by Lori Wilde
Dedication
To Traci Marsh Burnam, who knows why
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One: Helen
Chapter Two: Gia
Chapter Three: Madison
Chapter Four: Gia
Chapter Five: Shelley
Chapter Six: Gia
Chapter Seven: Shelley
Chapter Eight: Gia
Chapter Nine: Madison
Chapter Ten: Gia
Chapter Eleven: Shelley
Chapter Twelve: Gia
Chapter Thirteen: Madison
Chapter Fourteen: Gia
Chapter Fifteen: Gia
Chapter Sixteen: Shelley
Chapter Seventeen: Madison
Chapter Eighteen: Gia
Chapter Nineteen: Gia
Chapter Twenty: Madison
Chapter Twenty-One: Gia
Chapter Twenty-Two: Gia
Chapter Twenty-Three: Madison
Chapter Twenty-Four: Shelley & Gia
Chapter Twenty-Five: Gia
Chapter Twenty-Six: Moonglow Cove
Epilogue: Helen
P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
About the Author
About the Book
Praise
Also by Lori Wilde
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Helen
MEMORY QUILT: Quilt made to remember people and/or an event significant in their lives.
May 17
My Dearest Darling Gia,
As I write this, I sit on the back veranda in my favorite Adirondack chair. Draped across my lap is the triple wedding ring quilt we started for Madison’s marriage. Pyewacket lazes at my feet, occasionally batting the seat cushion’s dangling tie. I watch the waves break against our stretch of shoreline and recall, in the misty way of old people, how everything fell apart.
It is a familiar spot. I’ve sat here countless times, inhaling the salt air, listening to the immutable lull of the rising tide, and fingering the raw edges of the unfinished quilt.
But today is different.
I remember too much, and yet, oddly, not enough. How we spent months collecting just the right fabric scraps from bits and pieces of clothing that meant something special to us. But then I forget where the pink seersucker came from. Is it from Shelley’s Easter dress, or your mother’s apron? Or is it a piece of the table runner from your sixth birthday? A tea party theme, I believe, but it could have been Holly Hobbie. You so adored that doll.
At my age, memory is unreliable, but in the files of my mind, I excavate a few treasures.
I see you flying your kite on the beach for the first time with Mike guiding you, your head thrown back, laughing so hard you shivered. Shelley giggling over her cold bottom as she sat on the old-fashioned ice cream freezer, so it wouldn’t walk off the porch as we took turns cranking the handle. Madison getting up early on Easter morning to hide the eggs she’d colored the night before for you and Shelley to hunt. The three of you in harvest season, picking lush, ripe Moonglow pears from our trees, then later, in the kitchen blasting music from the windowsill boom box and singing “Who Let the Dogs Out” at the top of your lungs while we canned pear preserves.
These are the things I miss. Laughter. Giggles. Singing. You girls lying on a quilt in the backyard underneath the stars, sharing your hopes and dreams. It seemed those lovely summer days would never end.
Sadness fills me now as I look back on what we’ve lost. Our sense of family. Our closeness. Evaporated like morning sea mist burned off by the sun.
You girls were my salvation in those dark days after your mother’s death, but in the end, I lost you three as surely as I lost Beth.
My hand caresses the edges of the unfinished quilt made for a wedding that never took place and my eyes well with tears, but I’m not writing for pity. I made my choices, some smart, some dumb, and I’ve found peace with how things turned out.
But I do regret what ruined your relationship with your sisters and I hope you will honor my wishes.
This quilt is important. Family is important. You are the heart of us, Gia. When I think of you girls and your personalities, I’m reminded of your beautiful kites. Madison is the solid anchor on the ground, Shelley is the high-flying kite itself, and you, my dear, are the string that keeps the two connected.
I hate to put this burden on your shoulders, but you are the peacemaker and the only one who can mend things. Please, come together. Finish the quilt. Repair the rift. Sew. Heal. Bloom. Grow. This is my last request. All I want in this world is to see the Moonglow sisters happy and whole again.
—With all my abiding love, Grammy
HELEN CHAPMAN FINISHED writing the letter, set down her pen, and turned to the white-haired woman sitting beside her.
Darynda Fox had once been a stunning beauty. Even now, in her midseventies, she was still striking. Tall. Fit from daily jogs on the beach and nightly yoga stretches. She possessed patrician cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that took Helen’s breath.
Silently, Darynda read the letter and when she looked up, a single tear slid down her cheek. “You should let me call them. You should tell them in person. They have a right to know.”
“It’s better this way.” Restlessly Helen folded the edge of the quilt inward.
“Better for whom? You are putting a lot on Gia’s shoulders.”
“She’s the only one who can do it and you know that.”
“I’d accuse you of taking the coward’s way out, but you are the bravest person I’ve ever known.” Darynda reached for Helen’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“They must figure things out for themselves. I can’t spoon-feed them. If I could fix what went wrong, I would have done it already.”
Darynda held up the letter. “You think a letter is enough to change minds?”
“I’m hoping.” Helen crossed her fingers.
“Those girls can be stubborn.”
“I know. It’s why I’m doing things this way.”
“They’d want to be with you during the surgery. They’ll feel guilty that they weren’t there.”
“Maybe a little guilt is what they need to shake them awake. I hate to resort to manipulation, but I’ve stayed out of it for too long. It seems they can’t or won’t fix this unless I give them a push.”
“What if”—Darynda paused, gulped, lowered her voice—“you don’t come out of surgery?”
Helen smiled gently at the woman she’d known for fifty years. “At the very least they must deal with one another to handle my estate.”
“And if you make it?”
“Then perhaps the four of us can finish the quilt together.”
Darynda was full-on crying now, tears slipping down her face in a steady stream. “I hate cancer.”
“C’mon.” Helen patted her arm. “Don’t cry. You’ll stain the letter.”
Darynda heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh you, practical as always.”
Helen leaned over the quilt to hug her friend, the effort taking all her strength. “Call them when I go into surgery. Not a minute before.”
“They’ll be so mad at me.”
“Tell them it’s my wishes.”
They’d been going around and around about this since her family physician had given Helen the bad news. Darynda had wanted to call the girls immediately, but Helen knew her granddaughters.
“What if Madison doesn’t come?” Darynda fretted.
“She will.”
“What if we can’t find Shelley?”
“You will.”
“Are you sure?”
Helen met Darynda’s eyes
. “You’ve never let me down. Not once.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
“Those girls are all so different, but they have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
“Chapman blood runs through their veins and Moonglow Cove is home. They’ll return.”
Darynda looked dubious, but said, “I’ve chosen to believe that you’ll pull through and assume you’ll be here to whip them into shape.”
“I like your optimism.” Helen cupped her friend’s cheek. “But just in case it all goes south, you know what to do.”
Then she sank back against the Adirondack chair, pulled the quilt to her chin, closed her eyes to the sound of the ocean, and dreamed of three little girls building sandcastles on the beach.
Chapter Two
Gia
STRAIGHT GRAIN: In quilting, the threads running parallel to the selvage in a woven fabric. Straight grain is the most stable with the least amount of stretch.
TOWNSFOLK CALLED THEM the Moonglow sisters. In part because they’d come to live at the Moonglow Inn, in Moonglow Cove, Texas, at the end of Moonglow Boulevard when Madison was nine; Shelley, six; and little Gia, just three years old.
But there was more to the nickname than locale.
They bore the noble heritage of the town’s founding family, Chapman by blood, if not by label. Descending from the town’s original forbearers lent them prestige, heft, and mythological clout.
And they were orphans, having lost both mother and father, banding together in a tight little unit, watching after and taking up for one another. Despite the six-year age difference between oldest and youngest, they went everywhere together.
Climbing on that odd bicycle built for three Grammy Chapman bought for them, they pedaled up and down the seawall for hours. Blond hair blew in the Gulf breezes as their legs pumped in unison. They’d stop for frozen Italian ices at Mario’s, waving and smiling to tourists, and feed the seagulls who snatched bread tidbits from their hands and followed them, cawing for more.
They linked arms and skipped along the beach. Shelley, the more adventuresome sister, was always nearest the ocean. Gia, the smallest, stayed in the middle, and Madison, the fierce protector, on the outer side. They fished off Paradise Pier, legs dangling, humming tunes of the day, and bringing their catch home to Grammy, who cooked it up for guests at the old Victorian manor. They flew kites, in three unique colors and designs, swooping and diving, soaring and dancing against the prevailing wind rolling off the Gulf of Mexico.
When they got older, they took beach jobs. Madison, responsible and bossy, was a lifeguard. Gia, easygoing and generous, taught kiteflying lessons. Shelley, fun-loving and harum-scarum, bounced from waitress to souvenir vendor to tour guide at the Seafaring Museum. All three helped at the Moonglow Inn, serving in the B&B as housekeepers, bellhops, and concierges.
They looked like moonglow—shimmering, golden-haired, luminous. There was magic to them. A softness. A shining. A warm, gentle light.
They brought smiles to faces, and the town embraced them. Loved them. Grieved when they broke apart on Madison’s wedding day.
It was almost like a death in the family. Something constant and enduring suddenly vanished forever.
People whispered, “If it could happen to the Moonglow sisters, what hope is there for the rest of us?”
Indeed, hope seemed quite lost.
* * *
AFTER THE RIFT occurred between the sisters, they scattered to the winds. Madison to New York City. Shelley to Costa Rica. Gia to college in San Diego, and then later for a time to Japan to study under an artisan kitemaker, before finally coming home and opening a kite shop kiosk on the Paradise Pier boardwalk.
Now Gia had been back in Moonglow Cove for five months; the time had passed in a blur as she consulted with lawyers, accountants, and real estate agents to get her tiny shop, Tako Kichi, up and running. Tako Kichi was Japanese for “kite crazy” and described Gia’s passion perfectly. She loved what she did for a living, but she didn’t have a natural head for business and it took all her concentration to get her shop up and flying.
She looked in on Grammy as often as she could, but in all honesty, she’d been too distracted to pay close attention to what was going on in her grandmother’s life. On the surface, things seemed much the same. Grammy was maybe a little slower, and the inn looked a bit shabby around the edges, but not enough to raise alarm bells.
Not enough to contact her sisters.
Gia and Madison were on speaking terms, although they didn’t talk often. They exchanged an occasional text, but they were both so busy and there was that underlying tension. Neither one of them had heard from, or seen, Shelley in five years. She could be dead for all they knew.
With Grammy, Gia had established a weekly routine. Since Mondays were blackout days for the inn, and all the guests left on Sunday, Gia would drop by for breakfast on Grammy’s one day off before she opened her kite shop at ten when the boardwalk came to life.
This Monday morning in the middle of May, she strolled up from the beach in her pink bikini and gauzy purple cover-up, climbing the back porch steps and swaying into the kitchen calling, “Hollow, hollow, hollow.”
The family greeting was a leftover from when the Moonglow sisters first came to live at the inn and were impressed with the way the wooden floors of the old Victorian vibrated an echo throughout the house; they had repeated hollow, hollow, hollow endlessly to one another, and then collapsed into hysterical giggles at the waves of rippling sound.
Silence.
The only sound came from the ticking grandfather clock at the end of the hall.
“Gram?”
Gia moved farther into the kitchen. On the table, wedged between the rooster and hen salt and pepper shakers, she spied a white envelope with her name on it in Grammy’s broad handwriting.
Just then the house phone rang, and Gia ambled to the phone docking station on the counter. Saw Darynda’s name on the caller ID and answered.
“Gia?” Darynda sounded hesitant and scared. “I’m afraid I have unsettling news.”
She caught her breath at the urgency in her grandmother’s best friend’s voice, and she just knew it was serious. “Where is Grammy?”
“Moonglow Cove Memorial.”
“What?”
“Brain tumor.”
“When?”
“Surgery. Now.”
“Did you call—”
“Not yet. I thought I’d leave that to you since I’m not family.”
“Okay, I’ll handle it. How are you, Darynda?”
“Holding it together,” she said, then added in a whisper, “barely.”
“On my way.”
“No need to rush up here,” Darynda said. “It will be a long surgery. Could you please feed Pyewacket her breakfast? We forgot.”
Shocked, clutching the letter to her chest, Gia stumbled to the pantry, found the cat food, and measured out a scoop for the Siamese. She went outside to dump the kibble into the food dish, scoop and all, and dropped onto the steps.
Pyewacket came out from underneath the porch and stretched, before leisurely strolling, tail held high, toward her breakfast.
Gia called Madison, who said she’d be on her way as soon as she wrapped up filming her morning show. Gia tried not to judge her for not dropping everything immediately. Maddie’s life was complicated.
Then she wrestled down Shelley. Neither she nor Madison had been in contact with Shelley since The Incident with Raoul. And Grammy, although she knew their sister had accepted a barista position at a yoga retreat called Cobalt Soul in a remote part of Costa Rica, hadn’t heard from her since.
A Google search and a phone call hooked Gia up to the front desk of Cobalt Soul, where the serene-voiced receptionist told Gia that she would give “Sanpreet” her message when she emerged from her healing session.
Apparently, Shelley had reinvented herself, a new name and all. Good for her, Gia thought. Check it off
the list. Job done. Sisters notified.
Gia shifted her gaze to the Gulf of Mexico.
The envelope, dampening from the humid sea air, softened in her hands. Raking her bare toe against the weathered, sandy boards of the back steps, Gia blew out her breath through puffed cheeks and turned the envelope over. Her finger twitched to tear open the flap and find out what was inside, but her mind said, Whoa, hold up.
What if it was a living will?
Oof. Gia grimaced. She did not want to find that on her own. Then again, how could she ignore the letter? There was something in here Grammy wanted her to know.
Her hand trembled. The urge to bury her head in the sand was so strong she could taste it. She couldn’t help feeling something irrevocable was about to happen.
Memories spiraled through her head in a string of snapshots. She saw Grammy at the back door, waving them in from the beach on a bright summer day. Her long hair braided and curled on the top of her hair in a bun, wearing a painting smock over her housedress and stocky Doc Marten boots. Sunscreen in her hand. Warning them of sunburns. Darynda standing behind her with a tray of lemonade and iced glasses, a bribe to coax them off the sand.
There was the time Grammy and Darynda took them hiking in the nearby nature preserve. Grammy passing the binoculars over, so they could watch the birds flying in. Blindsided by the spotting of a rare whooping crane. The joyous dance they did, the five of them, arms locked to each other’s shoulders, feet kicking sand in a jig.
Movie night in Moonglow Park, lawn chairs placed side by side for Grammy and Darynda, a quilt spread out for the girls. Giggling and sighing over Fifty First Dates and dreaming of when they’d get to fall in love.
There was a glorious innocence in those days in the way they thought the future was bright and attainable, so sure of themselves and possibilities. Family, they’d believed, could save you from anything.
“Pyewacket,” Gia whispered to the Siamese. “What are we going to do without her?”
The cat, who’d finished her meal, let out a soft meow.
“Got it. Be brave. Just do what needs doing.” She tore open the letter and read it, the words pummeling her hard. Hot tears slipped down her face at the sacred mission her beloved grandmother tasked her with. Pyewacket curled into her lap and she scratched the Siamese behind the ears, taking comfort in the cat’s small, warm body.