Summer Days

by Lisa Jackson

  Ellen drank her coffee and waited. And watched.

  By midmorning, the rain had begun in earnest, and it continued loud and unceasing all day.

  At noon, the temperature had risen to eighty-eight, and Ellen could feel the humidity seeping past the house’s powerful air-conditioning system. Nadia called and told Ellen that she and a few of her friends from the restaurant were driving inland to the house of the restaurant’s owner. “Come with us, Ellen,” she urged. “It will be safer there, and we will have a good time. There is plenty of room, and we will have a feast.”

  Ellen thanked Nadia, but refused her kind offer. She couldn’t say why, but something, some instinct compelled her to stay put, some sense that she might be needed—but by whom? And how? She was hardly a match for Mother Nature.

  “I’ll be fine here,” she assured Nadia. “But thank you.”

  “Okay,” Nadia said, her tone concerned. “But we will not be leaving for another half an hour, so if you change your mind let me know.”

  By midafternoon the electricity was flickering on and off, and there were several puddles decorating the recently parched backyard.

  By late afternoon it was as dark as night, but without any of a nighttime’s clarity and deep color. The electricity had finally died completely. Ellen’s T-shirt and jeans stuck uncomfortably to her skin. The candles she had lit against the darkness did little to dispel the sense of doom and gloom she felt pushing against her, bowing her shoulders.

  She had been calling Cora since just after lunch and getting no answer. At three o’clock, the line had gone dead. Cora didn’t have a cell phone, and Ellen’s cell phone battery was running dangerously low.

  Ellen had a very bad feeling, and it was about her friend Cora Compton.

  She thought of calling the police and asking if someone could check on the older woman, but she knew the police and the fire department would be responding to actual emergencies, not ones that existed in a young woman’s fertile imagination.

  By four thirty, her phone was completely useless, and Ellen was frantic with worry. She couldn’t just sit around and wait for disaster to strike. She had no plan other than to reach Cora’s house and be certain that Cora was okay. If the older woman were not okay, well, then she would take charge of the situation and get Cora the help she needed. Somehow.

  Ellen blew out the candles, grabbed two flashlights from a drawer in the kitchen, and tossed her rain slicker over her shoulders. Throwing caution to the howling wind, she dashed out to her car.

  Driving was a nightmare. The roads were slick and littered with debris—fallen branches, trashcans tossed from front lawns, fractured bicycles and kids’ plastic toys. She could barely see the road ahead through the sheets of lashing rain and pelting hailstones. Her hands gripped the wheel until they hurt. She saw only one other vehicle on the road. Correction. In a ditch on the side of the road. The driver was alive and seemed unhurt (he was examining the front tires), and though Ellen considered stopping to pick him up, she drove on. Every moment might count. Cora’s very life might be on the line.

  After what seemed to be a lifetime, Ellen reached Cora’s house. She recognized Miss Camp’s tiny car next to Cora’s in the drive. And then, she saw that the two women were huddled in the backseat of the black Cadillac.

  Looking toward the cottage now, Ellen was dismayed to see that a massive oak tree had fallen across the roof. Beyond the house, in the field that backed it, a fire was moving inexorably toward them.

  Ellen leapt from her car and ran over to the Cadillac. Cora and Emily let her inside, and Ellen scooted in as far as she could without sitting on Cora’s lap.

  “That tree . . . The roof looks likes it’s going to cave in at any moment!”

  “We got out as soon as we could,” Cora explained. “But—”

  “The fire, it’s spreading! Why didn’t you drive out of here? Did anyone call the fire department?”

  “The Cadillac won’t start,” Cora explained. “And Emily’s car is worthless in conditions like this.”

  “But the fire department,” Ellen insisted.

  “Yes,” Emily said, her voice rising. “Rob called from his cell phone. It was still working, but barely.”

  “Rob? Was he here? Where is he now?”

  “Inside the house,” Cora told her. Her lips were trembling.

  “What? Why?”

  “We couldn’t stop him,” Emily assured her. “We tried.”

  “My God, it’s too dangerous.... What was he thinking! What’s so precious it needs to be rescued at the risk of his own life?” And then, Ellen knew. “Oh, my God, Clovis is inside! That’s why he went in . . . Rob! Rob!”

  If anything happened to that good, foolish man she would . . . She slammed the car door shut behind her and dashed toward Cora’s cottage. There was an ominous creaking and moaning coming from the structure, and Ellen, under ordinary circumstances not one for prayer, sent out a loud and heartfelt plea for Rob’s safety.

  She was within yards of the front steps when a hailstone smacked into her arm. She continued on. Better a bruise from a hailstone than a roof collapsing on you. How would she rescue Rob if he were trapped under heavy debris by the time she reached him? What if he had been knocked unconscious or was bleeding profusely? What if the fire reached the cottage before help came? What could she do then but—

  A terrible sob of fear mingled with relief escaped Ellen’s throat when through the cascading curtains of rain she caught sight of a hunched and bedraggled form running awkwardly toward her.

  “Oh, Clovis, Clovis, you’re all right!” she heard Cora cry, just feet behind her. And then she saw that the form was that of Rob clutching in his arms an enormous black beast.

  “Rob!”

  Ellen flung herself at Rob and Clovis, forcing the three of them to stumble a few paces together.

  “Oh, Rob!” Ellen sobbed. “Clovis . . . He’s okay!”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “My God, how much does this cat weigh?”

  “You’re a hero!” Ellen laughed while tears mingled with rain streamed down her face. “Oh, Rob, I do love you! I really do!”

  Clovis roared in protest; clearly, he did not relish being squished between two soggy humans. And then Cora was with them, gently removing Clovis claw by claw from Rob’s soaked shirt and enfolding him in her massive arms.

  Which left Rob and Ellen free to draw even closer into each other’s arms.

  CHAPTER 24

  “I see the Cadillac is running again,” Ellen noted, offering a plate of cookies to Cora.

  “Oh, yes,” Cora said. “Nothing keeps it down for long. I’ve had it for close to thirty years now, and I expect to have it for another thirty.”

  A vision of a one hundred (or more)-year-old Cora Compton behind the wheel of the black behemoth flashed through Ellen’s imagination. She shuddered.

  Cora and Emily were at Ellen’s house, as was Rob. It was a few days after the storm had torn through the area, drenching the land and wreaking havoc with buildings and mailboxes and anything not bolted down. The fire that had been spreading across the field behind Cora’s house had been contained before it reached the Compton cottage or any of the other homes that backed the field. And the damage done by the tree that had fallen onto Cora’s roof had not been as bad as Ellen had feared it might be. Cora and Clovis had spent three nights at Emily’s house while repairs were made and then had been able to move back home.

  “A raging fire in the rain,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “It was the most spectacular and unusual thing I’ve ever seen—and I hope never to see it again. It was—otherworldly. The act of an angry entity. I know I’ll never forget it.”

  Rob nodded. “What’s amazing is that the damage around town from the storm wasn’t too bad. It could have been so much worse. Thank God no one was killed. A woman out on Bainbridge Road lost control of her car and smashed into a tree. A broken leg, a few broken ribs, but otherwise she’s okay.”

  “By the
way,” Ellen said then to Rob, “I can’t believe it hasn’t occurred to me to ask this before now. Where did you find Clovis when you went into Cora’s house to rescue him?”

  Rob grinned. “The big coward was under Cora’s bed, backed against the wall. I had a hell of a time extracting him. Witness the scars on my arms and hands! And to think when I first saw the creature I was deathly afraid of him!”

  Cora sniffed. “Clovis is most certainly not a coward! It’s just that he’s never been fond of rainstorms.”

  Rob looked properly chastened. “Of course. I’m sorry. Well, on another note, we have some big news for you ladies.”

  Emily chirped, “I just love big news. If it’s big good news, of course.”

  “It’s good news,” Rob affirmed. “Ellen and I are engaged.”

  It had happened in Ellen’s car on the way back to her house the night of the storm. (Rob’s car, parked at the side of Cora’s house where Ellen hadn’t seen it, wouldn’t start, so they had first driven Cora and Emily to Emily’s house and then gone on to Rob’s.)

  “Ellen,” Rob had said, wiping rain from his face with the hem of his soaked T-shirt, “I love you. Will you take a chance on me and consent to be my wife?”

  “Will you take a chance on me?” Ellen had replied. For an odd reason his proposal had not surprised her. Maybe that was what had kept her from driving to safety with Nadia. . . .

  “Yes. But I asked you first.”

  “Yes,” Ellen said, blinking fiercely to clear her eyes of tears and praying she wouldn’t drive off the slick road. “Yes, I will.”

  And that had been that. The kiss that sealed the deal had come once they had safely reached Ellen’s house.

  Cora now seemed to have been struck speechless. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were wide. Emily’s eyes flooded with tears, and she daintily dabbed at them with a lace handkerchief.

  Ellen handed around glasses of champagne. “To good friends,” she said, raising her glass.

  “To the happy couple,” Cora added, having regained her senses. “You see? I was right about you two all along!”

  Ellen had the good grace to blush. “Thanks, Cora. For seeing what I couldn’t see.”

  Cora downed her glass of champagne with admirable speed. “And I have just the thing for such a wonderful young couple,” she went on. “My neighbor’s cat is expecting a litter momentarily, and it has come to my attention that Clovis is in all likelihood the father. I have promised to relieve my neighbor of two of the kittens as soon as they are weaned. One will come to live with me, and the other will go to live with you, dear Ellen and Rob. It is my wedding gift to you both.”

  “Thank you, Cora,” Ellen cried. A son or daughter of King Clovis. She would have to research other names from the Merovingian dynasty. . . .

  “Where will you two live?” Cora asked, her expression eager. “We would hate to lose you as neighbors.”

  Ellen looked to Rob. “Well,” she said, “we’ve been talking about that. Rob owns a place in Portland, which is convenient for his day job. So we’re thinking that I should buy a place here in Ogunquit. We can commute together between the two.”

  Cora beamed. “Excellent.”

  Emily, her eyes now dry, clapped her little hands; it made a surprisingly sharp sound. “I must get started on your trousseau!” she exclaimed.

  Ellen choked a bit on her champagne.

  Cora fixed a stern gaze on Ellen. “Have you even begun to think about what you’ll wear on your wedding day?”

  “A dress?”

  Rob sniggered behind his hand.

  Cora and her companion shared a look; it said, “Young women these days are simply hopeless.” At least, that’s what Ellen thought it said.

  The women took their leave soon after, Emily murmuring about lacy night clothing and Cora planning the wedding menu. It included her famous cherry tartlets.

  “They’re incorrigible!” Ellen said, when the big old Cadillac had pulled away.

  “They’re adorable,” Rob said.

  “That, too. Let’s finish this bottle of champagne. It doesn’t get any better if it sits around.”

  Rob agreed. They took their glasses to the living room and settled together on the couch.

  “You know,” Ellen said, “just the other day my mother admitted she’s always wondered if she and my father made a mistake by sending me away to camp that summer he was sick. But I’ve been thinking that if they hadn’t sent me away, I would never have met you. . . .”

  “And suffered for it,” Rob pointed out.

  “Well, for a while, though I know now that you weren’t the real source of my anxiety! But, I don’t know, somehow it seems like Fate had a hand in bringing us together back then and now, this summer.”

  Rob shrugged. “I’ve never been a big believer in Fate but sure, why not? We’ll certainly have a story to tell at parties.”

  “I’ll say!”

  “Do you think your parents will accept me?” Rob asked then. “I mean, given how awful I was to you as a kid. Parents can be pretty protective—or so I hear.”

  “They’ll accept you,” Ellen assured him. “As long as you don’t call me Smelly Nellie.”

  “No chance of that! I don’t know why I came up with that name in the first place. You didn’t smell at all. Well, maybe of sunshine and flowers . . .”

  Ellen smiled. “What about your parents? Will they accept me, do you think?”

  “Will they even notice you is more like it.”

  “Now, Rob, are you sure you’re not being just a little bit unfair?”

  “Well, maybe a little. We’ll go to see them soon, okay? Maybe we’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  “You know,” Rob said. “I was thinking. It might make you feel better about that infamous summer of long ago if you make up a nasty nickname for me.”

  “Oh, I already have.”

  Rob’s expression stiffened, but just a bit. “Oh,” he said warily. “What is it?”

  Ellen laughed. “I’m not going to tell you. It’s my own little secret.”

  “But nasty nicknames aren’t worth anything unless the person being persecuted knows he’s being persecuted. Not that I condone any of this.” Rob leaned over and kissed his fiancée. “But come on,” he said. “I deserve the punishment. Consider it payback.”

  “Well,” Ellen said then. “Okay. Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Slobby Bobby.”

  Rob tried to hide a smile. “Okay.”

  Ellen frowned. “You don’t seem very upset.”

  “Well, it could be a lot worse,” Rob pointed out. “I am kind of a slob at times.”

  “I’m sure if I try again I could come up with something much more hurtful and—”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll just be Slobby Bobby.”

  “You’ll just be my Slobby Bobby.”

  “It’s a deal. Yup, we’ll have a fantastic story to tell not only at parties but to our children some day,” Rob noted. “How you and I met as kids and hated each other, and then how we met again as adults and—”

  Ellen put up a hand. “Children? That’s kind of leaping ahead, no? I mean, we just got engaged. We haven’t even picked a wedding date.”

  “Yeah,” Rob said. “It is leaping ahead. But we’re not getting any younger and—”

  “And, carpe diem.”

  Rob grinned. “What say we get started on that family right now?”

  RETURN TO HAMPTON BEACH

  MARY CARTER

  This book is dedicated to April Rain Carter.

  Like memories of perfect summer days,

  you will be cherished and loved.

  May your beautiful spirit soar.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the usual suspects: my editor, John Scognamiglio; my agent, Evan Marshall; and the staff at Kensington who work tirelessly on covers, and publicity, and editing. Thank you to my parents, Carl Car
ter and Pat Carter, who took my sister and me on that calamity-filled vacation that finally had a happy ending in Hampton Beach.

  CHAPTER 1

  Most people think of genies as living in green glass bottles. Shapely, colorful things that beg to be rubbed. They imagine magical men and women in silky pantaloons emerging from the top in a puff of smoke, ready to grant one lucky so-and-so three whole wishes with a bob of his or her head. What would you wish for? It’s a fantasy people play, just like spending imaginary lottery winnings.

  But sometimes, magic is a little softer, a little subtler. Sometimes, genies emerge from tin coffee cans. And sometimes wishes can be granted that one didn’t even dare to wish. Longings a person buried long ago, like a dog with a bone. Why torture yourself with things you think can never be? Celia Jensen had stopped wishing a long time ago. Why wish for anything when there was a long list of people ahead of her who deserved to be taken care of first? Not that she didn’t know what she would wish for if it were her turn. Jacob Have I Loved. . . .

  But at the very top of that list was her father, Pete Jensen. And from the look of things, her fervent wish for him was going unheard.

  She pulled up to the assisted living complex, parked in her usual spot far away from the door, and turned off the engine. On the passenger seat was the gym bag filled with things she had promised to bring her dad. She shouldered it and began the long walk to the gardens. Parking far away always helped her prepare for the visit. Despite the fact it was the best assisted living facility money could buy, Pete Jensen just wasn’t cut out for an assisted life. Like it or not, he was a fixer, a Marlboro Man, a wanderer. Idle hands always made him brood. They both knew that Celia was the only reason he was hanging on. He could care less about bingo, or karaoke, or movie nights in the lobby. A familiar lump formed in her throat. It wasn’t fair. He was only sixty-seven. In regular years. But in cigarette years he was way into his hundreds. He didn’t complain. I did the crime; I’ll do the time. At least the sun was out and they could sit on the grounds, facing away from the facilities, and make believe they were somewhere else for an hour. Relief flooded her as she spotted his wheelchair, his baseball cap, his tanned arms. Then her eyes moved to the oxygen tank, and she bit her lip as hard as she could. The one thing that was guaranteed to ruin a visit was tears.