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

by Stewart, Mariah

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her—or anyone else from school—in a long time.” Ellie bit the cuticle around her index finger.

  “She doesn’t know how to approach you directly, El. She just doesn’t know what to say. I think there are a lot of people who feel that way, like they want to reach out but don’t know how.”

  “Maybe. Would you mind just telling her that I’m fine and thank her for asking?” She thought for a moment before adding, “And yeah, forward the e-mail to me. Maybe I’ll get around to writing to her one of these days.”

  “Will do.”

  “So how are you doing with the paintings?”

  Carly sighed. “The more I study them, the more stunning they are. It’s time-consuming, as I expected, but they’re cleaning up beautifully. I’m having one of the best times of my life.”

  “I’d like to think your life has been a little more exciting than that.”

  “I’ve had my moments, but this sort of thing transcends the everyday good time.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying them. Do you want me to send the journals to you?”

  “If that wouldn’t be a problem for you, I’d love to be able to read through Carolina’s thoughts while I’m working on her paintings.”

  “I’ll pack them up and mail them off. I’ve already gotten through all of Carolina’s and maybe half of Lilly’s.”

  “Keep the ones you haven’t read yet,” Carly said. “You can send those along when you’ve finished.”

  “Will do. Thanks again for inviting me for tomorrow.”

  “I think you’ve had a better offer. You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

  “I will,” Ellie promised. “Give your mom and dad my love.…”

  Ellie stood and stretched, her attention drawn outside, where the mailman was placing something in her mailbox.

  “More junk,” she grumbled. “There has to be a way to opt out of all that trash mail.”

  She grabbed a jacket from the front hall closet and slipped into it on her way out the front door, Dune racing ahead, chasing the shadows of the gulls that swept overhead. Ellie opened the mailbox and removed a handful of paper circulars and two envelopes. One was from the electric company. The other was from prisoner number 524782.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, Dad. It’s all still too raw. I’m not ready to deal with you yet.” She tucked the unopened letter into her jacket pocket and called to Dune, who, anticipating a walk on the beach, had raced to the edge of the sand and stood wagging her tail, waiting.

  Ellie followed the dog along the waterline, where pale foam marked the level of the last waves to stretch onto the sand and Dune made a game out of chasing the receding water. The envelope seemed to vibrate against her hip but she ignored it. The last thing she wanted to think about right now was her father. Henry ran a close second.

  She wanted to think about her house. She wanted to think about Cameron and how kissing him had been such a delicious surprise. She wanted to think about tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner at the inn and discovering family she hadn’t even known she had but who were becoming a part of her life through their words and through living beneath the same roof they’d lived under. She wanted to think about how it felt to spend hours doing hard but surprisingly satisfying work that wore her out physically but stimulated her mentally. She wanted to think about the time she spent walking the beach with Dune and Carly writing a book about the women artists in her family.

  She wanted to think about a future that might outshine her past.

  But no, thank you, she did not want to think about her father.

  She pulled the envelope from her pocket and tossed it into the Chesapeake, where an incoming wave snatched it up. She watched the white paper roll toward the shore then retreat as wave after wave tossed it about. What could he have to say now that could be relevant to the life she was making for herself, the life that would take the place of the one he’d destroyed? She turned her back on the Bay and called for Dune, who’d taken off into the grass. She started back to the house, Dune catching up with her before she reached the driveway.

  Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, a day to count blessings, to give thanks for all the good things in life. The past year had held precious little for Ellie to be grateful for, but since she arrived in St. Dennis, the tide of her life had seemed to turn and she was determined to ride it. The last thing she needed right now was a reminder of all the dark days that she was trying so hard to leave behind.

  Thanksgiving morning was bright and clear but colder than it had been since Ellie arrived in St. Dennis. She stood in front of her closet and surveyed her meager wardrobe. She hadn’t planned on having much of a social life, so she’d left most of her clothes at Carly’s house, where she’d moved them once the feds gave her the green light to retrieve her belongings from the house she’d shared with Henry. Her pricey designer clothes and jewelry had been confiscated by the feds—not that she’d wear such fancy things here in St. Dennis, but still, she wished she had something a little dressier than black pants. Maybe she’d ask Carly to bring some of her things the next time she visited.

  Ellie tried on a number of tops with the black pants, but in the end settled for a dark gold turtleneck, an animal-print scarf, and black ballet flats. She wore her hair down and a pair of large gold hoop earrings she’d found in the corner of one of the dresser drawers in the back bedroom that she liked to think had belonged to her mother, though she had no way of knowing for certain. She spent more time on her makeup than she had in the last three months. She’d once been the master of the smoky eye, and she hoped she hadn’t lost her touch. The look on Cam’s face when he came to pick her up was her first hint that she hadn’t.

  “You look great,” he said. “Really … great.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled at his awkwardness and let him help her on with the black tweed blazer that probably wasn’t going to be warm enough but looked really good with the outfit and therefore trumped the warmer one. “So do you.”

  And he did. Cameron did for khakis what he did for worn jeans. He, too, wore a sweater—his a dark blue crew that fit nicely over his shoulders and matched his eyes—under a soft tan suede jacket. He looked surprised by her compliment but tried to act as if he wasn’t.

  “Thanks. Ready?”

  “I am.” Ellie turned to Dune, who seemed to think she was included in the outing. “I’ll be back. I’ll see if I can sneak out a tidbit of turkey for you.”

  “Turkey’s not really good for dogs,” Cameron told her as he held the door for her, then closed it behind them.

  “I didn’t know,” she said. “I’ve never had a dog before. I guess I should get a book.”

  “Sounds like you’re keeping her.” Cam opened the passenger door of the truck and Ellie climbed in.

  “I guess I am. Grant seemed pretty sure that she was one of his rescue dogs. I took her over to his clinic yesterday and he checked her out,” she told him after he’d slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “He said she’s healthy and that she’s only a year or so old. There was some paper on her that the rescue group had brought up with them from the shelter where she’d been dumped but it didn’t have much information on it. Just what shots she’d had before she’d been loaded onto the transport that brought her here.” Ellie sat back against the seat. “I hadn’t thought about getting a dog, but she’s really grown on me. Grant said I could bring her in and he’d try to find a home for her if I didn’t want to keep her, but really, what kind of person would I be if I did that? I mean, she’s used to me. She’s already lost one home. How would she feel if she lost this one?”

  “So what you’re really saying is you can’t part with her now because you really like her.”

  “I really do.” Ellie laughed. “All of my rationalizing is just so much smoke. I’m really starting to love that dog.”

  “Good. Everyone should love a pet at least once in their life. More than once, if possible.”

  “Do you have one? Do
g? Cat?”

  “Not right now, though Grant keeps threatening to drop off one of his rescue dogs.” He reached over and took her hand as he spoke. That the gesture felt so natural took her by surprise. “I work crazy hours most weeks. There are days when I leave the house at six in the morning and don’t get back until well after seven. It’s not fair to an animal to keep it locked up all that time by itself.”

  “But you’ve had a dog before?”

  “Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”

  He slowed as they passed the vacant lot toward the end of the street, his eyes flickering slightly to the right as if he were caught between wanting to look and not wanting to look. He sped up till they reached the stop sign at Charles Street, and they rode in silence to their destination.

  The Inn at Sinclair’s Point was built by ancestors of Grace Sinclair’s late husband. Now run by her oldest son, Daniel, the inn had become one of the go-to places on the Eastern Shore. The parking lot was almost filled to capacity when Cameron and Ellie arrived. They found a spot near the cabins behind the inn and walked hand in hand along the flagstone path to the back entrance. Ellie stopped to take a long look at the building, then turned to look over her shoulder at the Bay behind them.

  “Something wrong?” Cam asked.

  She shook her head. “No. For a moment I thought the building looked familiar.” She stared at the white clapboard siding and the long windows with their dark shutters. “Maybe I drove past it when I first came into town.” She paused. “But of course you can’t see the back of the building from the road and I know I didn’t drive up here, so maybe it just reminds me of some other place I’ve been.” She tried to remember what other place that might have been, but couldn’t. Still, it seemed the most logical explanation.

  They climbed the steps and went into the lobby, where Grace greeted them.

  “Ellie, I’m so happy that Cam was able to talk you into joining us for dinner.” Grace took both of Ellie’s hands in hers and held them for a moment.

  “So am I,” Ellie replied. “Your inn is beautiful.”

  “She’s holding up pretty well.” Grace gave Ellie’s hands a squeeze before releasing them. “Now, go on into the dining room and have a glass of wine and some hors d’oeuvres and mingle. Cam, I’m trusting you’ll introduce Ellie to anyone she doesn’t already know.”

  “Will do, Miss Grace.” Cam took Ellie by the arm and steered her into the dining room.

  Ellie took three steps inside the door and stopped. There was that feeling of déjà vu again. Even the tables with their white cloths set for parties of six or eight or ten with their milk-glass bowl centerpieces of small gourds and pumpkins all seemed familiar somehow. The bank of windows on two sides opened to the Bay, just as she knew they would.

  “But I’ve never been here before,” she heard herself whisper.

  “What did you say?” Cam leaned closer.

  “I was just thinking aloud. Never mind.” She gestured to a table on her right. “There’s Mrs. Finneran, Jesse Enright’s assistant. Is that her husband?”

  Cam turned to look. “You mean the white-haired gentleman? That’s Curtis Enright, Jesse’s grandfather. He and Mrs. Finneran have been friends for ages. She and Curtis’s wife, Rose, were good friends.”

  “I think Grace may have mentioned that.” Ellie paused, remembering what else Grace had said about Violet’s childhood friendships and her connection to Lilly. “Let’s stop at their table and say hello.”

  Violet Finneran seemed pleased that Ellie had remembered her, introduced her to Curtis, and invited Ellie and Cameron to join them.

  “Don’t be silly, Violet,” Curtis said. “They don’t want to sit with a couple of old fogies like us. They want to be with the young folks.”

  “No, no, I’d love to join you.” Ellie glanced at Cameron. “Unless you’ve already arranged—”

  “No arrangements.” Cam pulled out the chair next to Violet for Ellie and she sat. “Will Jesse be joining you, Mr. Enright?”

  The white-haired gentleman nodded. “He’s picking up Brooke and her mother. I think Clay and Lucy have already arrived, but they’re off somewhere.”

  “Can I bring you something from the bar, Miz Finneran?” Cam asked. “Another glass of wine?”

  “No thank you, dear. I’m approaching my limit and want to save a little to have with my dinner.”

  “Ellie? Mr. Enright?” Cam took their orders and disappeared into a room off to the left.

  “So how are you liking St. Dennis, Ellie?” Violet asked.

  “I’m liking it very much, thank you,” Ellie replied.

  “And your new house? You’re settling in?”

  “Temporarily, yes. You know that I’m planning on selling the property after I finish some improvements. But it needs a lot of work.”

  “Which house is that?” Curtis asked.

  “Lilly Cavanaugh’s place,” Violet told him.

  “Oh, right. I heard that it changed hands.” He nodded slowly and seemed to be looking at Ellie with new interest. “You know, my late wife, Rose, and Lilly were good friends back in the day. Along with Violet here.”

  “I believe I did hear that, yes.” Ellie smiled, recalling Lilly’s recounting of Rose’s crush on the man who now sat across the table, aged and wrinkled, but still handsome in his way.

  “Oh, yes, I spent a lot of time in that house of yours when we were growing up.” Violet sighed. “And of course, Lilly and Ted lived there after they married. It’s a wonderful house. I’m so happy to hear that you’re enjoying it.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice so that only Ellie could hear. “If there’s anything you want to know … about the house or the people who lived there … please don’t think twice about asking me. I’m sure you must have questions.”

  “I do.” Ellie nodded, very much aware that Violet was one of the few people in St. Dennis who knew who she really was, and as such, could be an important source of information in the coming months. “I’ve been reading Lilly’s journals and the more I read the more I realize how little I know.”

  “I’ll be happy to help fill in any of those blanks that I can for you, dear.” Violet patted Ellie’s hand, and Ellie felt tears well up behind her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I have so many questions.…”

  “I’m sure you do.” Violet started to say something else, but was interrupted when a large group of elderly men and women stopped by the table. She introduced Ellie to each of them.

  Everyone seemed to know her house and Lilly and Ted, and Ellie was impressed once again by how many people had fond memories of the couple. When the introductions were made, Ellie recognized several names from Lilly’s journals: Douglas Montrose, who’d been their class daredevil, the one who’d given Lilly her first kiss. Marjorie Trimble, the girl who’d tried to break up Lilly and Ted by spreading rumors about Lilly. Matthew Divine, whom Lilly liked to tease that, with a name like his, he’d have no choice but to enter the seminary (he did). Millie Passel, who’d been voted class clown and who still seemed to have a healthy sense of humor.

  The familiarity of it all settled around Ellie and made her feel a part of something she hadn’t belonged to even six weeks ago. When Cam returned to the table with their bar order, he glanced at Ellie and looked as if he was about to say something before having second thoughts.

  “What?” Ellie asked.

  “Nothing. You just looked … happy, I guess, is the best word.” Cameron sat next to her, his arm across the back of her chair.

  “I guess I am.” The thought hadn’t occurred to her, not in so many words, but it was true. She did feel happy. “There’s such a nice group of people here.”

  Ellie looked around the room and was struck by the number of faces she recognized. “Doesn’t anyone in St. Dennis eat Thanksgiving dinner at home?”

  “Sure, but it’s been a long-standing tradition for a lot of families to come to the inn. I don’t know how it got started. Grace would k
now.”

  “Did you used to eat here when you were growing up?”

  He seemed to give more thought to the answer than a simple question would merit.

  Finally, he said, “After a time, we did.”

  There was a touch of something she couldn’t name—sorrow? melancholy?—in his voice, but she sensed there was a story there that was part of a larger one, one he wasn’t ready to tell. She could appreciate that. There were things she wished she could say, but couldn’t.

  Jesse and Brooke arrived with her mother, and Clay came by to claim a seat at the table.

  “Where’s Lucy?” Cam asked him.

  “Orchestrating,” Clay replied. “Big events are her thing.”

  “I hear your big event will be after the holidays,” Violet said. “Grace told me that you and Lucy have set a date.”

  “She’s been so busy making sure that everyone else has the perfect wedding that she hasn’t been able to plan ours,” Clay told her. “When the wedding she had booked for New Year’s Eve canceled, she jumped on it. She’s done so many weddings she can plan them in her sleep. She knows exactly what she wants and how to get it done, so we’re good.”

  “Not in on the planning, eh?” Cam leaned forward to make eye contact with Clay.

  “I just want to marry Lucy.” Clay shrugged. “How, where, day, night, what we eat, what the cake looks like, what kind of flowers … whatever she wants is fine with me.”

  “But there will be exceptional beer, right?” Cam asked. “You’re going to be making a special wedding brew.”

  “Oh, hell yeah.” Clay nodded vigorously. “Wade and I are already working on that.”

  Waitstaff began to bring trays and bowls and platters laden with traditional dishes to each table for family-style service. Soon the room was dense with chatter and requests to pass the potatoes or the green-bean casserole or the oyster stuffing. It was unlike any holiday dinner Ellie—an only child—had ever taken part in, filled as it was with so much laughter and conversation. But it was also the most memorable meal she’d ever shared. By the time dessert was served, she barely had room for the pumpkin pie that everyone insisted she try. Ellie left the inn with ribs aching from laughing and her jaws sore from talking so much. When you live alone for any length of time, you just don’t have much occasion to talk, she reminded herself, and fewer occasions to laugh out loud. Even when she’d lived with Henry, in retrospect, she couldn’t recall that they’d talked—or laughed—all that much.