by Blake, Toni
And do you know what else, diary? He hates it here as much as I do! We both hate how hard it is to get anywhere, and we both want to live on the mainland. He works with his dad in their garden up on West Bluff and he’s applying to Michigan State University in the fall to get a degree in horticulture. Father says he’s really on the stick!
So even though I was freezing half to death and worried I looked like an oddball in the thick winter hat Mother knitted for me last year, I’d already had a wonderful time before we ever reached St. Simon. We could even see the gigantic new bridge they’re building across the pass—it’s going to connect the upper and lower peninsulas!
The sock hop was keen! They’d decorated the hall with crepe paper, and a handsome fellow in a red jacket played Elvis, Sam Cooke, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly and lots more! It was fun to be with other kids none of us knew, and they all thanked us for coming over. Funny—I wanted to be around them and their mainland lives, and I think they thought we were the interesting ones, living on the island. I still want their life. And they might think they want mine—but they wouldn’t after one winter here. Or even one summer. They don’t know how small your world can be when it’s surrounded by water.
J.T. and I tried to jitterbug. We need to practice and may ask his sister to give us lessons. But it was good for a laugh.
Next, we got some punch and stood drinking it in one corner where the lights were low—and next thing I knew J.T. was kissing me. We’ve necked before, but this was different. It made me feel hot, even with snow falling just outside the window. If we’d been somewhere alone, I think we could have gotten carried away.
And if we’re going to be together, forever, maybe it’s okay. We’ve talked about leaving the island after I graduate, too, and then getting married. But my girlfriend Barb Norris said to to tell him no. She went all the way with Donny Barker last year after he said he loved her and wanted to marry her, but then he started ignoring her and told everyone she was fast. I know J.T. would never do that to me—but Barb never thought Donny would, either.
I’m sorry to say the night took a sour turn after that, though. It started when this boy named Ace came in from the cold wearing nothing but a thin jacket as a coat. The kind James Dean used to wear. And he just stood against the wall being churlish with his ducktail and a thick lock of dark hair dipping down over his forehead. He was very good-looking, but you could tell he was a hoodlum. The St. Simon girls said he was bad news and they didn’t know what he was even doing there. One of them told me he robbed a liquor store!
Toward the end of the night, I was leaving the bathroom and he blocked my path and wouldn’t let me pass. He said, “What’s your tale, nightingale? I’ve been waiting all night for you to come back here so I could get a better look, and I like what I see.”
I’ve never had someone be so forward, but I thought my answer was very smart. I said, “If you’ve been paying such close attention, then you can see I’m with someone else.”
But that didn’t slow him down at all! “Maybe you should be with me,” he said. “He looks like a square.”
The nerve! So I said, “You’re rude.”
And he said, “You’re a dolly.” And looked all smug.
“Leave me alone,” I told him.
And he said, “Especially when you’re scared.”
I claimed I wasn’t scared, not by the likes of him—and I still can’t believe what happened next. He kissed me, diary!
Of course, I should have pushed him away—I certainly meant to. But even though I had been afraid—the strangest thing happened. I let him. Kiss me. Just for a moment. I don’t even know why. The shock of it, I guess. He smelled of whiskey but tasted like spearmint gum. It was so different than being kissed by J.T.—I felt him all around me and it somehow took away all my thoughts and left only the kiss in their place.
But almost instantly, I realized how terrible that was, and I pressed my palms to his chest and gave him a big shove backward. I yelled at him to leave me alone as I marched away. And he had the gall to call after me, “A shame you don’t mean that.”
But of course I did!
I went straight back to J.T. and the others right as the Bunny Hop Mambo began, so we all fell in line—but the whole time, I stayed shaken. As we were hopping around the floor, I wondered if anyone had seen me kissing him. Even though I looked at other people or down at my socks or up at the fluttery decorations, I kept seeing his face. And I kept remembering that kiss.
After that, I didn’t feel well the rest of the night. But I didn’t tell anyone why, not even Mary Ann or Barb. It was too hard to explain, especially the part where I let him kiss me. And I still don’t know why I did!
But I’m trying to forget all about that. Especially since the rest of the dance was such a dream! J.T. walked me home from the ferry after, and when he gave me just a small, soft kiss goodnight on the porch—out of sight from where Mother and Father could see—it was exactly what I needed in that moment. Another reason why he’s the perfect boy for me.
Yours, thankful for her boyfriend,
Peggy
After finishing the long entry, Meg just stared at the book in her hands, the page still open to her grandmother’s written words. At first, she’d marveled over things like never having known her grandfather had officially studied horticulture, though perhaps it made sense given that he’d ultimately run the nursery with Aunt Julia until his early death. But that had quickly been overshadowed by learning that her grandma had had a tryst with a bonafide bad boy! Who drank whiskey and forced kisses on girls in secluded hallways. And maybe even robbed liquor stores? Behind Grandpa John’s back. It was a hard notion to fathom.
“Is...this a bad time, darlin’?”
She flinched, looked up. Seth stood peeking around one of the tall slender arborvitae trees that stood like sentries near the street side entrance to the lilac grove.
She smiled. “No.” It felt good to see him—she’d grown accustomed to his smile and it brought her back from being so jarred by what she’d just read. “I was just...digging into this.” She held up the diary.
His grin widened. “Anything juicy?”
The question made her laugh when she least expected it. “Yes, actually.”
He gave his sandy head a thoughtful tilt. “I hope I wasn’t wrong suggesting you read it.”
She thought about that and said, “No—or at least I don’t think so. But I just found out about the night my grandmother met the mysterious Ace. From the birthday card.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
She wondered how much to tell him. Her hesitation wasn’t about it being private to her grandmother—Seth had never known Gran, after all—but maybe it came from the very concepts feeling...awkward, intimate. A kiss that was far from romantic but had still moved her grandmother in some way that she’d perhaps been too young to articulate. And...clearly her grandma had been torn between two boys, enough that she’d made out with both of them on the same night in the winter of 1957. All things considered, that seemed a topic worth not bringing up with her sexy handyman.
“He was...just a little rough around the edges, not someone I’d expect my grandma to be drawn to. And she was already dating my grandfather, so it was kind of...forbidden, you might say. I’d never pictured her youth this way.” She decided to leave it at that.
Seth gave his head a slight tilt and said, “Maybe that just makes her a more interesting gal.” And as he ended on a playful shrug, she couldn’t help thinking he was right. And what a nice way that was to look at it. After all, Meg knew the outcome, and that her grandparents had been very happy together.
Just then, Seth seemed to inhale the garden scents. “Smells nice out here.”
“Lilacs are starting to bloom,” she said, pointing. “My grandpa planted them.”
“The good guy who won the girl in the end?” H
e grinned.
And a soft trill of laughter left her throat, unbidden. “Yes, him.” She’d closed the diary now and it rested in her lap. “The weeks the lilacs are in bloom is my favorite time of year.”
He eased down into the Adirondack chair next to her, wearing a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans, both spattered with bits of paint. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “In a few days, they’ll all be in full bloom. And the air will smell like perfume.” She laughed. “And me—I’ll be walking outside every chance I get, trying to soak it up and drink it in before it’s gone.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, but it was oddly comfortable—comfortable in a way she normally only got with someone over time. Finally, though, he said, “Hard to really enjoy something, isn’t it, if the whole time you’re already worried about it being gone?”
She took that in, turned it over in her mind. She’d never viewed her feelings about the lilacs precisely that way before. She stayed aware of how quickly they came and went, but the idea that she might be cheating herself out of a pure enjoyment because of that was a new one.
Though when she looked over at him and their eyes met, she wondered if they were talking about lilacs...or something else. Did he think she’d declined his advances because his presence here was temporary? And even if that had been the case, was there anything so wrong with that? She already had one temporary man in her life.
“It’s true,” she ventured tentatively, “that I often value permanent things more than fleeting ones. I guess I like...dependability.”
He lowered his chin, gave her a look. “Not everything’s meant to be permanent, Meg darlin’.” And something in the words made her chest grow warm within the confines of her sweater and the blouse underneath. She’d tipped her hand—he knew she was talking about more than lilacs now, too. “Flowers, for instance. They have their seasons. Up this far north, everything is all about seasons. Guess it surprises me you’re not good with that. I mean, living here and all.”
“Maybe I’ll head south in the spring,” she said with a small smile, “where the flowers keep right on blooming. Where summer doesn’t end, or at least where it lasts a hell of a lot longer.”
He was smiling back at her now, in his easy way. “Something like lilacs, though—you appreciate ’em more because they’re not around as long. And to my way of thinking, that makes their season just right.”
Meg didn’t answer. Instead, she sat quietly—contemplating the idea of a fling. With Seth.
Something she’d appreciate more for knowing it would be temporary?
Or that she’d fret over knowing it was temporary.
Maybe she never fully enjoyed her time with Zack, being aware that every day might be the last for a while and that she shouldn’t get too comfortable having him around. Kind of like the lilacs.
Was it possible to see the temporary nature of a relationship as something to savor with one man but resent in another? Was that even fair?
And why was she even weighing this at all? It’s not like you’re going to suddenly hop into bed with Seth. No matter how drawn you feel to him in moments. Like this one, the ease of it underwritten with that same magnetic force she’d been unable to break free of with him from the start.
“Well, I’d better get back to work. Those cabinets aren’t gonna antique themselves, are they?” He stood up.
And she smiled. “How’s it coming in there?”
He returned it. “Looking pretty great if I do say so myself. You’ll like it, darlin’.”
She pulled in her breath and hoped he didn’t see. You’ll like it, darlin’. The words stayed in her head long after he’d walked away, punctuated by the sweet, fleeting scent of the lilacs planted by her grandfather—not the liquor store robber.
* * *
SETH PICKED UP a small sanding block, ready to distress the kitchen table he’d painted this morning. After buffing fresh paint off edges and curves in the spindled legs to let the darker wood show through—making it appear as if it had happened naturally, over years of wear—he would add a pale antiquing glaze to heighten the effect. But before he started on the table, now situated on a drop cloth, he found himself stepping into Meg’s office, peering again at the bulletin board.
It wasn’t the first time he’d studied the photo since first noticing it. It was closer to being the tenth. He didn’t want to care, but it was strange seeing his grandparents over twenty years older than the last time they’d crossed paths. He was taking in the lines on their faces, the joy in their eyes. The two things didn’t match. He’d mostly seen people grow surly, bitter with age. He didn’t expect someone to get happier as they got older. But he could see in their eyes that it had happened. He wondered how.
And to learn his grandmother had died...well, he shouldn’t have cared about that either since he’d never expected to see her again anyway—but it still stung.
It shouldn’t matter. None of it. Whether either one of them was dead or alive. Whether his memories of them were right or wrong. Whether his dad’s memory of it all was truer—just like it had been about that damn Mustang.
Though the fact that, right now, it felt like it mattered made him angry at himself for coming here at all. He could have gone anywhere. Anyplace in the whole damn world. Sure, this place had held the maybe of finding that book, the maybe of cashing in. But it also held a memory. And that had him thinking through all the memories. And wondering which ones were real.
After all, how did a man quantify his life if he didn’t even know what the hell had happened, how he’d gotten to where he was?
Maybe it matters more than you want it to.
His grandpa would be here in less than a week. And part of Seth wanted to run. Finish this job for Meg, get paid, and disappear from this island forever. That was what his father had taught him. Running. Running kept you safe. Running kept you one step ahead. No one catches you when you run.
But that alone was reason enough to ignore the impulse. Break that cycle—because it had come from his father and was a shitty one.
And there were other reasons to stay, too.
He’d come here for answers he hadn’t quite found yet. All in that damn lost book. Answers that would help with his future. And answers that would help with his past, too.
And while he had no intention of introducing himself to his grandpa, at least he could see what the man was really about. Maybe he could somehow...figure out why things had happened the way they did.
Small world. He comes back here. His grandfather comes back at the same time. He shook his head. Small damn world.
More reasons to stay?
Money. Meg still had work for him to do. And if she ran out, he might find more.
Rest. Most people might not call working every day rest, but when you were always running, always moving, it took a hell of a lot of energy, mental as well as physical. The little cabin across the island wasn’t much—four walls, a roof, and a bed, about as sparse as you could get—but the longer he was here, the more he liked the routine of it. Liked knowing what each day held. Liked knowing where he would sleep that night. Of course, he’d stayed plenty of places longer than he’d been here—but he liked that the choice was fully his now, not brought on by circumstance. He liked knowing that he could leave if he felt like it, but that he could also stay as long as he wanted to.
And then there was Meg. Such a puzzle in ways. He thought she hadn’t had many lovers. He thought she needed at least one more.
He was learning he liked dependability, too. Patterns. Knowing what to expect. But life was all about taking chances. And he wasn’t sure Meg Sloan had taken many. And nothing was forever. If Meg could just let go with him...
What would that be like—Meg letting go? A ripple of desire arced across his chest as he began gently distressing the pale yellow table, rubbing away the top surface to reveal wh
at lay underneath. If Meg could just let go with him, let this thing between them reach its natural destination, it would surely make for a summer to remember.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE LILACS CONTINUED to blossom. The ones in the garden. The ones behind the patio. The ones across Harbor Street that grew wild along the shore. The French lilacs, the President Lincoln lilacs, and the Wonderblue lilacs. And like neighboring Mackinac to the east, the entire island brimmed with them, boasting far more than just those on the grounds of the Summerbrook Inn—they bloomed in yards and lined stretches of picket fences and grew in stray clumps, as both trees and bushes, along the road that circled the small coast. Summer Island was awash in their sweet perfume.
And Meg was still busily readying the inn for guests—it was time for fresh towels and linens—but as she did at this time every year, she took quick breaks outside, brief walks through the garden during which she would stop to cup a dainty lavender or white blossom in her palm to breathe in the scent. Though it was still chilly through the nights and most mornings, when weather permitted, she opened the windows to let the lake breeze carry the fragrance inside.
Seth continued diligently working in the kitchen and she stayed almost painfully aware of him. She felt him in the house—even when on an entirely different floor. And she realized she liked feeling him there.
They still ate lunches together, as well. It had become a new routine in her life—and maybe even something she’d started looking forward to: The few minutes when they’d catch up on how his work was progressing, or just discuss random tidbits about the inn or the island or the weather.