Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze

by Thayer, Nancy

  It was almost a miracle. Certainly, it was a kind of rejuvenation.

  Throwing back the cotton sheet, she rose, dressed in shorts and a tee, and padded barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen. Abbie was standing in front of the refrigerator.

  Emma smiled. “Good morning!”

  Abbie slammed the refrigerator door shut. Her face was dark with anger. “There’s no milk.” She seemed on the verge of tears.

  Emma wanted to back away from the zone of Abbie’s black mood. “Well, I’ll bike over to Cumberland Farms and grab a quart.”

  “No. I’m going to wake Lily. She can damn well go get the milk. Shopping for groceries is her responsibility.”

  “Oh, come on, Abbie. It’s only seven o’clock. She probably stayed out late last night at one of her functions. I’m up and I don’t mind.”

  Abbie was adamant. “Lily made an agreement with us to do her share of the necessary chores around the house. Honestly, Emma, Lily’s not going to grow up if we keep doing her work for her!”

  Emma squinted at her older sister. “Something else is going on. Something else is wrong.”

  Abbie flushed and averted her eyes.

  “Look,” Emma said quietly. “It’s Sunday. We’ve got the morning off. I’d like to sit out on the deck and enjoy the day.” She had a brainstorm. “Hey. I’ll bet Marina could loan us some milk.”

  Abbie sulked. “She’s probably not awake.”

  “She is. I can see her. She’s sitting under the tree.” Without waiting for Abbie’s decision, Emma opened the kitchen door. “I’ll be right back with the milk.”

  Emma strolled down the backyard, enjoying the soft brush of green grass against the soles of her feet. Marina was settled in the red chair, a mug of coffee on the little table next to her, a book in her hands. She wore a slinky silk caftan in a pale blue that made her blond coloring angelic.

  “Hi, Emma.” Marina put her book on the table and stretched her arms high. “Isn’t it a glorious day?”

  “It is. Or it will be once we’ve had our coffee. I’ve come to ask if we could borrow some milk.”

  “Of course. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks. I’ll bring you a fresh carton. I’ve got to go to the grocery store today. Lily forgot to go.”

  “Are you working today?” Marina asked.

  “I am. For a friend who’s a landscaper.” Emma stared up at the cloudless sky. “I’d better remember my sunblock. What are you doing today?”

  “Later on I’m going over to Sheila’s to work on my lightship basket.”

  Emma nodded toward the driveway. “Dad’s truck is already gone.”

  “I know. I haven’t seen him since I invited you girls to dinner.” Marina laughed. “I think he’s terrified that I’m trying to get serious.”

  Emma laughed, too, surprised and pleased that Marina would speak so openly about her father. “No, Dad’s just really busy in the summer. He’s OCD about every nail on every board on anything he’s building.” She slipped into the cottage, found the milk, poured some into a pitcher, and went back outside. “Thanks for this. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “We could go for a swim tonight,” Marina suggested. “Maybe Abbie and Lily would like to go, too.”

  “Good idea. I’ll ask them.”

  Back at the house, Emma presented Abbie with the pitcher of milk. They stirred their coffee and went out onto the deck to lounge in the morning sun. Cinnamon was already there, stretched out on a wicker rocker, drugged with the heat.

  After a few moments of silence, Emma said, “Okay, Abbie, what’s wrong?”

  Abbie shrugged. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

  Emma studied her sister. “It’s that man, isn’t it? That married man.”

  “You know nothing about it.”

  “It’s because it’s the weekend. His wife’s home.”

  Abbie sniffed and refused to answer.

  “You don’t want to be a home wrecker, Abbie. They’ve got a little boy.”

  “Yes,” Abbie said, and all at once she was spilling with emotion. “Emma, Harry’s mother is a world-class bitch. She’s cold and heartless and domineering. She’s an absolute Nazi mom. If you saw how happy Harry is when he’s with me, you’d understand. The poor kid is so fragile mentally, he’s like a turtle hiding in a shell, but when he’s with me, he’s secure enough to emerge. I took him over to Shelley’s on Friday and he got to ride a horse, and he was so brave! He was so proud of himself!” Abbie began to cry.

  “Oh, honey.” Emma went into the kitchen, grabbed a box of tissues, and brought it out to Abbie. After a moment she said, “Abbie. You need to find your own husband. You need to have your own children.”

  Abbie shook her head rapidly as she blew her nose. “No. You don’t understand. I’ve never felt like this about any other man. Howell and I are soul mates. He’s in love with me, Emma. He told me he’s in love with me. He’s not in love with his wife. But things can’t be changed with a snap of the fingers. I know that. I trust him. It’s just hard to be away from him and Harry. They are where I belong.”

  “Yes, well, I thought Duncan was where I belonged,” Emma reminded her sister. “I thought the investment firm was where I belonged. Sometimes your instincts are just off.”

  “Fine.” Abruptly, Abbie stood up. “I’ve got to clean the upstairs and you’ve got to clean the downstairs, and Lily has to get out of bed and go to the grocery store.”

  “Abbie. It’s early,” Emma objected.

  But Abbie stormed off, letting the screen door slam behind her as she charged into the kitchen.

  Emma sipped her coffee and willed herself to relax. She had housework to do before she joined the landscaping crew, but she wanted to take just a few more minutes to enjoy the serenity of the summer morning. Love was such a mystery, she thought. Certainly she’d been as sure of Duncan’s love as Abbie was of Howell Parker’s, and Duncan hadn’t been married to someone else. Duncan had asked Emma to marry him. Duncan had given Emma an engagement ring. Thinking of Duncan made something inside her cramp with grief. She was learning to think without sorrow, but when would she ever be free of the bitter stings of jealousy and regret?

  Damn. Her mood was spoiled. She was worried about Abbie and that married man, and she was a little pissed off at Lily, too. Emma had never felt responsible for Lily like Abbie always had. Abbie had really been a kind of mother to Lily, but they were all adults now, and Abbie was right, Lily needed to grow up. Obviously, the eighteen months Abbie was away had changed her. Her life was no longer centered—anchored—in this house, this family. Lily hadn’t seemed to realize that yet. Perhaps she didn’t want to, and Emma understood. She missed having a mother figure around, but Abbie had never been that for her. Emma had grown accustomed to living with that loss. It was an ache, and a yearning, that she carried in her body like an injured limb.

  Abbie came out of the house, letting the screen door slam. “She’s not here. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. So she’s with some man, and I’ll bet you a hundred dollars she’ll forget her share of the work.”

  Emma stood up. “I’ll go to the grocery store.”

  “You shouldn’t have to! It’s Lily’s job. And what about your job, cleaning the downstairs? How are you going to do that?”

  “Now who sounds like a Nazi?” Emma retorted. “The downstairs is clean enough. No one’s going to run a home inspection on us. I’ll get the groceries, and you calm down!”

  By the time Emma had gone to the store, bought the groceries, carried them into the house, and put them all away, it was time for her to meet Marcia at the Prestons’ house. It was going to be such fun, working at the Prestons’. Their yard was a showplace, an acre of land on the cliffs overlooking the harbor, complete with a rose garden, a maze with topiary, a vegetable garden, and a flower garden circling a reflecting pool and fountain. The job was a plum, enhancing the reputation of any landscaper, and Emma was glad. Marcia had been one of Emma’s best friends in
high school.

  Emma biked out to the Prestons’ house and found Marcia unloading tools from her truck. Marcia had the field-hockey swagger of a healthy, bossy woman. Her dark hair was in braids and she was already darkly tanned from outdoor work.

  She hugged Emma. “Emma, you’re a lifesaver. I can’t get enough help in July and August.” She nodded toward her male clone, a big, broad-shouldered man with his dark hair cut short. “You remember Brian, right?”

  Emma grinned. She’d had a crush on Marcia’s older brother all through high school. He’d been captain of the football team, leading the Whalers to victory, and all the girls had crushes on him. “Hey, Brian. What are you up to these days?”

  “I’ve joined my dad’s plumbing business, just like everyone thought I would,” Brian said. “And on summer weekends, I turn into my sister’s slave.”

  Marcia snorted. “I wish. Help me lift the wheelbarrow out.” While her brother easily hefted it up and onto the ground, she said to Emma, “I’m giving you the easy job today. All you have to do is weed the flower garden around the reflecting pool. Take this basket. Pile the weeds in it, and when it’s full, dump it in the truck. Brian and I will be trimming the topiary. One more thing, the Prestons often have lunch served on their deck. If they do, stop weeding there and go to the vegetable garden. The Prestons don’t like to have workers in sight when they’re entertaining.”

  Emma saluted her friend, grabbed the basket, and set off walking around the enormous house and down the lawn toward the pool. The garden was vibrant with daisies, foxglove, delphiniums, globe thistle, and phlox. The variety of colors was stunning. Emma looked toward the deck, and seeing no people there, began to weed at the end closer to the house. She’d forgotten to bring her iPod with her and she found she didn’t mind. There was something very satisfying about kneeling among the flowers, feeling the hot sun on her shoulders and the tug of the weeds between her fingers.

  She was halfway down the length of the pool when she heard voices. She saw the glass door sliding open from the house to the deck. A group of people came out and a woman in a maid’s uniform followed, carrying a tray of drinks. Emma quickly gathered her tools and basket and slipped away from the pool and through the hedge toward the vegetable garden.

  She was on her knees among a row of tomato plants when she heard someone speak her name. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up. Spencer Bracebridge stood there, looking like a GQ ad in his white flannels and blue blazer.

  “I thought that was you,” Spencer said. “You’re really a jack of all trades, aren’t you?”

  Emma felt awkward as she squatted there in the dirt in her shorts and tee shirt and long-billed scalloper’s cap. There was something a little too Lord of the Manor and Peasant Girl in the moment to suit her. She stood up, stretching to release the tightness of her back.

  “I prefer Jacqueline of all trades,” she quipped. “How are you, Spencer?”

  “I’m good. And I’m working right now, too, actually. The Prestons have agreed to hold a fund-raiser for the historical association here at the end of the summer and we’re going over the details.”

  “Cool.” Something in the way Spencer looked at Emma made her tingle. But what was she thinking? She was sweaty and had dirt smeared on her clothes and probably on her face, too.

  “Actually, I was out on the deck and saw you and I just wanted to, um, come out to say hello.”

  “Well,” Emma said. “Hello.” She couldn’t stop smiling at him. She told herself that he was undoubtedly used to women gawking at him.

  Spencer seemed slightly tongue-tied. “Um, it’s getting hot.”

  “It certainly is.” His shyness was turning her shy, too.

  “Did I ever tell you how grateful I am that you brought my grandmother to my talk?”

  “Oh, well, I was glad to do it.” Emma thought Spencer was sort of leaning toward her. Was he attracted to her? He did come to lunch every day at Mrs. Bracebridge’s. His eyes were so warm on her face.

  Spencer touched her arm. “She really likes you, and believe me, she doesn’t like everyone. And she and my mother act like a pair of wet cats with each other.”

  Emma laughed. “They’re both strong-willed women.”

  “I know. You’re so great with them. I really …” Spencer paused. “I wonder if you’d ever like to … Well, you probably just …”

  Was he trying to ask her out? The heat between them was not all caused by the sun. Emma leaned closer to him.

  “Spencer?” From the deck, a woman called. “Lunch is served!”

  “Oh. Damn. I’ve got to go,” Spencer said. He became formal again. “It was so nice to see you here, Emma.”

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Emma—” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I wanted to tell you—if you ever have to choose between doing what my mother says and what my grandmother says, choose my grandmother. Or if that’s a problem, call me. I want you to know you can always call me.”

  So that was it. He had only come out to talk to her as an employer giving her instructions. Emma pulled away from his hand. “Good to know, Spencer. I’ve got to get back to work.” She turned her back on him and knelt back down among the tomato plants.

  “Okay, well, see you tomorrow,” Spencer said.

  Emma focused her energy on the weeds, working fast and hard. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with wealthy boys? What was she thinking! Imagining that Spencer Bracebridge was interested in her. Really.

  By the time she’d finished the vegetable garden, she was trembling with fatigue.

  Marcia loped up next to her. “Wow, Emma, you are one maniac weeder. I want all the hours you can give me. Come sit in the shade and drink a lemonade with me and Brian.”

  Emma rose and followed Marcia out to the truck. Brian was already there, hauling his tee shirt off, exposing his tanned, muscular chest. The three of them sat on the bed of the truck, drinking cold bottles of lemonade from the cooler.

  “Brian’s got something to celebrate,” Marcia announced.

  “Really?” Emma arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

  Brian rolled his shoulders and groaned. “Oh, come on, Marsh, give me a break.”

  “But, Brian, it’s a big deal!” Marcia protested.

  “No, it’s not a big deal,” Brian insisted.

  Emma laughed. “Can you at least tell me what isn’t a big deal?”

  “Brian got his Mass plumber’s license.”

  “Congratulations, Brian,” Emma said.

  “It’s no big deal,” Brian grumbled.

  “Yes, it is,” Marcia insisted, aiming her words at Emma. “Now Brian can take over from Dad. Dad only likes to do the little jobs for the people he’s always known. Brian can take on some big fat new jobs for the new trophy houses.”

  “That’s great, Brian,” Emma said.

  Brian grinned at her. His teeth were very white against his tanned skin. “It is, actually. I’m making a ton of money. I’ve bought a piece of property out in Dionis, and before long I’m going to build myself a trophy house of my own.”

  “Then you’ll need a wife to fill it with kids,” Marcia told her brother, and winked at Emma.

  32

  Lily

  Lily had no idea where she was. The bed, the room, the very smell of the air, were all unfamiliar to her. She shut her eyes tight and took a moment to listen to her body. Nope. She wasn’t hungover. She hadn’t passed out at a party. She’d only done that once, anyway, back in college, and once was enough; she’d never let herself get that drunk again.

  But where was she?

  She opened her eyes. She was facing a plain brown wall. No pictures. She smelled a dampness in the air, a kind of basement smell … and then, in a rush, it all came back to her.

  She was in Jason’s apartment. She was in bed with Jason.

  Last night rolled past her in a blur of memory. She’d attended two cocktail parties, and a concert. Jason had been waiting for her in his truck a
fter the concert, just as he’d promised.

  He’d stepped out of the cab and come around to open the door for her, a gentlemanly touch that pleased Lily.

  He’d been smug. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  He’d driven them over to Wild Rose Drive and parked in front of an old, three-story shingled house. This close to town, all the parking places on the street were filled, but he steered his truck into the driveway of the house, turned off the ignition, and came around to open the truck door. He took her by the hand and led her to the back of the house, in through a door, and down a set of steps, where he unlocked a door.

  “My year-round apartment!” he announced.

  Lily had stepped inside. “I don’t understand.”

  Jason strode through the room, turning on lights. The apartment was small, basically a living room with a galley kitchen attached, and a boxlike bedroom with the world’s smallest shower-stall bathroom. It was furnished scantily—a bed, a futon for a sofa, an ancient and obviously wobbly table.

  “I just rented this!” Jason waved his arms triumphantly.

  “In the summer? It must cost a fortune.”

  “Mrs. Fischer’s a friend of my mother’s. Her husband died a month ago, and she wanted to have someone in the house she can trust. They used to use this place for their grandchildren, but they’re all grown. She gave me a great deal on the rent.”

  “But you don’t have to pay rent at your parents’ house,” Lily pointed out.

  Jason came toward her, smiling. “True. But there’s no privacy in my parents’ house. You’re not the kind of woman I want to keep—seeing—in a pickup truck. You deserve a palace, Lily. Until I can afford that, I can at least offer this.” He took her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. “The sheets are brand-new. And I washed them.”

  Lily sank down on the bed. A wooden chest stood at one end of the room. Curtains with sailboats on them spanned the high, narrow windows.

  “I haven’t had time to fix it up yet,” Jason said. “And I want to paint over this gross brown, too. But for now—my parents gave me the bed from our guest room. It’s hardly been used at all.” A pair of candles stood on the chest. Jason lit them. He left the room, returning with two flutes and a bottle of champagne. “Let’s celebrate.”