The Inn at Summer Island

by Rachel Magee

  They caught up to where Alice and Bear had stopped to stare at a crab scampering across the sand in front of them. Braxton scooped up the little girl. “Are you almost done exploring?” He tossed her up in the air and caught her, eliciting another round of joyful squealing.

  The little girl pointed a chubby finger to where Bear was sitting next to Millie. “Doggie.”

  “I know. He’s a good-looking doggie. Maybe Miss Millie will let us play with him again.”

  Millie smiled, unable to deny Alice anything at this point. “Any time.”

  “Bye-bye, Doggie.” Alice waved at the dog then rested her tired head on her dad’s shoulder.

  “So we might be here for the dog, but we’ll tolerate it if you come along.”

  Millie chuckled, completely caught up in the moment and this new—dare she say attractive?—side of Braxton. “I get that a lot.”

  He flashed a charming grin. It was the same type of grin he was famous for back in the day with one major difference. This one wasn’t just polite, it was personal, and something inside her soared. “Have fun at your book club.”

  The combination of the grin and the soaring nonsense made her feel off-kilter. “Thanks.” She forced one of her own smiles as she tried to regain her footing.

  Braxton turned and headed for his own private boardwalk over the dunes toward his house, rubbing small gentle circles on his daughter’s back. He was almost halfway across his property before Millie realized she was still holding the file folder in her hand.

  “Oh, wait!” She held the folder over her head. “You can’t leave without this.”

  See, this was what happened when one took walks on the beach with handsome neighbors and their adorable daughters. Important things got forgotten. And according to the formal warnings he kept sending her, she couldn’t forget anything else.

  She jogged to catch up with him and handed over the folder. “I’d hate for you to have to send me another letter.”

  He looked a little confused as she paused to catch her breath from the short jog.

  “It’s the operating license, along with a few other documents you might find helpful.” She tapped on the folder just to clarify.

  “Great. Thanks for bringing them over.”

  “Any time. Have a good night.” She gave him an awkward wave and turned to head home before she did anything else to embarrass herself.

  She didn’t want her spirits to soar when she looked at Braxton Channing. Just because it turned out that he had a softer side didn’t mean that she needed to fall in love with him. Besides, he was still the same guy that was trying to stand in the way of her dreams.

  In fact, at the moment she wasn’t planning on falling in love with anyone. Love, at least in her experience, was always lopsided. One person made all the sacrifices while the other person walked away as soon as there was a better offer. It had happened in every single relationship she’d been in. Even her mother had left when having a family got in the way of her career.

  Millie was done with it all.

  From the moment she decided to move to South Carolina, Millie vowed this new chapter of her life would be entirely about her. This was her time to focus on her goals, to take her future in her own hands, and make her dreams come true. Nothing would stand in her way. And she wasn’t going to give up on anything because some charming smile made her heart go pitter-patter.

  …

  Millie hadn’t factored a walk on the beach into her evening timeline.

  By the time she got home and gave Bear a bath to get all the sand and saltwater off him, she was behind schedule. She pulled up to the address Sophia had texted her almost ten minutes late. Nervousness rattled through her, making her belly flutter and not in a good way, as she rolled down the window and leaned out to press the buzzer on the call box.

  She strained to see past the large wrought-iron fence that surrounded the house, looking for signs of someone she knew. But, like hers, the house was down a long driveway and the only car she might recognize was Sophia’s anyways. Millie tugged on her seat belt, shifting in her seat. There was something intimidating about trying to get into a private party at a million-dollar home whose owner she’d never met.

  Sure, at the moment, Millie also owned a home in this same million-dollar neighborhood, but she didn’t have a big fancy fence or know enough people to host a party, private or otherwise, so it was a different playing field entirely. Still, neighbors were neighbors. And meeting them was the neighborly thing to do, right?

  “Hello?” came the voice from the call box.

  “H-hi.” Millie leaned out of her car window to get closer to the speaker. “I’m Millie Leclair. Sophia invited me to the book club meeting tonight.”

  Book club meeting? What was wrong with her? No one called these things meetings. She dropped her head back against the seat and rolled her eyes, realizing only too late that there was probably a security camera pointed on her. She snapped her head up and focused on the box, plastering a smile on her face. “Well, I mean, not a meeting. Just the, you know, book club.”

  This was getting worse as it went on. With her tense smile—more like a grimace—still aimed at the call box, she moved only her eyes to search for where the camera might be.

  “Millie! We’ve been expecting you. Come on in.”

  An electric buzz sounded and then the gate slowly swung inward.

  Millie pulled through, following the long driveway to the house and parking behind the last car. Tucking her ereader into her bag, she closed her eyes and took one last deep breath before she opened the door. “Here goes nothing.”

  Joyce Huffington, a woman with carefully styled short dark hair and a hint of laugh lines around her warm smile, stood on the front porch of her beautiful oceanfront mansion, dressed in casual slacks, a flowy top and bare feet.

  “We’re so glad you could make it tonight! As a lady of Oceanside Estates, joining us for our monthly book club is a requirement,” she declared with a teasing lilt, waiting for Millie to join her. Once at the top, Joyce took both of Millie’s hands. “You know Mildred was a regular at our book clubs when we first started them.”

  Yet another detail Millie hadn’t known. Her aunt had loved to read and had often sent her book recommendations when she was in high school and college, but they’d never discussed them. Being here in the same place surrounded by the same women Aunt Mildred had shared her thoughts with about the stories she read somehow made her feel closer to her aunt. Millie smiled and squeezed Joyce’s hands. “No, I had no idea. It seems I keep discovering things about her every day.”

  “Well, she was always our favorite because she had such interesting things to say. Even when it was a dull book, she managed to make the discussion exciting.” Joyce’s eyes glimmered and she gave Millie’s hands a gentle squeeze back before she let go.

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to take her place. I only started the book last night and I’m afraid I don’t have the same insight into life that Aunt Mildred did.” For probably the hundredth time since she’d gotten here, she wished she’d made visiting her aunt a bigger priority.

  Joyce waved away the thought, ushering Millie through the wide front door. “You’ll be fine simply being you.”

  They walked through the house to the covered patio. It was as beautifully decorated as any of the interior rooms, with heavy wooden outdoor furniture and plush cushions placed in a semicircular conversation area. The long gauzy drapes that hung down at each corner of the patio were blowing in the sea breeze.

  Six other women were already gathered.

  “Millie, do you know everyone?” Joyce pointed to Bonnie first. “Bonnie owns the Daybreak Café and loves any story set during World War II whether or not it’s a good book.”

  Bonnie shrugged. “Guilty. And a little warning, I brought two World War II books to pitch for next month. It
’s great to see you, Millie.”

  Joyce pointed to the next lady who had long, flowing silver hair and appeared to be about the same age as Bonnie. “This is Camilla. She runs Summer Island’s Charity League and is a lover of memoirs.”

  “People’s stories are just so interesting, don’t you think?”

  Millie nodded. “Agreed.”

  Joyce moved on to the next lady, who had to be close to eighty years old. “Betty lives next door to me. She reads everything and likes to tell anyone who will listen that she’s lived in this town longer than anyone else.”

  “The only person who had me beat was your aunt. She was a dear friend,” the lady said. “And I’m sure you don’t remember this, but I once met you when you were a little girl. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Finally, Joyce motioned to the last two people in the room. “And of course you know Tessa and Sophia. Sophia likes the thrillers while Tessa’s responsible for all the romance books we read.”

  Tessa grinned. “What can I say? I like happy endings.”

  Sophia patted the empty cushion on the loveseat next to her. “We’re excited you could make it.”

  Millie took the seat and put her bag on the floor. “Thanks for inviting me. It was nice to have a reason to take a break from the renovations and socialize with other people. Plus, I love to read, so this is right up my alley.”

  “Since Joyce told you all of ours, what’s your favorite type of book, dear?” Bonnie asked.

  Millie twisted her mouth to the side in thought. Deciding on a favorite genre was like trying to choose a favorite chocolate. How do you pick just one when they’re all so good? “I think I would consider myself more of a dabbler. But what I’ve been reading lately, besides Home Remodeling for Dummies, is a collection of love letters.”

  “Ohhh, a real-life romance. Who are they to?” Tessa asked.

  “My aunt.” Millie paused to let this news sink in. “I found them when I was going through some of the things in her office.”

  “Love letters to Mildred?” Joyce looked as surprised as Millie had been when she found them. “Who are they from?”

  Millie shrugged. “I’m not sure. They aren’t signed.”

  “A secret admirer? This keeps getting better.” Tessa leaned in, looking intrigued.

  “I don’t think it was a secret admirer. They’re very personal. So personal that I think the writer didn’t need to use his name. Any idea of who might’ve been in love with my aunt?” Millie surveyed the faces around the patio, hoping one of them could shed some light on the mystery.

  Unfortunately, they all looked just as baffled as she’d been.

  “Mildred never had a romantic interest as far as I knew, but I’ve only been here for about twenty years. Betty, you knew Mildred for ages. Any ideas?” Joyce turned her attention to the oldest woman in the group.

  “So Mildred had a lover after all.” Betty tapped her chin. “This is news to me. As long as I knew her, she was always single. We’d sometimes give her a hard time about it, because no matter who tried to pursue her, no one ever piqued old Mildred Leclair’s interest.”

  Camilla leaned forward and poised her pen above her journal, ready to take notes. “Is there any identifying information in the letters at all? An address or personal details? Maybe we can try to figure it out.”

  Millie pictured the letters in her mind, thinking about what other clues she could’ve missed. “There’s not much to go on. There are twenty-three letters written between 1955 and 1956. None of them are signed and there’s no return address. But they were all written on the same stationery monogrammed with a single C.”

  All eyes in the room turned to look at Betty, who just shook her head. “I moved here in 1959 and Mildred was a little older than I was. We didn’t really get to know each other until after I graduated. I could probably come up with some people whose name started with C, but it would be a stab in the dark.”

  Tessa clasped her hands over her heart. “Can you imagine someone writing you a love letter on monogrammed stationery? I barely got a sappy text from my ex.”

  Bonnie nodded. “Love letters are a lost art form. My husband wrote me a few love letters back when we were dating almost thirty years ago, but nothing since.”

  “Mine too,” Joyce chimed in. “And I can’t remember the last time I purchased any stationery, monogrammed or otherwise. Perhaps the world wouldn’t be such an angry place if we all took more time to send each other letters.”

  Camilla nodded. “Agreed.”

  “So what happened? Why did the mystery relationship end?” Sophia asked.

  Millie thought about the last few letters in the stack, the ones she hadn’t read yet. In fact, she hadn’t even pulled them out of their envelopes. “I’m not sure. The love story has been so beautiful so far that I’m not ready for it to end.”

  “A tragic ending.” Joyce’s eyes lit up. “What do you think it could be? He was already engaged to someone else? Someone he felt he had to marry because of financial reasons?”

  “Mildred wasn’t hurting for money back then. If it was a financial reason, she could’ve covered it,” Betty said.

  “What if he got shipped off to war or had to move away?” Tessa threw in.

  “Don’t you think if he went away, he would’ve still written letters? I feel like distance wouldn’t have stopped them. It had to have been something else,” Bonnie said.

  Millie made mental notes of these details about her aunt. Each new fact helped her form a more complete picture of young Mildred in love.

  Joyce leaned forward in her chair, almost knocking the book on her lap to the floor. “Oh honey, you have to finish reading those letters before our next book club. We have to know how the story ends.”

  While the first person Millie would’ve wanted to discuss these letters with was her aunt, getting to share the story and hear the thoughts of these women who all knew Mildred in a different way was a good consolation prize. “Absolutely. I’ll be ready to give you a full report of everything I learn in the final letters.”

  “I have to wait a whole month to find out what happens? You do realize I’m the girl who reads the last chapter first, right?” Tessa said.

  “Life doesn’t give you the final chapter first. You have to live it to find out how it will go,” Betty said, then turned to Millie. “Your Aunt Mildred used to say that.”

  “Fine.” Tessa slumped in her chair with a sigh. “I won’t make Millie take us all to her house right this second to read the last love letters. But if y’all are going to make me wait, I’m expecting some really rich discussion about what-could’ve-beens and what-should’ve-beens. You have lots of time to think about it.”

  “Just think about it? I’m doing some research. Someone in this town has to know something about Mildred’s affair,” Camilla said. “Millie, do you mind if we ask around about it?”

  “Not at all. I’m dying to know who this mysterious Romeo was and what happened.”

  “Any chance you’ll let us read some of them?” Sophia asked.

  Millie considered the request. The letters did seem personal, but they were history now, right? And the beautiful history of the house deserved to be shared. “I can bring some of them.”

  “And in honor of Mildred, I’ll bring her famous brownies,” Bonnie added.

  Joyce clapped her hands together. “It’s a date, then. Four weeks from tonight, we find out how Mildred’s secret affair ended.”

  Chapter Nine

  Braxton walked up to the memory care home on Saturday at noon with Alice on one hip, a bag with their takeout lunch dangling from his other arm, and a tray of drinks in his hand, feeling like he was long overdue for a nap.

  Spending the morning with his daughter was one of his favorite activities, but that didn’t make it any less exhausting. So far today, after they stopped
for a treat at Bonnie’s café, they hit up story time at the library, ran two errands, and had just enough time to stop by Henry’s favorite beachfront restaurant to pick up a couple of blackened grouper sandwiches for lunch. Hopefully, they both had enough energy left to eat with their friend.

  Since he was all out of free hands, Braxton had to squat down a bit to ring the buzzer with his elbow.

  “Hello, Mr. Channing,” the bright voice on the speaker called. “Come on in.” There was an electronic buzzing of the door being unlocked and Braxton did his best to pry open the heavy wooden door with a combination of using the hand holding Alice and his foot.

  “Here we go. Time to eat lunch,” he said to the toddler.

  “Well, hello, cutie-patootie! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you!” Veronica held the interior door open for them.

  “Hi-ee.” Alice waved her plump little hand at their favorite administrator.

  “Let me help you with that,” she said to Braxton, taking the tray of drinks from him. “Mr. Donovan is sitting in the dining room waiting for you.”

  “How’s he doing today?” Braxton didn’t bother hiding the concern in his voice. Over the past several weeks, Henry’s good days had become fewer and further in between. His mind was getting fuzzier and he was experiencing more bouts of extreme confusion and angry fits. Not that Braxton blamed him. Just watching his friend’s mind deteriorate without any way of helping him made Braxton want to launch into an angry fit of his own.

  “He’s okay.” Veronica shot him a sympathetic smile. “I think he’s real excited about the fish sandwiches. Been telling everyone who will listen about them.”

  They wound through the grand living room to the dining room. Henry was sitting in one of the heavy wooden chairs at a square four-person table, wearing one of the golf shirts with Braxton’s old logo on it.

  Veronica raised her voice when they approached him. “Mr. Henry, look who I found at the door. This good-looking duo brought you lunch.”