“I didn’t know what I felt.” She sighed. “I loved your father so much, and I was so heartbroken. Buzz was sympathetic, a good listener. He loved your father too. It was very confusing, because all of that got tangled together and became this … issue between us. He wanted more. I wasn’t ready, of course.”
Brenda clasped her hands together and Macy noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring anymore. More than the words her mother was using, that detail told Macy all she needed to know.
“So you ran?” Macy had made a similar decision that last summer. She thought of the look on her mother’s face the morning she’d walked out to the back porch and found Brenda and Buzz there.
“I’ve decided we should go home,” she’d said as she strode out onto the porch, interrupting a conversation between her mom and Buzz that, upon reflection, looked intense. But she hadn’t seen that then. She’d only seen her own pain, her own resolve to flee the place that did nothing but keep her pain at the surface. Her dad was everywhere she looked.
Her mom had blinked at her a few times. Then looked at Buzz, a long look passing between them. “I guess that’s our answer,” she’d said to him. Macy recalled that now, putting it into context all these years later. Brenda had risen from her seat and smoothed out her shorts. “I think you’re right,” she’d said to her daughter. Macy had nodded and turned to go inside to pack, never once looking at Buzz’s face. If she had, she would’ve seen pain there, rejection, confusion.
“I guess you could say that. I did what I thought was best at the time. I told Buzz someday I’d be back. I just never thought it would take me so long.”
“When I found you together on the back porch that morning … had he spent the night here?”
Brenda paused. “Yes. And no. He’d spent the night, but not like you’re suggesting. We’d stayed up all night talking about what was happening between us. I’d just said I thought we’d better slow down, and right at that moment, you walked out and said you never wanted to come back. I took that as a sign.”
“So why’d you come back now? And how did you know he’d still be here?”
Her mother smiled, her white teeth glinting in the moonlit room. “About once a year I’d hear from him—a card usually just before the anniversary of your dad’s death. Just saying he was thinking of me, that he was waiting for me whenever I was ready. Can you imagine, waiting all these years?”
Macy thought about the guest book. “Yes,” she whispered, “I can.”
“Well, this year the card didn’t come. And I found myself missing that card. Such an insignificant thing, but I realized that I’d actually looked forward to receiving it each year. And then I realized something that surprised me.”
“What was that?”
“That I was scared of Buzz. I wanted him only in that card, where he was safe and contained. In that card, I could still hold onto the hope of him while not having to deal with the reality of him. And I realized that I might’ve waited too long. So I called the rental company right away, booked the house, but I waited to tell you kids until the birthday dinner.”
“So was that the last birthday dinner?” Macy asked. She hadn’t realized she’d depended on that tradition in an odd sort of way. She certainly never thought she’d miss it when it was gone. But there was something about seeing it end that meant other things were ending too.
“I think so, Mace.”
Macy nodded in the dark, listening to the sounds of Max getting up in the night, his room door opening and shutting as he padded down the hall to the bathroom. Some other time, she would ask her mom if she’d noticed the changes in Max. For now, she just tried to absorb the changes in her mother. Good changes, necessary ones. Changes Macy had wanted to see for a long time. And yet now that they were upon her, she didn’t know if she was ready.
Macy stretched out on her bed, waiting, for the second time, for sleep to come, her eyes fixed on the guest book. She thought of her mother’s words about Buzz, how as long as he stayed somewhere she could contain him, she felt in control. It was embracing the reality of him that was hard.
Was that how she thought of the boy she’d traded drawings with? Was he a perfect picture to hang on to, a person she could go to in her mind when everything went wrong? Was he real? Was he Nate or Wyatt or Dockery? And if he wasn’t, what did that mean for each of them? Was he the person she was meant to be with, or was he just supposed to trigger this strange search she was now on? Maybe all she was supposed to find at the beach was the answer to what she’d been running from: her fear that if she opened up to someone, she would be left again.
That fear had kept her from going to meet him ten years ago.
She’d opened the guest book on that last visit expecting to find the usual drawing from him, already thinking of what she could draw that would help him see her grief, experience her loss. This time his drawing was of the gazebo near the pier. And this time, with that drawing, there’d been a note. She’d never seen his handwriting before. Never exchanged written words with him except when she’d written her name, hoping he’d finally reveal his.
She’d read his note asking to meet her. And then, every day during that awful week, she’d read it again and thought about what it would mean to see him. Was she ready to change things, to break the rules he’d referred to? Or did she want to have one thing — just one thing — that stayed the same for her? Instead of facing what he’d asked of her, she’d played putt-putt with her brother, eaten banana-flavored snow cones, and taken long walks as she mourned the loss of her father, the noise of her sobs drowned out by the crashing waves. In the end, she’d left him a letter telling him she wasn’t coming. And that she didn’t know when she’d come back. Then she’d marched out onto the porch and told her mother to take her home. She’d run away from him and missed the chance to find out who he was.
To the artist,
By now you know I didn’t come to meet you. What you don’t know is that my dad died. My dad, who once convinced me to draw a picture in a guest book, is gone. And without him, nothing is the same. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you like you wanted. Any other year, I would have wanted to. I simply could not make my feet walk out of this house and to the gazebo. I know that makes me a coward, and I fear that’s what I’ve become since my dad died. I am afraid of everything — even you. What if, after all this time, we disappoint each other? I don’t think I could take another disappointment right now. So I’ve decided to hold onto you the way you are in my mind — and my heart — right now. This way, something in my life will stay the same, even as everything else is changing. I hope that somehow you understand this about me. I think you do … and that’s the best thing about us.
I don’t know when I will get another chance to see you, as we’ve decided not to come back. It’s just too hard without my dad. He was the heart of these trips, and without him here, the joy is just gone. Everywhere I look, there are painful memories of him, reminders of things I will never do with him again. Maybe someday I will feel differently, but for now, I just need to put some distance between me and this place.
So I’m leaving you one last drawing, and I hope you’ll leave me one too. You can hide the guest book under the loose floorboard in the closet of the room I’ve come to think of as mine, the second bedroom on the left. And one day — I promise you this — I will come back and find it. I don’t know when that will be, but if I know us, it’ll be at exactly the right time. I hope you won’t forget about me. I know I will never forget you.
She’d had no idea if he would leave the final picture she’d asked him to draw—no way of knowing if he was angry over her decision not to meet him. In a way, she’d been frozen in that moment in time, in the moment she’d left that note in the guest book, gotten into the car with her mother and Max, and driven away from Sunset Beach. The truth was, she’d found an odd sort of comfort in the not knowing, in standing still.
And now Brenda had found a way to move again, to unfreeze from that mo
ment when the doctor had told her her husband had died. And it seemed as if she was happier than she’d been in a long time. Was Macy hanging onto the guest book because this person was her true love, or because by holding onto it, she didn’t have to risk finding true love? She could stay safe as long as she didn’t have answers. There was, after all, safety in staying still. If one didn’t move, there was no risk of losing control, going the wrong way, or falling. But staying still meant no one got anywhere. And Macy was ready to move, to be on her way.
twenty-six
Macy woke with a sinking feeling on their last full day at the beach. Thursday had been rainy and — other than taking Emma to camp — Macy had stayed inside, brooding over the fact that in two weeks, she hadn’t gotten the answers she’d hoped for. But all her brooding had led her to a decision. She had to find out who he was, even if it meant coming right out with it and asking. She grimaced at the thought.
Maybe she should’ve been more specific with her prayer: “Please send one guy … and make it clear so I’ll know.” She rolled her eyes. At least Hank hadn’t called. Avis must’ve worked her magic.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Macy asked. “It’s our last full day.” She slumped into a chair at the table where Brenda, Max, and Emma were eating with faces as long as hers.
“Well, Buzz and I are taking Emma to her last day of art camp. Unless, of course, you’d like to take her,” her mother said.
“Umm … how about I pick her up?” she offered.
“That sounds good. Buzz wanted to take me someplace special this morning. We can drop her on our way.”
Macy saw Max’s eyes flick toward her before darting away. She knew when their mother was out of earshot he’d have questions for her. She tried not to think about what Wyatt had said about Buzz fixing his house up for Brenda. “How ‘bout you, Max?” she asked.
“I told Nate we’d have lunch. He’s got some books he wants me to read. And he’s got a friend who pastors a new church back home he wants to connect me with. You wanna come?”
Macy shook her head. “I might head over to see him later this morning. I’ve got a question of my own for him. One I’d like to ask without you around. No offense.”
Max grinned and pushed away from the table. “None taken.” He stood up and grabbed his empty bowl. “Think I’ll go for a long walk. Find some shells.” He winked at Macy, and she rolled her eyes in response. She thought of Wyatt’s painting of the butterfly shells he’d shown her. The way she’d felt when he kissed her. She knew he needed to be her first stop this morning. Buzz would be gone, and with any luck, Wyatt would be working on Buzz’s house. Alone.
Satisfied that Emma was taken care of, she headed to the shower and, beyond that, a morning of finally getting the answer to the question she’d been afraid to ask.
Macy walked up the stairs of Buzz’s house with her heart pounding in time with her footsteps. She took a deep breath before knocking, telling herself this was no big deal. But she knew she was kidding herself. She waited for a moment, but no one came to the door. From inside she could hear music playing so she pounded harder. Finally the door was yanked open, revealing one of the crew she remembered from the first day. “Yeah?”
She made herself smile at him. “I’m looking for Wyatt,” she said politely.
“You the girl from next door?” A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and he wiped it impatiently away.
She nodded. “Is he here?”
“Nah. He’s on another site. Sent me here to finish up some stuff.” He chuckled. “He’s the big boss man. He can do things like that.”
“Oh, okay. Well, then, I’m sorry I bothered you.” She turned to leave.
“I know I shouldn’t say nothing, but Wyatt, he’s a nice guy. I always kid him. Say he’s got the heart of a poet beating inside him. He always gets mad at me when I say it. On account of he don’t want no one to know that. But I think you know that. I think he done let you see it. Am I right?”
She knew she was blushing. She nodded again, thinking of the moment he showed her the butterfly shell painting and how there had been so much buzzing in the air between them: attraction, chemistry, friendship, connection.
“Well, it ain’t none of my business, but I hope you know he don’t go around showing that part of himself to just anyone.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t take it lightly, is all.”
She smiled at him without showing any teeth. “I won’t,” she promised him.
“Well, better get back to work. Don’t want to make the boss man mad.” He thought for a second. “You wanna try and catch him, I ‘spect he’ll be back here sometime this afternoon.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” She backed down the stairs as he closed the door. She crossed the yard to Time in a Bottle, thinking of where she would go next and what she knew she needed to say.
Nate was in his office. His secretary gave her a knowing little smile as Macy passed her, and though she knew it wasn’t true, Macy couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman saw single women parade in and out of Nate’s office week in and week out, a clergy Casanova. She knocked and opened his office door to find him scribbling on a legal pad. He looked up and smiled.
“I was just thinking about bringing you a Krispy Kreme donut.” He laughed at his own joke, and she grimaced at the reminder of her “biggest secret.” He pointed to the pad. “Sermon notes. I hate that you’re not going to be here this Sunday.” He gestured toward an overstuffed chair across from his desk, and she sat down primly on it, her hands folded in her lap. She wondered how many people had sat in that same chair and poured out their hearts to him. How many secrets had been spilled in this room?
“Uh-oh,” he said. “I know that look.”
“What?”
He pointed in her direction. “That look you’ve got. Like you’re just here to say good-bye and bolt. Like we’re total strangers.”
She shifted in her seat and tried to look more relaxed. “Well, I am leaving tomorrow.”
He pretended to pout. “And here I thought my fried green tomato sandwich would convince you to stay.”
“It was delicious.”
“But?”
She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Okay, here’s the deal. You said you’d stayed at Sunset Beach as a kid. That you’d been to Time in a Bottle.”
He nodded. “Yeah?”
She paused, her gaze snagging on a cross hanging behind him. “So I have a weird question for you.”
He smiled. “I’m a pastor. I get weird questions all the time. Shoot.”
“Did you ever draw pictures in the guest book there?”
His wrinkled brow of response was all the answer she needed. He had no idea what she was talking about. “See? I told you it was a crazy question.” She leaned back in the chair, oddly relieved just to get it out there. She only had to do it two more times, and then she could go home to figure out her life equipped with reality rather than a childish fantasy. She had asked God to let her know once and for all. Now she would know. “Never mind. It’s silly.” She waved the question away.
But Nate wasn’t deterred. “Not silly at all. From the look on your face, I’d say this guest book meant a lot to you,” he said, so kind to not belittle her or make her feel more foolish. She liked this guy a lot and—had he answered yes to her question—she could see digging deeper into their friendship, seeing what was there. And yet, he hadn’t answered yes.
“Yeah, it does,” she answered. She dropped her eyes and nodded at the floor, wanting to sink into it.
“Tell me about it.”
She waved her hand. “It’s hard to explain. And a long story. You don’t want to hear it.”
He laced his fingers together and studied her for a moment. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hear.”
“You must be a good listener. You sure have helped Max a lot.”
He shrugged. “Part of the job. To be a good listener.” He smiled at her with
his kind brown eyes twinkling. “I find that most people just want to be heard—some for the first time in their lives.”
“I guess that’s what the guest book’s been to me all my life: someone listened to me. Only it wasn’t with words, but with the pictures I drew or painted. It started when I was just a little girl. About Emma’s age. I drew a picture every year and someone, a boy, always drew a picture back. It became this amazing … conversation we had.”
“And you’re convinced that he’s out there somewhere.”
She nodded.
“And you can’t move forward if you don’t find out who he is.”
She nodded again, color rising in her cheeks. She might as well be naked in front of him. And yet, wasn’t that why she’d woken up with a pit of dread in her stomach this morning? Wasn’t this what today was about? “I know it sounds stupid. Like a little girl believing in fairy tales.”
He rested his chin on his laced fingers and studied her. “Some people say the Bible is nothing more than fairy tales that people believe in.” His mouth curled into a half smile. “You might recall our conversation about that.”
She nodded, thinking of how long ago that night seemed.
“And yet,” Nate continued, “I choose to believe. Sometimes believing—just choosing to take that leap of faith—is the best thing we can do.”
“That’s what you’ve helped Max do.”
He nodded. “And I wanted to help you too.” He grinned. “But I have to admit that you’re much prettier than your brother and that might’ve swayed my motivations.”
She smiled back. “So you knew it wasn’t going to work out?”
“I think I knew a couple of days ago that the reason God brought you into my life wasn’t because you’re ‘the one’ for me. Rather, your willingness to go to Buzz, who in turned called me, allowed me to meet Max. He and I have talked through some pretty important stuff these past few days. It’s been a privilege to point him in a direction that, I think, is going to help him resolve some stuff he’s been dragging around for quite some time.”
The Guest Book Page 20