But he did.
She called his name. His steps were deliberate as he moved away from the fire and into the night.
Away from her.
Away from Palmetto Beach.
Despair overcame her. She stood below lifeguard station number seven. Footsteps fell behind her, and she turned to face Sheldon Rutledge.
She’d known Sheldon since her summer memories had begun. An only child of older parents who doted on him, he was often the host of the parties, oyster roasts, sailing races, and he possessed a wit that kept them all laughing. He was good-looking in the casual way of a boy who doesn’t care, yet draws girls to his side: his dark hair always falling into his eyes, his laughter heard across the water.
“Riley, what’s up?”
Without a real answer, she shook her head.
Sheldon placed his hands on her shoulders. “Last night of the summer. Then college,” he said.
She nodded.
“So I am going to do something I’ve promised myself I’d do since I was ten years old.”
Riley laughed, expecting him to do something funny and relieve her suffering. “I, Sheldon Rutledge, am going to kiss you, Riley Sheffield. Right now.”
And he did. In a slow, gorgeous way that made Riley forget, if only for a brief respite, the pain of despair. In the dark night, they whispered about their future—about Sheldon’s plans to enter the Air Force right out of college and live a life of freedom and flying; of her dreams of college and a master’s in English literature. She allowed herself to float into this relief, to become part of something that didn’t have anything to do with Mack Logan or Maisy Sheffield. Nothing to do with love at all, really.
Sheldon asked, “Now what?”
She answered, “I go to college; you go live your dreams.” He cuddled close to her and agreed. His next kiss was deeper; she immersed herself in the comfort and hunger of a boy she’d known and adored.
Later she would be haunted by the shame that her first and last time with a man was a search for relief and from heartbreak, and not an act of love.
Late that night, Riley knocked on Maisy’s bedroom door, wanting to say something, anything to reverse the night of betrayal on both their parts.
Maisy called from inside, “Go away. I hate you and I always will.”
Riley opened her sister’s door anyway, stepped into her room. Maisy lay on the bed sobbing, her face red and blotchy. She looked up. “You did that on purpose because you love Mack. You’ve faked all summer that you didn’t care, but you do. You love him, and you can’t stand for me to be happy with him.”
Riley answered in anger and stunned pain. “You’re the one who stole my best friend.”
Maisy sat up in bed, pointed at Riley. “You are a mean, ugly sister. He never would have loved you. Just because you took him away from me tonight doesn’t mean you can take him away from me forever. He only liked you because you knew how to do boy things. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean they love you back. He’ll never want you the way he wants me. Never.”
Something in these words sounded to Riley like the truth and made them more painful than any lie Maisy could have uttered. Riley tripped on a pair of flip-flops as she backed out of the room, her gut clenched, her heart hollowed out. She’d lost her best friend’s adoration. She’d lost her sister’s love. She’d lost her innocence.
A week later, she left for college, and then halfway through her first semester discovered she was pregnant. She dropped out of school and retreated home. Nine months passed, and Brayden Collins Sheffield entered the world. Riley started Driftwood Cottage Bookstore with her mama—a major detour in her life’s plans after one impetuous act.
Since that night thirteen years ago, Riley had spoken to her sister only when necessary. The gulf in their relationship was easy to blame on Maisy—after all, she’d been the one to leave Palmetto Beach and move to California, then refuse to come visit. But Riley understood that mere physical distance was not what kept them apart; their bitterness and anger did.
SEVEN
MAISY
Maisy was always most comfortable when men noticed her in bars. She felt in her element, like an animal in its natural habitat. Bud’s was the main gathering place in Palmetto Beach—combination restaurant, bar, pool hall, teen hangout on the outdoor patio. Peanut shells covered the floor of the bar area and shellac lay an inch thick on the tables. Maisy spotted an old boyfriend, Billy-Joe Caulfield; she waved at him across the room, remembered the night he’d begged her to leave with him when his former girlfriend, Candy, had sat two tables over on the patio. Maisy had once heard he’d eventually married Candy, even had a couple kids.
His eyebrows lifted in recognition, and he rose from his table and made his way toward where Maisy and Adalee were sitting at the far end of the bar. Maisy maintained eye contact with him until he reached her.
“Well, well, Maisy Sheffield is back to join us in little ol’ Palmetto Beach, Georgia. What brings you from the far coast?”
Maisy stood and threw her arms around Billy-Joe, maybe a little too close, a little too tight for a married man. She expected him to hug her back, but he didn’t. He kept his arms at his sides while she clung to his neck. Embarrassed and slightly annoyed, Maisy stepped aside, almost knocked her barstool over.
“So good to see you, too. How are you?” Maisy forced a formal tone into her voice, yet even she heard the alcohol slur behind the words.
“I’m just fine. Are you in town for the big celebration?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Billy-Joe looked over his shoulder at the table full of men he’d just left. They all five stared at Maisy. “Is there a particular reason they’re staring at us like I have horns growing out of my head?” she asked.
Being noticed but not admired was ruining Maisy’s evening and putting her in a foul mood. She’d wanted to come here with Adalee and remember the better times, have a couple drinks before bed. The time difference would make it nearly impossible for her to fall asleep until much later.
“They’re just wondering if it’s really you.” Billy-Joe’s hand wandered through the air as if he couldn’t find a place to settle it, as if he wanted to touch her but couldn’t. This thought soothed Maisy.
“Yes, it’s really me.” She smiled with a slight tilt to her chin.
Movement out of the right side of her vision caused Maisy to twist and stumble, and stare into the face of Lila Carter, who was holding a full beer mug and a sarcastic grin. “Look who’s come back to town to grace us with her presence. Ms. Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, and all-around most-admired girl in Palmetto Beach, Maisy Sheffield.” Lila bowed in a mock gesture, spilled beer onto the sticky hardwood floor.
Maisy took two steps backward on the crushed peanuts to avoid the spillage. “Charming, Lila. Absolutely charming. All class, as usual.”
Lila spun to face six women seated at a round table, called out, “All right, girls, lock up your men. Maisy Sheffield is back in town.”
Maisy’s stomach plummeted. She hid her embarrassment behind bravado. Her reputation—which had obviously not changed since she’d left—now grabbed her by the heels and tripped her up.
She sat and glanced at her sister, who was leaning against the bar watching with a slight grin of amusement. Maisy wanted to fade into the background, but fading away was not one of her best skills. Sarcasm won out. “So lovely to see you also, Lila. It’s always a pleasure to return home to such warmth and admiration.”
Lila made an odd snorting sound and returned to her table of women. Billy-Joe waved goodbye over his shoulder and returned to his table, to the card game and other men. Adalee laughed.
“You thought that was funny?” Maisy asked.
“A little, yes. Come on, Maisy, you gotta admit that you didn’t expect that. Man, Billy-Joe was in love with you for, like, ten years. He didn’t even hug you back. What’d you do to piss him off?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. I
didn’t do anything with him.”
“No, I think the problem is that you made him think you would do something with him, and then you didn’t.”
“You think I can control what they think I will and will not do?”
“Of course you can. You’re the almighty Maisy Sheffield.”
“And Lila Carter has always hated me. She was a mean girl in high school. . . . I’m not even sure how she has friends.” Maisy held her hand up to order another drink when her cell phone buzzed; she reached into her bag, hoping to hear from Peter. He would be sweet to her and soothe this jangled feeling that left her out of sorts and distracted.
She answered without glancing at the caller ID, then wished she hadn’t when Riley’s voice came across the line to remind her that she had the morning shift, and to tell her that Mama’s night nurse was there now and she was leaving.
“Great,” Maisy said. “Then I’ll see you in the morning at the cottage.” She looked at Adalee. “I have it all under control.”
She hung up and stared out over the crowd, wondering when Mack Logan would arrive. Who the hell cared what anyone else thought of her? Mack was coming. Maybe he was the reason for her forced return to Palmetto Beach. It all seemed to make sense now, to fall into some plan. Her thoughts had flitted from Lucy and Tucker to Billy-Joe and then to Lila, and then to Peter with his wife. Now they settled calm and secure on one person: Mack Logan.
The bartender placed another whiskey in front of Maisy and she thanked him, smiled and watched him respond. Now she was herself again.
Adalee glanced at her cell phone for the hundredth time. “I wonder why he hasn’t called or shown up yet.”
“Who?” Maisy was still smiling.
“Chad. He said he’d call when he got off work and then meet me here.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Whoa, no crying over boys, Adalee. Lesson one. You are in control.”
“We were supposed to hang out all summer. I got him a job at the Beach Club, and now I’ll barely see him since I have to work at the bookstore. My whole summer is ruined.”
“No, it’s not. There are ways around this. I know I left for California when you were only ten, but now I can teach you the things an older sister should pass on.”
Adalee laughed. “Like how to get grounded, or make every girl in town hate me?”
“Hey, not every girl. I have, well, had a lot of friends. Most of them have moved on.” Maisy stood. “Come on, let’s play some pool.”
“The tables are full.” Adalee sat back. “And I’m not in the mood.”
“You cannot allow some guy to put you in a foul mood. Lesson two. You can put them in a foul or lonesome mood, but not the other way around. Do you understand your first and second lessons so far?”
Adalee jumped off her stool. “Understood.” She walked toward the pool table, set two quarters on the side to indicate theirs was the next game.
Maisy chose pool cues from the slots and handed one to Adalee. They leaned against the wall, drinks in one hand, pool cues in the other, waiting their turn. The crowd in the bar grew larger; Maisy avoided eye contact with Billy-Joe’s table and Lila’s gaggle of women. She scanned the tables and bar over the top of her glass with each sip she took. She mentally ticked off the names of people she recognized who hadn’t seen her yet. Others she recognized but couldn’t name—librarian, teacher, babysitter.
Adalee’s laughter caused Maisy to turn: Adalee was hanging on to a tall guy with too-long blond curls and a torn T-shirt. Yuck. This must be the boyfriend.
The guy turned around, nodded at Maisy. “Hi, I’m Chad.”
“I figured. Nice to meet you,” Maisy said.
Adalee put her beer down on the side bar, handed her pool cue to Maisy. “I’m going to take a walk on the beach with Chad. I haven’t seen him in, like, twenty-four hours.”
“Oh.” Maisy glanced around. “There went our pool game.”
“Rain check?” Adalee asked.
“Sure, go on.” Maisy slid Adalee’s pool cue back into the wall hanger.
Chad took Adalee’s hand and they walked toward the front door. Maisy shifted her purse up on her shoulder and moved to leave.
A hand landed on her elbow. “Don’t you have the table next? If you don’t want it, we’re waiting.” A man stood beside her; his eyes met hers.
“You can have the table.” She smiled and took two steps around the pool table, sidled past the crowd at the bar until she shoved the front door open with her foot. Rich, humid coastal Georgia air lodged itself in her lungs.
She dug the keys to Mama’s pickup truck out of her purse. Mama had forbidden Maisy from taking the Volvo, as she would most certainly move the driver’s seat and Mama would never get it in the right position again. The street wavered in front of Maisy as she slid behind the wheel. She rested her head on the steering wheel and longed for her apartment in Laguna Beach overlooking the bay, where her pictures were neatly hung in silver-and-crystal frames, her books covered in white paper to give the bookshelves a clean look. A knock on the window startled her and she looked up to see Billy-Joe.
She rolled down the window.
“You can’t drive, Maisy. Sheriff Mason sits at the end of this road every night waiting for people to leave the bar. It’s his newest source of town income.” Billy-Joe smiled. “Get out.” He opened her door.
Defeat and humiliation left her weary. She climbed out of the truck. “I’m just really tired. I flew in from California today and I haven’t eaten.”
“Come on, we’ll walk over to the Waffle House and get you a patty melt and a coffee.”
Maisy smiled at him, remembering the better times with Billy-Joe, which seemed to be mixed with the bad times in a bitter cocktail. “That’s probably not a great idea . . . for you. I’ll call a cab or walk home.”
Billy-Joe pointed to his truck. “Come on, I’ll drop you off. I think I know where you live.”
Maisy followed him. “You gonna get in trouble for this?”
“Get in the truck.”
She climbed in the passenger seat and stared at the side of his face, at his stubble and thick eyelashes. “How’s Candy?”
“Great.” He started the engine, looked over at her. “We have two wild boys. Six and two years old.”
“Wow.” Maisy closed her eyes. “Life just keeps going, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.” He pulled out into the road, waved as he drove past Sheriff Mason, and in minutes pulled into Maisy’s driveway.
She sat there for a moment, then shifted in her seat and looked at Billy-Joe. “Was I really that bad? I mean . . . bad enough to have everyone hate me?”
He smiled at her. “I don’t know anyone who hates you.”
“Candy?”
“Okay, maybe she did once. But I can damn sure tell you she’s forgotten about it by now, what with the kids and diapers and school. . . .”
“Yeah.” Maisy opened her door. “Do you hate me?”
“Of course not, Maisy. We have great memories. Did I want to hate you? Sure. Any guy whose ego has been hurt wants to be mad. But you are, without a doubt, the hardest woman in the world to stay angry with.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now get out of my truck.” He grinned that wide country-boy grin that had first inspired her crush on him. Why hadn’t she followed through with him? Because he wasn’t Mack Logan—that’s why.
The thought raised the hairs on her arms; she jumped from the truck. “Thanks for the ride.”
He nodded and drove off while she stood in the driveway, stared at the front door of her childhood home. “Welcome home, Maisy,” she said out loud, the whiskey making the three words into one.
She walked up to the front porch, sat down on a rocking chair. This was where she’d first fallen in love with Mack. The first place she’d known he was the one.
At the beginning of every summer since Maisy could remember, Mack Logan had arrived in his family’s Volvo station wagon with h
is brother and parents. Riley would run down to Pearson’s Pier to meet him, and Maisy would hardly see her again until Labor Day. Mack stole Maisy’s role as Riley’s best friend and became the primary source of her jealousy; each Memorial Day he kidnapped her sister and released her for only leftover moments with Maisy.
A few weeks into that last summer, Mack walked up to the front porch, where Riley stood waiting to go with him to the movie on the lawn, and something about the way he moved made Maisy stop, stare. She watched as he stepped onto the bottom step, and in the space between one breath and the next, her jealousy turned to desire. She knew Mack Logan was the boy she’d been waiting for all along.
She waited for a moment and then ran after Riley, set her gaze on Mack, and their summer romance began.
Even then there had been emptiness in Maisy, a need that she was convinced was unique to her, and she had sought to fill it with constant fun, beautifying, socializing. But during that last summer with Mack, she pulled away from all else and focused on him, making him her source of fulfillment.
One afternoon they sat above the county dam, watching water splash over the spillway. She gathered her courage and told him about the empty place in her, the yearning. He laughed and said that of course everyone had that place, that feeling, and if they claimed they didn’t, they were lying. In the silence that followed, she realized that he knew her as no one else ever had, and she loved him.
Uncertain in this new first love, she was cautious, wary, afraid to mess it up, hesitant to jump too far or too fast into what she wanted. She withheld words of love and of the future in the faith that she would know the right time, the right place to speak them. As the summer neared its end, she understood—like a good ending in a novel—that the night of the bonfire would be the right time and place. They would make plans. He would go off to college while she finished her last year of high school, and then she would join him. Her mother had always told her that all good things were worth waiting for.
Driftwood Summer Page 9