“I’m sorry. . . . That was none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay. It’s just that I’ve never told anyone who his dad is. Anyway . . .” She took a deep breath, exhaled her question. “So how is your sweet mom?”
“She’s worried about Dad, but she encouraged this trip. And it’s been great. Coming here and remembering those quieter, timeless days. I’ve been to the Murphy brothers’ oyster roast—they’re still crazy—played poker with Dad’s old buddies. I’ve run the length of the town and watched the sunrise off the jetty. All the good stuff.”
Mack squinted at her through the late-afternoon sunlight falling through the old windows. Her heart filled with another memory—full and complete. He was walking her to the movie on the lawn when Maisy ran up behind them, begged to come with them. Had he wanted her, Riley, then, even for a moment?
Mack reached across the table, took her hand. For a while he seemed to struggle to find the right words and then settled for, “It is really great to see you.”
“You, too,” she said, squeezing his fingers, wondering what he’d really meant to say.
Sheppard appeared beside them. “You two gonna let an old man sleep in the middle of the biography section, snoring like a fool?”
“Just thought we wore you out today, Dad.” Mack stood. “Let’s go get something to eat and then come back for the party tonight. You up for it?”
“I am,” Sheppard said. “I guarantee we’re smelling up this pretty shop with our fishy selves. Let’s go.”
Mack hugged Riley goodbye and walked out of Driftwood Cottage. “We’ll be back for the party in an hour or so,” Mack promised.
“Great.” Riley held the door open and watched them walk down the cobbled pathway.
Lodge came to her side. “Hey.”
Riley startled. “Hey, when did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago.” He nodded toward Mack and Sheppard. “Time may have passed, but some things don’t change, do they? You’ve always . . . had a thing for him.”
Riley shook her head. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugged, motioned to Mack and Sheppard.
“Lodge, everything has changed,” Riley said. “And is still changing.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Lodge said, and together they watched Mack and Sheppard walk down the cobbled pathway, memories of summer following them.
TWENTY-THREE
MAISY
When the readings were finished, and the last goodbye had been offered, Maisy stacked folding chairs against the wall. Riley had gone upstairs for the night, and now Maisy glanced around the cottage for Mack—she’d asked him to come back and see her when the party was over. The past two days he’d disappeared to catch up with old friends, go fishing and hang out with his dad. The same desperate need for him that had consumed her on the night of the bonfire had returned now and Maisy’s stomach danced with nervousness.
Adalee slammed a chair shut. “Who are you looking for?”
“What do you mean?” Maisy stopped, squinted at Adalee.
“You’ve only looked back at the café, like, two hundred times. And you’re totally preoccupied.”
Adalee and Maisy both turned to the slam of a screen door, then saw Mack enter through the back door.
“Over here,” Maisy said.
“Oh! I get it now,” Adalee said. “You go on. I’ll finish here tonight. I owe you one.”
“Thanks, sis.” Maisy walked toward Mack, folding a tablecloth into a neat square just like Mama had taught her.
The music still played: Alison Krauss singing “Stay.” “I love this song,” she said.
“Yeah, Alison can break your heart, can’t she?”
Maisy nodded.
Mack smiled at her. “You done with your work for the night?”
She nodded yes. This was it, she thought. This was when the past ran so fast, it caught up with the present.
For Maisy, the walk from the cottage to the beach seemed to erase the time that had passed between now and the summer of his leaving; the bonfire might still be burning and she might still be standing underneath the lifeguard station with every nerve on fire.
They stood in silence at the edge of the sea, shoes in their hands, the full moon lighting a path on the water. Maisy sought perfect words to say in this moment full of possibility.
Mack stopped, stared out over the waves. “Being here makes time almost stand still.”
Unable to speak, Maisy merely nodded.
Mack looked back over the water. “Like we’re all in our teens and life has every chance of becoming perfect.”
“Yes,” Maisy whispered, shifted her weight in the sand so her upper arm rubbed against his.
He moved his arm away, and for a brief moment, she felt the sting of his rejection. Then his arm dropped over her shoulder, pulled her closer to his side. Far off a foghorn called; laughter from a party rang across the beach. Maisy leaned into him.
“I’ve imagined this a million times,” she said.
“Imagined me?”
“You . . . with me. Here.”
He turned to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and stared at her for so long she thought he might be waiting for her to say something, do something. But she waited . . . waited for his kiss. Instead he stepped away, grimaced. “Sorry, my cell phone.” He grabbed it from his back pocket.
Confusion overcame her. “Mack?”
He glanced at the screen, then at her. “It’s Dad.”
“Huh?”
“A text from the hospital. Something’s happened. I’ve got to go. . . .”
“I’ll come with you,” she said, tried to clasp his hand but he slipped it free.
He shook his head. “No, you don’t need to do that. I’ll call the bookstore . . . let y’all know what’s going on. . . .” He hurried off without another word.
Understanding flooded Maisy’s heart—he didn’t want her with him. He’d torn his hand from hers as though she’d held on for too long.
Maybe she had held on to him and his memory for too long.
She stared at her empty hand, pale in the moonlight. An offshore breeze lifted her hair, isolation and loneliness her companions once more. She’d been the fool again—holding on too hard, showing her heart too soon, needing too much.
She sat down in the wet sand, felt the dampness seep through her thin skirt, her sadness swelling—for Sheppard, who might be seriously ill; for Mack, who was losing his father; for herself for clinging to men who didn’t want her.
Maisy curled over her legs, stared out at the dark waters. The beach grew silent as the last stragglers went home. Porch lights turned off. The moon moved across the sky and she understood: Mack did not and would not fill the place of emptiness inside her; his touch was not what she really wanted. This was not a fairy tale and he was not here to save her. The one person she had thought would finally mend the frazzled edges of her broken heart had left her feeling more alone.
TWENTY-FOUR
RILEY
Friday morning, Riley woke to find Maisy seated at her kitchen table, a mug of coffee cradled in her palms.
“I have to tell you something,” Maisy said. “Sheppard Logan was admitted to General last night. I don’t know what happened, just that he texted the news to Mack, who took off.” Maisy’s shoulders slumped forward, her gaze on the table.
Riley didn’t hesitate. “Will you keep an eye on Brayden?”
Maisy nodded, and Riley was at Sheppard’s bedside before she gave any thought of calling first. She stared down at father and son: Mack asleep on a chair; Sheppard hooked to an oxygen tube, an IV in his hand.
Mack startled as though Riley had made a noise. His smile was tired and closed-lipped. “Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey, you.” Riley walked to the foot of the bed.
Mack stood and they hugged, held each other for a moment. “How is he?” she asked.
Sheppard made a sound vaguely like
a cough. Mack was at his bedside in a half breath.
“Dad?”
Sheppard opened one eye. “Hey, son.” He took a ragged breath. “I’m sorry I messed up your night. One minute I’m playing poker with some old buddies. The next I’m in the ER.”
The door opened and a tall man in a lab coat came to stand next to Mack. His face hung in weary folds, and behind glasses his eyes were faded with fatigue. The doctor held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Dr. Steinman. Are you Mr. Logan’s son?”
Mack shook his hand. “Yes, I’m Mack Logan. What’s going on? I talked to the doctor last night, but I haven’t heard anything since then.”
Riley’s small steps took her, inch by inch, to the back wall, where she tried to be inconspicuous, wanting to give them privacy.
“Well, from the brief history we’ve gathered from your dad and his doctor in Boston, and the lab tests we just got back—he has neutropenia.”
“What’s that?”
“His white blood cell count has dropped.” The doctor walked over, lifted Sheppard’s right hand. “He received a cut a few days ago, and it’s become infected; he has a fever of one hundred and three and the infection is spreading up his arm. He fainted, as I assume you heard. His doctor in Boston did not approve his travel here. In his condition, considering the advanced stage of his cancer—he should be resting at home, and he most certainly should not have let this wound go untreated.”
Mack turned to his dad. “You didn’t tell me you got cut. And did you know you weren’t supposed to travel?”
Sheppard turned away. “I felt great . . . and sometimes the doctor’s advice and my needs don’t match.”
Dr. Steinman sat down on a metal stool. “We’ll need to keep him for at least twenty-four hours to allow the IV antibiotic to bring down the infection. Then we’ll work with his doctor in Boston and arrange to transfer him back to his home hospital.”
“You should have told me you were cut,” Mack said.
“I felt fine. I didn’t even notice the cut was infected.” Sheppard turned away, his eyes moist as he spoke with a slight quaver in his voice. “These have been the best days in years and I almost forgot . . . almost forgot.”
“I know, Dad. Me, too.” Mack patted his father’s back.
Riley slipped out of the room. In the hall, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Then Mack’s hand was cupping her elbow. “Riley.”
She looked up at him. “I should leave you two alone. . . . I just thought you might . . . I have no idea what I thought.”
“That I might want my best friend from Palmetto Beach to be here?”
“That was a long time ago.” She looked at the shut door to Sheppard’s room. “Go take care of your dad.”
Mack placed his hands on either side of her face, and kissed her forehead. “Thanks, Minnow. I’ll catch up with you later.”
When Riley returned to Mama’s house, she was summoned straight to the drawing room, where Mama rose proudly in front of her new walker. Riley laughed out loud. “Mama, you’re walking. You look great!”
“I look like hell, but give me two hours with my hairdresser, and an hour with the manicurist, an hour with the makeup artist, and I’ll be ready to go.” With that, she collapsed back onto her bed. “I’ll have to stay in my wheelchair for most of the party tomorrow night, but I insist on standing for the announcements and speeches.”
Riley helped her mama situate herself under her favorite linen sheet. “Whether you’re sitting or standing, it’ll just be great to have you there.”
“Let’s go over the list once more, okay?” She scooted up against the headboard, and then yanked a folder off the cluttered bedside table.
Riley was convinced that if she went over the arrangements one more time, her head would spin. Patience, Riley, patience. “Okay, Mama. Once more.”
They reviewed the schedule in minute detail until they reached the raffle announcements. Mama pointed to the list of prizes. “Where did all this stuff come from? I never solicited a weekend trip to Charleston or a free makeover. . . .”
“Adalee got all that donated. She went from store to store in town. People have been buying tickets for ten dollars apiece. The store will make money from it.”
“Are you sure we’re not paying for it?”
“I’m very sure.” Riley patted the sheet smooth around her mother’s legs. “Trust me. I know how to run the store. It has been an incredible week. Everything is right on track. Adalee and Maisy have worked so hard. Ethel and Anne must be angels. We just can’t see their wings.”
“I’m quite sure some details have fallen through the cracks. I’m just going to have to learn to let go of things I can’t control. Not everything can get done without me.” Mama fluttered her eyes as if a gnat had stuck to her eyelashes.
Defensiveness rose up like a wave inside Riley. “Mama, nothing fell through the cracks. I promise.”
Mama leaned forward. “What about the singer for later in the night? I never called one.”
“Maisy hired the daughter of one of the Cookbook Club’s members. Country music, I think.”
Kitsy groaned. “Oh, please don’t tell me she hired some twangy redneck girl to sing bad karaoke.”
“Let’s hope not. . . .” Riley stood. “Listen, I know Harriet will get you to the store on time, but call me if you need something.”
“I won’t need anything.”
Riley stood, and then hesitated. “Mama, did you know that Sheldon Rutledge was killed in Iraq?”
“Yes, I’d heard about that at the garden club a few weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Guess I forgot.”
“He was a good friend, Mama. I wish I’d known before. . . .”
“Sorry, dear. Sometimes an old woman forgets things.”
“You don’t forget anything.” Riley leaned over to kiss her mother on the forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
“Darling,” Mama called out as Riley walked out of the room.
Riley looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“I like your haircut.”
“I had it cut days ago.”
“I know. I just kept forgetting to say something.”
Riley nodded and closed the door to the drawing room. The weight of responsibility pushed down on her shoulders, making them ache along with the pounding in her head. After tomorrow night it would all be over.
Riley drove back to the cottage, and entered with a breeze that sent sand across the hardwood floors.
Ethel waved a white-gloved hand from the front counter. Maisy stood on a ladder in the Book Club Corner, stringing white lights through the rafters. Riley called out to her, “What are you doing?”
“Lights—you always have to have glittering lights when you give a party.”
Riley stood under the ladder, looked up at her beautiful sister. “Where’s Adalee?”
Maisy pointed to the storage room. “Locked in there.”
“What’s she doing?”
Maisy shrugged. “She just yells at me to go away.”
Riley rubbed her temples, fought the urge to ask about Maisy’s night with Mack. “It’s time to finish setting up. I’ll need her history boards—so let me grab the key from Ethel. I’m so glad we don’t have an event tonight. I still don’t know how we’re gonna be ready by tomorrow.”
“We’ll be fine, Riley.”
Riley was halfway across the room when she felt Maisy’s stare. She turned. “What?” She held her hands up in question.
Maisy averted her gaze. “Nothing.”
Riley asked Ethel for the key to the storage room, and Anne for a large mug of coffee.
The key to the old library turned in the lock but the door remained bolted from the inside. “Adalee,” Riley called through the crack.
The bolt slid open and Adalee stood before Riley. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and dark circles ringed her eyes.
“You okay?” Riley asked, ma
neuvering around Adalee to enter the room.
“Yes. I know I don’t look like it, but I’m really great.”
Riley squinted at her sister, but didn’t have time to probe into the issue of Chad. “Are the history boards done?”
“Yep, and I even have two surprise ones. So, you can’t see them yet.”
Riley put an arm around her sister. “I’m sorry I hollered. I’m . . . exhausted.”
“I know,” Adalee said. “But it’s almost over.”
Riley nodded. “Almost over.” She left the storage room; the mug of coffee Anne handed her was exactly what she needed. She leaned against the pine wall, cradling her mug.
Maisy walked toward her, whispered, “Tell me what you meant about Mama last night. And tell me now. Please.” Maisy’s pupils were shadowed with a fear Riley hadn’t seen since childhood.
“Let’s go outside. Okay?” Riley set her mug on the café counter before walking out the back door.
Together they stood on the back porch, silent until Maisy said, “Please tell me Mama isn’t really dying.”
“I was angry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Answer the question. What did you mean?”
“I don’t know everything yet.” Riley explained what she’d learned from Mama and Doc Foster about the cancer, ending with, “I promised not to tell anyone, and I’m really sorry I broke that promise.”
“You mean . . . Mama has cancer of some terrible sort and you haven’t said a word about it? What the hell is going on? Have you researched this?”
“A little, yes. Mama and Doc promise to tell us all their plans when the party is over. Mama begged me to not talk about it, to allow her this celebration with her daughters. . . .”
“Dear God, Riley. This explains so much. . . .” Tears broke free from Maisy’s wide eyes. “Damn.” She swiped at them as if she were angry that they’d betrayed her emotions.
“Please, I am begging you: don’t say a word. Just act like . . . you don’t know.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “Like you have been . . .”
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