Driftwood Summer

by Patti Callahan Henry

  Maisy laughed. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s happened too many times.”

  “Good ol’ Palmetto Beach.”

  Riley turned to Mack. “Okay, I’ve absolutely got to get to work. But we’ll see you later this weekend, won’t we?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  Maisy studied Riley, watching for signs of attraction, lust, even love. When Riley left to wait on customers, Maisy sidled up to Mack. “Hey,” she said.

  He smiled. “It is so weird to see my old home like this. But it’s like it was meant to be.”

  She nodded, and then blurted out, “Want to meet for lunch or something? Riley and Mama have me working nonstop, but I do get a lunch hour.”

  “I’m headed to the pier to fish with Brayden and Dad, but we can meet for a late lunch. One o’clock at the Beach Club?”

  She nodded again, her usual quick wit failing.

  “Great,” he said, motioning to Brayden that he was ready to go.

  Maisy stood immobile while her nephew and Mack walked out the back door toward the beach. Anne stood behind the bakery counter, piling muffins on a wicker tray. Maisy approached the counter, broke off a piece of a banana-nut muffin. “Thank God for the bakery.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Coffee?” Anne asked.

  “Please.” Maisy picked up the full tray Anne had prepared. “I’ll take this over to the book club and be right back.”

  The six women sat in a circle, purses and tote bags scattered on the floor. “Hi, ladies.” Maisy entered the group, stood in the center. “I’m Maisy Sheffield. I’ll be helping with the book clubs for the next week or so while Mama is laid up. Please let me know if you need anything.” She set the tray on the large and, in her opinion, heinous-looking coffee table. It was made of pressed wood, something she hated with the same fervor their childhood preacher had hated dancing. A tall blonde stood up. “Hi, I’m Betty Oberman. This”—she ran her manicured hand in a circle—“is the Blonde Book Club. We meet every Friday morning.”

  “You read a book a week?” Maisy asked. She took a quick glance at each woman, trying not to be obvious. Yes, each was a different shade of blond.

  “No . . . but we talk about lots more than just books.”

  “Great.” Maisy looked over her shoulder at the cash register, where Ethel had a long line. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” Betty smiled.

  “Do you have to be a blonde to be in the book club?”

  Betty’s smile grew larger. “Oh, no. Definitely not. We called it that because we were all friends in high school—and we all had blond hair back then. Of course we all have to fake it now, so we thought it was funny. Millie’s not here—but she has black-as-a-raven hair.”

  These women were younger than Maisy, so she wouldn’t have known them in high school. “You all went to Palmetto High?”

  They nodded in agreement. Betty answered for them all. “We graduated six years ago.”

  “Go, Dolphins.” Maisy faked a rah-rah sound. “I graduated from there also.”

  “We know,” Betty said. “You were only seven years ahead of us. Everyone knows who you are.”

  Maisy studied the woman’s face, and found a sweet smile.

  “You know, we are much more than a book club. We are part of a group called PEO, which is Philanthropic Education Organization. We raise money to give to women to continue their education. Books are just our reward and excuse to get together.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Maisy said.

  “When you’re free, why don’t you sit with us a while? Whenever she’s here, your mama always joins us at the end.”

  “Okay, that would be nice.”

  Maisy grabbed her coffee cup from Anne, checked the book club time slots and updated the RSVP list for the party. When she finished, she scanned the store; it needed help—aesthetic help. Some paint, a floor polish, new furniture, bookshelves that didn’t sag. She’d have to talk to Riley about it. In her mind she saw exactly what she could do to this place. It had good bones, but the wide plank floors were worn and chipped, the open beams dull and dusty, the furniture covered in horrid faded paisley and floral prints that reminded her of the formal living room in Mama’s house, which was probably where most of this stuff had come from.

  Maisy sat outside the Blonde Book Club circle. They had, after all, invited her. They smiled at her, but continued their conversation about Kelly-Anne’s unnamed boyfriend. From the gist of the conversation, Maisy determined that Kelly-Anne wouldn’t offer his name, she was distraught because he told her he loved her, yet he stayed with his wife. Obviously this group of women was best friends.

  Maisy made a cynical huff without realizing it.

  “Excuse me?” Kelly-Anne turned to Maisy. “Did you say something?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Another woman leaned forward. “I know exactly what you’re going through. You want to tell yourself not to love a man who is unavailable—it is wrong and terrible and hurtful, but you just cannot tell your heart what to feel and what not to feel.”

  Kelly-Anne wiped at her eyes. “Exactly. It just sucks. I know I have to walk away from him. I am not this kind of woman.”

  Another blonde exhaled, shook her head. “Doesn’t being in love with someone you can’t have just make you crazy?”

  Kelly-Anne nodded. “Crazy.”

  “I know.” A murmur of agreement went up around the circle. Betty held up the book they’d just read: Wuthering Heights. “I think Emily Brontë agrees. Love can make you crazy. Literally in this case.”

  Maisy couldn’t resist. Riley had put her in charge of book clubs, so she’d step up to the job. “Okay,” she said, “what is the craziest thing you’ve ever done for love?”

  Laughter filled the circle. Kelly-Anne went first. “Well, I had my brother remove the wheels on the car belonging to my lover’s wife so that when she went out the next morning, she found the car sitting on cinder blocks.”

  Betty took a sharp inhale. “Oh, Kelly-Anne, that was so mean. It’s not her fault.”

  Kelly-Anne dropped her head. “I know, I know. I felt desperate and weird all at the same time. I wouldn’t do it again. I didn’t steal the wheels. I just had to do something, anything to vent my frustration. It was so stupid and doesn’t even make any sense.”

  Maisy nodded. “We all do the stupidest things for love.”

  “I bet you’ve never done anything that stupid. Or dated a married man.”

  Maisy laughed. “Oh, don’t be so sure.”

  The conversation switched in an abrupt turn-around when Kiki clapped her hands. “Okay, who wants to call the library about the fund-raiser?”

  “I will,” said a woman in a tank top and frayed jeans.

  “Hey, everyone,” Riley called out. Maisy twisted her neck to stare at her sister, now showered and changed into a skirt and linen shirt. The women looked up at her as if blinking into the sunlight. “Just checking in on you.”

  Kiki stood. “Hey, Riley. Where have you been hiding your sister? We just love her. . . .”

  “Of course you do. Everyone does,” Riley said, her smile only half formed as Adalee came to her side. “This is my younger sister Adalee.”

  Adalee nodded and pulled on Riley’s sleeve. “I need your help,” she whispered. “I don’t know where to start on this stupid project.”

  Riley’s smile stayed in place. “I’ll leave you all to your discussion. I’m sure Maisy has it all under control.”

  “Nice to meet you, Adalee,” the group chorused.

  Maisy fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortable now in the midst of these women. She stood. “So wonderful to meet all of you. Please let me know if I can do anything. And I hope to see you at the festivities this week.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Betty said.

  Maisy glanced up at the clock. Soon she’d meet Mack for lunch. Maybe, just maybe, this trip home would
be bearable after all. Maybe the house did connect people, bringing happiness to all who passed through its doors. Now, finally, she and Mack could finish what they had started.

  TEN

  RILEY

  Despite the rocky start to the morning, Riley felt the bookstore come more alive as the day progressed, as if the presence of her sisters and Mack Logan had unleashed a new energy within the cottage. Maisy went out for lunch, pretending to go alone, yet Riley had heard her invite Mack.

  As usual, keeping busy at the store helped Riley keep her emotions from wreaking havoc on her heart. Now that school was out, the store filled with teenagers guzzling coffee and listening to music. Younger kids came in with frazzled mothers not yet accustomed to the school-free days. Riley had asked Adalee to spend some of her time fixing up the children’s section, which was left in constant disarray by unsupervised children whose mothers browsed the other sections.

  Ethel called Riley over to check on some new orders. She took the order form and fall catalog into her office, shut the door and scanned the titles. She shut her eyes and whispered out loud, “Oh, Mama, I need you here.” Mama was the one who knew intuitively what the Palmetto Beach community wanted to read. Riley used to argue with her about certain titles, and been wrong once too often, left with unsold inventory. Now she relied on Mama’s unerring choices. Riley stuck the order form in her bag and decided to take it to Mama that evening.

  For the rest of the day, Riley attempted to keep up a cheerful front for the customers. Inside she felt jittery and unsettled as she prepared for that evening. Nick Martin, the bestselling adventure novelist, would be signing and reading from his recent book, Gold Hunt.

  The book clubs that gathered that day adored Maisy, which didn’t surprise Riley. Adalee stayed in the back room, working on a timeline for the house. When she came out she talked constantly about Chad and where he was, how much fun he was having without her. Riley didn’t know how to convince her sister that there were more important things than who did or did not go to the beach party, who hooked up with whom. Adalee’s lack of a driver’s license didn’t do much to improve her attitude.

  By some miracle, Kitsy had still not learned about Adalee’s night spent in jail, and in her phone calls, she was calm. Late that afternoon, Riley stood in the shop’s storage room, surrounded by unopened boxes. The poster-board presentation of the timeline of the house was set against the wall. Despite her complaints, Adalee had taken the box of pictures and information about the house’s history, which Riley had handed over, and produced a clear pictorial history. She’d divided the board into decades, with a picture of the house from each period and a list of the family or families that had owned it during that time, including pertinent information about the town. Black-and-white photos created a frame around the board. Adalee had stopped in 1996—the year the Logan family sold the house to Kitsy.

  “Ethel,” Riley hollered out the door. “Do you know where Adalee is?”

  “How am I s’posed to keep track of the Sheffield sisters? For God’s sake, even their mama can’t do that.”

  Riley laughed, closed the storage room door. So many families had come and gone through this house. She did not want to have to sell out to still another family. This was her home, her refuge.

  The door to the storage room opened, and Ethel poked her head in. “There’s a long line forming for Nick Martin’s book signing, and it’s still two hours away. This is great news. . . .”

  Riley forced her thoughts to the evening ahead. “Did we order enough books?”

  “Oh, yes. I anticipated a great turnout.”

  Riley brushed her hair back, and entered the store to make sure everything was ready for the author’s signing. It was a huge coup to get Nick Martin to come to Driftwood Cottage to kick off the week of anniversary festivities. He didn’t go on tour often anymore—his adventure novels hit the bestseller lists the week they were released.

  Riley had gone all-out for this signing. The gourmet store across the street had provided free wine; the podium was set up for his talk; the chairs were organized in neat rows. There would be a raffle to win a stack of signed books and a bottle of Frei Brothers wine, from the winery where the climactic scene in the novel took place. Riley always made sure to read the book before the author arrived, to have a special giveaway that tied to the novel’s plot. If effort equaled success, she and the store would survive. Unfortunately this was not always the case in the book world. Rarely were they able to predict what would sell well. Mama was better than most at this guessing game.

  Riley fixed the crooked tablecloth at the book-signing table and was startled by Anne’s hand on her shoulder. “Hey.” Riley hugged her. “You didn’t have to come tonight. You have the night off, remember?”

  “I know, but I thought you might need some help and I brought you a little something.” Anne had her hand behind her back. Her T-shirt read: Lead me not into temptation. I can find it myself.

  “What is it?”

  Anne withdrew a piece of pottery from behind her back. “Wings.”

  Delicate and thin, these angel wings were smaller than most of the ones Anne crafted. Riley flipped them over to see what word she had carved: REST. “Oh . . . they are beautiful. So sweet and . . . I don’t . . .”

  Anne held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say—that you don’t need these wings. But you do. You most definitely do. And I made them for you. I knew you had to have them.”

  “I am so grateful.” Riley hugged Anne. “Now go take your night off. Okay?”

  “Nope, I’m here to help.” Anne headed back to the front desk.

  Riley slipped the pottery wings behind the café counter, where they would be safe from damage. Anne had last made Riley wings five years ago, when Brayden had broken his arm. They had said HEAL. Riley ran her fingers over the word REST and took a deep breath. Not yet, not just yet.

  Maisy and Adalee came through the front door, wound their way around the line of people waiting for Nick Martin. They’d obviously gone home to shower and change. Adalee’s kinetic energy sparked across the room. Maisy’s smile seemed to be lit from within, her hair catching the leftover light.

  Lodge came in behind them, fulfilling his promise to cover the first night’s event. He stood against the back wall. Riley sensed his presence as she brushed crumbs from the podium, placed a water bottle under the stand. She waved at him. He gave a single nod.

  Adalee tapped her hand on the podium. “Someone should tell Mama about this great crowd.”

  Riley hugged her. “Great idea. Why don’t you let her know? Maisy, would you hand out numbers to the people in line so they can browse the store without losing their place? Adalee, you pile the books up on the signing table while I check on the wine. Okay?”

  Maisy bowed in mock submission. “Okay, boss. But I’m keeping my eye out for Nick. If he’s as cute as his picture in the book, I’m sitting in the front row.”

  Riley narrowed her eyes. “Do not flirt with the author. I’m begging you.”

  Maisy rolled her eyes. “We wouldn’t want anyone to have any fun now, would we?”

  Riley ignored the sarcasm and scanned the room for anything amiss. Maisy wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, really. You’re just trying to do your job. I know that. But can I offer a small suggestion?”

  “What?” Riley shrugged off Maisy’s arm.

  “Since you made me leave my job for more than a week, and come here to help you—we need to do something about the decor in this place. Really. Make it more comfortable.”

  “And with what money would you like to do that?”

  “Family money? I have so many ideas about how to fix this place up—we can Beach Chic the entire place on wholesale. . . .”

  Riley held up her hand. “Let’s just get through this week.”

  Adalee leaned up against the counter and sighed. “Chad said he was coming, but I don’t see him.”

  “Please,” Maisy said. �
�Can we talk about something besides Chad and his whereabouts?”

  Adalee’s eyes filled with tears. “That is so mean.”

  Riley hugged her little sister. “Let’s concentrate on this book signing, and then we’ll find Chad. How’s that?”

  “Great. But can I ask you a quick question that is making me crazy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why does Ethel wear those white gloves?” Adalee leaned closer to Riley and whispered, “They’re dirty.”

  Riley pulled on her sister’s ear in a reminder of the days when Mama would flick their ears when they were being too loud at dinner: an annoying punishment the sisters had made fun of throughout their adolescence. “I’ve never asked,” Riley said. “I figure she has her reasons.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little weird?”

  “I guess sometimes you get so used to things that you don’t even notice them anymore. So, no, I don’t think it’s weird at all.”

  “I do.” Adalee glanced at the front desk. “And I bet the customers do, too.”

  “The customers love her, Adalee. Adore her. Maybe they know that appearances don’t matter as much as other things. . . .”

  “Why do I always feel . . . so judged by you?”

  “I have no idea. . . . I’m sorry.”

  Adalee stamped her foot. “God, I just want to go to the party at the Beach Club.”

  “Well, while I’m ruining your life, will you run upstairs and tell Brayden he can spend an hour at the beach before dark? I told him to finish cleaning his room and then . . .”

  Adalee nodded, turned on her flip-flops. “Whatever,” she said as she ran toward the back of the store.

  An older couple approached Riley and Maisy; Riley smiled at them in vague recognition. This always happened at the beginning of the summer—it took her a moment to remember the summer people’s names.