Making Waves

by Meredith Summers

  “Rita is very good at painting too,” Addie said, glancing at the paint-splotched paper hanging on her wall. It was one of Addie’s creations, which she was very proud of.

  “Sorry to barge in,” Rita said. “But I couldn’t help but overhear you mentioning antiques. I was an antique dealer my whole life. Miss all that old stuff. It has a way of getting into your blood, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does.” Andie was enjoying helping with Tides, but she had to admit the pull to get back to her world of dusty old pieces of furniture and long-forgotten family heirlooms was strong. “I work at Christies as an appraiser.”

  Rita’s brow shot up. “Oh, how interesting. I thought about going that route but found that setting up shop here in town was much more interesting.”

  Andie was intrigued. “Really? How so?”

  Rita tilted her head as she considered the question. “I guess you’d say it’s the people. The connection to the families. The opportunity for undiscovered finds.”

  “Undiscovered finds? I wouldn’t think there would be much of that in a small town.”

  “You’d be surprised. There’s actually a better chance. These frugal New Englanders never throw anything out, and unlike in the big city, it’s not all picked over.”

  “I guess you have a point there.” Most of the collections that Andie appraised had been carefully curated, and there weren’t many surprises to be found. Could Rita be on to something? But there was no big auction house around Lobster Bay.

  “But the thing I liked the most is the stories. People would come into my shop and ask me to hoe out their attic. Every item had a personal story. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I found! Civil War papers, old diaries. It’s so rewarding to connect with the actual ancestors of the people who owned the items.”

  “So you had a shop here in town?” Andie didn’t remember any antique shop, but then she hadn’t really paid much attention to what was in town for the past thirty years.

  “Still do, actually. Oh, I can’t run it anymore.” Rita gestured to the wheelchair. “Body’s too old to get around, but I couldn’t bear to sell it. I own the building. Antique store downstairs, apartment upstairs. There’s still quite a bit of inventory in the store.”

  “See, now you can follow your passion and stay here and help Daddy and me with Tides,” Addie said matter-of-factly. Even though she was mixed up on who was here running Tides, the sentiment was the same.

  It got Andie wondering... would she be as happy here running an antique store as she was as an appraiser at one of the best auction houses in the world? Then again, was she really happy in her current job? “Civil War papers and old diaries are interesting, and I like dealing with the people, but I’m sure there’s nothing of real significance in these old towns.”

  Rita shook her head. “Not true. Old Harry Westin came in with a tiny painting he found in his mother’s jewelry box, and it turned out to be an old Russian icon dating to the 1300s. How it got in Harry’s mother’s jewelry box is a mystery, but it was quite a find, as it was in incredibly good condition. Written up in all the papers.”

  Andie thought she remembered something about that.

  “And don’t forget, we have one of the oldest houses in New England right here in town, and it’s just bursting with undiscovered treasures.” Rita’s eyes lit up.

  “The Thompson house.” Andie had heard rumors about the house, one even claiming that it had been part of the Underground Railroad and another that it had been a hideout of Blackbeard the pirate. She didn’t think either of them were true, but the house was still interesting because of its age.

  “Thompson?” Addie cut in, her face drawn in a scowl. “Did you say Sadie Thompson? I wouldn’t trust anything she has. She stole my green sweater!”

  “Oh dear. That was probably just an honest mistake, don’t you think?” Rita said to Addie.

  Addie's scowl deepened. “No.”

  Rita turned to Andie. “It happens a lot here. People forget which items are theirs.”

  “I can imagine.” Andie remembered the sweater incident well. They actually had found her mother’s sweater in Sadie’s room. “Sadie is here at Tall Pines.”

  “Yes, I know. Her room is right down the hall. I never did talk her into letting me into the attic. The house has been in the same family for three hundred years. Oh, the things that might be there! But I guess it won’t happen now. Don’t know why I’m holding on to that shop. Won’t be of use to me. I suppose I should think of selling, but it would have to be to the right person.” Rita raised a brow and looked at Andie out of the corner of her eye then clapped her hands. “Well, I suppose I better get going. I wanted to help with the sing-along. You coming, Addie?”

  Addie jumped up. “Oh yes! I’ll go with you. Bye, Bridgie.”

  As Andie watched them leave, she felt something shift in her perspective. Was she ready to give up her dream career at Christies and start a new one in Lobster Bay?

  Andie took the long way out of Tall Pines so she could peek into Sadie Thompson’s room.

  The old woman must not have liked sing-alongs, because she was sitting in a recliner, the television remote in her weathered hand, as the TV blared a talk show. She might be missing her memories, but she was alert. Her head swiveled to the door, her forehead creasing. “Addie?”

  “It’s Andie, actually, Addie’s daughter.” The similar names were confusing enough, but Andie did look like her mother.

  “Don’t you fool with me. I know who you are. Are you going to the dance tonight? I heard Bobby Gleason will be there.” Sadie looked quite pleased about this.

  Andie didn’t know who Bobby Gleason was, but it was clear that Sadie thought she was a teen again. Sadie and Addie used to hang around back then. Andie was used to these fuzzy memories from her mother. She and Jane had decided it was better to play into the memories as long as they were pleasant. Trying to remind Addie of the year or to get her to recognize who someone really was only brought confusion and anger.

  Andie stepped into the room. “Of course I’m going. It should be fun.”

  Sadie nodded, her eyes clouding for a second then clearing again. “You can come over before the dance if you want.”

  “That sounds nice. I’ve always liked your house. It’s so old and charming.”

  Sadie nodded, her face lighting up. “Built by my granddaddy’s granddaddy’s granddaddy.”

  “I bet there are a lot of memories in there.” Andie wasn’t prying, not really. Sadie seemed so happy to be talking about the house that Andie couldn’t help but encourage her to get lost in those memories. Who knew how long she’d have those for?

  “Oh yes. And there’s a library and a conservatory and secret passages.”

  “Secret passages?” Andie’s thoughts went to the rumors. “Have you been in them?”

  Sadie laughed. “Of course, silly. Remember we went in one together? But we didn’t go up in the attic. Mom said there was too much junk up there.”

  “Excuse me. Just who are you?”

  The angry voice made Andie whirl around, guilt heavy in her stomach. Not that she’d been doing anything wrong, but the way the woman was looking at her, you’d have thought she’d been torturing the poor old lady.

  The woman in the doorway was about Andie’s age. She was short and wide, her auburn hair fell to her shoulders, and her emerald-green eyes brimmed with suspicion.

  Andie stuck her hand out. “I’m Andie Miller. My mom, Addie, is a resident here. She used to be friends with Sadie.”

  The woman glanced at Andie’s hand as if it were poison. “So you know my mother?”

  Andie let her hand drop. “Well, not technically, but...”

  “Then why are you here talking about our house? Are you one of those opportunists trying to buy the place for cheap? I’ve had enough of that.” The woman brushed past Andie to her mother’s side. “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Of course, Emily. I was just chatting with Addie. You remem
ber Addie.”

  Emily glared over at Andie. “I think Addie was just going.”

  “Right.” Andie smiled at Sadie. “Nice talking to you.”

  She turned and left Emily to cluck over her mother. Apparently she wouldn’t be making friends with Sadie’s daughter anytime soon.

  Chapter Six

  James was miserable without Maxi. He’d picked up the phone at least a dozen times to call her, but he didn’t want to push her away more. Hopefully she just needed a little break and would come back soon.

  He was starting to realize how much she did around the house. It had only been two days, but the sink was already full of dirty dishes, and his clothes needed to be laundered. First he’d have to figure out how to run the washing machine. And who knew how often a litter box needed to be emptied? Yech!

  Coming home from work to an empty house was the pits, he thought as he slid his key into the lock. He opened the door with none of his usual enthusiasm as he clawed at his tie and stepped inside.

  What in the world—

  The house hadn’t been in its usual neat array now with Maxi gone, but this took the cake. Something—toilet paper, he thought—had been spooled around the living room, over the chair and around the couch, and sitting at the end of it was Picasso.

  “What have you done?”

  Mew!

  Picasso ran off to the kitchen and lurked around his food bowl while James followed the toilet-paper path to the bathroom, where almost a whole roll of it had been spooled off with Picasso’s needle-like claws.

  He was starting to regret adopting Picasso, especially since the main reason for it—Maxi—didn’t even know about him.

  Not wanting to get his suit dirty, he went upstairs to change. Picasso followed, batting at the leg of his pants as he walked up the stairs. Great, now he’d have little holes in the hemline.

  He put his suit away and spent another five minutes trying to shoo Picasso out of the closet. The cat finally got the message and retreated to the bed, which he climbed up on by using his claws on the silk bed skirt. He then proceeded to glare at James as he rummaged through the bureau for jeans and a T-shirt.

  James didn’t dare open the sweater drawer. Picasso had developed a crush on his cashmere sweater vest, and anytime he opened that drawer, the cat would jump in and start kneading it. That sweater was expensive!

  “Now I know why they make kittens so cute. You’d want to strangle them otherwise.”

  Picasso followed him downstairs and perched atop a bookcase, glaring down in superiority as James cleaned up the mess.

  “I guess I should have appreciated Maxi more.” James glanced up at the cat. Did he just nod in agreement? “I will when she gets back.”

  Mew.

  “Good question. Where is she? Probably with Claire or Jane.” James glanced at the phone he’d tossed on the table. “At least she answers my texts so I know she’s safe.”

  He’d thought Maxi would have been back by now. She must be really mad about something, but James had sensed more than anger in her when she’d left that night. She’d seemed hurt and maybe a bit disappointed. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of what he had done to make her feel that way.

  With the toilet paper all gathered in a pile and stuffed in a trash bag, he glanced into the bathroom, wondering if he should take the toilet paper roll out of the holder and put it out of reach. “Maxi would know exactly what to do. She knows what to do about everything.”

  Picasso glared down at him in reproachful silence.

  “Oh, I see, you think it’s my fault she left.” Was it? Of course it must have been. “All right, then, I guess there is only one thing left to do. If it’s something I’ve done, then there must be a way to undo it. We need to figure out exactly what action I have to take to get her back.”

  Chapter Seven

  Maxi fiddled nervously with her coffee cup and studied the man across the table from her, Chandler Vanbeck. They were sitting in the Townline Diner, a retro-style eatery that was decorated with a lot chrome and Naugahyde. They made good coffee, and it seemed like a neutral place to meet, which was why Maxi had suggested it.

  Chandler had just finished updating her on the renovation efforts in the building on the edge of Perkins Cove that he’d secured for his art gallery.

  “I know it’s an aggressive schedule, but I want to have the gallery open by Thursday, and I’d love to feature some of your work,” Chandler said.

  Maxi was taken aback. Chandler seemed like a nice guy. And he certainly seemed interested in her work, if not maybe a little too interested. Maxi wondered vaguely if he was interested in more than just her work. The thought was awkward and unappealing. She had no intention of having a relationship with anyone. The mere thought of it made her feel resistant and sad because deep down, she still loved James.

  “But I’ve never shown my work anywhere. I haven’t even finished a proper painting in decades.” Maxi thought about the seascape she’d started the other day. It was sitting on the easel at her cottage, the paint still wet.

  “It’s fine,” Chandler assured her. “I like to highlight emerging local artists, and no one expects them to have a following.”

  “I’m hardly emerging.”

  “You could be if you put some work in the show. Just three pieces.”

  Maxi sipped her coffee and contemplated Chandler’s offer. Could she even get three pieces done by then? But she sensed that this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. If she passed it up now, she might not get an offer again. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Wonderful!” Chandler stuck his hand across the table, and Maxi shook it. “I’ll need the paintings by Wednesday afternoon. Will that work?”

  A wave of panic struck Maxi, but she managed to nod. “Yes, that will be fine.”

  “Chandler! I thought I might find you here.” A woman who Maxi judged to be in her early seventies stood at the end of their table. She had close-cropped white hair and bright-red-framed glasses, and was wearing a colorful flowing skirt and dozens of bangles. She looked artsy and airy and like everything Maxi was hoping to become. She smiled at Maxi and stuck her hand out. “Hi. I’m Muriel Fox.”

  Maxi shook her hand, feeling suddenly out of place in her crisp white blouse and tan Bermuda shorts. “Maxi Stevens.”

  “Nice to meet ya, Maxi.” The woman turned to Chandler. “Are you going to be at the Purple Blueberry later on? Gerry is going to recite some of his poetry.”

  Chandler smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Okay, see you then.” She smiled at Maxi then turned and walked back to the counter, where a cup of coffee and piece of pie awaited.

  “Have you been to the Purple Blueberry?” Chandler asked.

  “I’ve heard of it, never been.” The Purple Blueberry was a trendy little outdoor bar where the more artsy crowd hung out. Maxi had always been curious but never brave enough to go. James thought anything artsy was too “Bohemian” for someone like a bank president—or his wife—to be seen at. She was sure Claire or Jane would have gone with her, but she’d never considered asking them because she didn’t want James to be mad. She didn’t have to worry about what he would think anymore, but that was bittersweet.

  “If you’d like to go this afternoon, I’ll be going around five,” Chandler said.

  Warning bells surfaced. Was that just a friendly invitation or a date? Either way, best for Maxi not to encourage too much friendship from Chandler. She didn’t want to send the wrong message.

  “Thanks, but I can’t. I have plans with Jane and Claire.” At least she didn’t have to lie. They were meeting at Splash at five.

  Maxi couldn’t wait to meet Jane and Claire and tell them the exciting news about the art gallery. As she sipped her coffee, a smile spread across her face. She was finally on her way to having everything she always wanted. Well, everything except James.

  Chapter Eight

  “So you haven’t gone back home?” Jane asked as the waitress slid pink f
rothy drinks with pineapple slices perched on the rims in front of them. They were seated at Splash, one of their favorite gathering spots. It was a bar right on the beach and had all the sights, sounds, and smells of the ocean. The beachgoers had packed up their things and left, but the coconut scent of suntan lotion still lingered in the air. They could hear the lulling sound of the waves, and the colorful blues and pinks of the sun setting behind them completed the picture.

  “No chance of that.” Maxi actually hadn’t even considered it. Sure, she felt a little homesick, and when she thought about James, her heart felt like it was broken into a million pieces, but she was determined to focus on the positive.

  She loved having her own place and loved the beach, and Rembrandt was turning out to be a great addition to her life. Since moving to the cottage, she’d spent most of her time painting and had enjoyed every minute of it. Why hadn’t she done this sooner? Not leaving James—she never would have done that if it hadn’t been for the cheating—but getting a space of her own to pursue her creative endeavors was something she should have done years ago.

  “Are you sure?” Claire picked a sweet potato fry out of the basket and dipped it in the horseradish sauce. “You and James have been together for a long time. Maybe you’re just having a rough patch.”

  Maxi sighed and reached into her tote bag for the card. She knew she’d have to tell Claire and Jane sooner or later, but something felt wrong about the situation. It almost felt as if she were betraying James and not the other way around.

  “It’s not just a rough patch. I found this in his pocket.” She held the card up. Jane and Claire both looked confused.

  Claire reached for the card and put it on the table in front of her. “Sandee’s business card?”