The Guest House (18 page)

Harrisport, Massachusetts

July 1966

I
f she squinted from where she stood on the guest room balcony, Edie Worthington imagined she could see the glow of the bonfire below the town pier, but she couldn’t really. She might as well have been on the other side of the country, not just the other side of the beach, for how removed she felt from that world. The dream she had stepped into a few hours earlier had now taken over. She’d fought it at first, too afraid she’d be somehow betraying her family by enjoying herself. But thanks to the magic of the night—and maybe the magic of the champagne too—she’d surrendered fully. What was the harm in savoring this perfect evening, this rare celebration? Here she wasn’t Edie Worthington, freckled and fraught carpenter’s apprentice. Tucker Moss had made her feel remarkable, a woman capable of doing anything. She wouldn’t apologize for that—wouldn’t feel bad for it, either.

“Well, hello, over there!”

The cheery voice startled her from her thoughts and she glanced around to locate its source. Finding no one behind her, she leaned forward and saw Jim Masterson peeking out from the neighboring balcony.

“Hi, yourself,” she said. “Why are you over there?”

He grinned. “You know, I was just askin’ myself the same thing.” He pulled one foot up onto the railing.

Edie blinked at him. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“What’s it look like?” He’d now climbed up onto the railing and managed to get himself to the other side, where she could plainly see he intended to cross the roof to her.

She reared back. “It’s too dangerous!”

“Not for me,” he crowed, his long legs stretching across the divide between the two dormers. Nearly there, the sole of his oxford slid on a shingle and he lost his footing. Edie lurched forward to help him, panicked, but he managed to throw his weight with enough force that he crashed down onto her balcony instead of skidding all the way down the roof and off the end. He lay on the balcony floor, holding his stomach and laughing like a fool.

She stood above him, furious. “What were you thinking?”

He sat up at last and Edie reached down to help him to his feet. He was only too happy to throw his arm over her shoulder. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, hot and sweet.

“You’re crazy! You could have fallen and broken your damn neck,” she said.

Her scolding had no effect on his merriment. He merely smiled wider, the lanterns from the lawn below flickering in the lenses of his crooked glasses like fireflies as she helped him into the empty chair. “I’m crazy in love is what I am,” he slurred. “Y’all had better lock me up and throw away the key. I’m certifiable.”

Edie smiled, remembering Tucker’s mention of Helen Willoughby. “That was quick.”

“I’m a hopeless romantic. I’ve been known to fall in love in less time than it takes to iron a shirt.” He winked at her. “Lucky for you I was already destined for Helen or you might have been in trouble.”

“Lucky for me, all right.” She glanced around. “So where
is
your beloved?”

“Powdering her nose or her chin or whatever it is y’all powder when you say that. Do you know her well?”

“I don’t know her at all,” said Edie. “She’s summer people.”

“She’s perfection,” corrected James, staring moonily up at the sky. “A man could be a good fifteen minutes just deciding if her eyes were blue or green.”

He spied the plate of pastries and downed one whole with a groan of pleasure, a curl of cream spilling out the side of his mouth. “Do you suppose she’d marry a man with glasses?”

“I’m sure,” said Edie. “So long as you took them off when you went to sleep.”

He laughed loudly, his eyes growing huge behind the lenses. “You are a hoot; you know that, Edie Worthington? No wonder Tuck likes you. Speaking of Tuck . . .” Jim craned his neck to peer through the French doors. “Where’s our boy at, anyway?”

“Talking with his father,” said Edie. “He promised he wouldn’t be long.”

Jim sat up and smiled. “You’re good for him, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“All these fellas you see,” Jim said, rising to meet her at the edge of the balcony and gesturing down to the guests who spotted the lawn. “All puffed up in their bow ties and their shiny noses—Tuck’s not like that. He doesn’t want any part of that.”

She glanced down at her hands, folded over the railing. “Then maybe he should stand up for what he wants.”

“I wish he would.
You
, Edie Worthington,” Jim said, landing a finger gently on the tip of her nose, “are a girl worth standing up for. No offense to dear Florence, of course.”

Edie frowned at him. “Who’s Florence?”

Jim didn’t have to answer; she could see at once from the rueful look on his face that Florence was Tucker Moss’s girl.

Jim winced. “Oh, crap.”

Edie turned from him, feeling her stomach clench, then chastising herself for it. What right did she have to be hurt or even angry? She and Tucker had become friends—nothing more. After all, it was she who’d kissed him—not the other way around, right? So why was her heart thundering with disappointment to know someone had already claimed him?

Jim moved closer to her, his hand hovering tenderly over her shoulder a moment before he changed his mind and lowered it to his side. “He doesn’t love her, Edie. Not the way you should love someone you’re gonna marry.”

Marry?
Edie closed her eyes and swallowed hard, the shock of the news dizzying.

She shook her head. “It’s none of my business. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” said Jim. “He’s making a mistake.”

She spun to face him. “How can you say that? You’re supposed to be his best friend.”

“That’s exactly
why
I’m saying it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think he’s making a mistake.”

“He does,” said Jim. “I know he does. But he won’t go against the old man.”

She looked up at him, his bleary eyes suddenly focused behind his tilted glasses. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think Tucker knows you’re someone worth fighting for. Because he hasn’t stopped grinning since he met you.”

“I barely know him.” As soon as she said it, Edie felt false. She
did
know Tucker Moss—maybe not as well as she knew other friends, but she felt a deep connection to him that the calendar had no part in affirming. She knew what it was like to have to prove yourself to someone who didn’t believe in you, who pushed you down a path you wanted desperately to veer off of.

“Don’t give up on him, Edie,” Jim said softly.

“I’m not the one with a fiancée,” she whispered, too low for Jim to hear as he stepped back, wobbling a moment before he regained his balance.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he declared, “I have to go find my future wife and her powdered nose.”

“Better wipe your damn mouth before you propose,” teased Edie, gesturing to his cheek.

Jim grinned as he wiped at the remaining streak of cream with his sleeve.

•   •   •

F
or being the guest of honor, you’re sure making yourself scarce, son.”

Tucker had expected the admonishment from the moment he stepped into his father’s study, closing the door behind him at Garrison’s order, the heavy oak swallowing the music and voices that celebrated on the other side. He suspected too that there would be some mention of his company tonight; surely someone had seen him arrive with Edie Worthington. A part of Tucker hoped it very much. Being with Edie did that to him; she made him feel bold and reckless, carefree in a way he had never felt before. This was his party, after all; why should he pretend to feel otherwise?

His father sipped his drink and said, “It was good of you to find a date for your friend tonight.”

Tucker nodded. There was little his father missed that happened under his roof; surely he’d seen Jim fawning over Helen Willoughby. Had his best friend made a true fool of himself? Tucker grinned, hoping so.

“Although,” said Garrison, “with all the proper young ladies around here to choose from, I don’t see why you felt the need to pair him up with someone so beneath his class.”

“But Helen’s not—” Tucker stopped, a chill prickling his skin. He met his father’s narrowed gaze, seeing the quiet ultimatum behind his pale eyes and knowing there was no confusion as to whom Edie had come to be with. The confusion lay with Tucker, in thinking he would succeed with his declaration of independence—this night, or ever.

In the silence while Garrison Moss awaited his son’s surrender, the room crackled with tension. Fear and excitement raced through Tucker. This was it and he knew it. His best, maybe his
only
chance to say no, to stand up to his father once and for all, to tell him that he didn’t want Florence and he didn’t want the firm. He wanted Edie Worthington, and whatever came with her. He gripped the rounded ends of the chair, rolling his palms over the turned wood, rehearsing the words in his head, clear and crisp and unwavering. He swallowed.

Then, just as swiftly, the moment passed. It was as if when Garrison Moss drew deeply on his cigarette, he inhaled all of Tucker’s resolve and any evidence of his strength, then expelled it back out at him, used, in one even stream of smoke.

Tucker bent his head to avoid breathing it in.

“I’ll be making a toast to you boys in an hour,” said Garrison, moving to the window to signal that their meeting was over. “Tell James so that he might make sure his date sees her way home before then.”

Tucker exited his father’s study and took the stairs without meeting a single eye, wanting only to get upstairs, back to Edie and the dream he’d started. Below him, he heard his name called but he pretended not to hear, the simple rebellion almost as thrilling as the relief when he reached the top of the steps and saw Edie at the end of the hall.

An hour, he thought as he came toward her. A person could certainly change his life in an hour. In a minute, really, if he so desired.

•   •   •

S
omething had happened; Edie could see it the minute Tucker’s eyes met hers. Or maybe it was a reflection of her own expression that she saw, the regret in his face a reaction to hers. Try as she did to hide her feelings of disappointment, of hurt, Edie could feel the truth of her heart pulling down the smile she was working to keep aloft.

“I’m sorry I left you alone so long.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Your friend James kept me company for a while.”

“Jimbo? Was he with Helen?”

“No, she’d gone to powder her nose. He’s head over heels for her.”

“Good. It seems everyone’s falling in love tonight.”

Edie smiled in spite of the lump in her throat, wishing they could just go back to the day before, even the hour before, when she’d not known about Florence.

“It’s late,” she said. “I should really go.”

Tucker’s eyes widened with panic. “No,” he pleaded. “Don’t go. I won’t have to leave again; I promise. I’m all yours.”

But he wasn’t, Edie thought, looking up at him, the disappointment she’d been trying to hide since he’d returned finally shining through. His smile dimmed the longer he searched her face.

What is it?
his eyes seemed to say.
What’s happened?

“He said something, didn’t he?”

Edie shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“He told you about Florence, didn’t he?”

She nodded.

“Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” she said.

“Yes, there is.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“You can’t know how glad I am that you did.”

She looked up at him, tremors of excitement coursing through her. She grabbed at her arms, chilled.

“Here.” Tucker shook off his sport coat and swept it over her shoulders, the linen warm and deliciously heavy. “Let’s go somewhere,” he said. “Anywhere.”

“It’s your party. You can’t go.”

“It’s my party so I can do anything I want. And I want to be alone with you. I’ll go as far as I need to. How about Paris?”

Edie smiled. “I can think of somewhere closer.”

•   •   •

T
he smell of fresh lumber was still strong. Edie drew in a deep breath of it as she and Tucker stepped into the framed house, as if the scent might fortify her—though for what, she wasn’t sure. Hank had recently finished framing up the kitchenette. He’d even agreed to let her help build the cabinets the following week.

She turned on a pair of work lights.

“It looks great in here,” Tucker said, scanning the space.

But Edie didn’t want to talk about the guest house. When she didn’t respond, Tucker turned to find her eyes on him, his own expression fraught.

“I’ll break it off with her,” he said. “I should have done it a long time ago.”

“I can’t be the reason.”

“You’re not. I don’t love her.”

“But you’re
marrying
her.”

“Because my father wants me to.”

Edie frowned down at her hands, twisting the fabric of her skirt. This was madness, and they both knew it.

Tucker reached for her hand. Edie watched him weave his fingers with hers, knowing she should pull free but not wanting to.

“You’ll hurt her,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then don’t.” She searched his eyes. “We haven’t done anything yet. Well,
you
haven’t done anything yet,” she clarified.

But even as Tucker brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, Edie knew that was a lie.

Her mind whirled. She thought of Jim’s plea to not give up on Tucker. She thought of Hank moving around the bonfire to join Missy Murphy, and how the sight of him sliding his arm around Missy’s back had filled her, Edie, with an unwelcome and confusing envy. She thought of Hank’s startling confession just before that moment—
a woman he feels very deeply for—
and how it had thrilled her to hear him say she had looked pretty. Then she thought of how good it had felt to sit in the shade of the Grange Hall with Tucker and to turn to find him smiling at her. The night’s earlier euphoria, once so pure and simple, was now a knot of emotions she couldn’t untangle. But looking up at Tucker, she saw his eyes were clear with purpose; for him, there was no confusion. Only longing. She wanted to feel that certain too, wanted it desperately.