The rain still came down in torrents, and the sky boomed every few seconds, like the Jolly Green Giant bowled with boulders. Strong gusts of wind caused a fine mist to swirl a foot above the water’s surface, and the gray clouds moved and shifted quickly, unpredictably. But the best part, the thing that made her breath catch in her throat, was the lightning. Dozens of long, jagged bolts crackled through the sky and shot into the horizon, one right after the other. Her dad would’ve freaked if he saw her now, huddled under a lifeguard stand with a boy, way closer to electrified shards of light than any human ever should be, and she knew she should probably be scared—but she wasn’t. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“Amazing, right.” He wasn’t asking a question.
She nodded.
“Maggie,” he said without looking away from the horizon.
“Yes.”
“Maybe we should hang out sometime.”
She casually wiped her eyes, as though their sudden widening was due to an onslaught of sea spray.
“Outside of camp, I mean. If you want.”
Quickly deciding that given the lightning, rain, and extraordinarily intense atmospheric conditions she would just have to process how this affected her big life plan later, she nodded again. “Maybe we should.”
“Good.” They still stood on their knees, and he rocked gently to one side to bump against her.
“Just as long as my showing up here doesn’t count as stealing your thunder,” she said, bumping him back. “We’ll save that for the singing.”
17.
The small white ranch sat on a quiet, tree-lined street in a lovely neighborhood whose residents waved and smiled as Maggie and her family drove by. The front lawn, though not very large, was green and neat, with pink, purple and white pansies lining the walkway to the door. The mailbox was in the shape of a sailboat, and a yellow homemade birdhouse hung from a branch of a towering maple tree. It was cute, clean and, at least from the exterior, just about perfect—which meant the interior was fatally flawed.
“I think I’m going to sit this one out.” Maggie stretched her legs across the backseat as Summer and her parents climbed out of the car.
“But this is family house-hunting day,” Summer reminded her. “All for one and one for all.”
“I know. And that was really great five hours ago, but I’m tired now. Plus, this is the seventh house. If the first six didn’t do it, I doubt this one will.”
“Maggie.” Her dad stuck his head through the open window and looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s the seventh and last house. Surely you can summon the energy to do one final walkthrough.”
“How about I’ll do one final walkthrough if the house warrants it? All you have to do is stand in the front doorway and whistle, and I’ll come running. Otherwise, I’ll meet you here.”
“It’s been a long day.” Looking exhausted and not particularly optimistic herself, Maggie’s mother lifted her arms overhead and stretched.
“Fine.” Her dad pulled away from the window. “But just remember this could be your most perfect house, and you could be missing the chance to convince us that it’s our most perfect house.”
“It’s a risk,” Maggie admitted. “Mom, may I please use your cell phone while you’re touring?”
Her mother handed her the cell phone and leaned through the window to kiss the top of her head.
Maggie watched them head for the front door. She would’ve been more inclined to go inside if her dad hadn’t been with them. He’d joined them on this house-hunting trip as a result of their last (when Wilma had shown them the house of holes), after which Mom had thrown out every listing and real estate pamphlet she’d printed or picked up over the past few weeks. Over dinner that night, she’d insisted that there were just no decent houses in their price range, and declared themselves eternal renters. So, Dad relieved her of the somewhat solo mission; he researched and found a new realtor and listings, took the day off from work to accompany them, and even made them breakfast in bed that morning so that they started the day as fresh and fulfilled as possible. He’d been cool as a cucumber all day, from suggesting that Summer leave her backpack of amenity analysis in the car to alleviate any additional pressure, to calmly shepherding a particularly ferocious trio of barking, nipping shih tzus into a closed-off sunroom while touring house number three. Throughout the day he’d held doors open, talked and joked easily with the realtor, and held her mom’s hand when he didn’t have his arm around her waist.
Which had made it okay for Maggie to take a much-needed break. After three days of casual conversation following Monday’s summer storm (which was all they had time for since, not wanting to overdo it, Maggie had opted out of early morning swims), Ben had approached her while she stacked inner tubes and asked if she wanted to check out the local bookstore’s author series on Saturday night. She’d said yes immediately, her excitement obliterating any memory of the already-planned day of family house hunting. There was no way to get out of it—any excuse she might’ve used, like sudden stomach flu or Patrol This work, would’ve also been reason to not go out later that night—so she’d walked dutifully through dozens of rooms, her nerves making it really difficult to appreciate things like original hardwood floors and custom-made built-ins.
“Aimee,” Maggie practically burst when the phone stopped ringing. “Thank goodness you’re home.”
“Yup, I’m home.”
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. We have so much to talk about.” Though she’d spotted Aimee across the beach a few times throughout the week, Aimee had been so busy with the Figure Eights and Maggie had been so busy with campers, they hadn’t actually spoken. Maggie had tried calling at night after camp, but received the answering machine every time.
“We do? What’s up?”
Maggie sat up straight in the backseat and faced the front of the house to monitor the proximity of potential eavesdroppers. “I think I’m going on a date tonight.”
“You think?”
“Well, it’s kind of hard to tell. When Ben and I were hanging out Monday morning—”
“Ben the swim instructor?”
“Yes.”
“You were hanging out with Ben the swim instructor Monday morning?”
“Yes, but not, like, intentionally. I went for an early swim, and he and Jason always work out in the morning. But Jason wasn’t there because he was actually smart and stayed home because of the rain, so it was just Ben and I, huddled under the lifeguard stand watching the storm. Did you know summer thunderstorms are amazingly beautiful? I didn’t. I mean, I always liked a good thunderstorm, but I’d never really just sat and watched one before. The whole horizon was on fire, and—”
“Maggie.”
“Sorry.” Maggie took a deep breath. “Anyway, that morning Ben said he thought maybe we should hang out sometime, and on Thursday he asked if I’d want to hang out tonight.”
“And you said yes.”
“And I said yes. And I really wanted to tell you, because even though I don’t know for sure it’s a date, if it is, there are so many things to discuss! What I should wear, what he might be thinking, where we might go, what we might talk about, and perhaps the biggest question of all: Why he asked me out of all of his adoring female fans at camp.”
“That’s a lot of questions.”
Maggie paused before launching into the dozen different outfit combinations she was contemplating. Not only did Aimee not sound especially excited, she barely sounded like she heard what Maggie was saying. “Aim, is everything okay?”
“What about your whole swearing-off-boys thing?” Aimee asked suddenly, her voice tense and louder than normal.
“I’m not marrying the guy,” Maggie said defensively. “In fact, I haven’t even really thought about whether I like him like that.”
“But up until a few weeks ago, you were totally head over heels for Peter Applewood. That’s all I heard about all day, every day. Pet
er Applewood’s so cute. Peter Applewood’s so nice. I hope Peter Applewood asks me to the prom—in five years. Then the summer comes and you have zero interest in meeting any boys—because you’re still hung up on stupid Peter Applewood—and now you’re hanging out with the most popular guy at camp. It just seems a little out of the blue.”
“Wow. Sorry for the curveball. For some reason I thought you’d be excited for me, happy that maybe I could actually get over stupid Peter Applewood and move on with my life. I had no idea it’d make you mad.”
“Sorry,” Aimee huffed, not sounding sorry at all. “But just so you know, you’re not the only one with things going on.”
Maggie opened her mouth to ask what that meant when two long piercing whistles made her cringe. She looked out the window to see Summer waving frantically from the front stoop.
“I mean, maybe you could ask how I am every once in a while. Maybe you could stop thinking about yourself long enough to wonder if anyone else in the world has problems.”
Summer whistled again before hopping off the stoop and running toward the car.
“While I’d really like to continue this lovely conversation,” Maggie said tersely as Summer neared listening distance, too taken aback to try to figure out where Aimee’s attack was coming from, “I have to go.”
“Of course you do. Tell your boyfriend I said hi.”
Maggie stared at the blank cell phone screen. Aimee had never hung up on her before. She and Aimee had never fought before. She wasn’t sure if what had just happened qualified as a fight, but it was certainly the closest they’d ever come to it, and Maggie had no idea why.
“Maggie,” Summer said breathlessly, reaching the car. “This is it.”
Maggie looked at the blank cell phone screen for another second, willing it to flash with Aimee’s number as she called back. When it didn’t, she turned to Summer. “What’s it?”
“This house.” She beamed. “Not too big, not too small. And so pretty.”
“That’s great, Sum. But I doubt that means—” She stopped when she spotted her parents standing on the front stoop. They were smiling from ear-to-ear, and waved for Summer and Maggie to join them. “Really?”
Summer nodded and opened the door for Maggie to get out.
“Are you serious?” she asked her glowing parents when she reached the stoop.
“See for yourself.” Her dad pushed the front door open.
“Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, living room, family room, dining room, and kitchen with breakfast nook.” Her mom listed the highlights as they moved into the house. “Perfect amount of space.”
Maggie followed Summer and her parents through the entire house. Because every one of her family members was excited, she managed to temporarily block out the fact that she’d be hanging out with Ben in three hours, and that her best friend in the whole world had just hung up on her for no apparent reason. The house was bigger than it looked from the outside, and she appreciated every inch—the shiny hardwood floors, living room fireplace, stainless-steel appliances, marble countertops, tiled bathroom floors, and walk-in closets in every bedroom.
“We saved the best part for last,” Summer said excitedly, running to the kitchen and opening a sliding-glass door.
“Wow.” Maggie stood on a large deck overlooking an enormous, fenced-in backyard.
“Big enough for a pool,” her mom whispered, coming up beside her.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” Her dad stood on her other side.
“This is in our budget? Something that looks brand-new and doesn’t require bulldozing or massive renovating is in our budget?”
“It just came on the market and is reasonably priced because the owner’s anxious to sell,” her dad explained. “All we have to do is make an offer.”
“And it’s in your school district,” her mom added, putting one arm across Maggie’s shoulder and squeezing. “This is it. This is our house.”
“Wow.” Maggie looked across the sprawling backyard and smiled slowly as the reality sunk in. “Wow.”
“So, we’re in agreement?” her dad asked quietly as the realtor came onto the deck from inside.
Maggie and Summer nodded, and Maggie’s mom’s eyes filled with tears.
“Then let’s get our house.”
18.
Tucked back from Main Street in a narrow, flower-filled alleyway, The Nook bookstore was Maggie’s idea of heaven on earth. Inside, floor-to-ceiling oak shelves were lined with thousands of classic and contemporary books, and worn velvet sofas and chairs invited customers to enjoy hours of uninterrupted reading while soft jazz played overhead. In the back of the store, a “Tea and Crumpets” station sat on an antique beverage cart, and was always well stocked with complimentary hot teas and coffee, and freshly baked cookies, blueberry muffins, and scones. Maggie had easily spent hundreds of hours there, reading, browsing new titles or even studying for school, and it had become the one place—besides the swimming pool—where she always felt completely welcome.
Until now.
Ben had offered to pick her up, but Maggie suggested they just meet at the store. To avoid an unwanted (even if friendly) inquisition, she told her parents she was going to Arnie’s to work on the Patrol This website, and rode her bike two miles to town. In her nervous excitement, she’d arrived forty-five minutes early, plopped on a wooden bench in the narrow alleyway, and had yet to venture inside the store that was suddenly not a warm and inviting literary oasis, but a quaint backdrop for potential social disaster.
She checked her watch, and her heart fluttered in her chest when she saw it was six on the dot. The reading started at six-fifteen, and they’d decided to meet a few minutes early to get tea and good seats. She quickly checked her hair in her reflection in the window behind her, applied a fresh coat of lip gloss (even though the last coat couldn’t have worn off in the five minutes since its application), and smoothed the front of her long black tank top, which she wore over white capris. (She’d considered wearing a sundress, but didn’t want to look like she thought it was a date if it wasn’t a date, and also didn’t want to give passersby a very embarrassing show while she rode her bike.)
Satisfied her appearance was as good as it was going to get, she rummaged through her purse, counted the roses on the bush next to the bench, and wished she’d brought a book so that she looked busy when Ben approached. When it seemed like an eternity had passed, she checked her watch again. 6:14.
She frowned and felt her cheeks grow warm. Had she misunderstood? Did she have the right store? Did she really tell him not to pick her up at her house? Did he change his mind?
“Madge.”
She spun around and willed her eyes dry as they threatened to tear in relief. Ben, looking better than she’d ever seen him in baggy khakis, a white polo shirt, and brown sandals, stood in the doorway of The Nook.
“There you are.” He grinned. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“It was touch-and-go for a while,” she joked, smiling and standing from the bench.
“Hope it’s okay,” he said, holding the door open for her, “but I got here early to grab seats and snacks.”
“Great.” As she smiled over her shoulder, he held one finger to his lips and nodded toward the back of the store.
Maggie faced forward to see every seat in the house taken, including the fifteen folding chairs set up specifically for the event. The audience talked quietly among themselves as the author, a silver-haired gentleman in a white linen suit and turquoise bifocals, sank into a blue velvet armchair and flipped through a thick book.
“We’re in the back,” Ben whispered.
Maggie made her way to the only empty sofa, which sat off to the side of the collection of folding chairs. Once seated, they had a perfect, unobstructed view of the entire store, including the author.
“Cookie?” Ben asked softly, lifting a silver platter piled high with an assortment of fresh fruit tarts, chocolate chi
p cookies, and pound cake from the side of the sofa. “I assembled our own selection from the cart.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest. She had absolutely no intention of eating in front of him—especially not anything even with one gram of sugar that might make him wonder as to her past—but he’d assembled their own selection. She couldn’t be rude.
“Welcome, everyone,” a bookstore employee said before Maggie could respond, “to another exciting installment of the summer author series at The Nook. We’re positively honored to have with us today Leonard Hawkins, the multiaward-winning author of more than a dozen novels. Several of Leonard’s works have enjoyed lengthy stays on the New York Times bestseller list, and even more have been made into major movies. We’re very fortunate to have him here to read from his latest novel. Please join me in giving him a warm welcome.”
“This is so exciting,” Maggie whispered, finally breaking off a piece of pound cake to be polite as the store filled with applause.
She never thought she’d be able to focus on anything but the fact that she was sitting six inches from Ben, who was beautiful and smart and kind, and who’d asked her to hang out, but apparently Leonard Hawkins’s novels had spent time on the New York Times bestseller list for good reason. The excerpt from his latest work, a political mystery set in the year 3000, was so intriguing, Maggie could’ve been reading the book herself, all alone in an empty room. She spent the entire hour hanging onto every word, and it wasn’t until Leonard closed the book that she remembered where she was and that she still held a hunk of pound cake in one hand.
“Not bad, huh?” Ben smiled.
“Unbelievable.” Maggie shook her head.
After Ben replaced the platter (with Maggie’s uneaten pound cake) on the store’s silver snack cart, they joined the exiting crowd and made their way back outside.
“Ben, thank you so much,” Maggie said as they left the alleyway and neared the stand where she’d locked her bike. “This was really great. Probably the best night I’ve had in a long time.”
Maggie Bean Stays Afloat Page 14