Authors: Debbie Macomber,Susan Wiggs,Jill Barnett - That Summer Place
Tags: #American Light Romantic Fiction, #Romance, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors), #Romance: Modern, #Love Stories, #Fiction, #Anthologies, #Love Stories; American, #General, #Short Stories; American, #Summer Romance, #Islands, #Romance - General, #Romance - Anthologies, #Fiction - Romance
That Summer Place (11 page)
Spruce Island, 1998
“D
id you know that if you don’t close your eyes when you sneeze, you can blow your eyeballs out?” Aly reached for a Coke from the cooler aboard the sailboat, then leaned back against the side and stretched her long legs out in front of her. After a second of silence she turned and looked at all of them.
“No. I didn’t know that.” Michael cast a quick glance down at Catherine, who was sitting between his legs in the bow of the boat, her head tilted back, her amused face looking up at him.
“It’s true.” Aly took a swig of her Coke. “You sneeze at speeds up to two hundred miles per hour.”
Dana turned around. “Good, then why don’t you sit here behind the sails and sneeze for a while. There’s hardly any wind.”
“Funny.” Aly made a face at her.
Michael was used to this kind of bickering from his new daughters. It had been almost a year since he and Catherine got married, with both girls’ blessing, something that meant a lot to him. They liked him. Trusted him.
The move from San Francisco hadn’t been easy for Aly and Dana, having to up and leave behind everything that was familiar to them. But Michael had flown some of their friends up for visits that first summer, and once school started the girls had adjusted pretty well.
Dana made the sailing team and had her own Laser she sailed whenever she could. She was sixteen and dating the captain of the sailing team—a tall boy that Michael kept an eye on because the kid reminded him of what he was like at seventeen.
He and Catherine had bought Aly a horse, a little Arab mare that she rode almost every day at the stable not far from their new house.
He’d gladly sold the Guggenheim and bought another waterfront home closer to the girls’ schools and better suited to his new family, which now included three cats, a dog, a parrot and a tank of tropical fish.
He’d kept the Porsche. But Catherine drove it most of the time. She was still with Carlyle, but employed as account coordinator based out of the Letni offices in Seattle. She had to travel about once a month, but he usually tagged along, claiming he had business there, too, even if he didn’t.
They sailed past the cove and Aly sat up, pointing. “Hey! Look what they’ve done to the old house.”
Michael turned at the same time as Catherine. He’d heard that someone had bought the old place shortly after they’d gotten married.
Catherine leaned forward, her hand raised over her eyes to block out the bright June sunshine. “What does that sign say?”
“Rainshadow Lodge.” Dana turned the boat toward the inlet. “Wow. What a change. It looks so different. Nicer.”
She was right. Someone had put plenty of money and work into restoring the old Victorian. It sported a new shingled roof without a sign of green algae. A large bay window had been added to the western side of the house, which had been painted gray.
But the biggest change was the wrap-around porch, which stood straight, perfectly level and painted the same crisp white as all of the Victorian trimwork. The lawn was a lush green and closely cropped, framed by new plants that edged stone-paved walkways and a new set of steps that led down to the dock.
“Oh, no…” Catherine’s voice sounded lost. “Michael look. They’re building a new boathouse.”
She was right. At the end of the dock was a pile of new lumber and roofing materials, sitting where the boathouse had been.
“Pull up to the dock, Dana.” Michael spotted a pile of old wood on the other side of the new lumber.
Catherine shifted out of the way and Michael stood up, then stepped onto the dock.
He moved over to the junked wood and looked through it, tossing each plank into another pile behind him.
“What’s he doing, Mom?”
“Looking for something we left there. You girls stay here.” Catherine stood and followed him. She touched his shoulder while he was bent over. “Any luck?”
“No.” He kept looking. Almost at the bottom, he found it—the splintered plank that still carried their old initials.
He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and held up the broken plank of wood. “Here it is. All in one piece.”
“I’m so glad.” Catherine slid her arm through his.
He was as relieved as she sounded. They walked back to the boat still arm in arm, and he helped her inside, then jumped in after her and unwrapped the tie line.
“Let us see,” the girls said, shifting closer to sneak a look.
He handed the board to Catherine, who held it up.
The girls looked at both of them as if they were nuts, then shook their heads and wisely said absolutely nothing.
Catherine looked back at him and asked, “Where shall we put it?”
“I have just the place.”
“Where?”
He leaned over and whispered, “I’ll add it to my collection of old things.”
Debbie Macomber
Dearest Friends,
There’s no place more beautiful than the Pacific Northwest during the summer. When Susan Wiggs, Jill Barnett and I were asked to contribute to this anthology, we knew exactly where we wanted to set it—our own backyard.
The three of us had great fun planning our stories. We met for lunch at a local Thai restaurant, removed our shoes and crawled into the booth. Between sampling the exotic dishes and sipping wine, we shared our ideas. We were three women on a mission, and that mission was to let everyone know what a fantastic state we live in.
Be sure to pay close attention to the scene in
Private Paradise
that involves kayaking. You guessed it—I took a kayaking class. Once I got over my initial fear (that my hips were too wide to climb out of the kayak and I’d end up wearing it home), it was one of the most incredible adventures of my life.
I hope Susan, Jill and I convince you to come and visit scenic Puget Sound…especially in summer! And I hope these stories are as much fun to read as they were to write.
Warmest regards,
Debbie Macomber
P.O. Box 1458
Port Orchard, WA 98366
For Stephanie Cordall, who’s fifty
and so much
older than me.
Mary Jane: I’m telling you, Beth, a month in the San Juan Islands will be heaven. We’ll sit up and talk all night the way we did in high school, lounge around the beach and eat fabulous meals….
Beth: Fabulous meals?
Mary Jane: You’re cooking, aren’t you?
July 1998
“H
ey, Mom, this place is way cool.”
Standing in front of the three-story summer home with its elaborate gingerbread trim, Beth Graham had to agree. She set her suitcase down, still staring at Rainshadow Lodge. A wide welcoming porch wrapped its way around the front, and huge picture windows granted an unrestricted view of Puget Sound. The sun shimmered on the gentle waters lapping the shore. Mary Jane had been right—a month’s vacation on Spruce Island was exactly what she needed.
“Can you imagine what a place like this rents for?” Paul said in awe.
More than they ever could’ve afforded on their own, that was for sure. It really was a lovely house, and just knowing she’d be able to enjoy the luxury of this island paradise for the next thirty-one days made Beth feel almost lighthearted. Better yet, she’d be sharing it with her longtime friend Mary Jane Reynolds. All thanks to Schumacher and Company, a consulting firm based in Southern California. Schumacher had actually rented the house. Not for Beth and her son, but for Dave Reynolds and his family. Mary Jane was the one who’d invited Beth to join them while Dave did consulting work for Boeing, the airplane-manufacturing company. No fool she, Beth had leaped at the chance to escape St. Louis in July. Leaped at the chance to escape, period!
The past two years had been difficult ones as she adjusted to widowhood and being a single mother. She knew it was time to pick up the threads of her life. Time to resume her catering career and get back into the swing of a daily routine.
Past time, really, or so her friends had said. Beth couldn’t understand that attitude. She didn’t know where it was written that a woman had six months or twelve, or whatever preordained number of months to recover from the death of a loved one. Some of her friends—although Mary Jane wasn’t among them—seemed to imply that her allotted time for grieving had now expired. Life wasn’t quite that simple in Beth’s experience. But ready or not, she’d decided to return to work in September. She’d accepted a good position with a five-star hotel and had agreed to start right after Labor Day.
Which meant she had all of July and August to spend with her fifteen-year-old son. Plus this whole month with Mary Jane. The summer would be a transition between what remained of her old life and her new one.
“When will they get here?” Paul asked.
He knew that as well as she did. They’d gone over the details a hundred times in the past twenty-four hours. Beth and Paul would arrive first, picking up the keys from the rental agency. From there they’d go directly to the house and unpack. Mary Jane, Dave and their three teenage boys would arrive around seven that evening. By then Beth would have dinner prepared. The months of planning, the countless phone calls would all pay off and the fun would begin.
“Seven o’clock, right?” Paul answered his own question. He reached for his suitcase and one of hers.
She could have carried it herself, but he insisted. She nodded solemnly, observing not for the first time how much her son had matured in the past couple of years. Good heavens, he’d gotten his learner’s permit the week before they left and would start a driving course in September. That alone seemed unbelievable.
Since Jim’s death, Paul had taken on quite a few household chores, but more than that, he seemed to want to protect her. To shield her emotions, perhaps, and fill the hole Jim’s passing had left in her life. It was because of Paul that Beth had agreed to return to work, to give the impression that she’d recovered from her husband’s death. For Paul’s sake more than her own. He’d taken his father’s death hard and rarely spoke of him. Beth suspected it was too painful even now. She hoped that when
she
showed signs of healing, of growing, of moving forward, her son would, too.
With a dramatic flourish, Paul inserted the key into the lock and threw open the front door. The summer house was impressive from the outside, but little could have prepared her for the charm that awaited her when she stepped over the threshold. The hardwood entry brought them to a living room filled with large overstuffed chairs and a sofa. There was a stone fireplace against one wall. A sweeping staircase led to the second floor. Paul carried their bags up the stairs, eager to explore the bedrooms, while Beth headed for the kitchen. That was where the heart of a home existed, she believed.
She wasn’t disappointed. The big bright country kitchen had a cooking island, more than adequate counter space, all the modern appliances, including an espresso machine and a second oven. Only a woman who loved to cook as much as Beth did would appreciate the convenience of two ovens.
Tucked in a corner was a breakfast nook with benches built below a bay window. It could have comfortably seated eight, Beth figured, loving it.
“Mom!” Paul shouted from halfway down the stairs. “I counted six bedrooms.”
“Six!” The brochure Mary Jane had mailed her said five. It also explained that the house had been renovated within the last year. They were only the second group of summer tenants.
“All right, five and a television room. One of the bedrooms is on the third floor—there’s a Jacuzzi, too.”
Although she’d read about the Jacuzzi in the brochure, this was something Beth longed to see for herself. She hurried out of the kitchen, leaving the door to swing in her wake, and raced up the stairs. Breathless, she followed her son down the long narrow hallway, glancing in each room along the way. Sure enough, there were four spacious bedrooms, with the largest room at the far end. Just as Paul had said, it was a television room. Bulky mismatched sofa and chairs were haphazardly arranged in front of a big-screen television. They hurried up the narrow flight of stairs to the third story, which had been converted into a bedroom with an adjoining bath. This was where the Jacuzzi resided.
“There’s a library, too,” Paul said.
“Up here?”
“Downstairs. It’s off the living room. It’s got a huge fireplace and big double doors that slide open. You’ll love it.”
Beth could see herself quickly falling in love with this house.
Eager to explore the rest of it, they raced down both sets of stairs. Paul reached the bottom first just as the telephone rang. “I’ll get it,” he yelled as if he were back home in St. Louis.
“Hi, Mary Jane,” he said, turning to look at Beth. “Shouldn’t you be on the plane by now?” He checked his wristwatch.
Beth’s actions mimicked her son’s.
“She’s right here,” Beth heard him say before he handed her the receiver.
“Where are you?” Beth asked, hoping it was the airport and somehow knowing it wasn’t. The laughter and excitement that had filled the air only seconds earlier evaporated with the knowledge that something had gone wrong.
“Beth,” Mary Jane said urgently. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you since late yesterday afternoon.”
“We spent the night with my mother-in-law,” Beth explained. “She lives close to the airport.” But that wasn’t important just now. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dave. He fell off the roof yesterday. While he was trying to fix the skylight.”
Beth gasped. “Is he all right?”
“Yes…and no. He broke his leg in two places. He was in surgery for three hours this morning, and he’s still too groggy to understand what’s happening.”
“Oh, my.” She glanced at Paul. “Everything’s all right,” she whispered, placing her hand over the mouthpiece.
“Dave’s doing much better than we expected,” Mary Jane went on.
“Is she coming?” Paul mouthed.
Beth shrugged, unable to answer, although that question was on her mind, too. With luck, they’d only be delayed a few days.
“Dave’s going to be in hospital in traction for the next week or so.”
The hope that had briefly flared to life died a quick and sudden death. After months of planning, of excited anticipation, Mary Jane wouldn’t be coming.
“The company’s sending another consultant.”
“Oh.” It went without saying that this new consultant wasn’t ready to share the house with Dave Reynolds’s wife’s best friend from high school and her fifteen-year-old son.
“His name’s John Livingstone. Dr. John Livingstone.”
“How long do we have?” Beth asked, hoping they could at least spend the night. They’d come a long way to be heading back to St. Louis this soon.
“Have?”
“Before John and his family arrive?”
“There’s only him and his daughter,” Mary Jane said. “He’s divorced.”
Not that his marital status had anything to do with the problem at hand.
“You might strike up some kind of arrangement with him,” her friend suggested.
“What kind of arrangement?” Beth’s disappointment was sharp. Too sharp to see past the discouragement and sense of loss she felt at being cheated out of this vacation, this time with her best friend. They’d spent hours on the phone discussing all the things they were going to do. All the sights they intended to see, the adventures they planned with their children. The nonstop conversations they’d have…. Now none of that was going to happen.
“John’s a reasonable man.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“He wasn’t expecting to fly up to Seattle, and he’s got a twelve-year-old daughter who isn’t that keen to come with him. I don’t know much about him other than he’s brilliant.”
Beth’s mind was working fast. If Dr. John Livingstone let them spend tonight here, surely she could find something else tomorrow. Surely there was some cheap place they could rent for a week or two. If she watched her pennies, there might be a way for her and Paul to stay in the area, after all. It seemed a shame to turn around and go home, especially when they’d been looking forward to this respite for so long.
“I can’t remember the girl’s name, but I do recall that he’s got custody of her. You’d be great with her, a positive female influence. Besides that, John’s nice-looking.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Beth demanded irritably.
“Not a single thing,” Mary Jane responded, but Beth could almost see her friend’s mind working. “It’s just that…”
“Just what?”
“It seems to me that you’re both adults and you could come up with a compromise.”
“Such as?” Beth didn’t mean to be obtuse, but she needed to know precisely what Mary Jane was thinking.
“Sharing the house. You were our class valedictorian,” Mary Jane reminded her. “
You
figure it out.”
Beth brushed the frothy row of bangs from her forehead. While she had all the book smarts she’d ever needed in life, that hardly qualified her to deal with a situation like this. Sharing a house with a stranger, a man…No, it couldn’t be done.
Beth didn’t get the opportunity to tell Mary Jane that her idea was out of the question. The words died on her lips at the sound of the front door opening.
“When’s this John Livingstone supposed to arrive?” Beth asked, whirling around as though to confront an assailant. She stiffened and glanced at Paul. Like her, he was concentrating on the entryway.
“He’s due anytime,” Mary Jane told her.
“I think he’s here now,” she said. “I’ll call you back later.” She set the phone in its cradle, placed her hand on Paul’s shoulder and prepared to confront Dave Reynolds’s replacement.
Just let us stay here tonight,
she breathed.
Please. Just tonight.
The daughter entered the house first, and one look at her dashed all Beth’s hopes. She might be twelve but she looked much older. The ends of her hair were green and everything else was black, including her lips and her fingernails. She had on a black T-shirt, black jeans and a black backpack.
“Who are you?” the girl demanded, glaring at Beth.
The man who stepped in after her looked tired and irritated.
Beth forced herself to smile and stepped forward to offer her hand. “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?”