Sometimes shock camouflages pain.
Not this time.
My heart moved into my throat. It felt like my stomach filled with ice water. Displayed beneath the headline was a photo of Courtney in a modest white suit, a bouquet hanging at her side, kissing Nathan, her friend from school. I carried the paper to the couch and took a seat, scanning the details of the article for explanation. It was short and to the point. Courtney Carrington had married Nathan Vaughan before a justice of the peace in Nantucket, Vaughan’s hometown. The couple would honeymoon in Niagara Falls.
I played that part back. They would honeymoon.
I set the paper down and felt sick, my body revolting against what I’d just learned. My instincts told me to shake it off and finish packing, but then there was nothing to pack for anymore, was there?
Instead, I just sat there, staring.
“Maggie, I’m so sorry,” Berta said, her tone stricken.
“Yeah, me too.” I scratched my head and gazed at the floor, trying to decipher it all, attempting to connect the dots in a world I no longer understood.
Berta snatched the paper from me in disgust. “You know who made sure the paper covered this particular story? I could kill that guy.” Of course I knew. Mitch Carrington couldn’t wait for me to find out that Courtney was off the market and married to a senator’s son, no less. It had to be like his own personal Christmas morning. He was probably patting himself on the back as we sat there.
Honestly, I didn’t care about any of that. “It doesn’t matter where it came from,” I told Berta. “All he did was report the facts.”
Who I more than cared about, however, was Courtney. I didn’t understand how she could do something like this. We didn’t work out, so she ran off and married Nathan What’s-his-name? Just like that?
“You know what? What do you say you and I go stuff our faces with ice cream and count all the ways you’re going to be better off?”
I glanced up briefly. “I think I’m going to just stay here, if that’s okay.”
She sat next to me on the couch. “Fine. Then I’ll sit here with you.” She placed her hand on top of mine, and that’s what we did. We sat for what felt like forever. One at a time, each emotion took its turn with me. Sadness, regret, anger, sense of betrayal, and finally desolation. I felt it all and let it all wash over me in an overwhelming tidal wave.
The smile was gone and so was the girl I loved.
I was drowning and didn’t know how to get air.
Chapter Sixteen
Now
It was after six, and I sat behind my desk in my office with Berta and Melanie, who’d walked over from the salon. The space was petite and consisted of a small lobby that led into the singular office I used to meet with clients.
Of course, Berta had updated Melanie on just who we’d run into in the square. The two of them were vibrating with questions. Luckily, they’d come with a bottle of wine and three glasses. I added my secret stash of old-fashioned peanut butter cookies to the cause.
“So how’d she look?” Melanie asked, kick-starting the conversation. I resisted an eye roll while Berta considered the question.
“Beyond good. The years have been kind to Courtney.” I passed Berta a look that said really? and she held up her hands in defense. “Are you saying you disagree?”
“No.” I turned to Melanie. “She looked great. There. See? I can say it.”
“But so do you,” Berta said.
Melanie nodded. “You know me. I’m rarely nice, but Berta’s right. You’ve grown up to be a knockout.”
“Thank you,” I said, sitting a little taller. I’d needed that. “It’s not like I wanted her to look horrible, but it couldn’t have hurt.”
“Right?” Melanie tore off a hunk of cookie. “And you all haven’t seen each other or spoken in—”
“Over five years,” I supplied.
“Wow,” she said, and sat back in her chair. “Wow.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” I said, waving off the concept with a flick of my wrist. “A lot of time has gone by. Water under the bridge, you know? Courtney and I are both adults.”
“Who used to be in mad, passionate love,” Berta pointed out. “She’s not wearing a wedding ring, by the way.”
I’d noticed that, too, but was not about to point it out. “Some people choose not to wear them.”
“When they’re divorced,” Melanie said.
I shot her a look and she shrugged.
“What? I Googled them, okay? If you want to know the backstory, she dropped the name Vaughan three and a half years ago.”
Well, this was new information, not that it mattered. While I also had easy access to Google, Courtney was on the “no fly” list as far as my thoughts went. Now that she was back, it shouldn’t be a big deal to make the adjustment. If I had to see her occasionally, I could be an adult. I’d just keep our time together short and polite.
“I wonder where she’s staying while she’s here,” Berta said, sipping her wine.
“Facebook says she’s at Sugarberries B-and-B for the time being.”
This time I did roll my eyes. “Is this a town Facebook page or the Tanner Peak Enquirer? I see no reason why our every move is reported online for the masses to consume.”
“To be fair,” Melanie said, “it’s kind of fun to know everyone’s business.”
Berta patted her shoulder. “Says one of their top content providers.”
“What can I say?” Melanie said unabashedly. “People get chatty in the salon.”
“Oh, I can attest to that,” Berta said, nodding. She’d taken over ownership of the salon, and business had practically doubled since. “I’ve found that folks tend to really open up when they’re trusting you with something as critical as their hair. But we’re off topic, and I have to pick up my kids in twenty minutes, so let’s get to it.”
I looked from Melanie to Berta. “Get to what? You’re going to have to be more specific.” I flipped absently through my planner, detailing my appointments for the next day.
“What is your plan for maneuvering the situation? For maneuvering Courtney Carrington-minus-the-Vaughan?”
I looked up at them, perplexed. “I’m just going to go about my days normally, you guys. Was it weird running into her? Yes, damn it, and awkward as hell. Is it going to change my world in any way? No. I’ve moved way beyond Courtney.”
“Excellent plan.” Melanie folded her hands in her lap and smiled sweetly. “What could possibly go wrong with that?”
After closing up the office for the day, I stopped off at the big house on my way home to pick up Ernie, my three-year-old Weimaraner, named for the great writer himself. While Ernie lived with me at my cottage, he had easily become the tried and true Beringer Strawberry Farm mascot.
He leapt to his feet from his spot on the porch when he saw my car approach and spent the next two minutes peppering me with sloppy dog kisses as I asked him about his day. He’d become a favorite around the farm, sunning himself between the rows of plants on good weather days or following Travis around the barn when it rained. He had the prettiest blue eyes that, I swear, communicated his every emotion with unexpected accuracy. Ernie was a soulful boy, and I was lucky he was mine.
“What do you think, pal? Should we go home and rustle up dinner for the both of us? Binge-watch something dramatic on Netflix and discuss it in detail?”
His response was a swipe of his tongue across my hand. Because I couldn’t resist, I scratched behind his ears and watched him drift to his own personal heaven, inclining his head to get even closer to my hand.
“He stole three slices of roast beef off your father’s plate tonight.” I looked up to see my mother standing in the doorway, an amused grin on her face. “I smiled, but your father was not impressed.”
“Tell Dad I’m sorry about that, and I’ll have a long talk with Ernie when we get home.” My dog had always been a bit of a food whore, stealing from anywhere and everywhere he
could. He’d stolen more hot dogs on their way to my mouth than I cared to count. To his credit, he had the decency to look sorrowful in the aftermath, but it didn’t stop the thieving lug from making his move in the first place.
“You want to come in for a slice of your father’s flawless flourless fudge cake?”
“There are a lot of Fs in that sentence.”
She fluffed her hair. “Well, I am a writer.”
“As tempting as that alliterated offer is, I’m going to pass. Too many showings today to count, and I’m exhausted.”
“And you also ran into Courtney, which must have been a bit of a jolt.”
I paused. “How did you—” But I didn’t have to ask. The stupid Facebook page had seriously outdone itself of late. “I ran into her in the square. We said hello.”
“Your father invited her to the farm. He’s always had a bit of a soft spot for her. I guess both of us do.”
“Well, that makes two out of three.” I winced, because I wasn’t supposed to care anymore, and hostility meant caring. I had forgotten the stupid plan already. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Let’s go, Ern. Night, Mom.”
“You okay, Margaret?”
I turned back a little exasperated. “I’m fine. Why does everyone think I’m some breakable little china doll?”
“We just love you is all.”
“Well, I appreciate that, but all is good. See?” I pointed to my face and offered my most winsome smile.
“I do see. Good night, Margaret.”
*
“Ms. Beringer,” eighty-two-year-old Mr. Noriander began from his spot across from my desk.
I smiled and held up a hand. “You can call me Maggie, remember?”
“Yes, I do.” He nodded and began again. “Ms. Beringer, I know you’ve been keeping an eye out for hot little places for me to scoop up, but I was wondering if you’ve seen any houses around here with a red door?”
As I quickly gathered my paperwork for my ten a.m. closing, I squinted back at Mr. Noriander. It had already been a hell of a morning. I’d overslept, kicked over the dog’s water, torn my pants on a loose screw on the beam of my porch (hence the fantastic, but uncharacteristic skirt now in its place), and now I was late and losing more ground, as my most talkative client had chosen this very morning to discuss his real estate prospects. I liked Mr. Noriander and his rounded little old-man-face, but I so did not have time for him.
“A red door? No. Nothing comes to mind.” My folder slipped from my grasp, and documents flew. Perfect. “Why a red door?”
He leaned down to help me reassemble my pages. “I read on the Yahoo internet that red doors were back in style, so I thought I should pick me up some.”
“I had not heard that,” I told him. “But go you for being in the know. Have you thought about maybe just painting the door on whatever house you fall in love with?”
A lightbulb seemed to appear over his shiny, bald head, and he held up a finger. “Brilliant!”
“It is rather ingenious,” said a familiar voice from behind me.
I turned in surprise. Courtney stood in the doorway, attaché in hand. Her hair was up today, some kind of twist I would never have known how to execute.
Mr. Noriander pointed at me in full-on testimonial. “She’s a smart one, Ms. Beringer is. You’d do right to hire her.” He stood and turned to go. “Let me know if you find that red door, Ms. Beringer. Or a good one to paint. I’ll get out of your way and wait to hear from you.”
“Will do,” I said weakly and waved as he exited.
“Ms. Beringer,” Courtney said, borrowing the name. “I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time.”
I stood. My documents were now completely out of order, but at least they were back in the stack. “I thought we’d decided I’d let you know about that coffee. Busy, remember?” I focused on my desk, trying desperately to remember which things I needed to take with me for this appointment, but now my brain didn’t seem to be working. I was rattled.
“I’m not here about the coffee,” she said simply.
“Oh? I thought you were—because yesterday—you know what?” I made a gesture as if to erase it all. “Never mind. What are you here for, then?” It sounded rude and I hadn’t meant it to. Okay, maybe I did a little.
Regardless, Courtney seemed unfazed. “Funnily enough, I need a Realtor.”
“For what?”
She paused and suppressed a grin. “For real estate. I’m staying at the bed-and-breakfast, but it’s temporary. I’d much rather a rental.”
I scratched my cheek. “What are we talking? A week? A couple weeks? Have you tried Airbnb? I can give you their website.” I reached for a sticky note.
“A few months, at least. Furnished would be ideal, but if not I can arrange for furnishing.”
I swallowed. It was one thing to put up with Courtney sightings for a handful of days, it was quite another for an extended sentence. “I’m kind of swamped right now, though…is the thing. You might talk to Patterson’s Realty in the, uh, office building next to the courthouse. First floor.”
Courtney scrunched one eye. “Mrs. Patterson is blind as a bat and has horrible taste. We used to make fun of her outrageous outfits.”
“Yeah, well, I hear she’s killer when it comes to closing a deal, and I’m late.” I reached around her, hit the lights, and waited in the hallway to lock up after her.
She met my eyes as she passed. “Somehow I think you know what I like a little better than Mrs. Patterson.”
With my hand still on the knob, I let my head drop. “No. See, that right there is why we’re not working together.” I turned and headed for the parking lot, bristling at the fact that I heard the click-click-click of her heels on the pavement behind me.
“I’m sensing a modicum of hostility, which I certainly understand.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, without looking back. “You’re not sensing anything.”
“You don’t want to take me on as your client because of our…history. You can say it.”
Now, that did it. I whirled back to her, car door open and in my hand. “That’s laughable. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I wish you only the best in life.”
“Great. Then when could we check out some houses? I promise to be respectful of your time.”
I sighed. I was later than ever and just wanted to be far, far away from this conversation. In response to my frustration, I felt something give way. “Stop by tomorrow morning and we can go over the specifics of what you’re looking for.”
“I will see you then. Have a good day, Margaret.”
I nodded and closed the car door, gripping the steering wheel in frustration until she click-click-clicked away with a gentle sway of her hips. Whether I wanted to admit it to the rest of the world or not, seeing her again was doing a number on my head.
I just had to figure out what in the world to do about it.
*
One-year-old Ellie smacked my cheeks with her little chubby palms and laughed gleefully when my mouth popped open as a result. She did it again. And again, and again, throwing back her blond head of curls, a genetic gift from Travis. It was her favorite game in all of the world and she never got tired of it, even if my cheeks totally did. I’d agreed to watch little Ellie at my place for Berta and Travis so they could enjoy Tim’s T-ball game without the extra added pressure of chasing a toddler around the bleachers or keeping her from building mountains made of dirt.
“Mote,” Ellie said, grabbing my remote from the couch next to me.
“That is, in fact, a remote,” I said. “You are correct. That is the contraption we use to turn on the TV. You are a brilliant child.” To demonstrate, I turned on the television and set her on the floor. “Want some dinner? Your mommy says fish sticks are your favorite. Let’s have those.”
Behind me, the female newscasters brought us the latest headlines. “Police made a key arrest this afternoon, just outside of Santa Barbara. Con man Grant T
ranton, wanted in several states for fraud and embezzlement, was taken into custody at a local Pizza Hut.”
“Hear that?” I said to Ellie. “Crime doesn’t pay. And you lose out on your pizza. You heard it here. Don’t make me bail you out of jail in twenty years. Not that I wouldn’t.” She waved at me in response and I decided she would make a lovable criminal. I tossed a handful of fish sticks onto a cookie sheet and set the oven to preheat.
“Tanner Peak residents welcomed home department store heiress Courtney Carrington, who told us she has big plans for the small town’s own branch of the store.” I turned to the screen. No way. But there she was, her flawless face flashed across the television in my living room.
“We’re excited to strengthen Carrington’s connection to this community, the very community where my grandmother still lives.” Courtney smiled at the reporter, and I braced against it. This was the smile she called on for the public, her polite smile. As dazzling as it was, it wasn’t the smile that lit up her whole face, the smile I used to live for. “We’ll be donating ten percent of every purchase made at the Tanner Peak store this weekend to the building of a new auditorium for the high school.”
“The very high school you once attended,” the reporter pointed out.
“That’s true. I have fantastic memories of that time.”
I flashed to the girl in the plaid skirt and boots walking through the door of my history class, and the twists and turns my life would take from that moment forward. Given the way it had all ended, it was hard to admit that I had fantastic memories from those days, too. But I did. I just chose not to think about them too often. I shifted back to Courtney.
“Carrington’s wants to give back, and this weekend is a definite start.”
Her face faded into a commercial for in-ground pools, and I turned back to Ellie. “Don’t fall in love. It never goes the way you want it to.”
“Man, Beringer. When did you get so dark?” I jumped a foot in the air and Travis laughed from where he stood in the doorway. In the midst of my diverted focus, I hadn’t noticed him arrive.
Strawberry Summer Page 19
