Then her mind grabbed on to the best thing in her life: Brayden. Fear formed like a blooming blackness. She scanned the room for her son, and then remembered telling him to go outside. At a run, she hurried to the back porch and hollered his name.
He didn’t answer from the beach; nausea rose in the back of her throat. She called his name louder. She ran out onto the sand, toward the water. Where was he?
Her flying thoughts told her that of course he was okay. He was an expert swimmer, knew this beach and every curve of it. Her feet flew out from underneath her body as she tripped over a pair of shoes lying in the sand. She regained her balance, yet in the twilight, she imagined she saw only Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge tossing Sheldon’s ashes and sobbing over their regret and loss.
Voices from the cottage drifted out onto the beach, but Riley listened for only one: Brayden’s.
It was his laughter she heard above the others as a group of teens moved toward the cottage with their shoes in their hands, their arms and legs loose and gangly in the way typical of adolescence. A girl giggled; a boy said something Riley didn’t catch.
She stood there as the group came toward her. They stopped when they noticed her.
Brayden stepped forward. “You’re not looking for me, are you?”
“No, I just needed some fresh air. . . .”
“We’re going to the pier to avoid this party . . .” Brayden said.
“Sorry, son. Not tonight. It’s Gamma’s birthday and there are a lot of people here who want to see you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He moaned.
A boy dropped his hand on Brayden’s shoulder. “We’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
A blond girl dug her toes in the sand and touched Brayden’s arm. “See you at Pearson’s Pier at noon?”
Brayden nodded at her, and then stomped back to the cottage, the best one can stomp in sand. Riley followed. Her fear of a moment ago had put her worries in perspective. . . . Losing the bookstore would be nothing compared to losing her only son.
Like the Rutledges had just lost their only son.
She entered through the back door. A loud squawk came from the microphone as Maisy tapped it. “Can I have your attention?”
The room grew quiet with a few murmured voices at the edge. “It’s time for the raffle.”
A spattering of applause filled the room, and one by one Maisy drew names out of the bowl. She gave away signed books, manicures and various other services offered by the small businesses around town. She gave away a handcrafted driftwood centerpiece. Then she whistled and announced, “Now for the big prize: a trip to Charleston for the weekend.”
Loud applause followed her announcement. Adalee ran up behind Maisy and whispered in her ear. She nodded, spoke again into the microphone. “Okay, my sister is going to pick the last name.”
Leaning against the checkout counter, Riley was situated behind Adalee and only she saw her sister slip a scrap of paper from her back pocket, pretend to pull it from the bowl, and then hand it to Maisy. “Mrs. Harper,” Maisy shouted into the microphone.
Silence filled the room as everyone waited for the ticket owner to come forward. Riley shouted the name again. A cry came from the back of the room. “Mom, that’s you.”
The crowd turned to stare at Mrs. Harper, who stood in the far back corner with her hand over her mouth. “I won?” she asked.
Maisy motioned for Mrs. Harper to come up as she read about the trip out loud. “You have won a two-night stay at the Vendue Inn, plus a tour of the aquarium and sea turtle hospital, a dinner at High Cotton and . . .”
Mrs. Harper reached Maisy’s side and spoke into her ear. Maisy smiled at the older woman, and took her hand. “This trip is for two.”
Mrs. Harper’s daughter appeared at her mother’s side. “Mom, of course you can take this trip. I’ll go with you. We can do it together.”
With large tears and shaking hands, the old woman took her daughter’s arm. “I haven’t been anywhere since Frank died. I just don’t think . . .”
Maisy turned away from mother and daughter, but Riley heard her voice crack with emotion as she made her last announcement. “Today is not only a celebration of Driftwood Cottage and its two-hundred-year history, but also a celebration of my mother and our family. Mama, will you come up here so we can sing to you?”
“Oh, no . . . no . . .” Mama called from her wheelchair at the side of the small staged area. But her smile betrayed her joy as the crowd broke into “Happy Birthday to You.” Riley stepped forward, resolved to enjoy the remainder of the evening. If she ran hard enough and fast enough, if she dove deep enough into the loud voices and rhythmic music, the knowledge of impending loss could be denied until tomorrow.
The birthday song was sung to Mama twice and once to the house before Mama grabbed the microphone. She struggled to her feet without help as she’d planned, and in a Southern accent cultivated through several generations, she said, “My, my, that was lovely. Thank you so much for caring about me, my family and our little cottage bookstore.”
In a strong voice that convinced Riley there could be no illness, Mama thanked the local businessmen and -women who had contributed so much to the week’s events. Once she had officially recognized representatives from the families who had once lived in the cottage, Maisy took the microphone and handed the night over to the live music. Riley and Adalee were sitting together in a large lounge chair, squashed together with their legs tangled to the floor. “That was nice,” Riley whispered to Adalee.
“Yes, she did a good job.”
“No, you. I saw what you did for Mrs. Harper. Your heart is bigger than this whole town.”
Adalee’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, please don’t tell Mama I cheated on the raffle.”
Riley laughed. “Are you kidding me?” She held out her pinky for the ancient promise-keepers’ vow. They linked fingers. “I swear.”
A young woman dressed in torn jeans, a loose white linen top and turquoise jewelry around her neck and up her arms approached the sisters. Red cowboy boots matched her leather belt. “Hey,” Maisy said. “I want y’all to meet Brooks. She is one of our singers for the night. You’re going to love her work. I heard her sing live at Bud’s last week and just had to invite her. Her mother is in the Cookbook Club.”
“Hi, Brooks. That’s a lovely name.” Adalee shook her hand.
Riley stared at her. “I’m sorry. I thought you were Nancy. Is she your sister?”
The girl looked at Maisy, who answered for her. “She recently changed her name to Brooks, after Garth Brooks.”
“Oh . . .” Adalee laughed, jumped up. “Are you the one who only speaks in country music lyrics?”
The girl nodded.
“ ‘Shameless,’ ” Adalee said, and then glanced between her sisters. “That’s a Garth Brooks song.”
“Oh . . . you ‘Shoulda Been a Cowboy,’ ” Maisy answered with raised eyebrows. “Come on, who can name it?”
“Toby Keith,” Brooks answered.
“Okay, I’m going to lose at this game,” Riley said. “The only thing I can think of is a song by Alan Jackson: ‘Everything I Love Is Killing Me.’ ”
Brooks smiled. “ ‘Love Is a Sweet, Sweet Thing.’ ”
Riley looked to Maisy. “Faith Hill, right?”
Brooks laughed. “ ‘I Believe There Is Magic Here. . . .’ ” She bowed and moved toward the microphone.
Maisy resumed her seat on the edge of the lounge chair. “That was Kenny Chesney,” she said.
“Okay, it’s really scary that you know song titles and lyrics like that,” Riley said. “How do you know everything she’s quoting?”
“I didn’t leave everything behind when I moved to California. . . . I took my country music with me.”
Adalee whispered, “You left us behind.”
Maisy turned to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was like I was drowning and I grabbed on to the first life preserver I saw, then swam as far and fast a
s I could. It was wrong. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”>
Riley pressed her fingers at the edges of her eyes. “Don’t you dare make me cry when I spent so long putting on makeup.”
Maisy took a long, deep breath. “I am such an idiot.”
“No . . . no. You’re not.” Adalee pulled her into a hug, and Riley wrapped her arms around both of them, clinging to the tender moment. She felt the warmth of someone’s gaze on her before she realized why she’d turned. Lodge snapped a picture of the three sisters just releasing from their hug.
“Hey, Lodge.” They all called his name in overlapping voices.
Riley said, “Thanks for coming. Did you get enough food?”
He laughed. “Plenty. I’ve been here for an hour.”
“You have?”
“I tend to be invisible to you sometimes, don’t I?”
“What? No. I’ve just been . . . preoccupied with all this chaos.” She searched his face for pain, but found only his open smile. “You shaved,” she said.
He shrugged. “Guess I thought this occasion deserved a good clean shave.”
Riley wondered if he thought she was worth a good clean shave or if it really was just the occasion. How unfair to let him believe she felt something else for him besides camaraderie. Her own pain had come from believing someone else felt something more for her than friendship, and she couldn’t allow this to come between her and Lodge. He laughed, pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ll go get some quotes and pictures from other people. . . . We’ll talk later. Okay?”
Riley motioned to the corner of the book club area. “Can we talk for a second before you take off?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Facing Lodge underneath the string of white lights, Riley took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk about . . . well, us.”
“Us?” he said.
“Our friendship.”
He set his camera and notebook on a side table, took her hand. “You do know I want it to be more than friendship, right? You’ve figured that out by now, haven’t you?”
She nodded, squeezed his fingers. “Yes, but I don’t think it’s a good . . . idea. I enjoy our friendship. I enjoy you. I just don’t want anything . . . else.”
He released her hand, attempted a laugh. “Is this a ‘we can be friends’ speech? I don’t think I’ve heard one of those since high school.”
“What I said . . . it came out all wrong, didn’t it?”
“No, it came out right, Riley. We’ll be friends. We always have been. You can’t make someone love you back, you know?”
She nodded. “But friendship—it can be enough, right? There are so many wonderful things about us. We still have . . . those, right? We’re okay?”
He nodded. “Yes, we’re okay.” He hugged her, held on a moment longer, then released her. “I’m off to work. It’s a great party.”
“Thanks, Lodge,” she said.
He waved over his shoulder when she saw Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge move through the crowd. No matter where she looked, her eyes were drawn to this couple, as though their loss had become a ghost that followed them wherever they went. Finally Riley leaned against a table and closed her eyes, gathering the courage to say hello, but when she opened them again, the Rutledges were gone.
The party lasted past the ten o’clock written on the engraved invitations. Riley found Maisy on a rose trellis slipcovered chair, staring at the crumpled napkins, the half-full plastic cups, and the sand covering the hardwood floors, as if a wind had blown the beach into the bookstore. Adalee stood at the front door waving goodbye to the last guests. Ethel pushed Mama’s wheelchair around a chair and brought her next to Maisy.
“You holding up okay?” Maisy asked her mother.
“I’m fine, and the party was perfect. I can’t think of the last time I had so much fun.”
“Well, considering you’ve been laid up in bed, I’d guess so.”
Mama’s rouge shone too bright on her pale face. Her lipstick had bled into the small lines around her mouth and her silk skirt had crumpled up around her knees, exposing her thin legs and swollen ankles.
“What are you thinking?” Mama asked Maisy. “I know that look on your face.”
“How I’ve missed you.” Maisy took her hand, squeezed it.
“My, aren’t you being a softy.” Mama’s voice shook, and she looked away. “I’m really tired. Where is Harriet to take me home?”
“She is loading up your heap of presents.”
“Guess opening them will give me something to do over the next few days.” Mama stared off toward the front windows for so long that Riley thought her exhaustion had caught up with her, but she must have been gathering her courage to ask the next question. Without looking at Maisy she asked, “Are you leaving now that the party is over?”
“Well, I’ll go home in a bit, but I have to help Riley clean up first.”
“No.” Mama turned back to her, met her gaze. “I meant are you going back to California now? Are you leaving . . . again?”
“I don’t know. . . . I have a job.”
“I know,” Mama said, closed her eyes. “I do know that.”
Harriet bustled in beside the two of them. “Okay, Kitsy, time to get you to bed. Doc Foster is going to kill me for allowing you to stay out so long.”
Mama looked up at Harriet, and her smile was back in place, her laughter hiding the pain Maisy had just inflicted. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, now, will it?”
Maisy stopped the wheelchair with her foot. “Is there anything you want to tell us, Mama? While we’re here together tonight?”
Riley’s eyes widened in surprise at Maisy’s obvious probe.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Mama said.
The air separated in front of Riley, leaving a blank space for Mama’s words that could change everything.
“Thank you for all your hard work,” she said, and then motioned for Harriet to wheel her out the front door.
Maisy looked at Riley with a question on her face, but not spoken. Riley slid away to hide in the quiet of the back porch, where the sounds of the sea eased her down from her party high. Maisy joined her at the railing.
“It was a great night,” Riley said. “Thank you for everything.”
“It was great, wasn’t it?”
“If you want—you can go out now. You know, with Mack or whatever you want. Adalee and I can clean all this up tomorrow when we’re closed.”
Maisy shook her head. “Mack doesn’t . . . There isn’t anything . . .” Emotion seemed finally to surge upward from a hidden place inside Maisy, but Riley couldn’t be sure since she couldn’t see her sister’s full face. “It’s not just Mack who doesn’t really want me. It’s any man I’ve ever chosen.”
“Oh, Maisy, don’t talk like that. You’re just exhausted.”
Adalee came onto the porch. “Talk like what?”
“I’m fine,” Maisy said. “Come here and let me tell you how proud I am of all you’ve done this week.”
Together the three of them stood with arms linked, staring out over the dark beach and the whispering sea. Adalee’s head dropped onto Maisy’s shoulder. “Could it be any better than this?”
Maisy’s answer was to hold on to her sisters more tightly, on to everything that seemed sure on the back porch of Driftwood Cottage. Finally she yawned. “Bed. I need my bed.”
“I’m right behind you.” Adalee took her sister’s hand and the screen door slammed after them as they bid Riley good night.
Riley entered the nearly empty bookstore, and went up the back stairs, checked on her son, then found herself in the observation tower, staring out into the night. For all the joy at the party, she was now free to acknowledge her underlying sorrow. She had to let go—and she was not very good at that.
Maybe this was the lesson she had to learn: to release what she could not control. She couldn’t make the sun rise in the morning. She hadn’t been able to make Mack love her all those years ago. She
couldn’t make the store survive financially. She couldn’t force Brayden to stay hers forever.
She recalled words her father had once told her when they were fishing and Riley had cursed the sea for not offering her a fish. “There is a God, Riley, and you are not Him.”
She leaned against the peeling banister surrounding the tower and stared out to where someone stood up from the sand and stretched. He must have fallen asleep on the beach after one too many. He walked toward the street, slow in gait. Riley felt her insides loosen as though a knot were untying without her permission. Maybe this was what letting go felt like.
The man looked up as if Riley had called his name. She took in a sweet breath: Mack.
“Riley?” he called in a soft voice from directly underneath the tower. “What are you doing?”
“Wait there,” she said, and ran through the house barefoot, down the back stairs, through the store and out onto the porch before she could stop herself.
Mack stood in the sand, still staring up at the tower. She startled him when she appeared at his side and whispered his name.
He looked at her, and she saw his sorrow. Her insides quivered. He looked like the boy she’d known all along.
He spoke softly. “Hey, guess I fell asleep on the beach. A little embarrassing.”
She laughed. “I can’t count the times . . .”
“Riley, I’m headed home in the morning. It was nice to pretend I wouldn’t have to go—but . . .”
“Ignoring the worst never stops it from happening, does it?”
He held out his arms and she laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arms around him: a place of rest. His hand ran through her hair, his fingers catching in the curls. “I hate that I have to leave, but I do.”
He released her and smiled down, took her hands and lifted them to his lips, kissed the palms.
She stepped back from him, released him—let go—as she should have done all those years ago.
He touched her cheek. “You look like a girl.”
“That’s because I am one,” she said.
“Yes, you are.” He hesitated before he said, “I’m hoping I can come visit you again. I don’t know when it will be. . . . Maybe in the next weeks or so. I have to see how Dad is doing. . . .”
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