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 (154 page)
Authors: Mariah Stewart
For Sweet Baby James Delvescovo—
keep on fighting, little buddy
Once again, my thanks to the fabulous team at Ballantine Books who work so hard to make my books the best they can be: Kate Collins, Linda Marrow, Scott Shannon, Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Gina Wachtel, Junessa Viloria, Scott Biel (those glorious covers!), Kristin Fassler, and Katie O’Callaghan. Thanks to Andrea Sheriden, The Decimater, for doing what she does, and doing it so well.
Thanks as always to my agent, Loretta Barrett, and the crew at Barrett Books.
Many thanks to the booksellers who have been hand-selling the books in the Chesapeake Diaries series. Bless every one of you.
Thanks to my FB buddies who start and end the day with me.
Recently it occurred to me that
Hometown Girl
is my thirtieth book. Thirty books! The number stuns and amazes me and gives me chills. So I must say thank you from the bottom of my heart to those readers who have been with me since
Moments in Time
was published in 1995. This has been one wild and crazy ride!
To my friends who have made this journey with me—especially Helen Egner and Chery Griffin … thanks and love.
And of course, much love and thanks to my beautiful family—Bill, Becca, Katie, and Mike.
Home for the Summer
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books eBook Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Marti Robb
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
B
ALLANTINE
and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-345-53465-1
Cover art: Chris Cocoazza
v3.1_r1
Diary ~
What a whirlwind these past few days have been, what with the big weddings here at the inn over the weekend, and all the comings and goings! Why, you’d think I’d be dead to the world with exhaustion—and frankly, I am. So why, one might ask, am I sitting at my desk at twenty minutes to three in the morning?
For one thing, Lucy leaves tomorrow morning to head back to L.A. after a full ten days here at home, working downstairs when she should have been sleeping. And there’s been something in her behavior this past week that has been unsettling to me … nothing I’ve yet been able to put my finger on, but I’m worried about that daughter of mine, and I don’t know why
.
Oh, I am grateful for the time we’ve spent together these past days, but it saddens me every time she leaves because I never know when I’ll see her again
.
I admit there’s some small amount of irony in the fact that both Dan and I tried so hard to raise our children to be independent, to have open minds, and to follow their own stars—and now here I am, lamenting the fact that my girl has done exactly that
.
To add to my misery, my dearest friend, Trula, who’s been here for the weekend, leaves tomorrow as well. I’m not
by nature a lonely person, but right now I’m feeling lost without their company—and here neither has left yet!
Perhaps I’m simply feeling the crush of the years, the warm breath of my mortality breathing down my neck. I will be seventy … well, seventysomething on my next birthday. So many friends of my youth never made it this far, and I should be grateful, not anxious, about my advancing age. I’ve never been particularly afraid of dying—I’ve held the hand of several loved ones as they passed from this world into the next, including my darling Dan, whom I still miss every day. And yet, right now I feel a loneliness I haven’t felt since the days immediately after he left me
.
Of course, if Dan were here, he’d say something like, “Oh, Gracie, you know you never sleep well after eating eggplant” … and that would be that. Perhaps I should take this up with Alice and see if she has any thoughts on the matter … and I will, as soon as Lucy leaves, so I can get the Ouija board out of the closet in her room
.
~ Grace ~
When Lucy Sinclair was twelve years old, she packed a suitcase to go away by herself for the first time. There had been something exciting and so grown-up about folding her clothes and tucking them inside the plaid fabric travel bag next to her sneakers and sandals and the plastic cosmetic case she borrowed from her mother for her toothpaste, toothbrush, dental floss, and shampoo. She’d also packed a diary—in which she planned to write every day—and a pen with which she could record the anticipated noteworthy moments as well as write postcards home.
She’d returned from those two August weeks at her aunt and uncle’s Pennsylvania farm without having opened the diary and all but three of her postcards were still secured in the rubber band. As instructed, she’d sent one to her parents at the end of the first week (“Aunt Clarissa and Lydia were both stung by yellow jackets yesterday and we spent the whole afternoon in the emergency room. Jake got poison ivy from playing in the weeds. I don’t think I have it yet. Love, Lucy”). The other two went to her younger brother, Ford, who at eight was deemed too young to
go away by himself (“Uncle Pat says you can come when you’re ten, which is totally unfair because I had to wait until I was twelve”), and to her best friend, Clay Madison (“I went fishing in the lake and caught three bass in one day! We found a cool old cemetery that has graves from the Revolutionary War! I took lots of pictures—can’t wait to show you!”).
Now, at thirty-five, packing had become so routine she could do it with her eyes closed, and these days, her trips rarely promised such adventure. The old plaid suitcase had been banished years ago to the attic, and, knowing her mother, was probably still tucked up under the eaves, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone fishing. The one thing that hadn’t changed was the look on her mother’s face when Lucy entered the lobby of the Inn at Sinclair Point, suitcase in tow and her computer bag over her shoulder, and announced that she was ready to leave for the airport.
“Do you have everything?” Grace Sinclair asked her daughter.
Lucy opened her handbag and checked for her plane ticket, her sunglasses, and the keys to her rental car. “Got it all. And if by chance I did forget something, you can always send it out or hold on to it until I come back next month to meet with Robert Magellan.
“I’m still having a hard time convincing myself that’s really going to happen.” Lucy shook her head as if still in disbelief that one of the wealthiest men in the country wanted to talk to her about planning his wedding. “Thanks for arranging it, Mom.”
“Thank Trula. She’s the one who’s insisting that Robert not even consider another event planner,” Grace reminded her. “Or another venue.”
“I did thank her.” Lucy slid her sunglasses to the top of her head. “I thought I’d get to thank her again this morning, but she doesn’t seem to be up yet.”
“I’m glad she’s sleeping in.” Grace lifted Lucy’s computer bag. “She never gets a chance to—”
“Baloney. I’ve been up for hours.” Trula Comfort, Grace’s best friend for just about as long as either could remember, marched down the steps and joined them near the information desk. “I thought I’d be gracious and allow you two to have a nice breakfast together without me hanging around.”
“Trula, you can hang around as much as you want.” Lucy hugged the older woman. “I’m so happy you were here this weekend.”
“I was glad to be here. Thought it would be good to see your work product before I browbeat Robert and Susanna into having their wedding here, with you at the helm.”
“Ha.” Grace grinned. “You just admitted to browbeating.”
“One does what one must when one must.” Trula gave Lucy one last hug, then looked around for something to carry.
“I’ll take that.” Daniel, Lucy’s brother and the inn’s proprietor, grabbed the handle of Lucy’s suitcase just as Trula was about to. “You weren’t planning on sneaking out on me without saying good-bye, were you?” He put a hand on his sister’s shoulder.
“Have I ever?” Lucy asked as she fished in her bag for the keys she’d had just a moment ago but dropped when she hugged Trula. “I’m just trying to get organized. It appears I need a committee to get on my way.”
Daniel wheeled the suitcase toward the inn’s double doors and held one side open for the trio who trailed behind him.
“Thanks, Danny.” Lucy smiled as she stepped outside into a crisp early winter morning. “Brrr. I keep forgetting how chilly it gets here in December. Remind me to bring a coat back with me next time.”
“Any chance next time might be Christmas?” her mother asked. Lucy could tell that Grace was trying her best not to appear too hopeful.
“It doesn’t look like it, Mom.” Lucy paused at the car and opened the doors and trunk with the remote. “We have so many parties lined up, and several weddings, including two on Christmas Eve and another on Christmas night. Bonnie had two big events this past weekend that she had to handle on her own, and I think her last nerve is just about gone. I can’t take off again in two weeks.”
“Well, I doubt either of those shindigs was as ‘big’ as the wedding of Dallas MacGregor.” Grace handed over the computer.
“That wedding was big even for us, and we’ve handled some big affairs over the years.” Lucy put her bag on the front seat and turned to hug her mother. “I don’t even know how to thank you for helping me to land that.”
“All I did was set the wheels in motion, dear.” Grace held on to her daughter for a long moment before patting her on the back and releasing her. “The ‘landing’ was all your doing.”
“Mom’s right, Luce.” Daniel placed her suitcase in the trunk. “The inn never would have gotten the MacGregor wedding without you.” He paused. “Sorry.
The MacGregor weddings. We can’t forget that Dallas’s brother got married on Saturday, too. I’ve been running the inn for a long time and I’ve seen a lot of really spectacular weddings here, but nothing like Saturday’s affair.” He slammed the trunk. “It’s going to be a long time before people stop talking about it. And since all those stories and photographs started flooding the Internet on Sunday, our phone has been ringing off the hook and we can’t keep up with the emails.”
“Great. It’s about time the inn was recognized as
the
destination venue on the Eastern Shore.” Lucy reached out for her brother. “You run one hell of a business, bro.”
“We do our best.” Daniel planted a kiss on the top of his sister’s head. “But we never could have pulled off what you did this weekend. Madeline is a good event planner, but she doesn’t have your skill and creativity or your experience. We wouldn’t have gotten this job if you hadn’t agreed to come back and handle the planning.”
“Well, remember that I’ve been doing this for thirteen years now. I’ve made a lot of contacts.” She jangled her keys softly in her hands, a nervous habit. “It’s all in the contacts, Danny-boy.”