by Susan Wiggs
Nina’s chest hurt and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out in a burst of air. “He’ll see it as a sign of weakness. He’ll think I’m wavering.”
“You are wavering,” Jenny pointed out. “And that’s a good thing. It shows you have an open mind about the situation.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this was happening while I was away.”
“I didn’t know. Even if I did, it would have been completely pointless to ruin your trip with Sonnet.”
She was right. It would’ve ruined the trip, her cherished mother-daughter time. “Sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t your job to keep me informed. He’s probably already looking for someone else. I bet he won’t even call.”
The phone on the desk rang, and both women jumped. Nina grabbed the handset and checked the caller ID screen. The name Bellamy, G winked back at her.
“Oh, God. It’s him.”
“So pick up,” Jenny suggested.
“No way. I’d rather die.”
“Then I’ll do it.” Jenny grabbed the phone.
Nina made a lunge for it, but missed.
Jenny clicked the talk button. “Romano residence. This is Jenny McKnight speaking. Oh, hey, Greg.”
Nina collapsed on the floor in a heap of helplessness.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Jenny said pleasantly. “Rourke, too,” she added.
Of course she was fine, thought Nina. She was married to the love of her life, and she had just found a publisher for the book she’d written, a memoir about growing up in a Polish-American bakery. Of course she was freaking fine.
She chatted pleasantly with Greg about his kids, who also happened to be her first cousins, though she hadn’t known them very long. Although Jenny was related to the Bellamys, the situation had come to light only in the past year. Jenny had grown up never knowing who her father was. Only last summer did she discover that there had been a tragic love affair between her mother, Mariska, and her father—Philip Bellamy—who happened to be Greg’s older brother. So that made Greg her uncle. They’d met just recently, but now, hearing Jenny chat so easily with him, Nina wondered if that blood tie actually counted for something.
“Yes, she’s here,” Jenny said.
The traitor. Nina nearly came out of her skin. With nonverbal Italian-American eloquence, she asked Jenny, Do you want to die today?
“But she can’t come to the phone right now. I’ll make sure she returns your call. That’s a promise.”
Jenny hung up the phone, seemingly unperturbed by Nina’s fury. “Good news,” she said. “He hasn’t found anyone else yet.”
“How do you know? Did he say anything?”
“Of course he didn’t say anything. It’s none of my business.”
“Then how do you know he hasn’t moved on to his next victim?”
“If you don’t believe me, call him yourself.” Jenny held out the phone.
Nina shrank from it. “I need a drink.”
“I can help with that.” Jenny led the way to the kitchen with the familiarity of a best friend. She went straight to the cupboard and found a bottle of sweet red wine. “This will be perfect with the biscotti I brought from the bakery,” she said. Although the Sky River Bakery had decidedly Polish roots, there were a number of Italian selections on the menu as well, including cantuccini biscotti that were admittedly better than anything a Romano woman had ever baked. Dunked in the sweet dark wine, they made Nina forget her troubles for approximately twenty-nine seconds.
“So what did he sound like?” she asked Jenny.
“You already spoke to him today, right?”
“No, I mean did he sound conciliatory? Pissed?”
“He sounded like a Bellamy—you know, Manhattan prep school, Ivy League college and all that.” Jenny emulated the accent perfectly, then laughed at herself. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m related to those people.” The lighthearted reference belied the ordeal Jenny had gone through as she discovered her ties to the Bellamy family.
“They haven’t changed who you are,” Nina reminded her, “and that’s a good thing. Remember how the two of us used to make fun of the summer people when we were growing up?” As girls, she and Jenny would observe the summer vacationers who escaped the city for the cool relief of Willow Lake. They used to discuss the ridiculousness of the girls’ tennis whites and straight, silky hair, and that the kids were looked after by servants. The one thing neither Nina nor Jenny ever acknowledged, however, was the fact that their ridicule was rooted in envy.
“Don’t turn this thing with Greg into a feud,” Jenny warned her.
“I was mayor of this town for four years,” Nina said. “I’m good at feuds.”
“It would put me in an awkward position,” Jenny pointed out. “I’d have to take your side, and then everything would be all awkward with Philip.”
Even though he was Jenny’s father, she called him Philip, keeping a slightly formal distance between them. Nina felt a flash of pity for her friend, knowing from having watched Sonnet how hard it was to grow up without a father. Nina herself came from a large, loud family. She’d grown up way too fast, as it turned out, but that wasn’t her family’s fault.
She tried to imagine what it had been like for Jenny to wake up one day and discover this whole new side of herself. It would be like Nina finding out she had royal blood.
She’d made certain her own daughter knew who her father was as soon as Sonnet was old enough to understand. There was no veil of secrecy, no confusion. Nina had tried to raise Sonnet to be secure in the knowledge that she was loved and wanted; even though her parents weren’t together, she had a mother and father who adored her.
He damned well better adore her, Nina thought. He had plenty of lost time to make up for. Sharply focused on his career in the military, Laurence Jeffries had not played a large part in Sonnet’s life. Although he paid child support and came once a year to see Sonnet, that was the extent of their relationship. Now, on the brink of adulthood, Sonnet wanted to know more about her father. She’d seized the opportunity of the summer internship.
“Anyway,” Nina said, “I don’t want things to be awkward between you and Philip because of me.”
“They’re already awkward enough, but we’re dealing with it. We have no choice, what with Olivia’s wedding coming up. Which brings me to the actual reason for my visit.” Jenny unzipped the garment bag she’d brought along and, with exaggerated drama, ducked into the bedroom with it.
“The bridesmaid gowns just came in today,” she called through the door. “I wanted you to be the first to see my dress.” She stepped out on tiptoe to simulate high heels, and held her hair up off her neck. Nina gasped aloud. The dress was exquisite—a long fall of lilac silk charmeuse. Looking at her friend in the wispy dream of a dress, Nina felt an unexpected jolt of emotion.
Jenny was quick to notice. “Don’t go getting all mistyeyed on me.”
“I can’t help it. You look like Cinderella.”
“Hey, in the Bellamy family, I am Cinderella. So you like the dress?”
“I love the dress.”
“Me, too. Olivia has exquisite taste.” Olivia Bellamy, the bride, was Philip’s daughter, too. As her newly discovered half-sister, Jenny would be the matron of honor. Jenny was just starting to learn what it was like to be a Bellamy. The wedding was a full-blown family affair and already the talk of Avalon.
Nina blinked and cleared her throat. “Remember when we were little, and we had our weddings all planned out?”
Jenny laughed. “Totally. I’d still have the notebooks where we wrote down all our plans, except they were lost in the fire.” She had lost virtually everything she owned in a house fire the previous winter. The way she had rebuilt her life and moved ahead was an inspiration to Nina.
“We were supposed to marry in a double ceremony,” Nina recalled, reliving the memories. She and Jenny used to sit on Jenny’s chenille-covered bed, discussing their weddings.
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“Yep, a double ceremony with Rourke and Joey. Best friends marrying best friends. It was all so nice and neat, wasn’t it?” There was a soft note in Jenny’s voice, a wistful affection for the girls they had been, and regret for all that had happened since they’d dreamed those dreams.
“The music was going to be the greatest hits of Bon Jovi and Heart,” Nina recalled. “And the dresses—Good lord, we drew so many versions. Yards of metallic fuchsia with puffy sleeves. And bridal gowns that were not of this world.” She laughed, remembering how they had planned out every last detail, from the vows they would recite—an e. e. cummings poem, what else?—to the menu at the reception—macaroni and cheese, barbecued chicken and Sky River Bakery donuts. After dual honeymoons—Hawaii, of course—they would buy houses next door to each other. Nina would run the Inn at Willow Lake while Jenny wrote the Great American Novel.
“I hadn’t thought about that in years,” Nina said. “We had some imagination, didn’t we?” If she tried very hard, she was able to remember the kid she had been, before everything had happened. She’d been so full of hopes and dreams, and all her goals seemed completely and utterly reachable. “Nothing went according to plan for either of us, did it?” she added.
Jenny smiled and fluffed out the hem of her dress. “I never could have planned for anything this good. And you could say the same. You ended up with Sonnet, after all, which is the equivalent of winning the amazing-daughter lottery.”
Nina couldn’t dispute that. “Does it bug you at all that Olivia’s getting the big formal wedding?” she asked her friend.
“Lord, no.” Jenny waved a hand dismissively. “Philip offered—did I tell you that? He said he’d pay for any wedding I asked for.” She grinned. “Lucky for him, all I wanted was a quick trip down the aisle with a minimum of fuss, and a honeymoon in St. Croix. And I have to tell you, it was perfect for Rourke and me. And I’m sure you remember, I had a great dress.”
“I’ll never forget that dress,” Nina assured her. Jane Bellamy, Jenny’s new grandmother, had insisted on taking Jenny to Henri Bendel’s on Fifth Avenue, where they picked out a cocktail-length couture gown. “No one in the history of Avalon will forget that dress, are you kidding? You and Rourke are a great couple. Olivia is going to have the greatest maid of honor—”
“Matron of honor, please.”
“Sure. You’ll look like a million.” Then Nina, to her dismay, recognized what she was feeling—a tug of envy. She caught herself thinking that Jenny should be Nina’s matron of honor, not Olivia’s. This was ridiculous, though. In order to have a matron of honor, she would need to be a bride, which was the last thing on her mind. There was a lot Nina wanted now that she was single and her nest was empty. Getting married surely wasn’t one of them. Not anytime soon. But falling in love? Who didn’t want that? Unfortunately, you couldn’t make it happen the way you made a wedding happen, by hiring a planner and picking out china patterns.
Jenny presented her back. “Here, unzip me. And let’s get back to talking about this thing with Greg.”
“There is no thing with Greg.” The zipper snagged. Nina gently teased it away from the delicate fabric.
“He wants you to be his partner at the inn. I’d call that a thing.”
“He wants to suck me dry and then push me aside.”
“Greg’s not like that. He really does need help getting the place back up and running, and he’s smart enough to know you’re perfect for the job.”
“I just don’t get it. There are a hundred business opportunities in Avalon. A hundred and twelve last time I checked—and I did check.” She knew what was out there. When she was mayor, one of Nina’s priorities had been to dedicate a page of the city’s Web site to local business opportunities to attract investment. “Why does he have to pick the one thing I want?”
Jenny pulled on her T-shirt. “The two of you want the same thing. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Right.”
“I don’t know why you’re so upset by this. You were willing to run the place on behalf of the bank. Greg is offering you virtually the same deal, only he wants to pay you a much bigger salary. Better benefits.”
“It’s completely different. The bank would have sold me the place as soon as I could qualify for a loan. Greg took that off the table.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“What, and make myself seem even more pathetic? No, thank you.”
“Nina, be honest with me, with yourself. Did you really think the bank’s asset division was going to wait for you to qualify for a small business administration loan?”
Like most government programs, the SBA moved with leaden slowness. Nina had been told that the process could take months, even a year. “Mr. Bailey would have waited. I’m sure he assumed his successor would have, as well. Her name’s Brooke Harlow and I think Greg’s dating her. Cozy, huh?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. This is a safer bet for you, anyway,” Jenny said reasonably. “Maybe you’ll hate it and want to get out. Maybe Greg will hate it, and he’ll be the one to get out.”
“Suppose it turns out to be perfect for both of us? Then we’d end up plotting to kill each other.”
“Or making a permanent merger.” Jenny wriggled her eyebrows.
“Don’t even.”
“Why not? Olivia filled me in on him. He’s her youngest uncle—twelve years younger than Philip, so that makes him…thirty-eight. He’s single. He’s a Bellamy. He’s a catch.”
“He’s got a half-grown boy and a grandbaby on the way.” Not that Nina had anything against pregnant teenagers. She herself was a member of that club.
“A big family is a blessing,” Jenny pointed out. “You of all people know that, Miss middle-child-of-nine.”
Nina didn’t contradict her, even though she could’ve come up with a thousand objections. She understood that Jenny had endured a particularly lonely childhood. Her father had been a mystery. Her mother had simply taken off, leaving Jenny to be raised by her grandparents in the quiet, neat-as-a-pin house on Maple Street.
“Maybe so,” Nina said. “But then again, there’s something to be said for being completely on my own. I’ve never done it before. I need to be on my own for the first time in my life. I want to figure out who I am when I’m not somebody’s daughter or Sonnet’s mom.”
“I understand. You deserve a chance to do that. I’m sure Greg will understand, too. He made you a business proposition, not a marriage proposal.”
“Yeah, heaven forbid I should get one of those.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said she wants a single life.” Jenny smiled and said, “Come on, Nina. This could be a great opportunity for you.”
“Oh, man, you’re doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“That mysterious wisdom-of-the-married thing. I can’t stand that.”
“I’m not doing anything of the sort.”
“You are, too. Look at you. You’re so…so happy.”
“And your point is?”
“That just because being married makes you happy doesn’t mean it’s what I need.”
“I know. What you need is to be running the Inn at Willow Lake. That’s what this whole discussion is about.”
“Fine. You know what? Maybe you’re right. Greg has no idea what he’s taking on. I do. He won’t last the summer—you mark my words.”
“You’re not thinking of scheming against him, are you?” asked Jenny.
“I won’t need to. He’ll fail on his own.”
“With you in charge?” Jenny eyed her skeptically.
“See, that’s the dilemma.” Nina finished her wine and poured another glass. “It’s crazy. One way or another, Greg Bellamy has been a thorn in my side ever since we were kids.”
Part Two
Then
The Galahad Chamber is named for Sir Galahad of legend, known for his purity and gallantry. Located high in the main lodge, the room pays tribute to the natural surroundings of
the inn, appointed with a hand-crafted birchwood bed frame—topped by birdhouses—antler lamps and antique prints by pre-Raphaelite painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Fresh flowers are provided in every room. A penny and an aspirin tablet dropped in the water will keep the flowers fresh longer. The copper acts as a fungicide and aspirin provides acidic properties to the water. Noted florist, author and social reformer Constance Spry reminds us, “When creating a floral arrangement, always allow some space between the flowers to prevent a crowded effect. One should leave room for the butterflies.”
Four
Nina blamed all her troubles on a boy named Greg Bellamy. It was irrational for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that he didn’t know she existed. That was maybe the main trouble of all.
The first day she met him, she had driven up to Camp Kioga with her best friend, Jenny Majesky. Once a bungalow colony for rich families from the city, it was now a tony summer camp for their children. Not that Nina was going to camp or anything. As if.
No, she was heading up the lakeshore road to the historic, exclusive summer camp in a bakery truck. The truck belonged to Jenny’s grandparents and the girls were helping with a delivery. Jenny’s grandpa let them play the radio as loud as they wanted, being as he was hard of hearing, and Metallica and a delicious breeze rushed over them with equal strength. As the van lumbered through the rustic archway that marked the entrance, Nina inhaled the green scent of the woods and tried to imagine what it would be like to actually be a camper here. Boring, that’s what, she thought defensively. Yet it seemed too good to be true, an entire summer away, with a cabin full of friends. She would never know, of course. Families like hers didn’t send their kids to camp.
Besides, she reminded herself, summer camp was for people who had too much money and not enough imagination. This was what Pop said, anyway—people didn’t know how to take their own kids on vacation these days so they packed them off to summer camp. Of course, Nina and all eight of her brothers and sisters knew this was Pop’s way of making everybody feel better. The Romano family could barely afford shoes, let alone a vacation. Pop was a civics teacher at Avalon High, a career he loved. But with nine kids, a teacher had to stretch his salary thin. Very thin.