Stacy pointed to a plastic bag of carrots. “Brad hates carrots. He says they make his tongue itch.”
Kaye drew a breath so deep that Stacy could see her mother’s body expand. “I guess he likes them now.”
Stacy finished her tea and tossed the empty bottle in the recycle bin. “Are the kids still at the beach?”
“No, in the end Ryan and your brother took them to feed the ducks instead.” Kaye scraped the last pile off the cutting board and rinsed it.
Stacy groaned, exasperated at Ryan’s easy way out. “I take them to the duck pond all the time. There’s nothing new in that. I asked Ryan specifically to take them to the beach because I can’t.”
“You can’t?” her mother echoed as her gaze sharpened. “Why can’t you take them to the beach?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nothing would be gained from sparring with her mother, so Stacy swerved the subject.
Thankfully, her mother cooperated. “Do you mind walking into town for me? I need a few things from the greengrocer’s, things I couldn’t find at the farmers’ market.”
“Trouble with the tomato guy again?”
“How do you know about the tomato guy?” Kaye wiped her hands on the tea towel. “That happened last year and neither of us were here for it.”
“Small town, Mom.” Stacy shrugged. “It’s still big news.”
“There’s a list of things I need on the counter over there,” Kaye directed. “Take some money out my wallet.”
Stacy laughed, in spite of her mood. “Mom. I’m not twelve anymore. I have my own money.”
“Sometimes I forget.”
“What about dessert for the party?” Stacy asked. “You want me to get pies from Mueller’s?”
Kaye shook her head. “No, no pie. Nothing sweet or carby. Your father can’t have that stuff anymore. Not until his cholesterol drops another fifteen points.”
It was an odd restriction and one Stacy wasn’t sure her father was following. She knew for a fact that he had visited the seafood shack more than once because she’d seen him eating fried clams from a paper bag. She’d also seen her father at the bakery, enjoying a toasted hard roll with butter.
“Are the doctors concerned about Dad’s cholesterol?” Stacy wasn’t sure whether to rat him out or keep his secret.
“No, not his doctors. Me. I saw his numbers on the May labs and I think there’s room for improvement. I’m sure we can do better.”
“Dad’s okay with you opening his mail and checking his numbers?”
“Of course he’s okay with it.” Kaye lifted the pot of potatoes from the stove and brought them to the sink. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
After Stacy left, Kaye finished the potato salad and was able to start two more dishes, purposefully cleaning as she went. The kitchen at the shore house was relatively small, and with a house full of people it was important to keep the clutter at bay. When the house belonged to Chase’s parents, the kitchen had always been spotless, and Kaye tried to keep it that way. She knew how much her mother-in-law had loved the shore house and felt keeping it orderly was a way to honor her memory.
With the kitchen tidy, Kaye stretched a bit of plastic wrap across the serving bowl and made her way to the spare refrigerator in the garage, where she kept the rest of the party things. She stood in front of the refrigerator for a moment, surveying the contents. It had taken almost two full days of cooking, but everything she’d planned to make seemed ready to go. The caterers would bring the rest. There was a bit of time left in the day—maybe time enough to start a marinated fruit salad? Chase would like that, especially if he wasn’t allowed to have dessert. Satisfied that things were finally ready for the party, she closed the door and headed back inside the house.
She entered her kitchen and froze in her tracks.
In the few minutes she’d been gone, the kitchen had been destroyed. In the middle of the room was the remains of an enormous cardboard box, the top and sides ripped open and tossed aside. Scattered across the floor was splintered Styrofoam and ripped plastic bags. The kitchen counter that Kaye had wiped clean just moments before was now home to piles of vegetable peelings and puddles of green liquid. The sink was already crowded with drinking glasses and the water was running, splashing onto the floor. And there was an alarming smell of burning plastic in the air.
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Bennett.” Iona. Of course Iona.
“Back from the mall, I see.” Kaye crossed the kitchen to turn off the faucet.
Iona stood before the juicer, stuffed the chute with handfuls of carrots. When she flicked the switch, the sound of the motor set Kaye’s teeth on edge.
After what seemed like an eternity, Iona filled another glass with a few inches of green ooze and drank it. “Have you seen Brad?”
“I think he went to the duck pond.”
Iona set the glass on the counter. Kaye watched a thread of pulp slide down the side of the glass and puddle on the counter.
“I’ll get all this later, ’kay?” Iona gestured to the mess in the kitchen as she grabbed Brad’s car keys and headed for the door. “It’s just that we need to get on the beach while the light is still good.” She paused to look back, tilting her head and pursing her lips. “Do you remember what he was wearing?”
“Who, Brad? Shorts, I think. Why?”
“Oh, good. Our followers like to see him in shorts. It’s all about giving ’em what they like, y’know?”
Kaye stiffened. “Brad’s okay with the pictures you take?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.” Iona shrugged. “I never asked.”
“Seems like maybe you should,” Kaye muttered as she removed the dishes from the sink and filled it with soapy water.
After washing the dishes Iona had left, Kaye put away the remaining vegetables and collected the packing material from the floor. Any normal person would have tended to their own mess, but Iona hadn’t, and that basic lack of manners was one of the things Kaye strongly disliked about the girl. Admittedly, the list was long, but Kaye had tried to ignore most of it, for Brad’s sake. She stuffed the rest of the garbage back in the juicer box with a little more force than necessary, while reminding herself that her son was an adult and this girl, however vapid and annoying, was his choice. Kaye would have to learn to live with it.
When she was satisfied with the state of her kitchen, Kaye folded the tea towel and returned it to its place. Then she opened the refrigerator, intending to get to work on Chase’s fruit salad.
“Where is everything?” she muttered to herself as she stepped back to survey the contents. Was it possible that she’d only imagined buying it all? No, she distinctly remembered being shocked at the price of blackberries at the market but buying them anyway because Sophie liked them.
“Did you say something?” Chase wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
“I had a big container of fruit in here—peaches, plums, cherries, and cantaloupe—and now it’s missing.”
“Did you check the party fridge?”
“I was just out there,” Kaye murmured.
Chase pointed to the cardboard box on the floor. “Were they juiced?”
“No. I would have known because I just did the dishes.” Kaye closed the refrigerator and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I can’t imagine what happened to it.”
Chase opened the freezer for ice. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Kaye moved closer.
There, stuffed onto a shelf in the freezer, was a plastic bag filled with fruit meant for the party. Kaye pulled it out; bits of frost falling to the floor. Inside, it was a mess. Nothing had been washed or trimmed; an entire cantaloupe was pushed against the delicate blackberries, crushing the fruit.
Kaye slowly and deliberately closed the door. She walked across the kitchen to retrieve her car keys from the hook, teeth clenched all the while. “I’ll be back.”
Kaye was aware that the last time she’d had coffee with Brenda, she’d been war
ned to lower her expectations. Brenda said that Iona was young and still finding her way. That she’d come around eventually. And although Kaye didn’t entirely agree, she said she’d try if only to keep the peace in the house. Now she could honestly report that her expectations could not be any lower.
Twelve
If Stacy hadn’t stopped to toss her water bottle away, she would have missed it.
The little shop was tucked into a quiet side street, beyond the main shops of Dewberry Beach. The entrance was enticing, decorated with thick terracotta pots planted with beach grass, their feathery flowers waving in the breeze. Tucked here and there were little tin buckets filled to overflowing with deep red geraniums and tiny dots of blue nasturtiums peeping from underneath. The sign over the shop’s entrance read “Beach Reads” in bright white letters painted on an ocean blue background. She moved closer and smiled. The display window had been staged to look like a summer day at the beach. Hardcover books had been placed atop thick beach towels, and a few paperbacks had been placed casually on the seat of a beach chair with the pages open, as if the reader intended to return any minute.
The bell overhead rang gently as she pushed the door open, the cool air in the shop a welcome break from the muggy day. One of Stacy’s favorite things in the world was an undiscovered bookstore; even better if the shop had a used book section, as this one did. Stacy imagined a world of stories she hadn’t read, characters she hadn’t met, places she hadn’t seen. The inside of a bookstore felt like magic to her, as if the best adventure was here, waiting.
“Welcome to Beach Reads,” an older woman with a kind, open face greeted her. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m not sure yet, but thank you,” Stacy replied. “I’d love to look around a little.”
“Of course. Be my guest.” The woman gestured toward the shelves. “Along the front wall is fiction—new releases mostly; older things along the far wall. On this table is local interest—good if you want to know more about Dewberry Beach history. And on the back wall are memoirs and poetry. I’m just setting up so there’s more in the back. Let me know if I can find something for you.”
A title on the front wall caught Stacy’s eye, but it was a cover she didn’t recognize. “Is that A Winter to Remember? The same book that was released a few years ago? The cover looks different.”
“You’re right, it is new.” The woman nodded. “The publishers have re-released the first book. The second book in the series, A Promise of Spring, is scheduled to come out soon and I guess they hope to refresh readers’ memories since it’s been so long. But even as a re-release Winter is doing well, finding a whole new audience they say. It’s a wonderful novel. Have you read it?”
“I have, and I loved it.” Stacy picked up the book, weighty in her hands. Turning it over, she looked at the author’s picture. Billy Jacob, leaning against a brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, with just the tiniest smirk on his face as if he were sharing a secret with the reader. The picture had turned out well, very well in fact. Despite the trouble behind the scenes. “When does the second book come out?”
“Well, that’s the mystery. The publishers say in the fall, but they won’t give an exact date.” The woman shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to me all that much because I’m a small shop. I hear the bigger sellers are anxious to schedule author events, but without a firm release date, they can’t.”
Stacy shook her head. Billy Jacob had the most talent of any writer she’d ever met, but he had been impossible to work with. So many hours of her life spent working with that man—arguing, pleading, threatening…
Oddly enough, she missed it.
After browsing for the better part of an hour, Stacy left with two bags of books, mostly filled with things she thought Connor or Sophie might like, but also with a new copy of A Winter to Remember. This new release contained an excerpt of the second book and she was curious, along with everyone else, to see what direction the story had taken.
Stacy headed home with her bags of books, which seemed to grow heavier in the late afternoon sun. She paused as the baby kicked, then shifted the weight of the bags to her other hip. Four more blocks.
“Mommy!” Sophie ran toward her, her face shining with joy as she thumped her body against Stacy’s legs.
“Hi, Princess.” She brushed Sophie’s cheek with her fingers.
Stacy spied her husband trailing behind and overloaded with packages of his own. “I see you’ve found Applegate’s.”
“That store is amazing. It has everything.” Ryan lifted a bag that appeared to contain several tin buckets and a small bag of sand. “Stuff I didn’t even know we needed until the guy helped us.”
“We got sparklers for Bibi’s party,” Connor said. “Daddy said I can have one, but Sophie can’t.”
“I said Sophie needs help with hers,” Ryan corrected. “Not that she can’t have one.”
Stacy peered into another bag. “Is that a fire extinguisher?”
Oversized and hopelessly old-fashioned, the unit had a cracked rubber tube attached limply to the side of the canister. Stacy ran her finger across the top, leaving a clear trail in the dust.
Ryan nodded. “The guy said I needed it. For the sparklers.”
Stacy bit back a smile. “Aaron’s been trying to get rid of those things for years and is probably thrilled to have finally sold one. Are you sure it even has a charge?”
Ryan scowled. “Of course it does. He assured me it was new.”
Stacy traded bags, adding her purse to lighten her load. She wouldn’t need money at Applegate’s. Her family had kept a house account there for years. “If you take my books home, I’ll take it back and have the charge tested.”
As they jostled bags, Ryan eyed the books. “You found a bookstore?”
“I did.” Stacy’s smile widened; her mood lifted. “New this summer.”
“Did you find anything good?”
“Stuff for the kids mostly. I found a pirate chapter book for Sophie, something to get her interested in reading, and magic books for Connor.”
“That’s great.” Ryan peered inside. “Mind if I look?”
“Sure.”
He flipped through the stack of books, then hesitated. “A Winter to Remember? Don’t you have a million copies of this book already?”
“I have two copies, including this one, so a bit less than a million,” Stacy pointed out. “The publishers are re-releasing it with a sample of book two in the back. My copy at home doesn’t have that.”
“Do you miss it?” Ryan asked suddenly.
“Do I miss what?” The question was unexpected.
“Your job in publishing. Do you miss it?”
“I have a different life now.” Which was technically the truth, but it didn’t answer the question so Stacy tried again. “I miss it the same way you miss college, and the fun you had with Jeff and Sean before things got complicated.”
“They’re not—”
“They are,” Stacy interrupted. “I hear you on the phone with Sean and with Todd. I see how hard you work, and you don’t seem to enjoy any of it anymore. Not the way you used to.”
“I didn’t realize you’d noticed.”
“I have.” She leaned into him.
They continued walking, each lost in their own thoughts, parting ways when they reached the corner of their street. Ryan took the kids back to the house and Stacy continued for another block, on to Applegate’s. In truth, she hadn’t realized just how much Ryan disliked his job until she saw it on his face, a moment before.
Somehow, it seemed, they’d both lost their way.
When she reached Applegate’s Hardware store, she pushed the wooden door open and stepped inside. Applegate’s musty smell and crowded shelves had always reminded her of her grandfather’s workshop, mysterious to everyone but her grandfather and her brother. Applegate’s was organized in a way that made sense only to employees; the walls lined with tools, the shelves stuffed with bucket
s of odd bits of hardware. When the store first opened in her grandfather’s time, it was designed to serve a working community of craftsmen, woodworkers, cabinetmakers, and shipbuilders. Even now, it remained true to its roots. No wonder Ryan has been mesmerized; inside was a jumble of everything.
The shop floor was empty, so Stacy called out to the back office. “Hello? Anyone here?”
“Be right with you.” There was the sound of wooden pallets scraping across the cement floor as Aaron made his way over. He eyes widened behind a pair of thick eyeglasses and he reached out to clasp her hand. “Stacy Bennett, what a surprise. My, oh my. I haven’t seen you in a very long time.” He was exactly as she remembered: a tuft of wispy gray hair on his head and a neatly pressed collared shirt secured with a maroon bowtie. A canvas apron was tied around his waist, the red Applegate’s logo emblazoned on the front pocket, with a ballpoint and a carpenter’s pencil poking out the top.
“How are you, Mr. Mahoney?” Stacy set her bag on the floor.
“I’m well, Miss Bennett. Very well.” He smiled at her. “Your family came in just a few moments ago—your husband and your children. They are delightful. I must say, you are a lucky woman.”
“Thank you.”
“Your little girl is adorable; she looks just like you did at her age.” Mr. Mahoney shook his head as he smiled. “I remember your grandfather coming in with you on Saturday mornings during the summer. You’d bring an empty tin bucket for me to load up with nails and you’d carry it all the way home, even as little as you were.”
Stacy laughed. “I was Grandpa’s helper. If I did a good job, he’d take me to Mueller’s for a cruller on the way home. I’m surprised you remember.”
“’Course I do.” He puffed out his chest. “It’s my job. Your husband told me the whole family’s down for the summer. Your mother must be so happy.”
“I think so,” Stacy agreed. “It’s been fun.”
“I heard about your father,” Mr. Mahoney continued. “I made sure Father Nova mentioned his name at mass all during that winter. I’m glad to hear that he’s recovered. Please give him my best.”
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 14