mother and Laurel did the same. They formed a tight circle and gave a collective hug.
“Cooking really does bring people together,” Jamie's mom said.
Everyone murmured their agreement. Jamie shared a little hip bump with Heather, who stood on her right, then looked at her mother, who stood across from her in their tight little circle. Her mother gave her a watery smile and mouthed, “I love you.” Tears pushed behind Jamie's eyes and she mouthed, “Love you, too,” in return. She then turned her head to the left and looked at Laurel.
Their eyes met and Jamie saw that Laurel's swam with tears. And it hit Jamie that her sister had indeed undergone some sort of transformation.
With her gaze steady on Jamie's, Laurel said, “This has been a very good day.”
Jamie nodded. Things were far from perfect, but yes, it had indeed been a good day.
Chapter 27
“
W
ant to take a walk down the beach?” Laurel asked.
Jamie's hands stilled at her task of gathering the extra plastic cutlery and plates that remained after the very successful potluck dinner, which was still in full swing but had moved to the bonfire pit, where kids and adults alike roasted marshmallows. She knew Laurel's question meant more than a simple walkâit was really her way of asking
Do you want to talk? Try to settle our differences?
Leaving Jamie to answer the question,
Do I want to do that?
She could say no. Could hold on to her hurt and resentment. Part of her wanted to. Felt justified in doing so. Who needed a sister who'd betrayed her like that?
I'm right, she's wrong, the end.
But another part of her wanted to hear what this seemingly new and improved Laurel had to say. And then tell Laurel exactly what she thought of what she'd done. Without worrying about Heather or anyone else overhearing.
“Sure,” she said, setting down the bag of cutlery on the folding table where the mountains of now consumed food had been set up. “A walk sounds good.”
She scanned the group surrounding the bonfire, noting Heather laughing with Grace's kids; her mother laughing and sitting next to Alex, their heads bent close together; Dorothy chatting with Melvin, who appeared to be . . .
smiling?
ânah, must be a trick of the fading lightâand Nick, who'd just chuckled at something Dorothy said. Just looking at him kicked Jamie's pulse into high gear, and anticipation filled her at the thought of spending another night in his bed.
As if he felt the weight of her regard, his gaze shifted and locked with hers. And for several seconds everything faded away . . . the people and their conversations, the crackle of the fire, the splash of the waves breaking on the shore, leaving Jamie feeling as if only the two of them stood on the beach, intimately connected in spite of the thirty-some-odd feet separating them. Heat flared in his eyes, spreading warmth right down to her toes and setting fire to all her girly parts. Jeezâwhat the man could do to her with a single look was nothing short of ridiculous.
She blinked to break the spell, then inclined her head slightly toward Laurel, who stood beside her. Nick's gaze flicked to her sister, then back to Jamie. She waved her hand to indicate herself and Laurel then used her fingers to pantomime walking. He nodded his understanding, then gave her a look that said without words that he wished her luck and would be here when she returned. Then she turned to Laurel and, hoping the tension knotting her stomach didn't show, said, “Let's go.”
They walked to where the breaking waves washed up on the wet sand, then headed toward the pier.
“The potluck dinner was a huge success,” Laurel said. “Everyone loved the lasagna and meatballs. There's not one scrap left over.” She rested a hand on her enviably flat stomach. “I can't believe I ate so much.”
Clearly Laurel wanted to ease into the subject that stood between them like a big steaming pile of manure, so Jamie played along. “Me, either. Be comforted by the fact that what I ate is going to hang around on my ass a lot longer than what you ate will hang on yours.” So unfair!
“I wouldn't be so sure. I had
six
dessertsâand that's on top of the heaping plate of food I downed. I just couldn't chooseâ they all looked so good.” She turned to look out toward the water. “This place is really nice.”
Jamie nodded. “I have to admit I was pretty horrified when I first arrived.” She briefly described the condition of Paradise Lost that first night.
Laurel laughed. “Wow. I give you credit for staying. I would have been in a cab on my way back to the airport.”
“Believe me, it crossed my mind. The new furniture made a big difference. And now so many things that were completely alien to me a month and a half agoâlike clam festivals and neighbors who stop by just to chat and bring you a casseroleâare among my favorite things about Seaside Cove.”
Silence swelled between them, one Jamie didn't feel inclined to break. Laurel had asked for this walk, so she'd wait for her sister to take the lead. Finally Laurel said, “I'm glad you found this place, Jamie. But I'm sorry, so incredibly sorry my actions are what drove you away.”
Laurel paused and drew Jamie to a stop by briefly touching her arm. “There are things I want, need to say to you. If you give me the chance to do so, I promise I'll then listen to anything you wish to say to me. Deal?”
Jamie's heart thudded hard and fast. There was no doubt in her mind that whatever happened next would define the futureâif there even was to be oneâof her relationship with her sister. She nodded. “Deal.”
Laurel drew a deep breath, then turned to continue slowly walking, and Jamie fell into step beside her.
“Growing up, there was a part of me that loved you,” Laurel said, “loved you so much it hurt. Missed you when we weren't together. Yearned for those two weekends a month when I'd stay with you, Daddy, and Maggie. Counted the days until July when we'd be together for an entire month.
“But then there was another part of me that was so jealous of you. You were small and cute while I was too tall and gangly. You looked like Dad, while I got stuck with my mother's fair coloring. You got to be with Dad
all the time
. Your apartment was lively and relaxed, casual and filled with laughter, while the Fifth Avenue penthouse we moved into after my mom married Martin was sterile and perfect and quiet as a tomb. You got to have all the fun. I loved sharing that with you when I was there, yet hated that you got to continue enjoying it after I left.”
She paused and tucked behind her ear several strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Not only did I envy you having Dad all the time, I envied you Maggieâor at least I did once I stopped looking at her as the reason my parents would never get back together. She was so much funâalways laughing, always happy, irreverent, naughty, warm, and so generous with her hugs and kisses. My mother, as you know, is not the warm fuzzy type. For a long time I resented Dad for divorcing her, but as I grew older I finally understood why. She's like a gorgeous piece of artworkâbeautiful to look at, but remote and untouchable. The total opposite of Maggie. When at last I realized just how incompatible Dad and my mother were, I couldn't help but wonder why he'd married her in the first place. I asked him once and do you know what he said?”
Jamie shook her head. “No.”
“He said he couldn't help himself. He was young and impetuous, and she was so beautiful, he'd just lost his heart. But after eight unhappy years he finally realized she'd never really wanted his heart and had never given him hers and that they'd both be better off apart. As you know, a few months after the divorce was final, he met Maggie and fell head over heels in loveâbut with your mom his love was returned.”
“You have to admitâthey were great together,” Jamie said softly.
“The best,” Laurel agreed. “They had the sort of relationship everyone wants. When my mother married Martin, I suddenly had every material possession any kid could want. I certainly had more than you. Yet you were who I wanted to be. I wanted your house. Your mom. Our dad. Yet as much as I wanted it, as I became a teenager, I grew resentful of the time I had to spend with you. I was older and had my own friends. I came to love the luxurious lifestyle that came with the Westerly name and didn't like hanging with my kid sister who still played with Barbie dolls. Yet, I couldn't let go of Dad. I loved him. And so it went.