“Oh.” Adalee approached the counter with a smile on her face. “Isn’t it great when they hide out in the river all night?”
Mrs. Winter’s smile lifted. “Oh, yes, can you imagine a twelve-year-old doing that?”
Adalee placed her hand on top of the novel. “Mrs. Winter, you cannot return books that you have already read. You can donate them to the library, or even check books out from the library, but you can’t return them here.” Her sugar voice belied the words she said.
The woman’s face blanched. Her gaze, unsteady now, moved from Maisy to Riley, to Mack and back to Adalee. “I didn’t read this one. I realized I already had it and needed to bring this copy back. Are you accusing me of lying?”
“Oh, no,” Adalee said. “I just figured you would know if you bought a book you already owned, had read and loved as much as this one.”
“Of course,” the woman said. She tucked the book under her arm and bustled out of the store faster than she looked like she was capable of doing.
When the front door swished shut, the five of them burst into laughter, holding on to the counter and slapping Adalee on the back. “Brilliant,” Riley said. “I might get a call from her son, but hell, if she can lie to us and then lie to her son, I guess that’s her problem.”
Adalee smiled and placed her hands in a circle over her head. “Did I earn back my halo?”
“You never lost your halo. Now go to bed.” Riley pointed to the back stairs. “Both of you.”
Maisy stood still and silent, wanting to feel the joy that filled her sisters. She wanted to push past and through the loneliness that shrouded even the best moments, and at times she thought she had succeeded, but then it always returned without invitation.
She was following Adalee toward the back staircase when Anne called from behind the counter. “Maisy?”
“Hey, Anne, what’s up?” Maisy rubbed her face.
“I wanted . . . well, I wanted to give you something I made for you. I know you didn’t ask for one, but I saw you looking at the angel wings the other day and thought you might want one.”
“Oh, I’d love one. But I’ll . . . buy one.”
Anne reached under the counter and held fragile white wings across to Maisy.
She took the wings, no more than eight inches across; pure white. She flipped them over to read the one word etched into the crease: PEACE. Maisy looked up at Anne. “Thank you. These are beautiful. And I’m glad you picked this one for me.”
“I didn’t just pick it for you. I made it for you. You seem to . . . need it.”
Maisy, in her fatigue, fought the tears this truth brought. “Thank you.” She turned away from Anne and went up the back stairs to Riley’s apartment. She cupped the wings in her hand and felt sadness wash over her. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt peace. Yet she was always looking for it in someone, in something or somewhere.
Peace, she thought. Yes, that would be nice. She ran her pinky finger over the delicate word.
TWENTY-TWO
RILEY
The next three days passed in the haze of busy-ness where Riley felt most comfortable when she wanted to avoid introspection. She kept her focus on the store, on getting through the week.
The Tuesday Poetry Night and the Wednesday Kids’ Corner Night went as smoothly as she could have hoped. Lodge covered every party, showed up with his camera and placed a prominent article in the living section each day. Riley suspected that Mack and Maisy had restarted their romance, but she ignored this suspicion with grim determination: she would not stop them again. Adalee bounced and chattered through the events, and then ran off to find Chad. Mama became increasingly exhausted, even canceling a few meetings with her daughters, stating she understood everything was going well.
On Thursday evening a wild sunset filled the sky as Riley stood on the beach near the cottage, her back to the sea. The day after tomorrow was the big party and she went through a mental checklist in her mind, then paused to stare at the sky before she turned to look at the moon, its light stretching like a beacon across the waves, pointing to Driftwood Cottage.
Riley moved her hand up to curl the ends of her hair around her fingertips. She was still getting used to shorter hair and often her hand fell through the air as she reached for strands that were no longer there, like reaching for a memory and finding it gone, but knowing she was better off without it.
A stooped figure moved from the water’s edge toward the cottage. Adalee came closer, sobbing. Riley ran to her. “Adalee, what’s wrong?”
She looked up, gulped in air. “I just left the Beach Club. The damn Beach Club where I got Chad a job. The damn Beach Club where I found him making out with Kenzie Marshall with the awful boob job.”
“If he’s cheating on you, then he’s not worth this angst.”
Adalee glared at her. “That’s always what people say when they catch boyfriends cheating. Always. I’ve said it to my friends.”
“Sounds clichéd, huh? I’m so sorry. It hurts either way.”
They reached the back steps and sat down together. Adalee rested her head on Riley’s shoulder. “How come I always pick the biggest loser known to man?”
“If we could only make them love us as much as we love them,” Riley said.
Adalee looked up at her. “Exactly.”
Riley shrugged. “Not always possible.”
Adalee leaned into her again. She sniffled, rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “We—I mean me, you and Maisy—don’t have very good luck with men, do we?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you—well, you won’t even tell us who Brayden’s dad is, so I don’t really know about him. Maisy, well, she just picks guys who won’t stay. And me, I always end up with the life of the party. Unfortunately he’s always everyone’s life of the party, if you know what I mean.” Adalee sat up now, smoothed her face with both hands. “I will not cry over this. I will not.”
Riley looked up at the sky. “I’m not sure if we have bad luck. That might be a stretch. Maybe we just make bad . . . choices.”
“Don’t get all lecturey on me.”
“There is no such word as lecturey. But don’t worry. I’m not up for a lecture. Too tired. I’m sorry about Chad. But I did see that cute artist making eyes at you at the party Tuesday night.”
“Really?” Adalee’s face brightened, then fell again. “Oh, never mind. Only three more nights of this and then we’re free for the rest of the summer, right? Because I swear Chad cheated on me because I’ve been locked up like a prisoner. . . . This is all Mama’s fault.”
“Chad being a cheating scumbag is Mama’s fault?” Riley stood up as her sister did, and laughed. “I can think of some things to blame Mama for, but not Chad’s tendency to find the biggest boobs in the room.”
They both turned when Maisy opened the back door, slammed the screen and held her hands out wide. “Am I missing out on something?”
“Loser Chad made out with Kenzie Marshall and I caught them,” Adalee said.
“Oh.” Maisy shook her head. “What is wrong with him?”
Together the three sisters shook their heads. “Men!”
They broke into laughter, and Riley felt it—the sweetness of sisters together, laughing and speaking in unison, in accord. Maisy glanced at Riley and she smiled. When Maisy smiled back, a small spot of past hurt was healed.
They walked into the bookstore to begin another night of festivities. Riley stopped short when she saw a new lounge chair set up in the Book Club Corner. “Oh, where did that come from?”
Maisy shrugged. “I have no idea. I thought you added it.”
“No, you?” She turned to Adalee.
“No, Edith told me that a delivery truck dropped it off without any explanation.”
“Oh, if I get a bill for this, Mama will kill me,” Riley said.
“This is your store. Why do you get so worked up about what she thinks about every little thing?”
&
nbsp; “Because the cottage is . . . well, hers.”
“Either she gave it to you to run, or she didn’t.”
“It’s not that simple, Maisy.” Riley walked toward the front desk, smoothing her hand in automatic motions over the bookshelves, eyeing the counter for bookmarks and flyers. “Nothing is ever that simple. I don’t want to upset her.”
Maisy went over and put her hand on Riley’s arm to stop her. “Why isn’t it that simple? Because you made one mistake, you are indebted to Mama forever?”
“What mistake would that be?” Riley felt her hurt, just soothed, return as raw-nerved energy.
Maisy held up her hand. “Forget it.” She walked away, then turned sharply on her heels and motioned to Riley’s office. Riley hesitated, then followed her in, and Maisy shut the door. “What the hell is going on here? Why are you so desperate to protect Mama? Do you need her money? Do you want to be free of her, yet you want her store? So you appease her . . . say what she wants when she wants. You can’t have it both ways, Riley. This store is killing Mama. I see it every day.”
“It is not the financial worries that are killing her. The store saves her.” Riley’s voice was a mere whisper.
“Then what is it that drains her like this? The years of martinis? Missing Daddy? The boredom?”
“How would you know? You haven’t been here.”
“You probably don’t need to remind me of that again. I think all of you have made the point just fine. Why don’t you just sell the damn store? Then I could go back to my life.”
“The store is all we have—me, Mama and Brayden.”
“That is pitiful.”
Riley’s words turned cold. “Haven’t you ever once thought about the bigger picture? About something other than you and the next guy you want? If we’re forced to close the store, Edith and Anne will be out of jobs, and our town will lose far more than just a store.”
“Our town?”
“Yes, our town. Do you know how many people come together here? How many events are held? How many hearts are healed? How much good is done?” Riley shook her head. “Sometimes I feel I just don’t know you at all. When did you become so self-centered?”
“If I’m self-centered, maybe it’s because I don’t want to become you—sacrificing your life to keep Mama happy. You slave away at the store, so ready to fulfill every one of Mama’s endless demands.”
Riley’s anger rose with a fury she hadn’t felt in years. “You have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You’re so blind, you can’t even see all the good that Mama has done this town and me. You complain about having to give up a few days of your time, and you have no idea what sacrifice she’s making. Wake up, Maisy. The world does not revolve around you. You are so angry that you can’t even see that Mama might be dying, that for once, this is not about you.”
Riley slammed the office door on her way out. She couldn’t bear to see Maisy’s reaction to her harsh words, couldn’t believe she’d broken her promise to Mama.
From far away, someone called her name and Riley brought her attention back to the store, to Mrs. Harper, waving a large book in her hand. “Ooooh, Riley?”
She placed a weary smile on her face, whispered to Edith to please have Anne bring over a latte and then went to Mrs. Harper. “Hi, ma’am. How are you?” Her body shook inside with the remnants of her unaccustomed fury, and she held her hands behind her back to still them.
“I am thinking of going to Italy this summer. Would you say this is the best book to get?”
Riley glanced down at the book. Mrs. Harper would never leave the confines of Palmetto Beach, much less travel to Italy. She’d bought more than fifteen travel guides in the past five years, and had yet to leave the town limits to drive to her granddaughter’s house an hour away. Sympathy for this woman billowed inside Riley.
“Mrs. Harper,” she said over the lump in her throat, “you’ve made an excellent choice. Why don’t you have a seat here in this new chair and take some time to scan the pages? If the book still interests you, I’ll ring it up for you. Take your time.”
“Really?” Her penciled-in eyebrows rose above her eyeglasses.
“Sure.” Riley patted the cushion. “You might even be the first person to sit here.”
Mrs. Harper sat, and when she looked up with a smile, Riley had to turn away for fear the old woman would see the tears in her eyes. When she reached the edge of the front counter, Adalee squinted at her. “You okay?”
Riley nodded. “I must be exhausted. Sweet old lady Harper makes me want to cry.”
“Why?” Adalee looked over Riley’s shoulder while she fingered the name tags for the night.
“She has been buying travel guides for five years, yet she hasn’t left the town limits since her husband passed away. I don’t know why, but it just hurts my heart today.”
“Because,” Adalee said, and bent closer, “maybe she reminds you of a woman who reads books about other women’s lives, but barely lives her own.”
Riley pulled away, startled, then hurt. “You’ve always done that, Adalee. Always.”
“Done what?” Adalee spread her arms, opened her red-rimmed eyes wide.
“Tried to shove your hurt off on other people. I’m sorry you’re having trouble with your boyfriend, but don’t let it out on me.”
“I just meant . . . just meant that you read all these books. I’ve never seen anyone read so many books. But you never do anything except work and take care of Brayden. I mean, surely you must want to go out and have a date, or travel, or—”
“Just because you don’t like the way I live my life doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”
“What? You adore jumping to Mama’s every call?”
Adalee’s words, coming on the heels of Maisy’s accusation, made Riley’s stomach rise. “This doesn’t sound like you, Adalee. You’re quoting Maisy. I can hear her words coming out of your mouth. And if you two want to psychoanalyze me, do it on your own time.” Riley turned on her heels, and walked toward the front of the store to greet incoming guests for the evening. When she dared to glance at the entranced face of Mrs. Harper in the lounge chair, her heart hurt where Adalee had probed into her worst fears. Maisy had still not come out of the office, and with each breath she took, Riley regretted more and more the news she’d dropped on her sister.
Mack and Sheppard entered through the front door; Riley leaned against a pillar and watched them. If she just stood still and breathed, took in the details of her store, of her life, she would be fine in a moment. Then Mack’s eyes caught hers and Riley felt her insides vibrate like a tuning fork. She turned away; she must have been exhausted for her sister’s words to be affecting her so strongly. Or maybe she was getting sick. She needed to get through the next couple of days and then move on with her life.
Then Mack was at her side. She held her hands behind her back to stop herself from running her fingers through his hair, throwing her arms around him. Sheppard wandered off to a lounge chair, sat and leaned his head back with his eyes closed.
“When I see him like that,” Mack said, nodding toward his dad, “I can pretend that we’re back here when the cottage was ours, when the world was right and Dad was healthy. . . .”
“I know,” Riley said, a note of understanding echoing between them.
“I can see the Scrabble game on the coffee table, the thousand-piece puzzle set up all summer. Mom would be humming along to the local radio station. Joe would be on the back porch rinsing the salt water off the fishing poles. . . .”
As Mack spoke to her, Riley felt as if the room had faded and the books disappeared.
He laughed, a low, soft sound. “I remember one day—me and you. We must have been nine or ten years old. You came running in the back door straight from church, hollering all about how there was only an hour left of the tide, and if we wanted to take the Sailfish out, we better do it right then.
“I looked at you in your Sunday dress, your hair pulled back
with a white satin ribbon and said, ‘You look like a girl.’ You stared at me like I was the biggest moron in the world and said, ‘That’s because I am one, you idiot.’ Mama proceeded to tell me I was a brilliant ladies’ man.”
Riley had no such memory. “Then what?”
He shrugged. “We went out on the Sailfish, I assume.”
Riley pressed her hand into the pillar to bring herself back into this world, to this present moment. That was the thing about memory—each person carried their own scraps of the past. Mack remembered events that she didn’t, or had his own version of events that they shared. He had some memories, and his father had others, her mother still others. If they combined all the remembrances together, could they form an entire summer from them?
Mack spoke into her silence. “Let’s let Dad sleep for a minute or so. Want a cup of coffee?” He pointed toward the café.
Riley looked toward the front desk. “The party starts in an hour. . . .”
He wound his arm through hers. “That sounds like an excuse to me. Come on. One cup of coffee.”
“Sure,” she said, squeezed his arm. She followed him into the cafe, motioning to Anne behind the counter. A minute later, Anne plunked two scones and two cups of coffee on the table.
Mack took a bite of the pastry and a long sip of coffee before he leaned back in his chair. “Okay, old friend. Tell me how your mama is doing.”
“She’s healing. And cranky. It makes her crazy to be laid up in bed, missing all the events she planned. She pretends this store is her hobby, but it’s more like an obsession. That’s why my sisters are here. . . . Otherwise Mama would be doing all the work. It takes two of them to do what she would do.” Riley settled back in her chair. “But I gotta tell you, I can’t believe how they’ve redecorated. I’ve dreamed of making over the bookstore like this . . . but, well, I didn’t have the money, and decorating is not exactly my gift. Mama is gonna love it.”
“More important—tell me about Brayden. Can you tell me about his dad?”
Riley turned away from him, her gaze flitting about the store.
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