Summer Magic

by Lorraine Bartlett

  He shrugged, turning away. They just had to get through the weekend. And who knew…maybe one day they might actually be more than just civil to one another.

  The lights were ablaze inside Blythe Cove Manor when they returned and Alex pulled the van to a halt in front of the inviting entrance. Not exactly like a Thomas Kinkade painting, but just as inviting. Alex cut the engine and Paige turned back to face him.

  “Dinner was nice,” she said. “I haven’t had lobster in years.”

  “Me, either.” He shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. “For a lot of years, we couldn’t afford lobster.”

  Paige caught herself before she, too, smiled, by averting her gaze. Suddenly it felt awkward to be together … sort of like a couple who’d gone out on a first date. In fact, that was how the evening had gone. A stroll down the street to the restaurant—although they didn’t hold hands—and then they’d been seated by a window that overlooked the sea. They’d watched the sky darken and the clouds take on a lovely peach-colored hue before the sea engulfed the last light of day and the moon shone on the rippling water. And their conversation had been light, not tense like it had been for more than a year. She didn’t want to think about those dark times.

  “I guess we should go in. Didn’t Blythe say something about sherry?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Why don’t you park the car and I’ll look for it and pour us a couple of glasses.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Paige nodded and got out of the car, while Alex restarted the engine. She paused for a moment to listen to the tires crunch the gravel before entering the lobby. The reception desk was empty, with no sign of the other guests or their hostess, but as promised a decorative crystal carafe of sherry and two delicately etched glasses stood on a silver tray, as though awaiting them.

  Paige settled onto the big leather couch, uncapped the bottle and poured. She’d just finished the task when Alex arrived. He took off his light jacket before taking the chair to her right. A flash of disappointment coursed through her. For a moment she’d thought he might actually perch next to her, but then he was probably afraid to do so—in case his actions spoiled the unspoken truce they seemed to have called.

  Paige picked up her glass. It felt like she should offer a toast, but she didn’t want to do that and hoped Alex would resist the temptation as well.

  He did, picking up his glass and taking a sip. “Not bad.” He studied his glass.

  Paige sank further back into the couch and sipped her sherry. Maybe she should have offered a toast. And what would it have been? To happier times?

  Suddenly Alex hoisted his glass, looking straight for her. “To happier times.”

  Paige blinked. “What did you say?”

  “To happier times. For both of us.” He scrutinized her face. “Why do you have such an odd expression?”

  Paige shook her head, rather disconcerted. “It’s just that … I was thinking the same thing.” She just hadn’t been about to voice it.

  Alex shrugged. “It’s nice to know we still have the same mindset on something.”

  Paige bit her lip to keep from commenting. She didn’t want to spoil what had been the most pleasant evening she’d had in a very long time. And yet, at the same time, she wondered why. Earlier in the day she’d made up her mind to end the terrible existence that had been her life, but now doubt began to creep in.

  Paige looked over at her husband. When they married, she thought it was forever. Her forever, however, would come to an end at fifteen years. Alex smiled. True, it bore little resemblance to his smiles of the past—perhaps more wistful—but it was a smile.

  This time, Paige managed to give him the shadow of one in return.

  6

  Alex was the first to get ready for bed that night. He’d bought a guide to Martha’s Vineyard at the bookstore, and had made a considerable a dent in it when Paige finally changed into a nightgown and crawled into bed.

  “I’ll turn the light off,” Alex said.

  “You don’t have to,” she said diffidently. “It doesn’t bother me. I thought I might watch the fire until I feel drowsy enough to fall asleep.”

  “It’s nice having a fireplace in the bedroom.” He wanted to say romantic, but he didn’t want to put a damper on what had been the best evening they’d shared in a very long time.

  “I suppose it’ll be too warm for a fire in another week or so. I wonder what the inn looks like at Christmastime.”

  We could visit and see, Alex thought about saying, but decided against it. He was supposed to be signing a lease for one of the Windsor Complex’s apartments next week. They would have to talk about what to do with the house. He didn’t think Paige would want to live there all alone—not with all the memories they’d made there. The Christmases, birthdays, hot summer nights spent stargazing—while slapping mosquitoes—and all the other wonderful celebrations. It was a shame all those memories had to be shelved. And what would they do with all the furniture, bric-a-brac, and photographs? Splitting the photos would be the hardest. Then again, he could just scan them all and let her keep the prints. There always seemed to be a sanitary solution to most of their problems … if they cared to go to the trouble.

  Alex set his book aside and switched off the bedside lamp. The gas flames from the fireplace threw leaping shadows around the walls.

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Paige asked quietly.

  “Yes. Very pretty.”

  They didn’t say any more.

  Alex watched the shadows for a while before closing his eyes, then instantly fell asleep.

  A woman’s wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but as Paige’s wedding day approached everything seemed to go wrong. It started when the RSVP cards began to arrive.

  Alex’s parents decided not to come due to a prior engagement. And what kind of engagement would keep you from your son’s wedding? They’d never forgiven him for changing his major, and not coming to the wedding was their way of punishing him.

  Alex’s brother Ron, and his wife, Amy, and kids had vacation plans that couldn’t be changed. Funny, he hadn’t mentioned those plans when Alex had spoken to him six months before when the “save the date” cards had gone out.

  Alex’s sister, Joanne, at least had a reasonable excuse. At eight months pregnant with her second child, her obstetrician had given her a “no travel” edict.

  And Paige’s family had let her down as well. Her sister, Emily, had called to say her car had died and that she and her husband couldn’t afford to rent one to drive to Buffalo—nor could she find a friend willing to drive them.

  So it was with a feeling of doom that Paige had donned her ivory tea-length wedding dress on that sultry summer morning. It was the “something old” part of the day, as she’d found it for a great price at a thrift shop along Buffalo’s Main Street. Something blue? A garter she’d bought. Something new? The floral headpiece and short veil she’d made herself.

  As the hour for the nuptials approached, Paige grew more and more apprehensive as her best friend from childhood had not yet arrived.

  “It’s okay, Paige,” her sister, Lisa, said, her voice a calming balm. “If worse comes to worst, I can stand in.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Paige said, giving Lisa a hug.

  When the organist struck the first few notes of Wagner’s “Wedding March,” Lisa grabbed the Maid of Honor’s bouquet and marched down the aisle as though she had been the bride’s first choice of attendant.

  Alex stood at the end of the chapel’s aisle, but the man standing next to him was not the guy he had asked to stand up for him, but another buddy who hadn’t even worn a suit. Paige missed a step, wondering if this marriage had been cursed because so many of their friends and family were missing from the celebration.

  But then she locked eyes with Alex, and took in the broad grin he sported. And she smiled, too. What did it matter if some of the invitees were absent? All that really counte
d was the fact that she loved Alex, and he loved her, and from that day forward they were to be as one.

  Paige walked slowly, step-by-step, alone. She had no father or father figure to give her away. And it was with shyness that she paused before her betrothed. She handed Lisa her bouquet, and Alex gently took her hands in his, beaming; a smile that could have lit the continent. Then the two of them turned their gazes to the minister who stood a step higher than them.

  “Paige and Alex, welcome to the beginning of your new life together.”

  Paige couldn’t really process everything the minister said. She felt overwhelmed, but happier than she’d ever been. She was about to commit the rest of her life to the man who completed her, and felt sure that she, too, would complete him.

  Lisa gave her sister a nudge, handing her a simple gold band.

  The minister spoke. “Paige, place the ring on Alex’s finger and repeat after me: With this ring.”

  Paige looked directly into Alex’s blue eyes. “With this ring.”

  “I pledge my love and faithfulness to you.”

  “I pledge my love and faithfulness to you.”

  “Today, tomorrow and always.”

  “Today, tomorrow and always.” Paige slipped the ring on Alex’s finger, giving him a shy smile.

  The minister directed his attention to the groom. “Alex, place the ring on Paige’s finger and repeat after me: With this ring."

  It was Alex’s turn to gaze into Paige’s eyes. “With this ring.”

  “I pledge my love and faithfulness to you.”

  “I pledge my love and faithfulness to you.”

  “Today, tomorrow and always.”

  “Today, tomorrow and always, always, always.”

  The minister smiled. “Then by the powers vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Alex, you may kiss your bride.”

  They leaned close and Alex brushed a gentle kiss against Paige’s lips. Then another—with more intensity and the promise of more to come.

  Then the organist launched into Mendelssohn's Wedding March. Lisa handed Paige her bouquet and the happy couple charged up the aisle.

  And it was, after all, the happiest day of Paige’s life….

  So far.

  7

  Breakfast at Blythe Cove Manor was truly a delight—at least Blythe Calvert always thought so. She carefully planned her menus, baked sinful treats in her cream-colored Aga stove, and always tried to set a lovely table.

  It was nearly nine and she was about to pack up the muffins, croissants, and strudel that sat on multi-tiered plates in her breakfast room, when the Campbells finally came down for their morning repast.

  “Are we too late?” Mr. Campbell asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “It’s just that we slept so well last night. Better than we have in such a long time,” Mrs. Campbell practically gushed. She certainly looked better rested than she had when they’d arrived the previous day.

  “I’m always glad to hear that,” Blythe said. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Take a seat wherever you’d like,” she said, and headed back to the kitchen to get the fresh pot. When she returned to the breakfast room, she found the Campbells had chosen the coveted table that overlooked the sea.

  “Seems like we’re the last for breakfast.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Blythe said as she poured the brew. “What are your plans for today?”

  Mr. Campbell brandished a guide book. “We thought we might like to visit the Edgartown Lighthouse.”

  “And maybe the cottages at Oak Bluff,” Mrs. Campbell said with what sounded like hope in her voice. Her eyes were still shadowed, and her voice tentative, but she seemed to have relaxed some in the eighteen-or-so hours since their arrival.

  “Oh, you’ll love them. They’re adorable.”

  “We were wondering,” Mr. Campbell began, “how it is that we won a weekend at your beautiful inn. Neither of us remembers entering our names in any contests.”

  “The contest was held through Vineyard Vines magazine. Perhaps one of your friends or relatives entered your names.”

  Mr. Campbell frowned, as though that wasn’t a viable answer.

  “What can I get you for breakfast? Blueberry pancakes? Sausage? Bacon?”

  “Pancakes sound wonderful,” Mrs. Campbell said. “With sausage?” She looked as though she had lost weight and could use a good solid meal.

  “And you?” Blythe asked Mr. Campbell.

  “The same, please.”

  She nodded. “Feel free to help yourselves to anything on the buffet across the way. I’ll be back with your breakfasts in a few minutes.”

  While the pancakes sizzled on the grill, Blythe snuck a peek into the breakfast room to see the Campbell’s quietly contemplating the guide book. They were talking. That was a good sign. She had the feeling they hadn’t had much to discuss for quite some time.

  She plated the pancakes and sausage, placing a sprig of curly parsley from her kitchen garden, and brought them into the breakfast room, snagging a pitcher of maple syrup on the way. “Here you go,” she said, sliding each plate in front of her guests. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you,” they chorused.

  Humming Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” Blythe returned to the kitchen and the mountain of dishes that sat in the big porcelain farm sink. Some days she just loaded the dishwasher, but other days she enjoyed washing the plates, cups, and cutlery by hand. It was such a beautiful day, and the magic of Martha’s Vineyard was practically palpable, so she put the stopper in the sink, turned on the hot tap, and watched as the water rose and the bubbles morphed.

  It would be a very good day indeed for the Campbells—and for her, too

  The day was one to remember. Sunny skies, balmy breezes, and lovely vistas. Alex snapped picture after picture and realized it had been a long, long time since he had experienced real pleasure. The lighthouse had been a delight. Paige had been enchanted by the charming cottages at Oak Bluff, which were painted in pastel shades, looking like dollhouses brought to life for their full-sized occupants. She’d not only smiled, but directed him to take photos of them all. For the first time in a long time, she had shown an interest in something. That she was interested in anything seemed like a hopeful sign that she might be moving beyond depression and utter hopelessness.

  Lunch had been a relaxed affair of lobster rolls and chardonnay. They hadn’t talked much, but there weren’t any awkward—angry—silences, either.

  They’d finished the day with a leisurely dinner at the island’s most famous restaurant, after which they’d walked the two blocks to reclaim their minivan and this time when Alex reached for Paige’s hand, she’d curled her fingers around his. All too soon, they reached the van and separated. He’d unlocked the passenger side door and she’d climbed aboard.

  Like most of the rest of the day, the ride back to Blythe Cove Manor was quiet.

  “Do you want to stop by the lobby for sherry?” Alex asked as they turned down the lane that led back to Blythe Cove Manor.

  Paige sighed. “I don’t think so. Unless you do.”

  “No. I just thought I’d ask.”

  “It was a long day. The best day I’ve had in … a long time.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I feel guilty,” Paige said, her voice sounding small.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “I know, but I can’t help it.”

  They didn’t speak again until they pulled into the inn’s lot. Alex parked the van and they got out, their shoes crunching on the gravel. They wiped their feet before entering the spotless lobby. Like the night before, they didn’t see any of the other guests, who must have all retreated to their rooms.

  “You know, I haven’t seen anyone else here this weekend,” Paige commented

  “There are other cars in the lot,” A
lex pointed out.

  “I know, but it just seems rather odd.”

  “Well, we aren’t exactly the most sociable people these days, so….” He let the sentence trail off. They’d lost touch with just about all their friends and family. People whose company they had enjoyed. People he knew that cared. It was just too awkward to be around them and their families.

  “That’s true,” Paige admitted as they reached their room.

  Alex unlocked the door, reached in to turn on the light, and then let Paige enter.

  “I’m going to bed early,” she announced.

  “I think I’ll do the same.”

  She nodded and opened the dresser drawer, pulling out her nightgown and headed for the bathroom. There was a time when she would undress in front of Alex, but now modesty seemed to have taken over. She’d been like that for too long. She was still a very attractive woman—or could be—even though she no longer put any effort into it.

  Alex sat down in the chair and removed his shoes. He really wasn’t ready for sleep. He could reread the guidebook, but he didn’t feel like it. If only they could talk. They used to be able to talk about anything. He missed his former confidant. He missed their old life. Since they’d arrived at the inn, she’d been different. Perhaps they’d both been different. Still, he had no illusions that the break from animosity and hurt wouldn’t last any longer than the drive home, and for that he felt sorry.

  He missed the woman he’d loved and married.

  8

  It all started with a phone call.

  Alex and Chrissy, their twelve-year old daughter, had gone to the grocery store for a gallon of milk and a sack of potatoes several hours before. It wasn’t all that unusual that what should have taken fifteen minutes had lengthened into hours. Chrissy had discovered maps at the tender age of four and had been fascinated ever since.

  She’d first mapped their home, then their yard, then the street. Alex would drive her around the area as Chrissy took notes on new streets to add to her drawings and penciled database. By age thirteen, she’d reached out to local government and private cartographers. She used Google Street View and the computer’s mouse to drive the streets of Albany and the highways of China and beyond. She was happy because at such an early age she knew what her life’s work was to be.