Driftwood Summer (32 page)

“Adalee, you’re amazing. What a great way to honor her.”

Commotion and loud voices came from the front of the bookstore. Together they turned to see Riley pushing Mama through the door in her wheelchair.

“Kitsy Sheffield has arrived. Let the fun begin,” Maisy said.

Adalee moved toward the door, and Maisy swept the cottage with a single glance, looking for Lucy. Deep sadness came over her—Lucy wouldn’t come to the party. What was said could not be taken back, just as what was done could not be undone. Maisy looked toward the front door, at her mother motioning for her to come. She smiled above her sorrow and went to join her sisters and mother.

TWENTY-SIX

RILEY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The party had been going on for hours, overlapping voices, music and laughter filling Driftwood Cottage and the tent outside as Riley moved through the space, talking with old friends and meeting new people. Sorrow followed her like an unseen guest; this might be the last party the bookstore ever held. Despite the success of the week’s events, first tallies hinted that they hadn’t brought in enough to pay off the debts and balance the books.

Brayden ran around the store with his friends until Riley grabbed him by the shirt collar, whispered in his ear, “No rough-housing in the store. Take it outside.”

In a quiet moment, Riley stood in the back of the Book Club Corner and observed the party. Maisy seemed to be chatting up every book club member in the room, recalling details about their lives and the books they were reading. Her movements were hectic, suggesting she was trying a bit too hard. In the far corner, a young woman was busy setting up an amp, guitar and microphone. A line of people waiting to view the history boards and obtain Mrs. Lithgow’s signed photo wound around the room.

Riley didn’t know how her heart could be so empty and yet so full at the same time. In one moment she felt she might burst with joy, and then she was swamped with sorrow, like waves that came one after the other.

A receiving line had formed at Mama’s wheelchair near the checkout counter. Harriet stood at her side. A table nearby overflowed with birthday presents.

Adalee stood at the history boards answering questions. The sea green furniture and strings of white lights looked warm and inviting next to the new slipcovers and rows of bookshelves. Why, Riley wondered, did things always seem to reach their very best just before they were lost?

Mack.

Daddy.

Innocence.

Love.

Then her mind grabbed on to the best thing in her life: Brayden. Fear formed like a blooming blackness. She scanned the room for her son, and then remembered telling him to go outside. At a run, she hurried to the back porch and hollered his name.

He didn’t answer from the beach; nausea rose in the back of her throat. She called his name louder. She ran out onto the sand, toward the water. Where was he?

Her flying thoughts told her that of course he was okay. He was an expert swimmer, knew this beach and every curve of it. Her feet flew out from underneath her body as she tripped over a pair of shoes lying in the sand. She regained her balance, yet in the twilight, she imagined she saw only Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge tossing Sheldon’s ashes and sobbing over their regret and loss.

Voices from the cottage drifted out onto the beach, but Riley listened for only one: Brayden’s.

It was his laughter she heard above the others as a group of teens moved toward the cottage with their shoes in their hands, their arms and legs loose and gangly in the way typical of adolescence. A girl giggled; a boy said something Riley didn’t catch.

She stood there as the group came toward her. They stopped when they noticed her.

Brayden stepped forward. “You’re not looking for me, are you?”

“No, I just needed some fresh air. . . .”

“We’re going to the pier to avoid this party . . .” Brayden said.

“Sorry, son. Not tonight. It’s Gamma’s birthday and there are a lot of people here who want to see you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” He moaned.

A boy dropped his hand on Brayden’s shoulder. “We’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

A blond girl dug her toes in the sand and touched Brayden’s arm. “See you at Pearson’s Pier at noon?”

Brayden nodded at her, and then stomped back to the cottage, the best one can stomp in sand. Riley followed. Her fear of a moment ago had put her worries in perspective. . . . Losing the bookstore would be nothing compared to losing her only son.

Like the Rutledges had just lost their only son.

She entered through the back door. A loud squawk came from the microphone as Maisy tapped it. “Can I have your attention?”

The room grew quiet with a few murmured voices at the edge. “It’s time for the raffle.”

A spattering of applause filled the room, and one by one Maisy drew names out of the bowl. She gave away signed books, manicures and various other services offered by the small businesses around town. She gave away a handcrafted driftwood centerpiece. Then she whistled and announced, “Now for the big prize: a trip to Charleston for the weekend.”

Loud applause followed her announcement. Adalee ran up behind Maisy and whispered in her ear. She nodded, spoke again into the microphone. “Okay, my sister is going to pick the last name.”

Leaning against the checkout counter, Riley was situated behind Adalee and only she saw her sister slip a scrap of paper from her back pocket, pretend to pull it from the bowl, and then hand it to Maisy. “Mrs. Harper,” Maisy shouted into the microphone.

Silence filled the room as everyone waited for the ticket owner to come forward. Riley shouted the name again. A cry came from the back of the room. “Mom, that’s you.”

The crowd turned to stare at Mrs. Harper, who stood in the far back corner with her hand over her mouth. “I won?” she asked.

Maisy motioned for Mrs. Harper to come up as she read about the trip out loud. “You have won a two-night stay at the Vendue Inn, plus a tour of the aquarium and sea turtle hospital, a dinner at High Cotton and . . .”

Mrs. Harper reached Maisy’s side and spoke into her ear. Maisy smiled at the older woman, and took her hand. “This trip is for two.”

Mrs. Harper’s daughter appeared at her mother’s side. “Mom, of course you can take this trip. I’ll go with you. We can do it together.”

With large tears and shaking hands, the old woman took her daughter’s arm. “I haven’t been anywhere since Frank died. I just don’t think . . .”

Maisy turned away from mother and daughter, but Riley heard her voice crack with emotion as she made her last announcement. “Today is not only a celebration of Driftwood Cottage and its two-hundred-year history, but also a celebration of my mother and our family. Mama, will you come up here so we can sing to you?”

“Oh, no . . . no . . .” Mama called from her wheelchair at the side of the small staged area. But her smile betrayed her joy as the crowd broke into “Happy Birthday to You.” Riley stepped forward, resolved to enjoy the remainder of the evening. If she ran hard enough and fast enough, if she dove deep enough into the loud voices and rhythmic music, the knowledge of impending loss could be denied until tomorrow.

The birthday song was sung to Mama twice and once to the house before Mama grabbed the microphone. She struggled to her feet without help as she’d planned, and in a Southern accent cultivated through several generations, she said, “My, my, that was lovely. Thank you so much for caring about me, my family and our little cottage bookstore.”

In a strong voice that convinced Riley there could be no illness, Mama thanked the local businessmen and -women who had contributed so much to the week’s events. Once she had officially recognized representatives from the families who had once lived in the cottage, Maisy took the microphone and handed the night over to the live music. Riley and Adalee were sitting together in a large lounge chair, squashed together with their legs tangled to the floor. “That was nice,” Riley whispered to Adalee.

“Yes, she did a good job.”

“No, you. I saw what you did for Mrs. Harper. Your heart is bigger than this whole town.”

Adalee’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, please don’t tell Mama I cheated on the raffle.”

Riley laughed. “Are you kidding me?” She held out her pinky for the ancient promise-keepers’ vow. They linked fingers. “I swear.”

A young woman dressed in torn jeans, a loose white linen top and turquoise jewelry around her neck and up her arms approached the sisters. Red cowboy boots matched her leather belt. “Hey,” Maisy said. “I want y’all to meet Brooks. She is one of our singers for the night. You’re going to love her work. I heard her sing live at Bud’s last week and just had to invite her. Her mother is in the Cookbook Club.”

“Hi, Brooks. That’s a lovely name.” Adalee shook her hand.

Riley stared at her. “I’m sorry. I thought you were Nancy. Is she your sister?”

The girl looked at Maisy, who answered for her. “She recently changed her name to Brooks, after Garth Brooks.”

“Oh . . .” Adalee laughed, jumped up. “Are you the one who only speaks in country music lyrics?”

The girl nodded.

“ ‘Shameless,’ ” Adalee said, and then glanced between her sisters. “That’s a Garth Brooks song.”

“Oh . . . you ‘Shoulda Been a Cowboy,’ ” Maisy answered with raised eyebrows. “Come on, who can name it?”

“Toby Keith,” Brooks answered.

“Okay, I’m going to lose at this game,” Riley said. “The only thing I can think of is a song by Alan Jackson: ‘Everything I Love Is Killing Me.’ ”

Brooks smiled. “ ‘Love Is a Sweet, Sweet Thing.’ ”

Riley looked to Maisy. “Faith Hill, right?”

Brooks laughed. “ ‘I Believe There Is Magic Here. . . .’ ” She bowed and moved toward the microphone.

Maisy resumed her seat on the edge of the lounge chair. “That was Kenny Chesney,” she said.

“Okay, it’s really scary that you know song titles and lyrics like that,” Riley said. “How do you know everything she’s quoting?”

“I didn’t leave everything behind when I moved to California. . . . I took my country music with me.”

Adalee whispered, “You left us behind.”

Maisy turned to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was like I was drowning and I grabbed on to the first life preserver I saw, then swam as far and fast as I could. It was wrong. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”>

Riley pressed her fingers at the edges of her eyes. “Don’t you dare make me cry when I spent so long putting on makeup.”

Maisy took a long, deep breath. “I am such an idiot.”

“No . . . no. You’re not.” Adalee pulled her into a hug, and Riley wrapped her arms around both of them, clinging to the tender moment. She felt the warmth of someone’s gaze on her before she realized why she’d turned. Lodge snapped a picture of the three sisters just releasing from their hug.

“Hey, Lodge.” They all called his name in overlapping voices.

Riley said, “Thanks for coming. Did you get enough food?”

He laughed. “Plenty. I’ve been here for an hour.”

“You have?”

“I tend to be invisible to you sometimes, don’t I?”

“What? No. I’ve just been . . . preoccupied with all this chaos.” She searched his face for pain, but found only his open smile. “You shaved,” she said.

He shrugged. “Guess I thought this occasion deserved a good clean shave.”

Riley wondered if he thought
she
was worth a good clean shave or if it really was just the occasion. How unfair to let him believe she felt something else for him besides camaraderie. Her own pain had come from believing someone else felt something more for her than friendship, and she couldn’t allow this to come between her and Lodge. He laughed, pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ll go get some quotes and pictures from other people. . . . We’ll talk later. Okay?”

Riley motioned to the corner of the book club area. “Can we talk for a second before you take off?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Facing Lodge underneath the string of white lights, Riley took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk about . . . well, us.”

“Us?” he said.

“Our friendship.”

He set his camera and notebook on a side table, took her hand. “You do know I want it to be more than friendship, right? You’ve figured that out by now, haven’t you?”

She nodded, squeezed his fingers. “Yes, but I don’t think it’s a good . . . idea. I enjoy our friendship. I enjoy you. I just don’t want anything . . . else.”

He released her hand, attempted a laugh. “Is this a ‘we can be friends’ speech? I don’t think I’ve heard one of those since high school.”

“What I said . . . it came out all wrong, didn’t it?”

“No, it came out right, Riley. We’ll be friends. We always have been. You can’t make someone love you back, you know?”

She nodded. “But friendship—it can be enough, right? There are so many wonderful things about us. We still have . . . those, right? We’re okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, we’re okay.” He hugged her, held on a moment longer, then released her. “I’m off to work. It’s a great party.”

“Thanks, Lodge,” she said.

He waved over his shoulder when she saw Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge move through the crowd. No matter where she looked, her eyes were drawn to this couple, as though their loss had become a ghost that followed them wherever they went. Finally Riley leaned against a table and closed her eyes, gathering the courage to say hello, but when she opened them again, the Rutledges were gone.

The party lasted past the ten o’clock written on the engraved invitations. Riley found Maisy on a rose trellis slipcovered chair, staring at the crumpled napkins, the half-full plastic cups, and the sand covering the hardwood floors, as if a wind had blown the beach into the bookstore. Adalee stood at the front door waving goodbye to the last guests. Ethel pushed Mama’s wheelchair around a chair and brought her next to Maisy.