A turn of his head, a white-toothed grin, a glimmer of pale blue eye, a split-second glance. Disappointment darkened Rob’s gaze.
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER 8
Ever since Abby was small, she’d look to the summer sky for guidance. Clear skies meant spending the day outdoors beneath the blistering sun, slathered in sunscreen, arms pumping to keep up with Lily Beth’s long-legged strides. At low tide, they’d stroll along the beaches of Hermit Island and scramble over the rocky shoreline, Lily Beth bending to point out the creatures the tides had stranded. Bits and pieces of sand dollars. Small chipped snails. The single sharp hook of a crab’s discarded leg. Abby would examine the specimens, searching for clues with a child’s eyes, not realizing she wasn’t looking at life, but turning over the empty shells of what was left behind.
Overcast skies alone had never scared Lily Beth and Abby indoors, unless the wind kicked up and shaped a vertical cloud. Unless a multistory structure with an anvil top threatened to slam the harbor, pummel the shores, and spoil their plans.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Abby peered out her living room window and shook her head at the clouds. Dark and at a distance and not anvil-topped, but nevertheless, on their way. She’d taken five minutes to freshen up her tear-stained face, harness her mood, and attempt to convince Charlie to head out to the gathering ahead of her. Instead, he’d hung close, waiting for her outside the bathroom door like a lovesick suitor, and then arranged her hair across one shoulder.
Charlie rubbed the back of her hand, trying to get her to take his, as though today were a continuation of their son’s memorial service. One really, really long day. Abby adjusted the spaghetti strap of her dress that didn’t need adjusting. “We can’t do this.”
“Bad timing again?” he asked, but the rejection didn’t register in his eyes.
“Sort of,” she said. She and Rob hadn’t made any formal commitment to each other, but before this week, she’d thought something special was growing between them, something she wanted to nurture. Now, all she wanted was to get outside and attempt damage control before the skies opened up and rained out the groundbreaking. Walking outside holding Charlie’s hand wouldn’t exactly help her cause.
Charlie’s gaze slid to her chest. “You’re twisted.” Charlie plucked the silver locket from where it rested in the notch of her collarbone, a curl of Luke’s baby hair nestled within, and turned it over. He took his time sliding the necklace’s front-migrated clasp to the back of her neck.
“I’m sort of seeing someone.”
“Oh?”
“Rob Campbell?” she tried, when Charlie’s hands rested at the nape of her neck. “My, uh, landscape architect?”
“I know who he is.”
Rob could certainly pick Charlie out in a crowd. He’d noticed the photo in her living room; he’d pretended not to notice Charlie’s image when it popped onto the screen of her cell phone. But she’d been careful not to mention Rob’s name in front of Charlie. Why invite unnecessary awkwardness? Until today. “How? How do you know him?”
Charlie shot her a wicked grin. He stepped back and tapped the face of the Cartier that, days post-divorce, had cost him more than a month’s teaching salary. “Ticktock. Guests are waiting.”
“Joe from Percy’s?” A couple of weeks ago, Luke’s friend from high school had scooped two medium-sized pistachio ice-cream cones for her and Rob, and then remarked how unusual it was for more than one person to request that flavor, his eyebrows raised with unspoken meaning. But that made no sense. It was one thing to offer cute commentary on her and Rob’s ice-cream compatibility, quite another to share that insight with her son’s father.
Who would stand to gain from gossiping about her and Rob to Charlie? “Suzette from Spinney’s?”
The former student of Charlie’s had a terrible crush on him. When she and Charlie used to come in for dinner, Suzette would request their table and make a point of leaning over Charlie to arrange the place setting, so that her multiple charms—a heart, a cross, a diamond-encrusted starfish—toppled head over heels into the deep valley between her breasts.
“Time’s a wasting.” Charlie tried to grab Abby’s hand and then laughed when she shoved him away, as though they were reenacting a scene from when they were ten.
Abby came around the house a couple of strides before Charlie to find half the guests nibbling desserts around the buffet table, the other half devouring the after-ceremony treats at their seats. Celeste and Tessa stood to the side of the table, chatting as if they were each other’s new best friends.
Stormy weather made people act strange and out of character, as if a low-pressure system had invaded their internal ecosystems.
Elijah straightened a stack of napkins and studied Tessa from a safe distance, nothing unusual there. But his little sister, Phoebe, clung to Tessa, a mass of red curls resting against Tessa’s side. The child’s open hand traced a lazy trail over Tessa’s pregnant belly. Tessa placed her hand over Phoebe’s and guided her to a spot just beneath her belly button. When Phoebe’s hand jostled, she raised her head and giggled up at Tessa. Elijah startled and fell back onto the grass.
Tessa had yet to invite Abby to feel the baby move.
That explained why Abby had the ridiculous urge to walk up to Tessa and place her hands on her belly, taking possession without bothering to ask. Ridiculous because if Luke’s baby moved beneath Abby’s hand, she’d fall into what she and Celeste called insta-love and never be able to let him, or her, go.
Celeste met Abby in front of the cider doughnuts. “I thought everyone should start on the treats, since it doesn’t look as though the weather’s going to last much longer. Plus, you were MIA for a while . . .” Celeste glanced at Charlie, making short work of the mini carrot cakes. “Did I overstep?” she said, the same thing she asked whenever she’d overstepped.
“It’s fine.”
“You look flustered,” Celeste said. “And what’s with your hair?”
Abby touched a hand to the warmth of her cheek. She glanced down at the do Charlie had created and shoved her hair from her shoulder.
“Oh, holy hell,” Celeste said.
Charlie turned from the buffet table, as if Celeste had spoken his name. He popped a brownie bite into his mouth and grinned through his chewing.
“You need a twelve-step program,” Celeste said, “a freaking intervention. He can’t be that good. No one is.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“It usually is.”
“Not this time.” Abby peered past the perennials and found the only person for whom she was inclined to offer an explanation. Rob stood beyond the arbor, propped against the red-handled shovel and talking with Lily Beth, as though they’d already moved from introductions to fast friends. They angled their heads to the sky.
“Excuse me. I need to get this show on the road,” Abby said, and she headed for Rob.
“Looking fierce,” Lily Beth said upon Abby’s approach.
Abby wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the weather or the electricity energizing her stride. “I, uh, just need to borrow Rob for a minute. To discuss our little speeches?”
“Of course.” Lily Beth’s eyes lit with the knowing look she’d mastered round about Abby’s thirteenth birthday. “Don’t take too long figuring out what you want,” Lily Beth said, and she joined Charlie at the stepping-stones.
Rob repositioned the shovel, digging it into the grass between them. He set his grin to neutral. “So . . .”
“I’ll, uh, say a few words about why I decided I needed a labyrinth in my backyard, our plan for the rest of the afternoon. Labyrinth walk, whatever’s left from the dessert table. And then I’ll introduce you.”
“Like we discussed over the phone,” Rob said.
“Like we discussed.” The wind kicked up, ushering pine scent from the treetops. Abby’s dress fluttered around her legs. She held Rob’s gaze, but his amazing blue eyes offered
nothing in return. “I’d like to explain,” she said. “About Charlie. What you saw—”
Rob made a sound at the back of his throat, more of a dismissive grunt than a laugh. “You don’t owe me an explanation. Charlie . . .” he said, and he scrunched up his mouth, as if to chew on the name. Rob shook his head. “It’s none of my business.”
Abby blew out a blowfish breath. “Really? Are you sure? Because I was kind of hoping it was.”
Rob’s grin did not shift from neutral, his stiff stance did not alter. And when Abby searched his face, the man barely blinked. A cover-up for hurt feelings? Or had she misjudged him, built up their relationship larger in her imagination than in their reality? For all she knew, he was seeing someone else. Of course, why hadn’t she considered that? She was acting like a silly schoolgirl vying for a boy’s attention. A silly schoolgirl wearing a low-cut dress.
The first droplets of rain dampened her cheeks, light and insubstantial as sea mist. But, make no mistake, a storm was on its way. Tip of a summertime squall line.
She adjusted her expression to match Rob’s. All business. “Let’s do this, then. Before we run out of time,” she said, and race-walked across the lawn.
In front of the stepping-stones, Charlie rocked back and forth on the heels of his docksides. His hands jiggled in his pockets, as though weighing the change. “Fortuitous,” he said, most likely echoing Lily Beth’s weather report, but his focus locked on Rob.
“Rob, I’d like you to meet Charlie Connors, Luke’s father. Charlie, Rob Campbell, my landscape architect.” There, that should do it. Relationships defined and explained, even though it was none of Rob’s business.
Charlie took his hands from his pockets, and the two men leaned in for a handshake. They clasped hands, paused in grip hang time, exchanged strangely exuberant grins.
The breeze blew hair across Abby’s vision.
Lily Beth tucked Abby’s hair behind her ear. “Ready, baby?” Lily Beth said, the same thing she’d asked of Abby on the zero-visibility roads-closed morning Abby had gone into labor with Luke. “Ready or not,” Lily Beth had said, when, in lieu of an answer, Abby had doubled over in pain and stained her sheets scarlet.
In front of the rows of seated guests, Abby summoned her public speaking voice. “Looks like a storm’s coming, so I’m going to begin our little ceremony,” she said.
Conversations twittered to a close. Guests lingering by the dessert table wandered over and shuffled into empty seats or stood off to the side. Celeste and Elijah joined Lily Beth and Charlie. Phoebe dragged Tessa by the hand to an empty seat in the front row, and then climbed into her lap.
“Thank you all for coming today. It’s been a while.” Abby took a moment to absorb the warmth emanating from the crowd of friends, a subset of those who’d attended Luke’s memorial. “A few of you have asked what compelled me to decide to put a labyrinth in my backyard. What possible purpose would it serve? It’s not as if I’ve nothing else to occupy my time, right?” she said, and a few people chuckled in agreement. “A couple of months ago, labyrinths weren’t even on my radar, until I came across a miniature sand labyrinth at Heart Stone, my mother’s gift shop.”
The public speaking classes Abby had taken stressed looking your audience in the eye, and she directed her gaze to Lily Beth. “My mother always told me that certain people come into your life when you’re ready for them. She calls it synchronicity. My mother’s always had a lot of wisdom to share.” Abby paused for more chuckles of agreement, and Lily Beth wagged her finger at her, but her mother couldn’t look cross.
“No sooner had I decided the lap labyrinth was too small for my needs, I met a man ready to help me move the vision from mind and paper to earth, stone, and plantings. The first time I approached Rob, I had no idea what I wanted from a labyrinth, no thought that a design should contain a theme, tell a story.” This time, Abby slid her gaze to Rob. “But Rob guided me through the process, taking the time to ask important questions about what I really wanted, taking the time to really listen. When it comes to design work, Rob Campbell is an excellent listener.”
Abby returned her attention to the front row, where Phoebe was playing with Tessa’s hair. “His wisdom led me to realize what I wanted more than anything was the peace I’d lost with the death of my son, but most of all I wanted the labyrinth to be a reflection of Luke.
“To that end, after the groundbreaking portion of our celebration, I’d like to invite everyone to take a turn walking the labyrinth. And when you do, this one time, I’d like for you to think of Luke. Not how he died, but how he lived. Exuberant and unafraid and sometimes a little bit scary. Like the time he and Aaron Cohen dressed up as scarecrows for Halloween and sat in lawn chairs outside of Aaron’s house, waiting to surprise the trick-or-treaters. Or how, when Luke heard the Maine Seaside Children’s Hospital had run out of funds for their playground, he organized the Popham Plunge to raise money because he thought sick kids needed to play, too.” A twinge ran through the soles of Abby’s feet, as though she were still standing barefooted in the torture of February sand, feet aching with cold, heart aching with pride.
Good friend and neighbor Stu Donovan called out from the front row. “How about the mud wrestling championship?” he said, referring to the summer tradition of wrestling in the clamming mud flats of Hermit Island.
“I said, happy stories, Stu.” Abby’s mind trundled back to Luke trying, unsuccessfully, to sneak back into the house, and how easily she’d followed his muddy trail.
“Kidding!” Abby said. “Luke was really proud of winning five pounds of steamers. He would’ve been really excited about making and walking the labyrinth, too. To that end, I’d like to introduce you to Rob Campbell, my landscape architect. Rob holds a bachelor’s degree in landscape design from Cornell University. And since moving Down East several years ago, he’s made a point of getting involved in the local community, dedicating his time and resources to a different cause each year.” God bless the Internet. ”Last year, through the AMC, Rob and his crew adopted not one, but two trails in the Maine Woods. And this year, he’s working on a labyrinth butterfly garden for the Hidden Harbor Elementary School. I honestly don’t know where he finds the time.
“I’ve asked Rob to provide some additional information about labyrinths. What they are and how to navigate them. So, without further ado, Rob Campbell.”
Polite applause all around. Charlie clapped at half speed, a universal sign of grudged tolerance.
Rob came to stand beside Abby and touched her shoulder. His expression reflected the warmth of the gathering.
“Thank you for the generous introduction,” Rob told Abby, and then he cleared his throat. “For the past couple of months, in order to give me an idea of the young man whose spirit she’d like the labyrinth design to reflect, Abby has generously shared many, many stories about her son. Luke’s likes, his dislikes, his favorite things. I imagine this couldn’t have been easy for her.” Rob glanced over at Abby. “I know that it wasn’t,” he said.
“I’ve been privileged to get to know Luke Connors. A secondary benefit of learning about Luke has been getting to know Abby as well. You probably already know, she’s one strong lady. You probably don’t already know how much her strength has inspired me.”
A feeling of fullness crept from Abby’s chest and heated her cheeks. She’d had no idea.
“So . . . about labyrinths. A popular misconception is that they’re a kind of maze.” Rob shook his head. “Nope, not even close. From the outside, they may look similar.” He flicked his gaze to Abby. “But sometimes things aren’t what they seem. A maze is a game, intended to trick you. A labyrinth is a journey along a simple circuit, no trickery involved. You walk into the center, turn around, and walk out again. Easy. As you walk, you might reflect on your life, you might reflect on your son. Or maybe you clear your mind and think nothing at all. But for any labyrinth, whether indoors or out, each walk is different. Because every time you walk the labyrinth, ea
ch time you begin anew, you’re a different person. We’re all a little different today than yesterday.
“I really like outdoor labyrinths, especially here in New England, because each time that you walk the path, the changeable weather impacts your experience, too.” A far-off rumble of thunder. “Speaking of the weather,” Rob said.
Abby stepped forward. “I think Mother Nature has provided the perfect segue to an abbreviated groundbreaking. If you could all follow behind,” she said.
Abby paused before the arbor, turned to Rob.
“Your party,” he said.
“Your design,” she countered, and together, they passed beneath the arbor to where Rob had laid the red-handled, beribboned shovel on the grass.
Abby raised the shovel. “To peace. But most of all, to Luke,” she said, and plunged it into the ground. The tip barely broke the surface.
“Like some help?” Rob asked.
When Abby nodded, he placed his hands over hers and adjusted the angle of the shovel. “Ready?” Rob directed his energy through her, and they plunged the shovel into the earth, breaking ground.
A smattering of applause from the guests. Charlie tapped his foot, arms crossed, stance wide. Abby’s pulse raced, a buzzing at her solar plexus. How would she feel if their roles were reversed? She should’ve asked Charlie to help. She should’ve given him a role.
Even from half a dozen feet away, she could see the color in Charlie’s cheeks. The skies grumbled, that deep rumbling that seemed to come from the earth itself and enter your body at the soles of your feet.
The tops of the treetops shook. Abby’s hair whipped around her shoulders. And a shiver laced her arms. Twelve o’clock, straight up over the harbor, water droplets had formed a multistory anvil. Big and green and ready to roll. “Cumulonimbus,” Abby whispered. She raised her voice for the crowd, but her gaze remained focused on the sky. The ominous green-tinged monster stirred energy in her belly, and her fingers tingled. “I’d like to invite everyone to return another day for a labyrinth walk. Right now, I think it’s time we took the party inside. If everyone can please grab a dessert on your way inside and reconvene in the dining room. Many thanks!”
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