She searched for him on Facebook and couldn’t find him. Couldn’t find a website for him, either. Where are you, Henry Gilbert?
On New Year’s Eve, Jenna hosted a beach fire party again. All their friends, both new and old, came. But shockingly, Aunt Edie opted to stay in the house. “It’s getting too cold for these old bones,” she said. “And I’m feeling tired.”
Aunt Edie was never tired. “Should we be worried?” Celeste asked Jenna. Too late to ask. She already was.
“I don’t think so,” Jenna said, but she didn’t say it with much confidence. “She’s eighty-four now, so we really shouldn’t be surprised if she’s slowing down.”
“I’m okay with her slowing down, but I don’t want her to stop completely.”
“Me, neither. Don’t even go there. She’s just tired, and it is pretty cold out here. I’ll take her a s’more later.”
“Pete’s in there with her. You’d better holler really loud before you enter so you don’t walk in on something,” Celeste joked, making her sister frown. The moochy old guy would never make Jenna’s list of favorite people.
Brody still hadn’t arrived, and Celeste noticed that Seth took advantage of his absence, seating himself on her sister’s other side and asking if she wanted a hot dog.
If Paul was there, he’d have roasted Celeste a hot dog. She felt suddenly very sorry for herself.
Well, she could roast her own hot dog. With a frown she put one on a fork and stuck it in the flame, setting it on fire. She’d never had the patience to roast the things slowly. She seemed to lack patience in a lot of areas of her life.
More guests arrived, and soon afterward, Seth pulled out his guitar and started taking requests. Celeste left before anyone could ask her to sing. They would, of course, want a reprise of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” and she was in no mood to sing about that. People began setting off fireworks and she could hear the pop and whine as the fiery patterns lit the sky.
It felt like everyone but she was having fun. New Year, new beginning, she told herself.
To that end, she decided to get back to her children’s book about the happy dog the next afternoon when Jenna and Sabrina were both out and Aunt Edie was napping.
Hank the happy dog...she began.
No, not Hank. Horace the happy dog...was in a rotten mood. His life sucked. “I think I’ll bite somebody,” he growled. Good grief, that wouldn’t cut it. Hank... Not Hank! Horace the happy dog wasn’t happy these days. He missed the man he’d met on the beach.
Celeste scowled at what she’d scribbled and crumpled the piece of paper. Writing was overrated. So were writers.
How had Henry rung in the New Year?
“I know,” she said to Nemo, who was stretched out at her feet, “Not every mess-up can be fixed. I need to move on.”
* * *
Celeste’s life soon fell into a pattern. She was substitute-teaching a lot and helping out at the motel when she could, as well as contributing to the household expenses. She went to church with her sister, though not quite as regularly as she’d gone when she and Paul were an item. And she still helped out in the Sunday School nursery. At the rate she was going, it would be as close as she’d ever get to a baby of her own. She painted tiles with Aunt Edie and helped her in the kitchen, and went line dancing Sunday evenings with Jenna and tried to have fun.
Even though no one had partners on the dance floor, a lot of people seemed to be partnering up off it, having dinner together before the dancing started, then leaving together.
Victor King still didn’t have anyone, but he’d given up on Celeste and she didn’t do anything to encourage him. He was handsome and sweet, certainly no Emerson, but the chemistry wasn’t there, and Courtney still had hopes of making him fall for her. Besides, even if Celeste tried to start something with Victor she’d only repeat the mistake she’d made with Paul. At least she could manage a conversation with Paul once in a while when she saw him at church or ran into him in town.
As for Hyacinth, he seemed to be avoiding her. Celeste had seen the woman looking longingly at him and actually felt sorry for her. Love hurt.
It really hurt on Valentine’s Day. Her sister got a dozen stemmed roses and Godiva chocolates from Brody and a single white rose from Seth. Pete got Aunt Edie a fancy bar of lavender soap, and Tristan sent a humble but pretty flower arrangement to Sabrina. Celeste bought herself a box of chocolates at the grocery store and ate half of it sitting in her car in the parking lot.
The Sunday before she’d come to line dancing alone—alone, so pitiful—had imbibed one too many drinks and made a scene explaining to Seth, who’d been minding his own business trying to play pool, just how much it sucked to be alone. All alone. With—hic!—no one.
Victor King had taken away her keys, and Seth had brought her home and told her to get over herself. And she’d thought he was so understanding. Ha!
Sabrina celebrated her sixteenth birthday in March, and Jenna threw her a party at the funplex. Tristan made the trip down from college, bringing her some earrings set with her birthstone. She passed her driving test and Jenna experienced a moment of my-baby’s-growing-up sadness.
At least she had a baby to watch grow up. Celeste told her biological clock to unwind. There was no point in bothering to tick.
Then, one day in April, she stopped at the rack of books in the grocery store, checking out the new romance novels—and saw it. The book cover had a dark background. In the foreground a red stiletto lay on its side, abandoned on a cobblestone street. The title, She Must Die, was in red. Heart racing, she grabbed the book from the rack. A brilliant debut for a promising writer, read the blurb over the title.
That promising young writer was someone named Dirk Slade. Dirk Slade? She flipped to the back of the book and there was Henry’s picture and a short bio.
Dirk Slade lives on a houseboat in Seattle, Washington. He’s currently working on his second book.
She pulled out her phone and did a quick internet search. She found his author page on Facebook. And there was his website. She went to the page that listed his appearances and saw he was reading the next weekend at a small bookstore in Seattle.
Wasn’t it time to go spend a weekend with her mom?
* * *
Henry had a respectable turnout at his book signing, about thirty people, mostly family and friends seated in the rows of folding chairs, but he saw a couple of new faces, too. That was gratifying.
In fact, the whole first-book experience was gratifying. His mom had bought copies for all her friends, and his brother had bragged about him at his racquet club. His dad had said, “I always knew you’d do it, son.” This from the man who’d cautioned him not to go crazy with this writing thing and quit his job.
Oh, yeah, life was good.
As good as life could be when you didn’t have a woman. One woman in particular. Off and on he’d searched the internet for some write-up about her wedding, but had never found anything. Just as well. He was having enough trouble with his second book as it was. He didn’t need to be distracted, thinking about Celeste all happily married, settled into some snug beach shack with Mr. Perfect, having company over for dinner and then, after they left, hopping in the sack with him.
He told himself a lot that he hoped she was happy. He lied a lot.
“Henry, we’d all like you to read an excerpt for us,” said the bookstore owner.
Yes, the required reading by the author. Henry opened to the page he’d marked and began to read. “‘He’d planned it all so carefully, and now it was time. He could feel his heart rate climbing as she approached. It was exhilarating, a reminder that he was still alive and that soon she wouldn’t be. She deserved this. She had it coming. Maybe someone more poetic would have said it was written in the stars. All he knew was she must die.’”
Henry read on for a few more pages, stopping rig
ht where the killer grabbed his victim, a real cliffhanger, then shut the book and looked up at his audience. People clapped and he saw smiles and nods.
And there, hovering at the back of the group, half hiding behind a bookcase, he saw Celeste Jones.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Henry blinked. He had to be hallucinating. No, the woman was real. Well, then his glasses were dirty and he wasn’t seeing clearly. That was it. She looked like Celeste but it wasn’t her. Couldn’t be.
Still. It could...
In his dreams. That was the only place he ever saw her.
He had to meet that woman, whoever she was. Whoever she turned out to be.
“Dirk would be happy to sign copies of his book for you all,” the bookstore owner announced, and the customers left their seats and began to form a line by the table next to him, which was stacked with books.
All Henry wanted to do was race past everyone and meet the woman lurking behind the bookshelf. But a middle-aged woman was standing in front of him.
“My son wants to be a writer,” she said. “Would you sign this for him?”
That was what he was there for. “Sure,” he said. He signed his name in her book and added a brief message, wishing the young man luck.
More people were waiting. He seated himself at the table and began to sign books and prayed that the Celeste lookalike wouldn’t leave.
“This is so cool,” said Geoff, one of the guys in his writing group.
“You’re next, dude,” Henry told him, and scrawled Don’t let your dreams die inside Geoff’s copy. Kind of what he’d done when it came to love, but you couldn’t have everything.
The line of people kept edging past him, his mother snapping pictures the whole time. And then, the last person in line handed him a book.
His breath caught. There she was, standing in front of him. Maybe she was a hallucination. She had to be. If he started talking to her, would people think he was crazy?
The hallucination spoke. “Hi, Henry. Will you sign my book?”
He could hardly believe it, could hardly breathe. Stay calm. “You don’t like gory stuff. Remember?”
“I didn’t say I was going to read it.”
There it was, the smile he remembered. She slipped the book in front of him with her right hand. He couldn’t see her left hand, which was just as well. He had no desire to see that band of gold on it.
He wrote For Happy Clam Girl. Then he signed his name under it and handed it back. “How’s your book coming?”
“Stalled out. No inspiration.”
“You’re married now. I guess you’ve got other things to think about.”
“I’m not married.”
Of course. They were probably going to have a big, kick-ass affair. “Still planning the wedding, huh?”
“Been there, done that.” She raised her left hand. Her ring finger was bare.
He blinked in surprise. He had to be hallucinating again. “What happened?”
She sighed. “I could write a book.”
That made him smile. “Yeah?”
“I got as far as walking down the aisle.”
She wasn’t married. They weren’t together. He could feel a bubble of hope swelling in his chest.
Oh, no. Don’t go there. You don’t need your heart stomped on a third time. And twice by one woman. Yeah, there’s the definition of insanity.
Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “So what stopped you from saying I do?”
“I realized I was making a mistake.”
“I could’ve told you that. In fact, I did tell you.”
“You’re still a jerk,” she snapped. “Did you know that?”
Back to their normal repartee. He smiled at her. “Yep. I am.”
“And how about you? Did your old girlfriend come back now that you’re famous?”
“Nope. Wouldn’t have taken her back if she did.”
“I suppose you’ve found someone, though, some literary groupie.”
“I’m still looking. Want to apply?”
Just then his mom came up. “Henry, we’re going on over to the restaurant.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there,” he told her.
She turned to Celeste, assessing her in the way only a mother could, but since he didn’t make any introductions, she simply smiled politely and left.
“Not ready to introduce me to the family yet?”
The stupid in him was more than ready. “So spill. What really happened with the preacher? Did you guys have a big fight?” Did you think about me at all after I left?
“I realized I wasn’t in love with him. You were right all along. I was afraid to get it wrong and I almost did. Darn it all, Henry, I’m so tired of messing up. All I wanted was to get on with my life and be happy. And Paul was...is a great guy. He seemed like the right man.”
“What made you realize he wasn’t?” Henry asked and held his breath.
“You. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Henry. You’re cranky and sarcastic and insulting.”
He frowned. “Gee, how could you resist?”
“See what I mean? But you’re also easy to talk to, smart and kindhearted. And you like dogs,” she added with a smile.
“I like yours.”
“He likes you, too, and so do I. And I like your love scenes,” she said, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue.
“Yeah? They’re fiction, you know.”
“You’ll have to tell me where you get your ideas,” she said with a teasing smile.
“I might.” She didn’t say anything to that and for a moment he sat regarding her. How he’d wanted to see her again. What was he doing just sitting there like a doof, for crying out loud? “A bunch of us are grabbing something to eat. Want to join us?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
He stood. “Okay, let’s go.”
“I want to take things slow,” she said as he walked her to the register. “Messing up one wedding was enough to last me a lifetime.”
He slipped an arm around her. “We can take it as slow as you want. You wouldn’t believe how good I am at taking it slow.”
* * *
He’d waited for this for a long time. It was going to be so perfect. Yes, there she came, her hair glinting in the sunlight. She had no clue as to what lay ahead. But then, neither did he. All he knew was that, whatever was in store for them, it was going to be good.
Henry smiled at his laptop screen. Oh, yeah. Good stuff. Not written by Dirk Slade. He had another pen name for the romance novel he was writing on spec—Hope Brimwell. Murder and mayhem were great, but once in a while a happy ending was, too.
He shut down the laptop and left room number twelve. No more time to write today. He had a wedding to attend.
Wedding number two.
The last weekend in August brought beautiful weather, perfect for a beach wedding. The bride wore a strapless, ivory satin dress she’d purchased some time ago—it hadn’t been worn by anyone’s mother—and pink high-heeled sandals, along with the diamond pendant necklace her groom had given her and the tiny diamond earrings her mother had lent her so she’d have something borrowed. Her bridesmaids all wore sundresses in beachy colors of coral, pink and turquoise. The flower girl was the groom’s niece. The ring bearer was the bride’s dog and he was very well-behaved.
Pastor Paul Welch officiated. During the rehearsal he’d made a quip about something feeling familiar, and Henry had been about to deck him, pastor or not, when he said to the bride, “But this feels right.” Pastor Paul was still single and looking for his perfect someone, and Hyacinth still had hopes he’d look in her direction.
She was present, too. She’d done the flowers for the wedding—her gift to the happy couple.
The bride and groom wrote their own vows, and of course, the g
room had to work in his nickname for his bride—Happy Clam Girl.
She was, indeed, happy. This time Celeste Jones had finally gotten it right and found her prince.
* * *
If You’re New to Town
Welcome to Moonlight Harbor! We have so many wonderful people in this town it can be hard to keep them all straight. Of course you know Jenna Jones and her family, including her great-aunt, Edie, her daughter, Sabrina, and her sister, Celeste. Then there are the two men in her life, Brody Green and Seth Waters, and her two good friends Nora Singleton, who owns Good Times Ice Cream Parlor and the funplex, and Tyrella Lamb, owner of Beach Lumber and Hardware. But let’s get you better acquainted with some of the town’s other residents. You might have met them earlier and I’m sure you’ll encounter them again as you spend more time with all of us.
Annie Albright is a sweet, quiet woman. She’s one of the regulars who hang out at Aunt Edie’s house every Friday night for girlfriend gatherings. She has a small daughter and is currently working as a waitress. She dreams of someday having a food truck and doing catering, but hobbled to an alcoholic husband, she finds it hard to move forward with her dreams.
Austin and Roy Banks are transplants from Texas. Austin is into makeup, big hair and Western attire. She teaches line dancing on Sunday evenings at The Drunken Sailor and her husband, Roy, runs sound for her. “Come on out and try it,” says Austin. “You’ll love it.”
Alex and Natalie Bell—You haven’t seen much of them, but you may have eaten at one of their establishments. They own two: Beachside Burgers and Doggy’s Hot Dogs. Their two businesses and their three boys keep them hopping. Hope you can see more of them soon!
The Summer Retreat Page 28