The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (81 page)

“All right.” She nodded. “We’re in agreement there.
My commitment to you will be forever. For always. But you have to reciprocate.”

“Goes without saying.” He smiled. “We’re going to have to formalize this, which I believe usually requires a ceremony of some sort.”

“And a party. A glorious party.” She moved closer. “I’d like to propose the Inn at Sinclair Point.”

“Agreed.” He smiled and took her hand. “You know, there’s really nothing to this negotiating stuff. I don’t see why lawyers charge so much to do it.”

“You understand that, when I’m working,” she said, her eyes serious now, “I may have to go away for several weeks at a time.”

“I promise not to whine.” He crossed his heart with his index finger. “We can even write that into our vows.”

“Where will we live?” she asked thoughtfully.

“We could live here.” He pointed behind him at the old house he was renovating. “Unless you want something bigger. I know it’s not Hollywood style.”

“I like this house. It’s a good family house. It’s plenty big enough.” She looked over her shoulder at the house. “But I should warn you. I will want a new kitchen.”

“I’ll add that to your list of demands.” He sat up and pulled her to him, and kissed her. “There. That seals the deal. There’s no backing out now.”

He traced her bottom lip with his index finger. “You sure about this? Do you need time to think it over?”

Dallas shook her head. “I think I spent more time trying not to think about where we were going because this is where I wanted us to end up, and I was
afraid we’d never get here.” Dallas touched his face. “How ’bout you?”

“I’ve always been sure,” he said simply. “It’s always been you.”

“Seal the deal again.” She leaned in to kiss him.

“Dad!” Paige yelled from an upstairs window. “The answering service is on the phone again.”

Grant sighed.

“Go on in and take the call. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I don’t want you to leave now. I was just getting warmed up.”

“Save it.” She kissed his lips softly. “We have the rest of our lives …”

Berry poured her second cup of coffee and walked out onto the back porch. She held the door for Ally to follow, then closed it quietly. Cody was still sleeping off his jet lag. He hadn’t even joined her for tai chi that morning, but no surprise there. The boy was exhausted.

No surprise, either, that Dallas’s car wasn’t there. Berry knew where she’d have gone. Well, knew where she, Berry, would have gone, if she’d been in Dallas’s shoes.

Well, you had been in her shoes, once upon a time
, a tiny voice reminded her,
but you chose a different direction
.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she muttered aloud drily.

As if she needed a reminder of her own folly, so many, many years ago.

“Water over the dam,” she said. But if she had to do it over—if the choice were hers to make
again—would she have chosen her dreams over love?

Not just love, but the love of her life. Had she realized at the time that she’d never love another? That her future would be defined by the day she’d turned her back and returned to the coast to make yet another movie?

“The Firebrand,”
she murmured. “Worst film I ever made. Tanked big-time, almost ruined my career. That should have told me something.”

Secretly, she’d thought he’d been bluffing, thought that despite his angry words, he’d be waiting for her when she came back, whenever that would be. He’d wanted a wife who’d be there for him, wanted children, wanted holidays with his family, he’d said. She hadn’t believed him. She’d really believed that he wanted her more than he’d wanted those things, that all that talk was just to get his way and make her give up her career and marry him.

But there’d been no bluff. He’d wanted what he wanted, and he’d wanted it with her, but she’d been too foolish to see beyond her own nose, to see anything other than her own dreams of stardom. And before too long, he’d stopped returning her calls, and the next thing she knew, she was hearing rumors from St. Dennis that Archer Callahan was getting married.

She really didn’t think he’d go through with it, thought it was a ruse to get her to come running back.

Seeing him on Saturday had been such a shock. Spending the day in his company had done little
but make her heart hurt at the reminder of what she’d lost, what she’d left behind. Had it not been for Cody’s great adventure, as they now referred to it, she would have wallowed all weekend in anguish.

You can’t turn back the clock
, she’d been reminding herself.
You had a good life. Could it have been better? Who’s to say?

And yet in spite of her denial, she knew in her heart that she’d made the wrong choice. Regrets were a bitch.

“Well, when you screw up, Berry, you screw up big-time.”

She went down the steps to the lawn, and made herself comfortable in one of the big wooden chairs that looked out toward the Bay. With Ally, she sat and watched the gulls circling around something on the beach across the river. She smiled when the great blue heron flew by on its morning run, and wondered where its nest was, if it had a mate. If so, perhaps there’d be fledglings, and more herons to ride the air above the surface of the river this time next year.

Ally began to growl, a deep, low rumble, before she exploded with a bark. Standing behind Berry’s chair, she took a stand. Berry turned to see what had caused the dog to go on alert, and her heart stopped in her chest.

Walking toward her, a large spray of pale-colored roses in his arms, was Archer Callahan. For a moment, he looked as he had so long ago, straight and tall and blond, his athletic stride eating up the distance
between them. Then she blinked, and saw him as he was, older now, white-haired, the athletic build gone a little soft, not quite as tall with the weight of the years, but she couldn’t help but think that he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“I heard you were an early riser,” he was saying as he approached. “I’m an early riser, too, so I thought I’d stop by. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty …?”

“I don’t mind,” she told him as she stood. “I don’t mind at all. I was just watching the day begin.”

“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” He handed her the roses. “I saw these yesterday in the window of the flower shop up on Charles Street, and they made me think of you. I remembered how you loved those pale pink roses. So light they were almost white. Took me all night to build up the courage to bring them over.”

She reached her arms out to take them and buried her face in their scent, recalling other such bouquets.

“They’re beautiful, Archer,” she said softly. “Perfect. How nice that you remembered.”

“Some things you never forget,” he said simply. “Some things just stay with you.”

She was so moved, she couldn’t speak. Finally, she said the only thing she could think of.

“Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee with me?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

“Neither can I.” Berry took his arm and started for the house, Ally trotting by her side.

“Nice dog, Berry,” Archer said. “I always liked a golden retriever myself.”

“She’s a lovely dog, Archer. Let me tell you how I found her. That is, of course, if you have the time.”

“I have time,” Archer assured her. “I have all the time in the world.”

I’ve lived all my life in small towns: That’s the rhythm I understand best. My first seven books were a reflection of the towns I grew up in and later lived in, from Hightstown, NJ, to Marion, MA, to Lansdowne, PA. I’m happy to be returning to my roots with The Chesapeake Diaries, set in fictional St. Dennis, MD, which is a composite of all the small towns I’ve known and loved over the years. Grateful thanks to Loretta Barrett, Kate Collins, and Linda Marrow for wholeheartedly encouraging and supporting my return to those feel-good, relationship-oriented, family-centric books I used to write.

Thanks, also, to the wonderful team at Ballantine Books, who have so enthusiastically supported this effort, especially Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, and Scott Shannon. I always hesitate to name names, because I inevitably forget someone who should be remembered, so while I offer my sincere thanks to everyone at Random House for all they do, I want to say a special thank-you to the marketing and publicity teams (with special thanks to Kristin Fassler, Alison Masciovecchio, and Quinne Rogers); the art department’s Scott Biel for the beautiful, eye-catching covers that capture the spirit of this series; everyone in the sales department; the long-suffering production department, for hanging in there with me; Kelli Fillingim in editorial; and Andrea “The Decimator” Sheridan (who smites the pirates).

Grateful thanks to the lovely and gracious Grace Sinclair, who I met at the Country Meadows Retirement Village in Hershey, PA, for loaning her name to the author of the diaries that serve as the Greek Chorus to these books. Last but, Lord knows, never the least, the hometown girls, especially Cathy Lanning Simmons and Eileen Griggs McGillan, who make going home such a pleasure, and the Friday Club of Hightstown for inviting me to visit and for making me feel so welcome (with special thanks to Dale Snyder Grubb).

The high school gym had been transformed into a fantasy in white. Small twinkling lights were draped everywhere, from the fake palm trees that lined the walls to the bandstand where the DJ hired for the occasion kept the music playing. Huge pots, spray-painted glossy white, sported arrangements of white flowers—roses, gladiola, hydrangea—all dusted with glitter. Here and there throughout the room, white helium balloons were gathered into bouquets that bobbled and floated. A silver glitter ball overhead spun continuously, a gaudy moon that cast a shimmering glow over the dancing couples beneath it.