The Moonglow Sisters

by Lori Wilde

  “We are engaged,” she said lightly.

  “It’s not real.”

  “The engagement isn’t real, but my feelings sure are.”

  “This complicates things,” he said.

  “Only if we let it.”

  “I just wanted . . . Aww, hell.” He shoved both hands through his thick, wavy hair, temporarily plowing down that cowlick.

  “What is it?” she asked, alarmed that she’d upset him.

  “I didn’t want you to throw away the opportunity of working with Pippa Grandon simply because you think you have to be the peacekeeper between your sisters.”

  Wow. She fingered her lips.

  “I kissed you as a wake-up call for you to stop pleasing other people and start pleasing yourself but . . . now . . .”

  “Now?”

  “I’m the one who woke up.”

  “What does that mean?” She sank her top teeth into her bottom lip.

  “My head is spinning, Short Stack.”

  “Mine too.”

  “It’s not my place to tell you what to do. I don’t get to weigh in. This is your decision, your life.”

  “No, no, I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “Gia, remember when you were about five and I taught you how to fly a kite and you said I was magical and you wanted to marry me?”

  “Oh, my gosh.” She pressed her palm over her mouth, giggled. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

  Mike’s eyes glittered. “I didn’t.”

  Whew. Okay. The kiss was over-the-top magnificent, but this was disorienting. Seeing her friend and neighbor through a different lens. Her body was heating up in ways it had never heated before.

  He was not the boy next door. He was a full-grown man. Tall, good looking, and bone-deep kind. How had she not seen before that they could be so much more than friends? It was as if she’d been wearing a blindfold and his kiss had slipped it off and let the light in.

  Gia backed up. She needed time to absorb all this. “Mike?”

  “Haven’t you figured out by now, Gia, that I want way more than just friendship from you?”

  “I . . . I . . .” She was speechless, rocked by the paradigm-shifting idea of her friend becoming her lover.

  They knew almost everything there was to know about each other, but still there was this mystery of seeing him in an entirely new light. She wondered what he’d be like in bed. How fun and comfortable sex would be with her best friend. He’d been there for all the big moments in her life. Was still here, looking at her as if she was the most precious thing on earth. Her heart filled hot and bright as the sun.

  “But this is too soon. I can see you’re not ready to absorb it all. The depth of my feelings took me by surprise, too, but kissing you . . . Gia, I want to find out where this could go. I hope you do too.”

  “Oh, Mike.”

  “If you don’t feel the same way, I get it. I understand. It’s too much to expect that you’ve been harboring feelings for me as well. I’m gonna back off now. I’m gonna go.” And with that, he pivoted and almost ran out the door.

  Gia sank down on the couch, the air leaking from her lungs in a long, slow exhale. She had not seen this coming. But it made perfect sense. They knew each other so well.

  Mike.

  Dear sweet Mike.

  She thought of all the things she loved about him. There were so many. How he couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag and yet he loved to belt out karaoke. His love of roller coasters and B movies with sappy happy endings. How excited he got about the simplest things—flowers in bloom and butterflies in the yard, sea turtles and their nesting habits, taking long walks on the beach and flying kites. How he looked after her grandmother and fixed things around the house when the three sisters were gone.

  His readiness to help anyone in need. His steadfastness. His honorable nature.

  Maybe that’s why she’d never gotten serious about anyone she’d dated. At the back of her mind, had she always secretly yearned for Mike?

  Her heart thumped crazily. Hope was a dangerous thing, but she clung to it with all her might.

  He was right.

  She had to stop trying to please everyone else and do what made her happy. But now wasn’t the time. Grammy came first. No matter what. Time was running out for her grandmother. Even if she made it out of the hospital, the cancer was inevitable.

  Pippa’s offer stroked her ego, but it wasn’t her only opportunity. The kites could wait. If Pippa was this impressed over her kites, other people would be too. She was young. She had time. She could build her career slowly.

  Her family came first. That’s what pleased her. Mike might argue, but Gia knew it was true. She couldn’t be fully happy until she knew her sisters and her grandmother were going to be okay.

  And in all honesty, she wasn’t ready for the quick blowup of her career. If Pippa had kites at her wedding, other celebrities would want them at their weddings too. Not just celebrities, but regular people. And, while it might make for a fat bank account, it also meant giving up her goal of mending her family.

  For a moment, she’d let the allure of stardom dazzle her head.

  She didn’t need Pippa Grandon. She was happy. She had a good life. She loved making her kites and taking her time in doing it. A rush order would lead to shortcuts and the quality would suffer . . .

  No, her family came first. Because if she and her sisters didn’t fix things now, she feared they never would. Madison would return to New York and Shelley, well, who knew what Shelley would do.

  And Gia?

  What about her?

  There was only one right choice. Gia picked up her phone and called Pippa, thanked her for her generous offer, but bowed out of making kites for her wedding.

  “If you change your mind,” Pippa said, “you’ve got a job. The more I think about those kites, the more I have to have them. I want you to supply them, but if it doesn’t work out, I can find someone else.”

  “I appreciate your interest,” Gia said. “But family comes first. Thank you for the offer. It gave me a thrill.”

  “Let me check back with you in a month.” Pippa sounded undaunted. “Maybe things will look clearer to you then.”

  “Okay,” Gia agreed. No harm in that, but she knew she wouldn’t change her mind and the second she hung up, it felt as if a fresh breeze had rolled in off the ocean and chased off the heavy fog.

  Pyewacket jumped into Gia’s lap as if she heartily approved of her decision. She flicked her tail and purred happily.

  Back on track.

  She was back on track and she couldn’t wait to tell Mike that she had indeed pleased herself. Just as she hopped up to go see him, her cell phone rang again.

  It was Shelley.

  Instant dread filled her heart, and her mind jumped to the darkest place. She hit accept, brought the phone to her ear, and in a trembly voice said, “What is it?”

  “Grammy.” Shelley was sobbing, a soft little sound accompanied by hiccups.

  A flood of fear coursed through Gia’s body and she sat rigid on the edge of the sofa, knees clenched together, bracing herself for the awful words she just knew were coming. Grammy had left them.

  “Gia,” Shelley gasped. “Grammy.”

  “Is she—”

  “Just woke up.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shelley

  POUNCE: A chalk bag patted over a stencil to transfer a pattern to fabric.

  ON JUNE 3, three days after Grammy came out of her coma, the Moonglow sisters planned an old-fashioned quilting bee.

  The purpose was twofold: one, celebrate Grammy’s fighting spirit; and, two, produce as many quilts as possible over a long weekend. Quilts that they would sell in the pop-up store to pay off the mortgage on the Moonglow Inn.

  Madison had obtained permission from the city to set up a pop-up store on the beach in front of the inn during the Fourth of July holiday weekend. They had four weeks left to generate inventory, and it didn’
t seem like enough time to do anything.

  Mike and the volunteer crew from the Moonglow Chamber of Commerce had finished renovations in the kitchen and moved on to painting the inn’s six guest bedrooms and en suite baths. Drop cloths were everywhere. Five-gallon buckets of gray-beige paint named Rumbling Thunder lined the upstairs hallway; the rooms they’d freshly painted scented the air with the odd, damp aroma of dill pickles.

  On Madison’s decree, they’d stepped back from the themed rooms—per Victorian tradition—painted in different colors, to one solid unifying hue throughout the house. Shelley and Gia let her have her way. Madison was the design expert, plus, who wanted to argue when Grammy was out of her coma?

  At the hospital, while Grammy had regained consciousness, she had not yet spoken. She was off the ventilator and while she could nod or blink when asked questions, she could not hold a conversation.

  Not yet.

  Dr. Hollingway said time would tell if Grammy would ever be able to speak again. The tumor had encroached upon the Broca area of her brain that controlled speech. In the meantime, the doctor encouraged them to keep talking to her.

  Grammy was still in ICU, but they had hopes of moving her into the telemetry stepdown unit within the week. Fingers crossed.

  Since she’d awakened, the nurses had become stricter about visitors. “No more around-the-clock vigils,” the head nurse decreed. “Mrs. Chapman needs her rest and she can’t get enough sleep if people are popping in and out all hours of the day and night.”

  That was encouraging news. It meant the staff had shifted from a deathwatch to a hopeful recovery mode.

  Grammy did best when it was Darynda sitting at her side, holding her hand. Her blood pressure lowered, and her breathing lengthened, and her pulse slowed. A quiet peace seemed to come over her the minute Darynda’s footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  Shelley tried not to take it personally that whenever she came into the room Grammy got restless. Her grandmother’s eyes would go wide, and she’d struggle to sit up. Tried to speak, her mouth dropping open but no words coming out. Once when Shelley showed up, the pattern on Grammy’s heart monitor quickened and set off a panicky electronic beeping that brought a nurse rushing into the room to shoo Shelley away.

  Darynda had kindly said, “It’s just because she’s so excited to see that you’ve come home.”

  But Shelley feared otherwise.

  Five years ago, Grammy had been pretty upset with her for ruining Madison’s wedding. She’d kept repeating, Why, Shelley, why?

  Of course, Shelley couldn’t, wouldn’t tell her. She’d take the reason to her grave and if it meant she had to put on the coat of scapegoat to keep the secret, then that was her life’s sacrifice.

  Although she really did want to believe Darynda’s version.

  Except for Darynda, who’d become a fixture at the hospital, all the other members of the Quilting Divas were attending the quilting party scheduled to run from eight A.M. on Friday morning, through eight P.M. on Sunday night.

  People would cycle in and out as their schedules permitted. Anna Drury would provide breakfast and lunch for the three-day event. Dinners would be a group affair, with everyone pitching in to help cook and clean. And meals extended to the volunteer workers renovating the inn.

  The weekend was shaping up to be a crowded affair as the community came together for Helen Chapman. The outpouring overwhelmed Shelley, touching tender nerves. How would they ever repay the townspeople for their generosity and kindness?

  On the Thursday afternoon before the quilting bee, while Gia spelled Darynda at the hospital so that she could go check on her dogs, Madison and Shelley swung by the liquor store for provisions. Madison had rented a car so that she wouldn’t have to depend on Gia and Darynda for rides. Inside the liquor store, they had to stop so Maddie could sign autographs for the clerks. It was starting to sink in that her sister really was fairly famous.

  “Is getting little old ladies liquored up while they quilt such a good idea?” Shelley asked as they stood in the vodka aisle boggling at the sheer volume of flavored alcohol.

  “Gia and Mike have volunteered to be designated drivers.”

  “I was talking about their quilting abilities.”

  “Please,” Madison said, picking up a bottle of coconut vodka and putting it in the cart. “These gals have been quilting longer than we’ve been alive. They could quilt blitzed out of their minds.”

  Shelley clicked her tongue. “This’ll be interesting.”

  Madison picked up another bottle of vodka, pulled a sour face. “Seriously? Smoked salmon–flavored vodka? You gotta be kidding me.”

  “For the secret Norwegian in you?”

  Madison shuddered.

  “C’mon, can’t you just imagine that cocktail? The Lox, Bagel, and Cream Cheese.” Shelley giggled. “Smoked salmon vodka, capers, tomato juice, add a splash of heavy cream and a slice of bagel for garnish and— Dude, look!” Shelley exclaimed. “Bacon vodka.”

  “You know, that one might not be so bad. I have a chef friend who uses bacon in desserts and it’s pretty scrumptious.”

  Shelley blinked. “Bacon desserts scrumptious? Are we even remotely related? I’m thinking one of us must have been adopted.”

  “We look too similar for that, but I’m serious. Bacon and chocolate is good together.”

  “What would that drink taste like?” Shelley crinkled her nose.

  “Bacon vodka, chocolate liqueur, Irish cream, and a splash of half-and-half. Sugar-rim the martini glass . . .”

  “No, just no.”

  “How about this one?” Maddie turned a vodka bottle on the shelf, so Shelley could read the label. “Glazed donut vodka.”

  “Ooh, I’ve got it. How about a Cop Martini? Glazed donut vodka, espresso, and Kahlúa.”

  “Your years of misspent youth as a mixologist should come in quite handy for this shindig.” Madison chuckled.

  Shelley shook her head and squatted, so she could peruse the bottom shelf. “This is just beyond. What have those wacky vodka makers been up to since I left the country?”

  “Nefarious stuff, apparently, but hey, I live in hip Manhattan and I never saw this coming.” She held a bottle of PB&J vodka to Shelley’s eye level.

  “Do people actually buy these flavors? I mean for real? Oh no! Worst yet!”

  “What, what?” Madison bent down to check it out.

  “Wasabi vodka.”

  “Yikes.”

  “I see it now. A sushi-tini. Mix the wasabi vodka with the smoked salmon vodka, toast and muddle seaweed, and—”

  Madison waved her hands frantically as if trying to scare off a hornet. “Hush, hush, no kidding, I’m gonna hurl.” She made gagging noises.

  The door to the liquor store opened, and the bell over the door chimed a friendly two-toned ding-dong, but Shelley was having too much fun to notice who walked in. It had been a long time since she and Madison had laughed like this together.

  “How about regular lemon vodka and make Lemon Drops?” Shelley stood up, holding the bottle of lemon vodka in her hand. “Remember when we got drunk on Lemon Drops and—”

  A stocky man dressed all in white rounded the aisle and stalked straight toward her, followed by an entourage of skinny women flitting around him, each also dressed in white. Shelley recognized him instantly.

  Once upon a time, she’d been one of those women.

  She froze, terror gripping her. The lemon vodka slipped out of her hand and shattered against the polished concrete floor.

  “Oh, Shelley,” Madison said, staring at the vodka mess and not noticing what was really going on. “Are you okay? Be careful, don’t move, you don’t want to step on glass. Hang on. I’ll go get a broom and dustpan to clean this up.”

  Shelley heard her sister’s voice as if she were very far away . . . underwater. A muffled, slo-mo, burbling sound. She felt rather than saw her sister take off to find something to clean up the mess with. Don’t go, Maddie. Don’t leave
me when I need you most.

  It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be them. Not here. Not in Moonglow Cove. Oh, but it was.

  Guru Meyer had come for her and Shelley hadn’t even had the good sense to anticipate this move. She should have known. He was all about his image and control. To take the time and effort to come after her, Guru Meyer must perceive her as some kind of threat.

  But why?

  It occurred to her that he’d somehow learned that Madison was famous, and he was worried Shelley might spill the beans to her powerful sister about his compound. Fear of being exposed must have motivated him. Plus, he considered it a personal affront whenever anyone left and would often pursue them with a fresh round of love bombing to lure them in again. She’d seen him sweet-talk more than one cult escapee back into the fold. Preserving his power and reputation had to be behind his appearance in Moonglow Cove if it meant leaving someone else in charge of Cobalt Soul and getting on a plane to come after her.

  He stood at the end of the aisle, sucking all the oxygen out of the room with his bulky shoulders, intimidating Sanskrit tattoos, and smoldering ice-blue eyes. He pinned her to the spot, quiet intensity oozing from every pore.

  Shelley’s mouth dropped open and her body ached clean through her bones. She reeled and stumbled backward, heard glass crunch underneath her flip-flops, felt pain shoot through the bottom of her foot.

  “My beloved,” he said in that voice that had entranced her five years earlier. “We have found you at last.”

  Her heart slammed against her chest, pumping adrenaline through her, urging her to run, but she couldn’t twitch a muscle.

  But she could feel hot blood warming her heel. The glass shard had poked through her flip-flop, cutting her.

  “There you are, Sanpreet,” he said, reaching over to take her elbow. “I’m saddened to find you in a liquor store, but it’s all right. We love you just as you are.”

  “We love you,” chorused the four young women, all fairly recent recruits. Yoga tourists, Shelley knew. She’d helped recruit them.

  This now was the reccurring nightmare she’d had since escaping Cobalt Soul. Guru Meyer coming after her, tracking her down, mesmerizing and love bombing her into coming back. She looked into his intense gaze and thought of all the things she’d left behind. Friends. Tranquility. The magnetic beauty of Costa Rica.