The Summer Retreat

by Sheila Roberts

  “If you’re looking to get more involved in the community, we can always use volunteers at the food bank,” the woman said. “It’s worthwhile work. Hyacinth Brown, Bethany Stone and Treeva Mills help us out. I think you’re all about the same age.”

  As if all being Millennials meant they were destined for friendship. Nightfall was still half an hour away and there was plenty of light for Celeste to see the looks she was getting from Team Hyacinth as she and Paul made the rounds. Who invited you, man thief? You don’t belong.

  The kitchen table was laden with food—barbecued chicken, burgers and hot dogs, potato and broccoli salads and, of course, a number of seafood treats. Plus rolls, cake, pies—a carboholic’s dream.

  “Shall we fill our plates?” Paul suggested.

  Celeste suddenly didn’t have an appetite. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Then how about something to drink? A pop?”

  “Diet Coke.”

  “I’ll get it,” he offered, and she wanted to plead, “Don’t leave me.”

  People were gathered in groups, talking with their friends, and for once in her life she lacked the confidence to join in. She followed him out onto the deck, hoping to find a chair next to a friendly face. It seemed as if out there, as well, everyone had already found someone to talk to. She’d hoped to see Tyrella, but then remembered she was partying with Jenna and the Driftwood Inn gang.

  Which was where Celeste should have been. Everyone there would’ve been glad to see her. She should have suggested party-hopping when Paul asked her to this, instead of jumping on his invitation like a hungry dog. Speaking of dogs, she hoped Nemo would be okay. They’d shut him in the house with his favorite chew toy and given him a doggy tranquilizer, but she should’ve stayed close at hand to keep an eye on him.

  She should’ve done a lot of things, but she’d been so happy when Paul asked her out—a sure sign that her love life was moving forward—that she hadn’t thought beyond what to wear to impress him.

  That was the should haves. Then there were the could haves. She could have told Paul that she didn’t feel she was fitting in with some members of his congregation. Not a good thing if what was starting between them turned into something permanent. Weren’t pastors’ wives supposed to be loved by all? She could at least tell him she was feeling uncomfortable. But that would make her appear insecure. And she didn’t want to get into the whole female dynamics situation. He’d probably think she was ratting out Hyacinth. And really, what had Hyacinth done to her? Nothing. The woman didn’t like her. What could Paul do about that? What could anyone do about that?

  He brought her a can of soda and she managed to smile and thank him.

  He studied her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Sort of.

  “You look like something’s bothering you.”

  A sensitive man who actually noticed when a woman was feeling upset. Yes, Paul Welch was as close to perfect as they came.

  But this wasn’t the place to share her insecurities. In fact, this wasn’t the place for her, period. She needed to return to her Driftwood Inn tribe.

  “I’ve got a headache,” she said. No lie. Her earlier discomfort was edging toward a throb in her temples.

  “I can see if Dee has some aspirin,” he said.

  “No, don’t bother her. I just need to go home.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you.”

  “Paul,” a hefty man in a Hawaiian shirt called from the far corner of the deck. “Come here. Joe wasn’t paying attention to the sermon on Sunday. You need to settle this.”

  Paul held up a hand and nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard. “Give me a minute and I’ll take you home,” he said to Celeste.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “The Driftwood’s just a mile or so down the beach. I’d rather walk. It’ll be good for me.”

  “Then I’ll walk with you.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You stay.”

  “I don’t like to think of you walking all that way.”

  As if she didn’t walk that far every time she was on the beach. As if she hadn’t walked by this very house before. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll come by later to see how you’re doing,” he promised.

  She’d be doing a lot better once she got back where she belonged. She thanked her hostess, then hurried down the beach to check on her dog and see her friends.

  * * *

  “I guess that party’s over,” Bethany said as she and Hyacinth watched Celeste vanish into the crowd on the beach.

  And her date didn’t look any too happy about it. Poor Paul, thought Hyacinth. Celeste Jones couldn’t even handle a party with the members of his congregation. If that wasn’t a clue that she wasn’t right for him, Hyacinth didn’t know what was.

  He was moving in their direction, making his way to Jimmy Williams and Horace Ringwald, and as he passed with a pleasant nod for the two women, Bethany asked, “What happened to your date, Pastor?”

  Hyacinth saw the disappointment on his face. He’d wear that expression a lot if he stayed with Celeste Jones. “She wasn’t feeling well. She decided to go home.”

  “That’s too bad,” Bethany said, then the moment he’d passed them, she said to Hyacinth, “Trouble in paradise. I knew it wouldn’t last. She’s already tired of him.”

  “Or maybe she really doesn’t feel good.” Hyacinth had been hoping and praying things wouldn’t work out between Paul and Celeste—selfish yes, but there you had it. Still, she doubted her prayers would be answered that quickly.

  “She was okay when they got here,” said Treeva. “That was a fake headache. They’re not a fit, Hy. This proves it.”

  “So get over there and move in on him,” advised Bethany.

  Hyacinth balked. “He’s in the middle of a conversation.”

  “He’s always in the middle of a conversation. Honestly,” Bethany said in disgust. “You have to put yourself out there so he knows you’re interested. Send the right signals.”

  “I bet Celeste Jones didn’t have to send any signals,” Hyacinth muttered. No bitterness here.

  “Are you kidding? She’s a walking cell phone tower. Go make conversation,” Bethany said and gave Hyacinth a nudge.

  Hyacinth still resisted and Bethany turned the nudge into a shove, leaving her no choice but to move her legs. They probably looked like middle-school girls at a dance. This was stupid. What was she supposed to do, walk over and interrupt the men’s conversation?

  She took her time, stopping to get a soda, then asking one of the older women who was a frequent customer how her quilt was coming. That delayed her by a good fifteen minutes, because once avid quilters started talking about their projects, it was hard to stop. Quilting, gardening and baking—all topics Hyacinth could converse easily on. It made her hugely popular with a lot of the women in the church. And made her well qualified to be a pastor’s wife.

  “You look lovely today,” Susan Frank told her as she walked past.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She’d thought she looked pretty cute in her white jeggings and red top. Until she’d seen Celeste in her red shorts.

  Paul had now moved away from the men he’d been talking to and was in the house. She saw him at the table, helping himself to a piece of barbecued chicken. Food. There was a topic she could manage.

  Except when she was around Paul. She took a plate and edged up to him, her mind as empty as her plate. Say something! “This all looks delicious.” Oh, that was witty.

  “It does,” he agreed and put a chicken leg on his plate.

  “So you prefer dark meat?”

  “Actually, I like white.”

  “But you’re taking a leg.”

  “I think most people prefer white
meat. I try to leave the breasts for others at a party like this.”

  “Gosh, that is so sweet.”

  “Not really,” he said. “Speaking of sweet, I see someone brought chocolate chip cookies, and I’m not staying out of them.”

  “I made those.” Those are your favorites, which is why I made them.

  He smiled at her. “I should have known. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

  One of them. I have many specialties. Hyacinth nodded.

  She was on the verge of offering to make another batch just for him when a man came up and clapped him on the back. “Hey, Paul, how’s it going?”

  And there went her chance. It sure wasn’t going great for Hyacinth. She left the salads and went straight for the desserts, determined to commit diet suicide and eat herself into a sugar coma. Paul’s date had abandoned him. She’d had her chance and she hadn’t taken it. She loaded her plate and returned to her friends.

  Bethany’s husband was with them now, his plate piled with chips, a hamburger and a hot dog, but she didn’t let his presence stop her from questioning Hyacinth. “So how’d it go?”

  “Fine,” Hyacinth said, hoping Bethany would get the message and drop the subject.

  “How’d what go?” asked Bethany’s husband.

  “Nothing,” she said to him, then took Hyacinth’s arm and turned away. “Why are you back?” she demanded. Treeva was on Hyacinth’s other side, all ears. Too bad there was nothing to hear.

  “Did you flirt with him?” Treeva asked.

  Somehow, flirting with her pastor didn’t seem right. Hyacinth bit her lip.

  “Mission failed,” Treeva said with a shake of her head.

  “I don’t know what happens. I get near him and I...fail.”

  “Honestly,” Bethany said, “how did you ever manage to get engaged?”

  Sometimes Bethany didn’t think before she spoke. Hyacinth suddenly wanted to cry. “I don’t know,” she said and walked away.

  “Way to go,” she heard Treeva say to Bethany.

  “Seriously, how did she?” Bethany said in her own defense.

  Indeed. Hyacinth was shy, especially around men. She found it hard to put herself out there. If you asked her about quilting, she’d talk your ear off, reminiscing over how her grandmother helped her make her first quilt when she was sixteen. She could talk about her favorite foodie websites and HGTV shows, share the secrets of perfect pie crust—thanks, Gram!—and even give the stats on every member of the Mariners baseball team.

  But someone had to prime the pump. She’d been shy as a child, struggling to get out from under the mighty shadow of two overachieving siblings. A common thread ran through her report cards. Her work was always satisfactory, but her teachers never failed to add comments such as, “Hyacinth needs to participate more in class discussions.” Hyacinth often wanted to participate more, but while other students were raising their hands, jumping up and down in their seats, chanting, “I know, I know,” a fear of somehow getting the answer wrong kept her hand down and her bottom glued to the seat. She was smart, but she never felt smart enough.

  And she’d never thought she was pretty, which didn’t give her much confidence around the opposite sex. Her sister, who didn’t want the competition, never said anything to assure her that she was. The few boys who showed interest lost it soon enough—too much work trying to pull any conversation out of her. And definitely too much work getting her to loosen up when it came to sex.

  Then she’d met Andy. He’d come to their church one Sunday and her dad had invited him home for dinner. There’d been a baseball game on. Comfortable in the safety of her own living room, she’d been free to be herself. She’d joined in with the men, analyzing every play and every player and, without even realizing it, impressing Andy. He’d asked her out, done most of the talking, told her she was cute and then asked for another date. And that had been that.

  Andy had been a kind man, a big man with an even bigger laugh. He’d been taken out by a punk with a gun who, along with some friends, was on a mission to kill cops. They’d gotten a twofer, because after losing him she’d turned into one of the walking dead.

  Until she came to Moonlight Harbor and met Pastor Paul Welch. Hope had been resurrected and she’d fallen in love again. If only Celeste Jones hadn’t come to town.

  * * *

  Celeste found Nemo stretched out on the couch, something Aunt Edie would not approve of, sound asleep, his doggy chew toy still clutched between his paws. Probably no need to worry about the fireworks scaring him. She left him to dream of chasing seagulls, then walked down the path through the dune grass to where Aunt Edie’s beach party was in full swing, everyone gathered around the fire.

  Many of Jenna’s Moonlight Harbor friends were present, as well as some of the friends they’d made during the big holiday storm back at Christmas. All were happy to see Celeste. And there, to her surprise, sat Henry Gilbert on a log, talking with Tyrella. Celeste grabbed a wine cooler from the selection of drinks and joined them, taking the spot on Tyrella’s other side.

  “I thought you’d be at the Nobles’ with Paul,” Tyrella greeted her.

  “I was.”

  Tyrella’s eyebrows went up inquisitively, but Celeste shook her head and she dropped the subject. Instead, she said, “I’ve been talking with your guest here. Did you know he’s a writer?”

  “I do. Did he tell you what he writes?”

  “He did. I am gonna buy me that book when it comes out.”

  Celeste stared at her. “You are?”

  “Absolutely. I love books like that.”

  The smirk Henry gave Celeste said, “So there,” and she couldn’t help smiling.

  Tyrella, who’d been looking back and forth between the two of them, got up and said, “I think there’s a marshmallow calling my name. Henry, it was good talking to you. Come visit my church sometime.”

  “I’ll have to do that,” he said and scooted over next to Celeste. “See, even church ladies like what I write.”

  “I never knew what a sick puppy she was,” Celeste said and took a draw from her wine cooler.

  “Nice of you to invite me here when you had a date for another party,” he said.

  “Sorry about that. I forgot.”

  “You forgot you had a date?”

  She shrugged.

  “I can see things are really working out with the preacher.”

  “They are,” she insisted. It was only some of the people around him who were giving her problems.

  “So how come you’re here?”

  “I had a headache.”

  “A shrink would have a field day with that.”

  “It was only a headache.”

  “How is it now?”

  “It’s better,” she said and downed more of her wine cooler.

  “Why am I having trouble envisioning you with a minister?” he mused.

  “Not enough imagination?”

  “Yeah, right. So why did you really leave the party?”

  “I told you. I had a headache.”

  “Sorry, not buyin’ it.”

  “Too bad. That’s all I’m selling,” she said, irked. Henry Gilbert thought he was so smart. What did he know? “Anyway, why shouldn’t I be with a minister? Aren’t I good enough?”

  He held up a hand. “Hey, I didn’t say that.”

  “You might as well have.”

  Put in his place, he shut up and finished his beer, and she polished off her wine cooler.

  “I’m getting another drink,” he announced. He pointed to her empty bottle. “You want another?”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t driving. She could have another.

  The wine cooler went down fine. So did the hot dog he roasted for her.

  “Celeste, I think we need an encore performance of ‘Girls Just W
ant to Have Fun’ from you and Karen and Lisa before the fireworks start,” Taylor Marsh said from her side of the fire.

  The last performance had been during their winter bonfire party. But they were missing a part of the act. “We don’t have a guitar player,” Celeste pointed out.

  Where was Seth anyway? Not that Jenna seemed to be missing him. She and Brody were looking pretty cozy parked on a beach blanket, their backs up against a log. Not only did they appear to be a good fit, but his kids, who’d come down for the partying, also liked her. Of course, who wouldn’t like Jenna?

  “We don’t need a guitar,” Lisa told her. “We can sing by ourselves. Come on, sis,” she said to her sister Karen.

  “I haven’t had nearly enough to drink for that yet,” Karen protested.

  “Sure you have,” said Lisa.

  “Come on, give us a warm-up act before the fireworks start,” Tyrella said.

  The three launched into their song, stumbling over the lyrics as always—why was it that the one thing you remembered was the “girls just want to have fun” line?—getting into their performance. Especially Celeste, who after a couple of wine coolers figured she was ready for America’s Got Talent.

  Henry Gilbert was certainly enjoying the show, smiling appreciatively. The smile turned even more appreciative when she went for a big finish, took a twirl and lost her balance, landing in his lap. She’d probably have kept falling and landed on her head if he hadn’t put an arm around her and held her upright.

  Her audience thought the whole thing was intentional and she got a good laugh.

  From everyone but the newcomer. There stood Paul Welch at the edge of the group, and he wasn’t even close to smiling.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Celeste hopped off Henry as if she’d been jabbed with a hot poker. Darn it all, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had no reason to be embarrassed.

  Still, she was. She put a good face on it by calling a cheery hello and dashing over to take Paul by the hand and pull him into the group, introducing him to the ones who didn’t know him.