The Summer Retreat

by Sheila Roberts

“It costs money to run for office, even a small one like city councilor, and in case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have any to spare.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll raise the money for you,” Brody promised.

  “I still have a business to run,” she protested.

  “So does everyone else on the council,” he argued.

  “Yeah, but their kids are all raised.”

  “I’m raised,” Sabrina said, looking offended.

  “And I have the Driftwood.”

  “I can clean rooms when Aunt Celeste leaves,” Sabrina said, filling Jenna with motherly pride.

  “That’s sweet of you, but you’ll be busy with school and extracurricular activities.”

  “Hey, if she’s willing to help, take it. Not everybody’s got such a great kid,” Brody said and Sabrina rewarded his compliment with a smile.

  Way to win points with the daughter, thought Jenna, and she, too, smiled.

  “So what do you say?” Brody pressed.

  With every objection being swept away she was getting closer and closer to the edge of commitment. “Oh, what am I thinking?” she fretted.

  She knew what she was thinking. She was already considering all the things she could do to help the town, the contributions she could make. Moonlight Harbor was a wonderful place to live and to visit. It could be even more wonderful with a convention center and possibly that aquarium Kiki Strom had once proposed. Maybe she really could be a mover and a shaker. Maybe she could be someone important.

  “Well,” she said, waffling.

  “All right,” Brody said, translating that as a yes and rubbing his hands together.

  Nora came around the counter and stood by their table. “Well?”

  “She’s in,” Brody said. He looked at Jenna. “Aren’t you?”

  “Go for it, Mom,” Sabrina said eagerly.

  Jenna took a deep breath, then took the plunge. “Okay, I’m in.” If she won, she’d know it was meant to be. If she lost, which she probably would, she could at least say she’d tried and that would make everyone, including her, happy.

  Her announcement was met with much excitement at home. “All my friends will vote for you,” Aunt Edie assured her.

  “I can’t vote, but I’ll pass out flyers while I’m here,” Celeste promised. “Oh, and we should make buttons. And you need a slogan. When does your team meet?”

  “I’m not sure I exactly have a team yet,” Jenna said.

  “You have us,” Aunt Edie told her. “And Brody as your campaign manager.”

  “That’s team enough to start with. Let’s meet right after you get signed up,” Celeste suggested.

  Which meant they met the very next day. Brody went with her to City Hall and helped her fill out the necessary paperwork, and that evening The Jenna Jones for City Council campaign had its first meeting in Aunt Edie’s living room. Her team consisted of her family, Brody, Nora, Tyrella, Ellis West, who owned the Seafood Shack, which was right next to the motel, and Courtney.

  “How’s this for a slogan? Jenna Jones: fresh face, fresh ideas,” Celeste proposed.

  “I like it,” said Nora. “Makes it sound like something good will happen with you on board.”

  Hopefully, they wouldn’t capsize with her on board.

  Susan Frank was sure they would. “Honestly, Jenna,” she said when they ran into each other in the grocery store a few days later. “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve never held an office.”

  “Have you?” Jenna countered.

  “I certainly have. I was on the council ten years ago. And I’ve lived here for years. I know how we operate in this town. You’re still a newcomer. You have no idea how we do things.”

  “I think I’m learning pretty quickly,” Jenna said.

  Susan shook her head. “You’re still too green. Withdraw, take a little more time to get to know the community.” Don’t stand in my way.

  That confirmed it. Jenna had made the right decision when she decided to run. “Well, Susan, I think that even though I’m a relative newcomer, I have something to offer.”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, be stubborn. But I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “I’ll risk it,” Jenna said and wheeled her cart away. She wouldn’t be half as disappointed if she lost as the residents of Moonlight Harbor would be if Susan won.

  Once she’d committed herself to running for office, her campaign hit high gear. Almost everyone on her team chipped in money for the cause and several of her friends from the Chamber contributed to her campaign fund, as well. Nora, Cindy Redmond and one of the older women from church hosted get-acquainted coffee hours for her, which brought in more contributions. Brody paid not only to have signs made—bright blue with Jenna’s slogan on them—but buttons, too, that announced, I’m Voting for Jenna. Ellis found plenty of takers for the signs and got busy pounding them into front yards.

  Then there was the doorbelling, which kept everyone busy. Celeste, who could talk the scales off a fish, reported positive reactions from the people she talked with, as did Brody. Sabrina got fussed over by plenty of residents, with comments such as “Good for you for being so civic-minded,” and “Aren’t you sweet to be helping your mom’s campaign?”

  Jenna, on the other hand, experienced a wider variety of comments, including “How much experience have you had?” and “Weren’t you the one in charge of the Seaside with Santa festival?”

  She tried her best to answer these comments in a positive way. “This would be my first involvement in local government, but I do know how to run a business, and I think some of the same principles apply.” Or “The weather was unfortunate—” that was an understatement “—but many of our local businesses benefited from it.” There, sounding like a politician already.

  “I didn’t benefit,” said a woman who’d paid for a booth on the pier. “I’m voting for Susan.”

  “Don’t get discouraged,” Brody told Jenna at their next campaign meeting. “You don’t need to convince everyone in Moonlight Harbor to vote for you come November, just a majority.”

  No problem.

  * * *

  The summer moved on, with schmoozing and doorbelling on her sister’s behalf, cleaning rooms and helping Jenna by taking Sabrina for practice drives. Fortunately, Jenna had mellowed out and allowed Celeste and Sabrina together in the car again. Neither even mentioned the idea of having music on when they drove. Then there was line dancing, which Celeste still enjoyed doing when Paul was busy with his building committee.

  She was also reading more of Henry’s book. She’d vowed not to read so much as another page, but the rat had left some printed pages on his bed one morning when he went for a run and she was in there cleaning all by herself and, well, they were just lying there. And she’d gotten hooked.

  “I thought you didn’t want to read any more of my stuff,” he’d teased when he came into the room and caught her. “You really are a snoop.”

  “You left them lying out,” she’d said in her own defense.

  “Uh-huh. So what did you think?”

  “I was glad it wasn’t a gory scene, that’s what I thought.”

  “No, about the writing.”

  She’d laughed. “Are you fishing for a compliment?”

  “Maybe. We writers are all basically insecure, you know.”

  And that was when the conversation had turned serious. She’d told him he was a very good writer and that she hoped he became a bestseller. They’d moved from there to sharing hopes and dreams. Henry wanted to succeed at his writing, to prove to his parents that he’d made the right move in quitting his job, and to keep up with his older brother, the jock, who was a babe magnet and made big bucks managing a sports store chain. And yes, to make the woman who dumped him eat her heart out.

  “I guess that’s the guy equi
valent of the woman who wants to go to her ten-year reunion looking hot and making the old boyfriend jealous with the guy she’s brought as a date,” he’d said with an embarrassed smile.

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to prove you’re worth the space you’re taking up,” she’d told him.

  “Is that why you’re with the preacher?” Henry had asked. “You wanting to be noble or something?”

  Just wanting to be loved by a good man. And yes, she wouldn’t mind living nobly. “Maybe.”

  “It’s good to be noble. It’s also good to be crazy in love,” he’d murmured, and the edges of the room had turned all soft and fuzzy and suddenly, it felt as if there wasn’t enough oxygen. And hot. Was it hot in there?

  Celeste had remembered she had other rooms to clean and scrammed.

  Paul came over that same night and played Farkle with her, Jenna and Aunt Edie. They’d enjoyed lavender lemonade and some of Aunt Edie’s sugar cookies, had laughed and teased each other. He’d smiled at her, and her heart had squeezed in response, and she knew she was with the right man. Finally.

  She reminded herself of that on Sunday morning when Hyacinth and her friends gathered on the other side of the church foyer and gave her nasty looks. If not for the fact that they were all in church, she’d have sworn they were hexing her.

  * * *

  Hyacinth had tried, but she couldn’t bring herself to like Celeste Jones. The woman was never serious. And Hyacinth was sure Celeste wasn’t serious about Paul. But what more could she do? She’d tried to warn him and had gotten a lecture on gossip for her efforts.

  It was early days, she consoled herself. They’d only been dating a few weeks. They were still in the infatuation stage of their relationship. At some point Paul would come to his senses and realize what a non-match they were. Celeste was only in Moonlight Harbor for the summer. In September she’d go back to her real life and he’d go back to his. And when he did, Hyacinth would find a way to make sure she played a more important part in it.

  She was still thinking about that when she went to church on Saturday morning before opening her shop to arrange flowers for the Sunday service. She’d finished with the sanctuary and was in the women’s restroom, placing a vase on the vanity counter, when she heard the sound of male voices in the foyer. One of them she’d have known anywhere. Paul.

  The other voice, a deeper one, was laughing at something he’d said. Kenneth Edwards, one of the church trustees. He was retired and stopped by a lot to discuss church business and do handyman chores around the building. She’d just saunter out and join them, say hi to Paul.

  She started to open the door when she heard Paul say, “So, is end of summer too soon to say something?”

  Say something? What kind of something? They could be talking about anything. It didn’t have to be what she thought it was.

  She stood rooted where she was, the door barely open, holding her breath. She could feel her blood pulsing, her heart pounding like an angry prisoner banging to be let out of its cell.

  “Do you think she feels the same way?” asked Kenneth.

  Nooo.

  “Yeah, I do,” Paul said.

  “Well, she seems like a nice young woman. Got a ready smile.”

  Too ready, if you asked Hyacinth.

  “She’d be a good balance for you since you tend to be a little more serious.”

  No, she wouldn’t!

  “I’ve never fallen this hard for a woman,” Paul confessed.

  That’s because she tripped you.

  “I felt the same way about Bootsie,” said Kenneth. “Asked her to marry me on our second date.”

  Paul chuckled. “And what did she say?”

  “She told me I was nuts.”

  Just like Paul was.

  “But six months later we were married. When it’s the right one, you know. I say go for it.”

  I say don’t listen to him.

  “Good advice,” said Paul and the two men moved on toward the front door.

  Hyacinth shut the bathroom door and leaned against it. She was going to be sick. Or cry. Or both. Paul was making a huge mistake. What was she going to do about it?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Paul didn’t want to do anything to crank up the gossip machine, so he drove to a jewelry shop in the nearby city of Aberdeen to look at rings. He wondered if he should be doing this so early in his relationship with Celeste, but decided that was nothing more than a bout of insecurity. Brought on partly by the small misunderstanding they’d had on the Fourth, but mostly from the bits of gossip that certain tattlers had embedded in his brain.

  He was determined not to listen to it. He didn’t want to rush into anything, of course, but by the end of summer Celeste would be gone and he wanted to settle things between them before she went back to school, make sure she was as serious as he was.

  Come to think of it, why would she even need to go back to her old life? She was happy in Moonlight Harbor. She could stay right here and they could make wedding plans. Maybe for next spring. Or better yet, for fall.

  “Are you sure this is the one?” his father had asked when he made a long distance call to his parents in Africa. “It feels rather fast.”

  Normally, Paul was a cautious man, taking time to pray and carefully consider any major decision. “Things are going along at a pretty good clip,” he’d admitted. But that didn’t mean he’d rushed into this relationship.

  “Have you prayed about this?”

  “Of course I have,” he’d replied, insulted. He’d already seen enough of Celeste’s character to know what a good-hearted woman she was. He’d asked God for a sign to help him know for sure, and nothing had stopped their relationship from growing sweeter all the time. As far as he was concerned, that was the best confirmation possible. So why wait? “You’ll love her, Dad. She’s wonderful.”

  Her dog, not so much. Dogs were smelly and infamous for their ability to demolish a couch in an afternoon when left unsupervised. And this one had no manners. But he knew Celeste and Nemo were a package deal, so he’d put up with the dog. They’d get Nemo better trained once they were married. And keep him outside.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” his father had said. “But be wise, son. Once you make that vow, you’re committed.”

  Paul was already committed and had said as much.

  “All right, then. You know you have our blessing.”

  There it was, another sign that he could keep moving forward with Celeste.

  He picked out a ring, not the biggest diamond in the world but it was the nicest one he could afford. Celeste wasn’t so shallow that she’d care about the size of the diamond anyway. He put money down on it and left the store with a smile on his face. By the time he had it paid off, he’d be ready to propose.

  * * *

  The weekend of the second annual Blue Moon festival arrived. The church volunteers were planning another go at selling strawberry shortcake. This time around, Celeste didn’t sign up to work the booth.

  “Mom’s going to be here,” she told Tyrella. “I want to be able to hang out with her.” And not with the resident church poops.

  “And someone else, too, I imagine,” Tyrella responded with a chuckle. “Looks like things are going strong with you and Pastor Paul.”

  They were. “He’s the best,” Celeste said.

  “You’re lucky to get him,” Tyrella informed her. “I think all the single women in church wanted him.”

  One did, for sure. “Yes, I am lucky,” Celeste said.

  “You’d better dance with me at the street dance,” she said to him as they walked along the beach the Monday before, Nemo racing ahead of them. It was Paul’s day off, and they were spending it together. Beach walks, a picnic lunch. Later he was taking her to a movie. Her life had never been better.

  “You know I
can’t dance.”

  “Okay, you stand there and I’ll dance around you,” she teased. “Or better yet, hold me in your arms and just shuffle around.”

  “That I can manage,” he said with a smile.

  There hadn’t been too much of that holding-in-the-arms stuff. Only a few tender kisses. Paul had put the brakes down on his sex drive. “You deserve to be treated with respect,” he’d said one evening after bringing her home from a drive along the coast.

  No man had ever said that to her, and she’d nearly melted into a puddle right there in his car.

  “Not that I don’t want to do more with you,” he’d added. “You’re a beautiful woman, Celeste, both inside and out.”

  No man had ever said that to her, either. Paul was a gift, no doubt about it.

  * * *

  Celeste came to Henry’s room to clean the Friday morning of the festival. “Are you going?” she asked him.

  “Maybe,” he said, clacking away on his laptop.

  “You should. It’s lots of fun. Booths with all kinds of great food, rides on the pier. There’s a street dance Saturday night down by the pier. You don’t want to hole up in here like an old hermit crab.”

  “You gonna be at the street dance?” he asked, eyes still on his laptop.

  “I’m going to be at everything.”

  “With the preacher, I suppose.”

  “Of course.”

  Henry shook his head and kept typing. “Bet he doesn’t even dance.”

  “Well, he’s going to.”

  Henry gave a grunt. “I’d like to see that.”

  “What have you got against pastors anyway?” she demanded, irked.

  “Nothing. I think they’re great. Self-sacrificing, doing good deeds, spreading the good word and all that.” He finally looked up. “I just don’t think he’s the right guy for you.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before,” she said and marched to her supply cart to deposit his dirty towels.

  “Just sayin’. But what do I know?” Henry said when she returned with body wash, shampoo and fresh towels. “If he makes you happy, that’s what’s important.”