The Beach Quilt

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by Holly Chamberlin




  Outstanding praise for the novels of Holly Chamberlin!

  SUMMER FRIENDS

  “A thoughtful novel.”

  —Shelf Awareness

  “A great summer read.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A novel rich in drama and insights into what factors bring

  people together and, just as fatefully, tear them apart.”

  —The Portland Press Herald

  THE FAMILY BEACH HOUSE

  “Explores questions about the meaning of home, family

  dynamics and tolerance.”

  —The Bangor Daily News

  “A dramatic and moving portrait of several generations of a

  family and each person’s place within it.”

  —Booklist

  “An enjoyable summer read, but it’s more. It is a novel for all

  seasons that adds to the enduring excitement of Ogunquit.”

  —The Maine Sunday Telegram

  “It does the trick as a beach book and provides a touristy

  taste of Maine’s seasonal attractions.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  THE FRIENDS WE KEEP

  “Witty, yet quietly introspective.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  LIVING SINGLE

  “Fans of Sex and the City will enjoy the women’s romantic

  escapades and appreciate the roundtable discussions these

  gals have about the trials and tribulations singletons face.”

  —Booklist

  Books by Holly Chamberlin

  LIVING SINGLE

  THE SUMMER OF US

  BABYLAND

  BACK IN THE GAME

  THE FRIENDS WE KEEP

  TUSCAN HOLIDAY

  ONE WEEK IN DECEMBER

  THE FAMILY BEACH HOUSE

  SUMMER FRIENDS

  LAST SUMMER

  THE SUMMER EVERYTHING CHANGED

  THE BEACH QUILT

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  The Beach Quilt

  Holly Chamberlin

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Part 2

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Part 3

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Teaser chapter

  A READING GROUP GUIDE - THE BEACH QUILT

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  Copyright Page

  As always, for Stephen.

  And this time also for Joey.

  Acknowledgments

  Endless thanks to John Scognamiglio, the smartest editor ever.

  I would like to acknowledge Nancy A. Foss for her dedication to the care and education of women.

  Part 1

  Take your needle, my child, and work at your pattern; it will come out a rose by and by.

  —Oliver Wendell Holmes

  Chapter 1

  “Poo,” said Cordelia Anne Kane. “Poo, poo, and poo.”

  The cause of her annoyance or dissatisfaction or just plain grumpiness was right outside the kitchen window. In the past twenty-four hours, inches upon inches of snow had fallen relentlessly, until now, according to the local weather station, there was close to two feet of the awful stuff on the ground. The trees—green pines and bare oaks and white birch alike—were bowed down with the weight of snow on their branches, and the yard was one big sheet of glittering silvery white.

  Cordelia turned from the window. Well, what could you expect when you lived in Maine? Snow was what you could expect, and lots of it, along with freezing temperatures, followed by a frustratingly lengthy season of chill and mud. That was followed by a frustratingly short season of sun and warmth. And then, the snow came again. Blah. Cordelia didn’t find it pretty or charming at all. Well, except at Christmas. Snow at Christmastime was okay, with the red, blue, and green holiday lights twinkling against it like jewels and the prospect of presents under the tree. In her sixteen years on this planet, Cordelia had found that the prospect of presents made most unpleasant things bearable.

  It was a Saturday afternoon in January, around three o’clock, and already the sun, what there had been of it, was fading away and the dark was descending. Cordelia had been in the house all day, totally by choice because a lot of people considered this area of southern Maine to be a sportsman’s paradise. You could go cross-
country skiing on a golf course about two miles away, and a little bit farther than that there was a stretch of land where you could ride a snowmobile. You could hear the angry roar of the machines from the Kane family’s house. It was seriously annoying, like a gigantic buzzing bee.

  Anyway, there was no way Cordelia could be tempted to go outside when it was this cold and wet, not even if someone promised to take her to the mall in South Portland or down to the outlets in Kittery. Not even if someone promised her a hundred dollars to spend in one of her favorite stores! Cordelia had her priorities and physical comfort was one of them. She realized that she was very un-Maine-like in this regard. A true hearty Mainer would be outside now, going about his or her business with nary a thought about frozen fingers and a dripping nose. There was a sort of joke about the four seasons in Maine. They were: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction. Cordelia didn’t find the joke funny at all.

  Well, maybe a little bit funny. It was kind of smart and so was Cordelia. Smart, but not the most focused student, so her grades were never quite what they could be. It didn’t bother her much. She passed her courses with solid Bs and a sprinkling of As. While she regularly ignored extra credit assignments (unlike her best friend Sarah, who actually liked doing extra work!), she participated in class discussions and was always on time with regular homework assignments, so she managed to be well regarded by all of her teachers.

  The reality was that Cordelia really enjoyed school. She got along with pretty much everybody. The bullying types left her alone. The hipsters ignored her but not because they disliked her; they ignored everybody not wearing a wool beanie or raggedy sneakers. The shy and awkward kids appreciated the fact that she always said hello and stepped in when a bully tried to corner one of them. She was aware that she seemed to have a neutralizing effect on whatever group of people she was temporarily a part of. Goths didn’t seem so intent upon negativity ; jocks didn’t seem determined to prove they didn’t need an education; nerds seemed a bit more confident in speaking out.

  The fact that Cordelia’s father, Jack Kane, was principal really didn’t matter to anyone at Yorktide High, probably because it really didn’t matter to Cordelia. She never expected special treatment and was glad that nobody tried to foist in on her. Cordelia was perfectly content to be just one of the crowd, no better and no worse than anyone else. And her parents, too, seemed proud of their daughter for being who she was, not for who she might be.

  Still, there were times when Cordelia supposed that she should start thinking about what she wanted to do with her adult life. After all, she was almost a senior in high school; it really was time to start thinking about college applications and all that went with them. (Ugh! The essays! She could get from point A to point B easily enough, but after that, she found herself jumping all the way to point M and not knowing how to get back!)

  But planning of any sort wasn’t so easy for Cordelia. Usually when she tried to focus on what career path she might be happy pursuing, her mind wandered to what her mother was making for dinner or what television show she wanted to watch that night. A few times the notion of doing something in the fashion world had struck her as a possibility. Maybe, she thought, she could open a boutique; she already had some notion, if vague, of how to run a retail business, just from working for her mom at her quilt shop, The Busy Bee.

  Or maybe she would win a massive lottery, the biggest ever in the state of Maine, and never have to work a day in her life! She would be generous with her winnings, buy a big house on the water someplace warm, like southern California (but not too close to the edge of a cliff because you didn’t want to lose your house to a mudslide), certainly not someplace like where her aunt Rita lived—right on a lake, yes, but close to the Canadian border, with no electricity and way, way too many creepy-crawly things. Her parents and friends could come and live with her. They would jet off to Europe a few times a year, and she and her mother would go on shopping sprees to New York and she would donate thousands upon thousands of dollars to good causes that Sarah would research and select for her. Sarah could be trusted with important things like that.

  Oh, well, Cordelia thought now, opening the fridge and staring at the leftover slice of pizza she had sworn she would not eat. That was a fantasy. Honestly, she believed that she was too young to worry about the future. In fact, she was pretty sure that the future would take care of itself. Besides, you could make all the careful plans you wanted to and something would come along and make all those plans irrelevant. Like, there was a boy she had gone to middle school with. He had gotten sick with some sort of cancer and had died within months of his diagnosis. That was truly horrible, and Cordelia was one hundred percent sure that Sean had never for one moment planned on dying before his fourteenth birthday. In fact, Cordelia remembered him going on about becoming a famous basketball player one day. The fact that he was kind of short and not a very good athlete hadn’t seemed to bother him at all. He had had a dream, if not an actual plan. Sometimes, Cordelia believed, dreams were as good as, if not downright better than, plans. Except, of course, when they didn’t come true.

  Cordelia shut the fridge on that tempting slice of pizza and trudged upstairs. She tiptoed past her parents’ room where her mother was absorbed in the latest title of her favorite series by Alexander McCall Smith. Her father was somewhere out there in the frozen wasteland that was their yard, shoveling snow and scraping ice.

  Cordelia’s room overlooked the back deck. It had two beds, perfect for sleepovers. The room was decorated in shades of pink and purple. A beanbag chair slouched in one corner. In another sat an antique and rather stately rocking chair, draped in a haphazard fashion with long, silky scarves in rainbow colors. A crazy quilt, one of her mother’s earliest efforts, was folded at the foot of the bed Cordelia usually slept in.

  Though she was long past the stuffed animal stage, Cordelia still kept a plush, and slightly dirty, unicorn named Pinky on a shelf over her bed. Occasionally, when she was feeling very sad or very stressed, she would take Pinky down from the shelf and bring him into bed. No one knew about this holdover habit, not even Sarah. Cordelia wasn’t a particularly private person, but there were a few things she liked to keep to herself.

  A state-of-the-art laptop sat on the desk. Cordelia used it for schoolwork but also for browsing the Internet for videos of puppies doing silly things, celebrity gossip columns, street style blogs, and fashion Web sites. She also had the latest version of the iPhone with every app a girl could possibly want and routinely cost her parents too much money by going over the limit for texts. She was always surprised when this happened and always genuinely sorry. Okay, she was a teeny bit spoiled, but that was pretty common with only children, wasn’t it?

  And it wasn’t as if she was a mean or nasty person. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken back to her parents. And she had certainly never been in a feud with another girl at school! It was weird, but some girls seemed to live for the next round of rumors and hurt feelings and imagined betrayals. Not Cordelia. One of her father’s favorite authors was Henry James. He had posted this quote over his desk in his home office: “Three things in human life are important: The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind, and the third is to be kind.” Those words had made a really big impression on Cordelia. Besides, fighting and acting all hurtful seemed like such a huge waste of time.

  There were not many books in Cordelia’s room, but there was a copy of the one classic novel she could never get enough of—Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. In fact, she had read it three times already. She loved the original movie, too, the old black-and-white one, and every single time she watched it, she felt frightened of creepy Mrs. Danvers, even though she knew she would get her punishment in the end, and a gruesome one at that.

  Cordelia opened the door to her closet and studied its contents. It might almost be time to retire the dark skinny jeans she had worn almost every day for the past nine months as they were looking a little w
orn out. Besides, she had her eye on a pair of mint green jeans that would be perfect for spring (whenever that came!) though she was a tiny bit worried that they might make her thighs look too big.

  Cordelia had reached what seemed to be her full height, five feet eight inches, by the age of fourteen. She wasn’t skinny and was always bemoaning her weight, much to her friend Sarah’s amusement. Her hair was very blond; in fact, some girls at school were convinced she dyed it, but she didn’t. Her skin was very white, and she kept it that way by applying super-duper-strength sunscreen year round. Her eyes were very blue and her eyesight was very poor. Cordelia hated to wear glasses, even funky frames; she was convinced they made her look dorky. So she wore contacts most of the time and only wore her glasses in the evening when she was pretty sure no one would be dropping by the house.

  Cordelia closed her closet door and plopped onto her bed. She was bored. She wondered what Sarah was doing. Probably tramping through the woods behind her house, totally oblivious to the freezing temperatures and ignorant of watering eyes and chapped cheeks. Sarah was weird that way.

  Or maybe she was with her boyfriend, Justin Morrow. Cordelia frowned. She would rather not think about what they might be doing together. Certainly not building a snowman or having a snowball fight! Unlike his girlfriend, Justin was not a nature lover, even though he worked for a local fisherman. In fact, he was pretty much Sarah’s opposite. Sarah was smart. Justin, not so much. Sarah was quiet. Justin had a laugh like a foghorn. Sarah had hopes for an important career. Justin was happy living paycheck to paycheck. Well, he was good looking, but Cordelia had never known Sarah to be impressed by something as random as a strong nose and big blue eyes.

 

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