“Staying, like, for good? Like, moving here?”
Dallas nodded.
“Why does everyone get to stay here but me?” Paige demanded. “Why am I the only one who has to leave?” She stormed into the house and slammed the door.
Grant sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face.
“Go inside and talk to her,” Dallas said. “She needs you right now.”
“So much for our romantic early morning reunion,” he said.
“That’ll make our reunion later tonight even sweeter. How ’bout dinner at Lola’s and a movie back here?”
“Paige …”
“Can babysit for Cody.” She thought for a moment. “Which means a ‘movie’ here first and dinner later.”
“I don’t know.” He leaned against the railing. “I don’t know that I want to do a ‘movie’ without some sort of commitment from you.”
“What kind of commitment? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you committed to your film when you decided to bankroll it yourself. You made a commitment to St. Dennis when you decided to make this the home of your production company. You made a commitment to Berry when you talked her into being in your movie, and you made a commitment to Cody when you decided to move here permanently.” Grant crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of commitment are you willing to make to me?”
“What kind of commitment do you want, Grant?” she asked softly.
“The permanent kind,” he told her. “Of course, the fine print is open to negotiation. The wheres and the whens, that sort of thing.”
“Should I call Norma?” Dallas pretended to ponder. “She does all my negotiating for me.”
“Sorry. This time you’re on your own.”
She moved closer and rested her elbow on his knee. “First, we need to define ‘permanent.’ What does that mean to you?”
“It means forever. It means always.”
“All right.” She nodded. “We’re in agreement there. My commitment to you will be forever. For always. But you have to reciprocate.”
“Goes without saying.” He smiled. “We’re going to have to formalize this, which I believe usually requires a ceremony of some sort.”
“And a party. A glorious party.” She moved closer. “I’d like to propose the Inn at Sinclair Point.”
“Agreed.” He smiled and took her hand. “You know, there’s really nothing to this negotiating stuff. I don’t see why lawyers charge so much to do it.”
“You understand that, when I’m working,” she said, her eyes serious now, “I may have to go away for several weeks at a time.”
“I promise not to whine.” He crossed his heart with his index finger. “We can even write that into our vows.”
“Where will we live?” she asked thoughtfully.
“We could live here.” He pointed behind him at the old house he was renovating. “Unless you want something bigger. I know it’s not Hollywood style.”
“I like this house. It’s a good family house. It’s plenty big enough.” She looked over her shoulder at the house. “But I should warn you. I will want a new kitchen.”
“I’ll add that to your list of demands.” He sat up and pulled her to him, and kissed her. “There. That seals the deal. There’s no backing out now.”
He traced her bottom lip with his index finger. “You sure about this? Do you need time to think it over?”
Dallas shook her head. “I think I spent more time trying not to think about where we were going because this is where I wanted us to end up, and I was afraid we’d never get here.” Dallas touched his face. “How ’bout you?”
“I’ve always been sure,” he said simply. “It’s always been you.”
“Seal the deal again.” She leaned in to kiss him.
“Dad!” Paige yelled from an upstairs window. “The answering service is on the phone again.”
Grant sighed.
“Go on in and take the call. I’ll see you tonight.”
“I don’t want you to leave now. I was just getting warmed up.”
“Save it.” She kissed his lips softly. “We have the rest of our lives …”
Berry poured her second cup of coffee and walked out onto the back porch. She held the door for Ally to follow, then closed it quietly. Cody was still sleeping off his jet lag. He hadn’t even joined her for tai chi that morning, but no surprise there. The boy was exhausted.
No surprise, either, that Dallas’s car wasn’t there. Berry knew where she’d have gone. Well, knew where she, Berry, would have gone, if she’d been in Dallas’s shoes.
Well, you had been in her shoes, once upon a time, a tiny voice reminded her, but you chose a different direction.
“Thanks for the reminder,” she muttered aloud drily.
As if she needed a reminder of her own folly, so many, many years ago.
“Water over the dam,” she said. But if she had to do it over—if the choice were hers to make again—would she have chosen her dreams over love?
Not just love, but the love of her life. Had she realized at the time that she’d never love another? That her future would be defined by the day she’d turned her back and returned to the coast to make yet another movie?
“The Firebrand,” she murmured. “Worst film I ever made. Tanked big-time, almost ruined my career. That should have told me something.”
Secretly, she’d thought he’d been bluffing, thought that despite his angry words, he’d be waiting for her when she came back, whenever that would be. He’d wanted a wife who’d be there for him, wanted children, wanted holidays with his family, he’d said. She hadn’t believed him. She’d really believed that he wanted her more than he’d wanted those things, that all that talk was just to get his way and make her give up her career and marry him.
But there’d been no bluff. He’d wanted what he wanted, and he’d wanted it with her, but she’d been too foolish to see beyond her own nose, to see anything other than her own dreams of stardom. And before too long, he’d stopped returning her calls, and the next thing she knew, she was hearing rumors from St. Dennis that Archer Callahan was getting married.
She really didn’t think he’d go through with it, thought it was a ruse to get her to come running back.
Seeing him on Saturday had been such a shock. Spending the day in his company had done little but make her heart hurt at the reminder of what she’d lost, what she’d left behind. Had it not been for Cody’s great adventure, as they now referred to it, she would have wallowed all weekend in anguish.
You can’t turn back the clock, she’d been reminding herself. You had a good life. Could it have been better? Who’s to say?
And yet in spite of her denial, she knew in her heart that she’d made the wrong choice. Regrets were a bitch.
“Well, when you screw up, Berry, you screw up big-time.”
She went down the steps to the lawn, and made herself comfortable in one of the big wooden chairs that looked out toward the Bay. With Ally, she sat and watched the gulls circling around something on the beach across the river. She smiled when the great blue heron flew by on its morning run, and wondered where its nest was, if it had a mate. If so, perhaps there’d be fledglings, and more herons to ride the air above the surface of the river this time next year.
Ally began to growl, a deep, low rumble, before she exploded with a bark. Standing behind Berry’s chair, she took a stand. Berry turned to see what had caused the dog to go on alert, and her heart stopped in her chest.
Walking toward her, a large spray of pale-colored roses in his arms, was Archer Callahan. For a moment, he looked as he had so long ago, straight and tall and blond, his athletic stride eating up the distance between them. Then she blinked, and saw him as he was, older now, white-haired, the athletic build gone a little soft, not quite as tall with the weight of the years, but she couldn’t help but think that he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“I
heard you were an early riser,” he was saying as he approached. “I’m an early riser, too, so I thought I’d stop by. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty …?”
“I don’t mind,” she told him as she stood. “I don’t mind at all. I was just watching the day begin.”
“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” He handed her the roses. “I saw these yesterday in the window of the flower shop up on Charles Street, and they made me think of you. I remembered how you loved those pale pink roses. So light they were almost white. Took me all night to build up the courage to bring them over.”
She reached her arms out to take them and buried her face in their scent, recalling other such bouquets.
“They’re beautiful, Archer,” she said softly. “Perfect. How nice that you remembered.”
“Some things you never forget,” he said simply. “Some things just stay with you.”
She was so moved, she couldn’t speak. Finally, she said the only thing she could think of.
“Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee with me?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
“Neither can I.” Berry took his arm and started for the house, Ally trotting by her side.
“Nice dog, Berry,” Archer said. “I always liked a golden retriever myself.”
“She’s a lovely dog, Archer. Let me tell you how I found her. That is, of course, if you have the time.”
“I have time,” Archer assured her. “I have all the time in the world.”
For Blanche
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve lived all my life in small towns: That’s the rhythm I understand best. My first seven books were a reflection of the towns I grew up in and later lived in, from Hightstown, NJ, to Marion, MA, to Lansdowne, PA. I’m happy to be returning to my roots with The Chesapeake Diaries, set in fictional St. Dennis, MD, which is a composite of all the small towns I’ve known and loved over the years. Grateful thanks to Loretta Barrett, Kate Collins, and Linda Marrow for wholeheartedly encouraging and supporting my return to those feel-good, relationship-oriented, family-centric books I used to write.
Thanks, also, to the wonderful team at Ballantine Books, who have so enthusiastically supported this effort, especially Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, and Scott Shannon. I always hesitate to name names, because I inevitably forget someone who should be remembered, so while I offer my sincere thanks to everyone at Random House for all they do, I want to say a special thank-you to the marketing and publicity teams (with special thanks to Kristin Fassler, Alison Masciovecchio, and Quinne Rogers); the art department’s Scott Biel for the beautiful, eye-catching covers that capture the spirit of this series; everyone in the sales department; the long-suffering production department, for hanging in there with me; Kelli Fillingim in editorial; and Andrea “The Decimator” Sheridan (who smites the pirates).
Grateful thanks to the lovely and gracious Grace Sinclair, who I met at the Country Meadows Retirement Village in Hershey, PA, for loaning her name to the author of the diaries that serve as the Greek Chorus to these books. Last but, Lord knows, never the least, the hometown girls, especially Cathy Lanning Simmons and Eileen Griggs McGillan, who make going home such a pleasure, and the Friday Club of Hightstown for inviting me to visit and for making me feel so welcome (with special thanks to Dale Snyder Grubb).
Almost Home is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2011 by Marti Robb
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52038-8
www.ballantinebooks.com
Cover artwork: Chris Cocozza
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Contents
Master - Table of Contents
Almost Home
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
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
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The high school gym had been transformed into a fantasy in white. Small twinkling lights were draped everywhere, from the fake palm trees that lined the walls to the bandstand where the DJ hired for the occasion kept the music playing. Huge pots, spray-painted glossy white, sported arrangements of white flowers—roses, gladiola, hydrangea—all dusted with glitter. Here and there throughout the room, white helium balloons were gathered into bouquets that bobbled and floated. A silver glitter ball overhead spun continuously, a gaudy moon that cast a shimmering glow over the dancing couples beneath it.
The theme for Bayside High’s senior prom, Candle in the Wind—no doubt inspired by the tragic death of England’s Princess Diana—had been taken literally by the decorating committee, who’d planned for one thousand white candles to flicker throughout the gym all night long. Unfortunately, Principal Naylor—obviously a man without a single romantic bone in his portly body—had put the kibosh on that idea, citing the fire codes.
Steffie Wyler snuggled up to her date and swayed to the music. Like so many of the other girls, she’d had her hair done that afternoon, and had her nails—fingers and toes—done as well. She spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting her makeup, then another few hours second-guessing her choice of gown. And like so many of the others, Steffie had chosen a white gown. But where most of her friends had picked white satin, Steffie’s dress was white chiffon. She’d seen it in the window of a shop in Annapolis and begged her mother to let her try it on. Simple in design, it had a wide swath of chiffon over her left shoulder, a sweetheart neckline, and a skirt that flowed around her body when she moved.
Steffie had been on the fence about it when the saleswoman stepped into her dressing room and said, “Oh, my, you look like a Greek goddess in that dress.” Which in itself would have been sufficient, but when she added, “So hard to believe you’re only seventeen,” Stef was sold. Ordinarily, her age wouldn’t be an issue, but tonight, it was very much on her mind, since her date was four years older than she was.
Not that it bothered Stef—she couldn’t have cared less how old he was. In her eyes, Wade MacGregor was the perfect man, or at the very least, the perfect man for her. She’d known him for as long as she could remember, so long that she had no recollection of ever having met him. He was part of her life in St. Dennis, or had been, until he left for college in Texas four years ago. Up until then, she’d seen him almost daily. He sailed with her brother, Grant, and in the summers, he worked painting houses with a couple guys in his class, Clay Madison and Cameron O’Connor. On any given day she could—and did—walk real slowly past whatever house they were painting just to look at him. Wade was always tall for his age, and in the summers, his sandy-blond hair lightened a few shades and his skin tanned nicely. Oh, yes—Wade MacGregor was the perfect guy.
The fact that he’d always had a girlfriend when he was in high school hadn’t deterred Steffie one bit. She knew he was the guy for her, and once he figured that out, they’d live happily ever after.
She just wished he’d hurry up and see the light.
Tonight, she wasn’t thinking of any of that.
Prom night was supposed to be special—magical—and Stef was determined that she would have her share of special memories. The fact that she’d had to trick Wade into being her date—and trick her mother into letting her go with him—no longer mattered. She was certain that once he saw her in her goddess-gown, once he held her close enough to see that they fit together just right, once she kissed him—well, he’d feel the magic, too. He’d see that they were Meant to Be.
She did wish the magic would kick in soon, though. So far he’d seemed … indifferent wasn’t exactly the right word. She’d seen the way he looked at her when she flowed down the steps in her goddess-gown. But so far, he’d kept his distance, thwarting every move she made to get closer.
Finally, the last dance was announced, and she rested her head on his shoulder, singing along with Shania that he was still the one, meaning every word. She could hardly wait to get into the auditorium, where they’d watch a movie compliments of the parents association—an event intended to keep the kids under their watchful eyes for as long as possible, though it was anyone’s guess what was going on in the back rows once the lights went out. The movie—Titanic—was a love story for the ages. Surely that would put Wade—and every other guy in the auditorium—in a romantic mood.
Her first clue that the rest of the evening wasn’t going to go the way she’d planned came when they filed into the room and Wade led her down the aisle to sit in the first row, pretending not to hear her protestations that they sit in the back. The second was the news that the film they’d received was defective, and instead of Titanic, they’d be watching Men in Black, an announcement that was met with cheers from most of the guys and boos from the girls.
The night’s final insult came when Wade drove her home, walked her to her front door, and attempted to open it for her—without kissing her good night.
It wasn’t as if he’d had to wonder if she wanted to kiss him. She’d stood in front of the door and wrapped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and puckered up.
The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge Page 65