by Jean Stone
The fans showed up in droves.
Faye was there with Greg and R.J. She had closed up the Vineyard house for another season: She would not sell it; there would be many summers yet to come. For now, she was going back to Boston to work part-time for Gwen, who had happily bought Faye’s business. There was no doubt that Faye would see R.J. on a regular basis. There was no doubt she’d see Greg often.
Greg was headed to Arizona after a “perfect, perfect summer.” He missed his partner, Mike, however, and, yes, even his dad.
Faye had tried to phone Claire, to see if she’d like to come to the historic concert, but she could not reach her. Claire and Jeffrey had only been out once this season: Other destinations seemed to lure her sister now.
Hannah was there with her three children and her husband, who had returned two weeks earlier from rehab on the Cape. Though Hannah’s hair was growing back, she wore her purple hat. “So none of us forgets the importance of a little fun,” she said.
She was healthy now, and beneath the hat’s wide brim, a pink glow was in her cheeks. Last week she’d had a note from John Arthur asking about her health, but she’d thrown it out before jotting down the return address. There were other things to live for now.
After searching news articles online at the library, Hannah had discovered that her mother was working in San Antonio at a home for abused women and children. She planned to visit her at Christmas with Evan and the kids. There would be no more secrets.
She’d tucked away her journal in Mother Jackson’s trunk: She was far too busy now for further introspection. In another week she’d be in Boston on her journey back to medical school. Evan had said he could handle things at home; she would commute on weekends.
Doc was happy: The Vineyard, after all, needed all the dedicated doctors it could get.
• • •
Rita juggled the stroller with the twins and Mindy followed close behind, while Hazel brought up the rear along with Doc, who was now fully recovered and, according to Hazel, full of vinegar again, which might be why he held her hand.
Charlie had arrived early to help set up the soundstage, because he was a genius and knew how to do everything. He’d cordoned off a corner down in front for the women of the support group and their families.
“Sorry we’re late,” Rita said as she took a seat on the ground right next to Faye. “Kids,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Olivia thought it would be fun to hide the car keys in her diaper. I love that life is always so full of surprises.”
Faye smiled and put her arm around Rita’s shoulders. “Me, too,” she said, and hugged her friend.
Then Rita leaned over to check on the tiny bundle that rested in Faye’s other arm. “How’s our baby doing?”
“M.J. is just fine.” Bright blue eyes sparkled up at Rita, the tiny pink mouth seemed to smile. Katie had named the baby M.J.—Martha Joleen, after her famous mother and the island that she loved so much.
Then the stage lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed itself without being asked. Onto the stage stepped Katie, in jeans and a pink-sequined top. A small band began to play. She picked up her microphone and saw her friends among the crowd. She smiled at Rita and Hannah and Faye and baby M.J. She smiled at Brady, who stood stage left, his loyal eyes surveying the space around her. She looked stage right where Cliff had always stood. But Cliff remained in Puerto Rico, grooming his next star: rumor was, Miguel would have a CD released before the holidays. Apparently, Cliff had forgiven Miguel, and Miguel had forgiven Cliff. It might take longer for Katie to forgive them both, but she was working on it.
And so, stage right had no man in black, just a bud vase Greg had set there, a vase that held a single, small beach rose. The blossom was deep red now, because it was September; it had matured and flourished, and finally it was strong.
“My name is Katie,” Katie said into the mike, “and I’m a breast-cancer survivor.”
The roar swelled up from the beach chairs and the blankets. It filled the air as if it were a living, vibrant being, a united cheer of love and gratitude and joy.
Katie smiled and held her hand up to hush the crowd. She did not need to be in Central Park to know her father had been right: performing was in her soul.
“This is a very special night,” Katie continued. “First of all, it marks the beginning of my comeback tour.” She did not mention it would be a small tour that she and Brady had arranged. She did not mention that she’d just completed radiation and, like Faye and Hannah, had been proclaimed cancer-free. She did not say these things because Katie had learned that the journey truly was more important than the destination, that tomorrow might be different from today, but either would be fine.
She hushed the crowd again. “And because we’re so thankful that you’re helping out the Center, we’d like to open with a very special song.”
Then, just as Katie began to sing, Joleen walked onto the stage. The swell of cheers grew louder; even Brady covered his ears. And then, with arms around each other, high above the resounding crowd, the mother and the daughter sang Joleen’s “Goin’ Home.”
And Faye smiled and Hannah nodded and Rita cried for all the good things that had happened in her life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BEACH ROSES is Jean Stone’s tenth novel from Bantam Books, and her sixth to take place on the celebrated island of Martha’s Vineyard. A native New Englander, she lives in western Massachusetts, close enough to “leave home in the morning and be on the Vineyard in time for lunch.” A graduate of Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, New York, she volunteers for Goodwill Industries’ Radio Reading Service, through which she reads books to the visually impaired. For more information on the author and her past and upcoming work, visit her web site at www.jeanstone.net.