An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Read online

  “Then why . . . ?”

  “Because three years ago, the stepnephew of our beloved mayor almost drowned when he stupidly jumped off the jetty into the water. Broke both legs when he hit the rocks. So now we have to pay to have someone sit up on that stand yelling ‘Get off the rocks!’ and watching the geezers fly-fish from the shore. The underage drinking doesn’t usually start until closer to midnight, so the police get to deal with them.”

  Liddy made a turn into the municipal parking lot behind the Wyndham Beach General Store and cut the engine, and that quickly Maggie was out of the car, her head back and her eyes closed.

  “I love how you can smell the water from anyplace in town,” she said, relishing the moment. “The harbor here and the cove up by my family’s old home, the bay from Island Road. It always smells like sunshine and the sea and salt to me. I’ve never stopped missing it.”

  “Then you should move back. There’s lots more salt air where that came from. And great houses come up for sale all the time.” Before Maggie could respond, Liddy took her arm and steered her in the direction of a brick path that ran behind several shops. “This is all new since the last time you were here. We call it ‘the Stroll.’ This little meandering path leads from one shop to another. Wait till you step inside Glinda’s Corner. Cutest kids’ clothes ever. You’re going to want to buy everything for that sweet little Daisy.”

  As Liddy’d predicted, Maggie found several items for Daisy that would be tucked away until December. At Nibbles ’n’ Such, she purchased some baked-that-morning cheese straws, a jar of locally sourced honey, and a fat round jar of fig jam made by the sister of the shop owner, all to share with Maggie’s hostess. At Dazzle Me, Maggie bought a pair of malachite earrings for Natalie—green, to match her eyes—and huge gold citrine studs for Grace, with the hope that perhaps some sunshine in her ears might add a little sunshine to her life. At the Potter’s Wheel, she found gorgeous vases for her daughters and a lovely bowl for Art’s assistant, Lois, whom Maggie continued to remember on birthdays and holidays because of her devotion to Art and her kindness through the dark days of his illness.

  “Did I lie?” Liddy demanded as they walked back to the car, laden with their purchases.

  “You totally nailed it. I’m delighted with everything I picked up. You know, my mom always started her Christmas shopping immediately after Labor Day.”

  Liddy opened the back of her SUV and Maggie loaded her packages inside.

  “Where to now?” Maggie asked as she got into the passenger seat.

  “I thought maybe we’d visit Emma at the art center.”

  “I’d like that. I know Emma’s been working her butt off to get it off the ground.”

  “She’s done an incredible job. Wait till you see. You’ll be so impressed.” Liddy turned the key in the ignition, backed out onto High Street, and stopped at the intersection with Front just as a police cruiser rolled up to the opposing stop sign. The driver’s window was down as the occupant exchanged words with a pedestrian who’d just come out of the post office. The brief conversation appeared to have been cordial, and a moment later the cruiser drove off in the direction of the harbor.

  “He’s coming to the reception tonight but not to the luncheon tomorrow, if you’re wondering.” Liddy followed Maggie’s gaze toward the street, then proceeded through the intersection.

  “Oh, I wasn’t—” Maggie began to protest, but Liddy cut her off.

  “Of course you were. But that wasn’t . . . the chief.” She smiled as she caught herself almost speaking the verboten name.

  Maggie’s cheeks reddened as she tried to deny she’d been staring at the police car. As much as she hated to admit it even to herself, of course she was curious about Brett, and of course she’d known for years he was the Wyndham Beach police chief. On the one hand, she’d hoped to avoid him all weekend. On the other, thinking about seeing him—or not seeing him, she couldn’t decide which would be worse—caused a dull ache to settle in her chest.

  God, I sound like a fifteen-year-old, she chastised herself even as she realized that was how old she’d been when she and Brett first met. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to turn off the memory button in her head when Liddy entered the parking lot at the art center.

  Emma’s touch was everywhere in the art center, which was housed in a renovated white clapboard building sitting by itself on a spit of land overlooking Buzzards Bay. Exhibition space shared the first floor with two offices, and there were classrooms for painting, photography, sculpture, and children’s art housed on the second. A small outbuilding was devoted to pottery and metalcraft.

  “I can’t believe you raised all the funds for the building’s renovation by yourself, Emma,” Maggie exclaimed. “You’re amazing.”

  “The community has been very supportive, but most of the funding comes from Chris, to tell the truth. He paid for all the work in here and makes a monthly donation to keep the place heated in slow months,” Emma confided. “I think he thinks it excuses him from not coming home more often.”

  “Or maybe it’s just his way of showing support for his mama,” Maggie said.

  “Maybe,” Emma replied. “We have the makings of a nice little artists’ colony here. We’re starting slow, only taking a few members this summer because we don’t have living quarters to offer. There are no places in town for rent, so unless the applicants know someone who’ll put them up, they’re on their own until we can figure out something we can offer. I’d love to somehow get the Harrison family to open up that mansion of theirs. It’s sitting there, no one’s living in it, you know, and it would be perfect.” Emma’s eyes took on a dreamy glow.

  “None of them have moved back to Wyndham Beach?” Maggie asked.

  Emma shook her head. “Someone comes back to bring out the carousel every five years, plunks it out there in the park, lets all the local kiddies have a ride.”

  “That was in someone’s will, right?” Maggie tried to remember the story. “They have to share the carousel with the town every fifth summer or the estate will be broken up and sold. Something like that?”

  “Exactly. Harry’s father was executor of the last Jasper Harrison’s will. He was the one who bought the carousel back in the 1940s. After his father died, Harry cleaned out his desk and found a copy of the old man’s will, which he showed me. The wording was ‘no less than every fifth summer, preferably on the Fourth of July.’ But it’s never been brought out more than every five years.”

  “So I take it you haven’t been able to track down the heirs yet?” Liddy turned her attention from a painting she’d been studying that hung in the foyer.

  “Still trying. I have learned Owen Harrison inherited everything, but so far he hasn’t returned my calls.” She smiled slyly. “He can run but he can’t hide. I will find him.”

  Maggie laughed. “My money’s definitely on you, Em. Track him down and drag him back by the scruff of the neck if necessary.”

  “That’s the plan.” Emma took Maggie by the elbow and led her into the exhibition area. “Now, these are all works by local artists. Take your time looking around. I think you’ll agree we have some true talent in our little town.”

  Maggie and Liddy spent almost an hour viewing and discussing the exhibited pieces, from the enormous freestanding hands sculpted from clay to the watercolor landscapes to the pottery that reflected all the colors of the bay beyond the art center. Liddy paused in front of a very large contemporary painting of muted grays and taupes, with sharp lightning bolts of red and gold slashed across the canvas.

  “Wow, there’s so much energy there,” Maggie remarked. The swirls of color were almost electric. “The swashes of red and gold make such a bold statement against that subdued background.”

  Liddy pointed to the name of the artist: Jessica Christy Bryant.

  “Oh. It’s Jess . . .” Maggie’s voice faded away momentarily. Of course, she’d known Jessie had been an artist. She’d started designing greeting cards when sh
e was in middle school. Never sold commercially, the cards had been sent to relatives and friends. Following her mother’s death, Maggie had cleaned out a desk drawer in the house on Cottage Street and found dozens of cards her mother had received from Jess over the years for various occasions. She’d taken them back to Bryn Mawr, and when Grace saw them, she mentioned she, too, had been the recipient of the wonderfully imaginative and colorful birthday and holiday cards. The Christmas card she’d received three years ago had been the last she’d gotten.

  “This painting’s the last thing she did before,” Liddy was saying.

  Maggie didn’t need to ask Before what? “It’s a remarkable piece,” she said simply.

  “Emma asked if I had any of her work I’d be willing to have on display. Ironically, this last piece of hers is my favorite. You’d think I’d hate it, but . . .” Liddy shrugged. “I think it reflects her state of mind better than anything she may have said at the time.” She pointed to the name of the painting. Last Stand. “That’s what I think this was. I think it’s very emotional, don’t you? I sense an overwhelming frustration when I look at it.”

  To Maggie, the painting seemed to scream, to rage against something nameless. But to Liddy, she said, “It’s very moving. Eloquent. Jess was very talented.”

  “She was that.” The sadness emanating from Liddy was palpable.

  “She absolutely was.” Emma had come up behind them quietly. “I’ve had several inquiries from interested buyers.”

  “It’s not for sale,” Liddy snapped. “I haven’t decided if any of her work will ever be for sale.”

  “I cautioned the prospective buyers that it might not be.” In contrast to Liddy’s harsh response, Emma’s voice was soothing. “I would never sell anything without your express permission, Lid.”

  “I do know that. Sorry for . . .”

  “It’s already forgotten,” Emma assured her friend. “But if you agree, I’d like to showcase Jessie’s work in a special exhibit over the winter. Perhaps January or February.”

  “That would be lovely, Em. I appreciate it.”

  “I’d like to include those white-on-white works in the December exhibit. They’re so quiet and contemplative.”

  Liddy nodded. “Just let me know when you want them.”

  Emma patted Liddy on the shoulder before retreating to her office to take a phone call. Maggie took her friend’s hand and together they finished their tour of the exhibit. Before leaving, they poked their heads into Emma’s office to let her know they were going.

  “I love this place,” Maggie told her truthfully. “I want to come back before I leave.”

  “Come back anytime.” Emma beamed. “Now, are you planning on going early to tonight’s reception, or can we expect you to be fashionably late?”

  “If I can get dinner on the table by six, we should be able to be on time. You’re welcome to join us for dinner, Em,” Liddy offered.

  “Thanks, Lid, but I’ll be here until six and will barely have time to get home and change.”

  “We’ll look for you there.” Liddy and Maggie made their way to the exit, then walked to the end of the boardwalk that led toward the bay.

  “One of the best views ever, right here.” Maggie paused at the head of the dune, where beach grass bent in the face of a breeze blowing in from the water. Rugosa roses, a few still stubbornly blooming, and beach plums, still bearing pink fruit, grew among the grasses.

  Liddy checked the time on her phone. “Come on. We need to keep moving if we’re going to get to that reception on time.” She put an arm over Maggie’s shoulder as they walked to the car. “Never know who we might run into.”

  “Oh?” Maggie raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Liddy to be coy.

  “Some of those yes responses were interesting.” Liddy dropped her arm at the passenger’s side and continued around the front of the car.

  “Do tell,” Maggie said as she opened the door and got in.

  “Mark Renfield is coming. As is Rick Gallup.” Liddy slid behind the wheel. “Both divorced. Rick’s the head surgeon at a hospital in Chicago now, by the way.”

  “So . . . what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’ve been sleeping alone since Jim left and the last time I saw Rick, he looked pretty damned good. One might even say hot.” She put the car in drive. “And if I don’t put a move on him, LeeAnn will.”

  “Are you sure you want a houseguest for the whole weekend? I wouldn’t want to cramp your style,” Maggie said. “Maybe I should consider a room at CeCe’s inn after all.”

  “Don’t be silly. For all I know, Rick’s already on to wife number two. I’m just keeping my options open.” She glanced across the console at Maggie. “You should, too.”

  Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “Not interested in putting the moves on anyone, thank you.”

  “Oh, come on. With all due respect to Art, he’s been gone for two years. Are you telling me that you haven’t thought about hooking up with someone tall, dark, and handsome since then?”

  “‘Hooking up’?” Maggie laughed out loud. “What are we, sixteen?”

  “Call it whatever you want. You’re widowed, I’m divorced, and neither of us are even close to being old or dried up. You want to spend the rest of your life sleeping alone?” Not waiting for an answer, Liddy added, “I for one do not.”

  Maggie looked out the window. She’d been so numb since Art’s death she’d barely thought about what, if anything, came next as far as her love life was concerned. To do so felt disrespectful of her late husband. If she turned to someone else for whatever reason—friendship, companionship, sex—would he somehow know and think she’d forgotten him? Several times before he passed away, he’d made her promise to live a full life after he was gone, but still . . .

  Liddy pulled all the way to the garage at the very end of her driveway and parked, then cut the ignition.

  “Well, if you’re thinking about getting lucky tonight, I suggest we get on with it. We have some work to do.” Maggie opened the car door and got out. In Liddy’s heart and in her wardrobe, the seventies were alive and well. It was part of her charm, but at the same time, it was a little predictable. The woman had so much going for her: smart, witty, so much fun. But her look—which might have been considered a little edgy in her teens—today looked tired, matronly. Her colorful clothes couldn’t hide the sallowness of her skin or her crow’s feet. Maggie knew it was a long shot, trying to talk Liddy into changing things up even a little.

  As she slammed the car door closed, Liddy asked, “What do you mean, some work? What kind of work?” and followed her into the house.

  “Seriously, Maggie? I haven’t worn that stuff in a million years.” Liddy staunchly declined Maggie’s offer to share her makeup. “I’m not going to start now.”

  “What do you think will happen if you swiped on a little mascara?”

  “I won’t look like myself. I’ll feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”

  “A little makeup isn’t going to make you look like someone else. It just enhances what you already have. Who you already are.”

  “Not going to happen.” Liddy was unmovable.

  “Okay.” Maggie ceremoniously dropped the eye shadow stick, mascara wand, and blush into her makeup bag and zipped it closed.

  She could have reminded Liddy of all the nights the three of them—she, Liddy, and Emma—had crowded into the bathroom Maggie shared with her sister and passed around the latest cosmetic purchase one of them had made. Back in high school, they’d shared it all, experimented with it all, worn it all, especially for special events. Like when Liddy had wanted to attract the attention of a certain junior, or when Maggie wanted to catch the attention of . . . okay, she let herself mentally say his name. Brett. Brett Kyle Crawford. Even his name had sounded golden to her. She’d wanted to attract his attention the first time she’d laid eyes on him, wanted him to notice her before one of the other girls got her hooks into him. She’d known
he was meant to be hers the minute he walked into homeroom on the first day of school sophomore year.

  Hers to win, hers to lose.

  Maggie brushed the memories aside and slid the dress she’d picked up at Nordstrom over her head. She’d decided to go low key tonight. Black sheath with elbow-length sleeves, a camel leather belt double-looped around her waist, and leopard print heels. A choker of oversize cat’s-eye beads fit just inside the scooped neckline of the dress, and she chose large round gold discs for her ears.

  “Wow. Sexy.” Liddy wiggled her eyebrows when Maggie joined her in the kitchen.

  Maggie made a face. “Hardly. There’s no flesh showing above my knees or my elbows.”

  “Maybe so, but the overall impression is a wow.” Liddy had donned a calf-length purple cotton skirt, which she’d paired with a plain white long-sleeve jersey knit top. Around her neck she’d wrapped several bead necklaces of various shapes, colors, and sizes. Long silver earrings dangled almost to her shoulders. She’d unbraided her hair and brushed it into a long ponytail that lay low on the back of her neck. Maggie bit her tongue. If Liddy was looking for action, the odds weren’t in her favor tonight, but Liddy was . . . Liddy.

  “Thank you. Natalie helped pick it out.”

  “The girl has good taste.” Liddy opened the back door and stepped outside.

  “She always has.” Maggie followed Liddy out the door, down the back steps and to the car.

  Maggie barely spoke on the drive to the Beach Club, built in 1860 as the home of the Wyndham Beach Ladies League of the Anti-Slavery Society. Her three-times-great-grandmother, Polly Wakefield, had been a charter member, her husband Henry having fought for the preservation of the Union. Maggie thought about Polly and Henry as she climbed the steps and approached the front door, wondering how they’d feel about the fact that none of their descendants now lived in Wyndham Beach. She suspected if they felt anything at all—and she wasn’t sure they did—they’d not be very happy.