“Sweetie, we’re so proud of you.” Carly’s mother hugged her before passing her off to her father.
“So proud,” her father repeated, giving her an extra squeeze. “We’ve been following the hype in the Times. You really did call out the big PR guns this time.”
“Enrico did most of the heavy lifting, but yes.” Carly nodded. “I called in every favor I was owed and I’m not ashamed to say it.”
“This is an interesting building.” Her mother stepped out of the doorway to let the next group of arrivals enter. “Look, Patrick. Open beams. So beach house.”
“Go look at the paintings, Mom, Dad.” Carly ushered them toward the exhibit. “I have a lot of people to chat up and a short amount of time in which to do it.”
“Go do your thing, Carly.” Her father patted her on the back. “If we don’t catch up later, we’ll see you in the morning at brunch.”
“You were able to get a room at the inn?” Carly asked.
“We have a lovely suite of rooms,” her mother told her. “It even has a name. The Captain Something or Other Suite. Some ancestor of the inn’s owner. The views of the Bay are divine. Now go, mingle. We’re keeping you from your work.”
Carly watched her parents drift toward the exhibit area and exhaled gratefully. So far, everything was going as she’d planned.
“It’s all so gorgois,” Enrico crooned in her ear. “All these fabulous works under this one rustic little roof. The photos didn’t do them justice. Carolina really was a genius, Carly.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say that. I was beginning to wonder if maybe my eye had failed me.”
“Hush your mouth, girl. Your eye never fails. Everyone is going to be talking about this for the next forever. The showing is a howling success and your book is the talk of the town. Everyone says they’re reading it, and everyone says they want to buy Stolen Moments and everyone is thrilled to death that Dallas MacGregor is here. Ellie will be able to name her price for that painting, and she’ll get it.” He squeezed her arm. “You have hit it so far out of the park, kiddo. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Enrico. I’m proud of you, too.” When he raised a questioning eyebrow, she said, “If you weren’t doing such a great job in New York, I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on all this the way I have. So in a way, you’re as much responsible as I am.”
“You are too, too sweet, but I’ll take it and bask in it.” He kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” His eyes drifted toward the door, then he leaned over and asked, “Who’s the old lady in the wheelchair?”
“Oh. Grace. That’s Grace.” She patted Enrico’s arm and walked to the door. “I’m so glad you were able to come, Grace. I was hoping—”
“I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” She turned in the chair and told Dan, who stood behind her, “Just lift the damn thing over the damn threshold.”
Carly stifled a laugh, and grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Grace, and one to Dan, who thanked her and immediately took off for the paintings.
“I met your parents this afternoon,” Grace told her. “I just happened to be in the lobby when they were signing in. Lovely people, dear.”
“Thank you. I’m really happy they were able to make the trip.”
“How are you, Carly?” Grace asked, and Carly knew she wasn’t inquiring after her health.
“All right.” She nodded. “I’m all right.”
Grace wasn’t buying it.
“Me, too.” She sighed. “Have you heard from him?”
Carly shook her head.
“Neither have I. Honestly, when he came home this time, I thought he’d finally gotten all of that wanderlust nonsense out of his system.” Grace took a sip of champagne. “Apparently not.”
Carly leaned back against the wall. She didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the gallery opening with people milling about and trying to get her attention.
“I do not know what’s wrong with that boy. He’s never been able to stay in one place for very long, and it drives me crazy.” Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought this time he’d found himself at the paper. It seemed to me that he was starting to come around, and more and more, he seemed to be enjoying it. He’s come up with several really wonderful ideas for future features and he’s been talking about making some content available online, even ways to beef up the online advertising. And he found you.” Grace reached out to take Carly’s hand. “I was hoping he would. I knew you were going to be important in his life.”
“Apparently not important enough for him to stay, Grace.”
“Africa.” Grace spoke the word as if she wasn’t sure what it meant. “Why in the world would he go to Africa?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell you …” She stopped before she could add, When he gets back. She didn’t know if she believed he would or not. This was one of those times her positive attitude was failing her.
Enrico touched Carly’s shoulder and said softly, “Excuse me, Carly, Evan Smith from the Times wants to talk to you.”
“Thank you. Tell him I’ll be right there.” She turned to Grace. “There are some people I need to talk to. But please go look at the exhibit. It really is a marvel. I hope you enjoy it. Without your help with the town council, none of this might have happened. So, go. Look. Enjoy it. And just for a while, try to put your worries aside.”
“Have you, dear? Put them aside?” Grace asked before she wheeled herself away.
No more than you have, Carly could have said. Instead, she merely shook her head, plastered her best smile on her face, and set off to find Evan Smith.
By eleven, it was over. The visitors had all trailed off, most to one of the B&Bs in town where they’d been lucky enough to find a vacancy, others to the inn. Just as had been hoped, most of the people on Carly’s VIP list had come to St. Dennis on Friday night and were staying till Sunday. Carly saw out the last of the stragglers with promises to call when such and such a painting became available.
“You could have sold every last one of them,” Enrico told her.
“Ellie could find herself a very, very wealthy woman if she decides to sell them.”
“She still doesn’t know what she’s going to do?”
Carly shook her head. “She might not do anything with them for a while, and she shouldn’t, at least until she has a strong feeling to either sell or not sell. She doesn’t have to sell any of them right now, or ever.”
“Good,” he said. “Drives up the price the longer they stay off the market.”
“True enough.”
She turned out the lights and paused at the doorway before arming the alarm. “Ready?”
“I am.” He walked past her and she punched in the code, then locked the door.
“Where does a thirsty guy go to get a drink in this little town?” he asked as they walked to their cars, hers in the driveway, his rental a few blocks down the street.
“There’s a nice place down by the marina. Captain Walt’s. Great seafood and a great bar.”
“I’m there.” He stopped next to her driver’s-side door. “You want to join me?”
“Thanks, but I’m exhausted. I have done nothing but eat, sleep, and drink this exhibit for the past couple of months. I’m going to go back to the house and crash.”
“You okay?”
“I’m just tired.”
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Brunch at the inn where I’m staying, right?”
She nodded. “See you in the morning.”
Carly drove home, exhausted and depressed. All of her energy had been poured into making this day, this night, a success, and she’d done that. Still, the evening had lacked the shine, the electricity she’d hoped for. The zip it would have had if Ford had been there with her. For Carly, the paintings and the exhibit were all entwined with Ford, with their days and nights at the house on Hudson Street. Now that he was gone, everything, even Carolina’s paintings, had lost their
glow.
She pulled into her driveway, got out of the car, and locked it. She was almost to the porch when she saw the figure sitting on the top step.
“How was it?” he asked.
Her heart almost stopped. “It was fine. Ford …”
“I’m so sorry. I tried to get home in time. I swear I did. But my plane was late and I—”
She burst into tears. In two strides he was there, holding her, rocking her gently.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I know how much the gallery means to you, how much the exhibit …” He swallowed hard. “Baby, I’m sorry I didn’t make it. Please stop crying.”
“I’m not crying because you weren’t there.” She gulped between sobs. “I’m crying because you came back. Because you’re here.”
“Of course I came back.” His arms tightened around her. “You’re here.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Mr. Nakimbe is now a guest of his government. He’ll be put on trial soon for war crimes. That is, if he isn’t assassinated while he’s in prison.”
“But you’re done with it?”
He nodded. “I gave my testimony. I’m done with it.” He took her hand and led her back to the porch. He sat on the top step and pulled her onto his lap.
“Does your mom know that you’re back?” she asked.
“There’s time to tell her in the morning.”
“She’s going to want you to stay, you know. To stay and take over the paper.”
“That’s the plan,” he said solemnly.
“Seriously? You want to work for Grace at the paper?”
“I’d rather have her work for me.”
Carly laughed. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“That has to be part of the plan. I’ll work for her now, learn the ropes, but she’s going to have to ease out at some point and let me take over. She can continue to write features when she wants, she can cover the local events and the weddings and the parades like she has for the past fifty years. But sooner or later, she’s going to have to cough up the reins.”
“You’re going to push her out?” Carly was horrified.
“No. I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.” He stroked her back while he spoke. “This accident of hers has made me realize a lot of things, like the fact that my mother is mortal. She’s worked too hard for too many years, and she deserves to slow down a little. Take life a little easier.”
“What if she doesn’t want to?”
“That’s going to be the deal. I’ll stay, I’ll take it over, but she has to take more time for herself.”
“Would you leave if she refused?”
“Would you go with me, if I did?” He turned her face toward him. “The whole time I was away, all I could think about was you. How much I missed you. How much I need to be with you.”
“Don’t say you’ll stay in St. Dennis just because of me. If you take over the Gazette and your heart isn’t in it, you’ll end up resenting me and the paper and probably your mother as well.”
“That’s the thing. I had a lot of time to think, Car. I realized that I want to work at the paper. I want to be the one from my generation to keep it going, just like my mom, and like my granddad was in his day. I want to be the one to step up. I always sort of pooh-poohed it, but being here, seeing what that newspaper means to the town, to the people who live here and work here … I can’t let it end with my mother.” He smiled. “Besides, I kind of like doing the features thing. Meeting people, interviewing them, finding out what makes them interesting or special. I’ve enjoyed it.” He tilted her face to his. “I want to stay, Car. I want to stay here with you and see what kind of a life we could build together. If you’re interested, that is.”
She searched in his pocket for his phone, scrolled through his playlist until she found what she was looking for, made her selection, then stuck the phone back into his pocket as the music began to play.
“You Had Me at Hello.”
“That’s my line,” Ford told her.
“I’m borrowing it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Does that mean you’ll stay in St. Dennis, too?”
“That means I’ll work out a way to run my businesses from here as much as possible. Ellie’s thinking about leaving all of her paintings right where they are, and that means that someone has to be in charge of the exhibit for as long as it’s running. No one knows Carolina’s work better than I do. Besides, I’ve had some really good ideas for that gallery, and I’d like to explore them.”
“Well, then, it looks like we’ve both landed in the same place at the same time.”
“Looks like.” She ran a finger along the side of his face. “So I guess this means you’re staying.”
“I guess it does. You know what they say: there’s no place like home.”
She searched her bag for the house keys, stood and pushed open the door, and led him into the darkened house. She wrapped her arms around him, then kicked the door closed with her foot.
“Welcome back, Ford,” she whispered. “Welcome home …”
Diary—
My mother always used to tell us that in every well-lived life, there should be balance. You know, some sun, some rain.
Well, I’m waiting for the storm to begin because for most of this summer, it’s been all sunshine. Yes, yes, there was that business of falling down the steps and breaking a couple of bones. I’m still in the casts and I’m still in the wheelchair, but even so, there’s been more sun than rain.
It started when Ford came home. My sweet son has grown up to be everything his father and I could have hoped for. He pitched in when I needed him to, and wonder of wonders, he’s been coming up with new and creative ways that the Gazette can serve St. Dennis. My hands are shaking as I write this—and I can hardly believe it myself, but it appears he’s planning on sticking around to implement those changes. To say that my prayers have been answered would be an understatement, because not only is Ford starting to believe—as I have all along—that his place is at the helm of the paper, but it appears that he may be thinking of settling down here permanently.
Of course, we have Carly to thank for that—of that I am certain. I knew the first time I met her that she was the one—it just took him a little longer to figure it out.
So he spends much of his time on Hudson Street, and that’s just skippy with me. It’s plain to see that my boy is in love, and since it’s equally obvious that that love is returned, I couldn’t be happier.
As for Carly, well, the gallery could not be a greater success than it is: glowing write-ups in the New Yorker and the New York Times and the Washington Post! Such a fine spotlight shining on our little town, and of course, on Carolina Ellis. Yes, Carly has done exactly what she said she could do, and St. Dennis is better for it.
And from what I hear from Ford, Carly is planning on sticking around. Dallas apparently has read her book and has made no secret of the fact that she wants to make Carolina’s story into a movie to be titled—what else?—Stolen Moments. Not only that, but Carly’s making plans for another big showing at the gallery. The headliner this time around? Not Carolina, but our own Shirley Wyler, Steffie and Grant’s mother. The whole town is positively abuzz! Who even knew she painted?! Ford said with so much going on, Carly’s decided to make an offer to buy the house on Hudson Street. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure out that she won’t be living alone for much longer.
So, all in all, much more sunshine than rain lately. I have all my children here in St. Dennis—though no longer under my roof, but that’s fine. Lucy and Clay are happy and talking about starting a family. Ford has found his heart, and I feel a joy in him that I haven’t seen since he was a boy. One could say that two out of three isn’t bad—but it’s beginning to look as if Dan seems married to the inn these days. I’m afraid he’ll spend the rest of his life alone. He’s barely looked at another woman for more than a few weeks since Doreen died, and that’s been years
now. Long enough, certainly, for him to move on. Oh, I don’t mean forget—she was the love of his young life, the mother of his children. He never will forget her, nor should he. But perhaps there’s another love for him somewhere—maybe the love of the rest of his life. I just wish he’d make some effort to find her.
Cue the heavy sigh …
~ Grace ~
For Rebecca Jane Robb, Esq.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a novel—much like raising a child—takes a village. I will be eternally grateful to everyone at Ballantine Books for being my village—especially Gina Wachtel, Junessa Viloria, and most of all, Linda Marrow, who bought my first book lo those many years ago and started me on this incredible journey.
Heartfelt thanks to my agent, Loretta Barrett, for always representing me with honesty and integrity, and for the blessing of your friendship.
Thanks to Chery Griffin, Helen Egner, and Jo Ellen Grossman for unwavering friendship across the years and across the miles. I love you and appreciate the support you always offer.
And thanks to my beautiful, crazy, wonderful family—Bill, Becca, Kate, Mike, Cole, and Jack. You are my everything.
BY MARIAH STEWART
On Sunset Beach
At the River’s Edge
The Long Way Home
Home for the Summer
Hometown Girl
Almost Home
Home Again
Coming Home
Acts of Mercy
Cry Mercy
Mercy Street
Last Breath
Last Words
Last Look
Final Truth
Dark Truth
Hard Truth
Cold Truth
Dead End
On Sunset Beach: The Chesapeake Diaries Page 29