The Summer Retreat

by Sheila Roberts

  “Yeah, you’d better watch it. I might dognap him. He reminds me of my dog.”

  The Driftwood Inn was a pet-friendly establishment but there was no dog in room twelve. “Where is your dog?”

  Henry frowned. “He crossed the rainbow bridge. My ex ran over him.”

  Celeste blinked. “Whoa. You not only write about creepy stuff, you live it.”

  “She didn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “She didn’t see him.”

  “Poor dog.” Celeste couldn’t help asking, “Is that why she’s your ex?”

  “No. She’s my ex because she got tired of waiting for me to become rich and famous.”

  “Real committed, huh?”

  He shrugged and stood up. “Nobody wants to be with a starving writer.”

  “Unless he’s going to be the next Stephen King.”

  He acknowledged that pearl of wisdom with a grunt. Nemo was dancing around him now and he gave the dog a playful shove.

  “But only wanting you if you were going to be successful wouldn’t make her much of a girlfriend,” Celeste continued.

  He shrugged. “I guess we’re even. She didn’t think I was much of a boyfriend. Anyway, my mistake for picking her. I got caught up with the surface stuff that didn’t matter.”

  Celeste sighed. “Been there, done that.”

  “Is that why you’re with the pastor now? Is he your sure bet?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I guess being a pastor’s wife beats being a maid.”

  Yes, Henry Gilbert was definitely irritating. “I told you. I’m down here helping my sister. I’m a teacher. I can afford to be with a starving writer.” Now, why had she said that? That could be taken the wrong way. “If he wasn’t warped,” she added.

  “Nobody calls Stephen King warped.”

  “Not to his face anyway.”

  Henry threw up his hands. “Genius is always misunderstood.”

  “Oh, so you’re a genius.”

  “I wasn’t talking about me. But hey, if I ever have even a tenth as many people reading my books as read his, I’ll be happy.”

  “When’s your book going to be finished?”

  “End of summer. Kind of hate to leave when it’s done. The beach is an inspiring place to write,” Henry said. He picked up a stick and threw it into the water and Nemo dashed in after it.

  “Then why not stay?”

  “I might. If I make it big enough, maybe I’ll buy a shack down here. I like this town.”

  “What have you seen of it besides the grocery store?” she challenged.

  “I’ve seen the beach. That’s all I need to see. Like I said, the beach inspires me. It’s a good place for writers.”

  “It’s a good place for everything.” Even falling in love. With Paul, of course.

  “Speaking of writing, have you started your book about the happy clam yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet.” Thinking about writing a children’s book was so much easier than actually sitting down and writing one. “I’m waiting for inspiration.”

  He gave a snort “Good luck with that, especially if you’re writing about clams.”

  It was a perfectly fine idea. “What have you got against clams, anyway?”

  “There’s no conflict. Every story needs conflict. Clams don’t do anything but lie around.”

  “I’m sure I can find something for my clam to do.”

  “Put him in chowder,” Henry said.

  “That would be a sad ending.”

  “Not for the person eating the chowder.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I think I won’t take it.”

  He shook his head at her. “You’ll probably never get around to writing that book anyway.”

  “I will. Eventually. Maybe.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Okay, what can I say? I’m easily distracted. I like to do crafts. I’ve got my family.”

  “All good stuff,” he agreed. Nemo was back with the stick now, and Henry took it from him and threw it again, sending the dog charging off down the beach.

  “And I’ve got a social life,” Celeste continued. “Something you might try,” she suggested. “There’s more to do here than sit on the beach.”

  “Yeah? How do you know that’s all I do?”

  She didn’t. “What do you do?”

  “I hang out at that pub down the road sometimes. Shoot some pool.”

  “It’s a start. You should watch the parade and do Fourth of July on the pier.”

  “Crowds aren’t my thing.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Writers are all introverts.”

  “How are you going to become a writer, then? You’re obviously not an introvert.”

  “I intend to be the exception to the rule. Anyway, I want to write a children’s book. Remember? We children’s book authors are much more touchy-feely and fun than you brooding Heathcliff types.”

  “Hey, I can be fun.”

  “Yeah? Prove it. Get out there and mingle.”

  Nemo was back with the stick and Henry got busy playing tug of war with him. “I don’t like mingling when I don’t know anyone.”

  “You know me. My aunt’s having a beach fire on the Fourth. A bunch of us are going to hang out and watch the fireworks. You do like fireworks, don’t you?”

  “Of course I like fireworks. I’m a guy,” he said and threw the stick for Nemo again.

  “Well, then, when it gets dark, come find us. We’ll be on the beach behind our house. Look for the biggest bonfire and that’ll be our party.”

  “Maybe I will,” he said.

  “You should. See you then,” she said as if he’d committed himself. She called to Nemo, who’d abandoned the stick to sniff some seaweed, and they took off on their walk while Henry took off for his room. “There,” she told the dog. “That shows how much Jenna knows. I have no interest in Henry Gilbert whatsoever because he no longer irritates me.”

  Hmm. He really didn’t. She’d gone from suspecting him of being a murderer to inviting him to her family’s beach party.

  “What if he gets the wrong idea and thinks I’m interested?” she asked Nemo.

  “Woof!” Nemo replied.

  “Yeah, that was probably a stupid thing to do. But I can introduce him to Courtney if he hasn’t already met her. They’re both creative types. They might hit it off.”

  Except Courtney was crazy about Victor King, so it would be a waste of time to introduce them.

  “Or am I just being like a dog with a bone?” she mused.

  Nemo whined.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  She was even sorrier when she remembered that Paul had invited her to another party to watch the fireworks. How could she have forgotten? She’d probably never make it to the bonfire.

  But then Henry probably wouldn’t, either. He’d avoided saying a definite yes to her invite for a reason. He’d pull a camp chair up outside his door and watch the show from the safety of the motel.

  By the afternoon of the Fourth, she’d shoved all thoughts of Henry Gilbert out of her mind. Well, nearly. She had way too much going on to worry about whether or not he decided to be social. Her sister had her on the Driftwood Inn float yet again, along with Sabrina and her two girlfriends and Aunt Edie. The girls were in period costume gowns one of the moms had sewn and Aunt Edie had dressed like Martha Washington, which left Celeste stuck in breeches, a jacket and a ruffled shirt, playing George Washington. It beat freezing to death in a mermaid costume, which was what had happened to her during the Seaside with Santa parade, but by the end of this one she was sweating and more than happy to lose the costume and get back into her shorts and top and flip-flops.

  She’d barely changed before it was time to report to the church booth for strawberry shortcake duty. Tyrella, Hyac
inth and a chunky older woman were there, serving the treat.

  “I’m sure glad to see you two,” Tyrella told her and Jenna as they entered the booth. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I’m sick of the smell of strawberries. Come on, Georgia,” she said to the older woman who was red-faced and sweating. “Let’s go get some shaved ice.”

  “Wait,” Celeste protested. “Aren’t you going to, like, train us?”

  “Nothing to it,” Tyrella assured her. “Jenna will be taking the money and she doesn’t need any training for that. You’ll be dishing up orders. Just follow what Hyacinth does.”

  As if on cue, Sabrina and Tristan showed up. “Two strawberry shortcakes, please,” he said to Jenna, and handed over a twenty. According to Jenna, Tristan made a ton of money creating websites for local businesses and helping frustrated seniors when they managed to mess up their computers. “I think he makes more than I do,” she’d said.

  “All right.” Celeste rubbed her hands together. “Two strawberry shortcakes coming up.”

  She turned to see that Hyacinth already had a disposable bowl and was putting a sponge cake in it. Aunt Edie, who firmly believed shortcake should be made with biscuits, would have been appalled. But it had probably been easier to buy up a bunch of the little sponge cakes.

  She, too, put one in a bowl.

  “One serving of strawberries,” Hyacinth said, demonstrating with the ladle in the bin of semi-mashed strawberries, “and one squirt of whipped cream.”

  It was a quick, parsimonious squirt. Celeste made a more generous one and handed it over to Sabrina with a wink.

  “We can’t run out of whipped cream,” Hyacinth cautioned.

  “You’ve got to give people their money’s worth,” Celeste argued. “If it looks like we’re running out, I’ll go out and buy more.”

  Hyacinth didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her disapproving expression said it all.

  “We’ll be fine,” Jenna told her, and Hyacinth responded with a resigned shrug.

  Karen and her sister Lisa stopped by the booth to buy some strawberry shortcake. “We’re looking forward to your beach party tonight,” Karen said to Jenna and Celeste.

  “That’ll bring back memories,” Lisa added with a wink.

  “I think I prefer to make some new ones,” Jenna said to her.

  “Don’t worry, we will,” Lisa said. “By the way, we saw Taylor and Greg over by the rides. They’re coming tonight. She’s hoping to get Miranda to take a nap so she’ll be able to stay up, but with all the sugar Greg’s pumping into her, good luck with that.”

  “They’ll get her all wound up, keep her up late and she’ll sleep like a rock,” Jenna predicted.

  “Just like Uncle Ralph did with us when we were kids,” said Celeste.

  “You gotta celebrate,” Jenna said.

  “I’m glad you’ve finally figured that out.” Celeste gave her a nudge. Brody was their next customer. “You coming over tonight to help my sister build the beach fire?” she asked him.

  “Absolutely. I’m good at building fires.” He waggled his eyebrows, making Jenna blush. “You gonna be there?” he asked Celeste.

  “Maybe later. I have a party to go to.” She was aware of Hyacinth, shamelessly eavesdropping, and suddenly, working in the booth together felt as awkward as she’d feared it would be.

  “Are you going to the party at the Nobles’?” she asked Celeste as Brody moved on to the next booth.

  “Um, yes. Will you be there?”

  “Most of the church was invited,” Hyacinth said. So don’t feel special.

  Celeste acknowledged that with a nod. “It sounds like fun,” she lied. Yeah, with all the women from church who disapproved of her glaring at her. She should tell Paul she’d changed her mind and go hang out on the beach with her sister and people who really cared about her.

  But Paul cared about her. And darn it all, she wasn’t going to let a few snobbish, judgmental women drive her away.

  “I imagine Pastor Paul will be there,” said Hyacinth, obviously fishing.

  Celeste nodded again and decided that was all the answer she needed to give. Hyacinth would find out soon enough that they were coming together.

  Victor King stepped up to the booth, sparing her from further conversation. He was in civilian clothes, but she suspected he’d be working that night. Between people trying to blow off fingers, accidentally starting brush fires and driving neighbors to file complaints, both the police force and fire department were kept busy on the Fourth.

  “Hi, Celeste. Saw you on the float. You make a cute guy.”

  “Ha-ha. Can I get you a strawberry shortcake...in the face?”

  He chuckled and handed over his money to Jenna, and Celeste got busy dishing it up. Another customer arrived, and that put Hyacinth to work, too.

  “I imagine you guys are going to have a beach fire,” he said to Jenna.

  “Of course. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “I would if I wasn’t on duty.”

  “If you just happen to stroll past, we’ll give you some of Aunt Edie’s famous baked beans,” Jenna promised as Celeste passed him his shortcake.

  “Beans, beans, the magical fruit,” Celeste began to chant. “The more you eat the more you toot.”

  “Oh, stop already,” scolded Jenna.

  Victor smiled and strolled off, spooning strawberries and the extra whipped cream Celeste had given him into his mouth.

  “Are you two dating?” Hyacinth asked Celeste, oh, so casually. As if she didn’t know Celeste and Paul were dating.

  “No. I’m not into cops. Been there, done that. I got tired of him using his handcuffs on me,” Celeste quipped, dusting the ugly breakup with some humor.

  Hyacinth didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. “My fiancé was a policeman.”

  “Was?” As in not anymore? “What happened?”

  Hyacinth suddenly looked as if she was going to cry. “He died.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “He died?” Celeste repeated. What to say to that? She looked to see if Jenna had heard, hoping she’d step in with something properly diplomatic and comforting. But she was occupied with counting out change for someone.

  Hyacinth was on the verge of tears. “He was killed in the line of duty.”

  “Gosh, I’m sorry,” said Celeste. Poor Hyacinth. “How long ago was that?”

  “Five years ago,” Hyacinth said softly. “He was so honorable and kind. I never thought I’d meet another man like him.”

  Until Paul. She didn’t need to say it. Celeste knew.

  Well, crud. “I’m sorry you lost him. That had to be hard.”

  “It was.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get another chance at love.” With someone besides Paul. “You never know where you’re going to find the right person. Sometimes it turns out not to be the one you thought it would,” Celeste continued, hoping to encourage her to look in a different direction. She felt bad for Hyacinth, but darn it all, she couldn’t help it that the magic wasn’t there between her and Paul.

  Hyacinth seemed anything but encouraged by that bit of philosophizing. She’d obviously decided who her right one was.

  A group of teenagers hit the booth, and for a few minutes both women were busy dishing up shortcake. Good. Maybe they could drop the subject.

  Or not. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and your policeman,” said Hyacinth.

  “Oh, well. I thought he was the one. Turned out he wasn’t,” Celeste said and left it at that.

  “So now you’re here...?”

  “Having fun.” And working on getting her life together.

  Hyacinth frowned. “It sounds like it.”

  Celeste flashed back on her embarrassing encounter with Henry that Hyacinth’s squad had witness
ed. Of course, Hyacinth would have heard about it.

  She kept her tone light. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at the beach?” She hadn’t done anything wrong. No apologies needed.

  And right on cue, here came Hyacinth’s friends, stopping by the booth to order shortcake. They had sweet smiles and friendly words for her. For Celeste...greetings from the Popsicle Twins.

  Hyacinth made no more attempts at conversation after they left and it started feeling pretty uncomfortable there in Strawberry Shortcake Land. They might have been volunteering for a good cause, but there was no feeling of camaraderie. Celeste was relieved when the next volunteers showed up, and she and Jenna could scram.

  “For a moment I thought you and Hyacinth were actually bonding,” Jenna said as they walked away.

  “It was a short moment. Did you know she was engaged before she moved down here?”

  “No. To who?”

  “To a cop. He was killed in the line of duty.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It is,” Celeste agreed. “So then she moves to Moonlight Harbor and eventually finds another good man only to lose him.”

  “But she never had him,” Jenna pointed out, “so no guilt because he’s interested in you.”

  “Guilty? Me?”

  “I know you. Look, I’m sorry for what happened to her, but that’s not your problem. If Paul ends up with you, it only means there’s someone else meant for her. So no guilt.”

  “No guilt,” Celeste echoed.

  Yet, that evening when she walked into the party with Paul, she did feel, if not guilty, at least mildly undeserving.

  It wasn’t long before that was replaced by a new discomfort. Their hosts were an older couple who owned a house about a mile and a half down the beach from the Driftwood, the beginning of a string of two-and three-story homes, prime real estate filled with retirees and large families with money to blow. They welcomed Celeste, as did a couple of women she’d met the week before—both of them married and not threatened by a newcomer. A middle-aged woman admired Celeste’s red shorts, white top and star-spangled scarf and asked how she was settling in.

  “I love being with my sister,” Celeste said. “And what’s not to like about the beach?”