by Sara Rosett
Nathan settled into my lap with his last s’more. I could tell he was tired because of the limpness of his limbs and his stillness. “Nathan, have you looked at the stars?”
He cranked his head up, pressing against my collarbone. “Wow. There’s tons of them, like a hundred billion. Where did they all come from?”
“They’re always there, we just can’t see all of them. There’s usually too much light around us from streetlights and lights from stores and cities. That’s called ambient light. When you go somewhere without all the lights, somewhere really dark like out here, then you can see more stars.”
“Do you see any patterns in the stars?” Mitch asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” Mitch hunkered down on Nathan’s level and pointed out the Big Dipper. They found a few more constellations, then Nathan went quiet and completely still, his breathing smooth and deep.
With Nathan asleep in my lap, I snuggled up against Mitch and enjoyed watching the light from the dying fire flicker over the faces of the younger kids, most of whom were fighting off sleep. It had been a big day of outdoor activities, and I knew both kids would sleep hard tonight. After a while, some of the adults announced they were turning in, and I was just about to suggest to Mitch that we head inside when Summer dropped onto the sand beside me.
“How mad are you?” I asked in a low voice.
“Oh, I was furious at first, but after talking to Detective Redding,” she sighed, “I can see that you had to tell him.”
Mitch unwrapped his arm from my shoulders. “How about I take Nathan up to bed and round up Livvy.”
I shot him a grateful smile and transferred Nathan to his arms. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.” As he walked away, Nathan snuggled to his chest, I turned back to Summer. In a low voice, I asked, “Redding told you about the lug nut on the golf cart?”
“Yes. Actually, it was all of the lug nuts on one wheel. They’d all been removed.”
“All? I heard it was one,” I said, surprised.
“No, Redding was very specific. He said they’d all been taken out.”
“Then there’s no way it was sloppy maintenance or an accident,” I said. I knew that was what all the indicators had pointed to, but having it confirmed gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The fire had died down and now we both stared at the red glowing embers. Finally, Summer said, “It means someone intentionally did it, wanted it to happen.”
We both looked toward Julia and Graham, who were now walking along the beach, the silhouette of their linked hands barely visible in the darkness.
Summer said, “It’s hard to imagine . . .”
“I know. Mitch and I just had this discussion.”
I looked back to Summer. “Sorry I wasn’t able to give you a heads-up about telling Redding. He mentioned the decorations on the golf cart. I hadn’t noticed them at the accident, but when he said that, well, I knew I had to tell him about the other stuff.”
“That’s okay,” Summer said. “I had a feeling it would all come out anyway. I just hoped it would be after the wedding, not before.”
“So what did Redding ask you?”
“Most of his questions were about Julia, and I only know hearsay, so I wasn’t much help. Brian told him everything that happened when he broke it off with her. Redding wanted to know about Ned, too. But, again, I wasn’t much help there either.”
“Really? Why did you hire him? Had you worked with him before?”
“No. In fact, I had a photographer I’d worked with for some print ads who was excellent, and I wanted to use him as our photographer for the wedding, but then Patricia called and insisted I hire Ned. She had hired him for something—I forget what—maybe something for Gus? Yes, I think that was it. They needed a good headshot for some public relations thing Patricia had lined up.” Summer ran her hand over the sand, creating little ridges. “I wasn’t excited about hiring him, but his portfolio was excellent and he had good recommendations. I’d fought Patricia on so many little details by then that I decided to hire Ned. To keep the peace, you know.”
“I wonder if he was a friend? Maybe he knew Patricia and Gus socially?” I asked.
Summer’s brow crinkled into a frown. “I don’t think so.”
“They didn’t seem chummy,” I agreed.
“Is Patricia chummy with anyone?” Summer asked with a trace of a smile. “Anyway, that’s all I knew about him.”
“I’m sure Redding will dig into his background. On another, much more trivial subject, what do you want to do for a photographer? I know it’s a rather crass thing to talk about, but we need to figure out something.”
“It’s okay. All sorted,” she said in a quiet voice. Her voice made me study her face more closely. “The resort manager gave me the contact details of a photographer who has done several weddings here and lives in Brunswick,” she went on, her gaze focused on the sand. “I’ve already talked to her. She is coming over on the first ferry tomorrow.”
“That’s great. Well done.”
Summer shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What?” I asked as I watched Summer struggle not to cry. She pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment, then took it away and said, “It just seems so insignificant. All the details of the wedding. Every little thing that I’ve been obsessing over—do you know I lost a good night’s sleep over whether or not to have a deejay or just recorded music? It’s all so trivial . . . when I think about Ned, what his family is going to have to deal with. It makes the debate about what color the tablecloths should be seem . . . well, rather pathetic.”
“Of course it’s upsetting and when someone dies, it makes everything seem insignificant in the big scope of things,” I said as I patted her back as I did for Livvy when she was upset. “But you shouldn’t feel guilty for making plans and focusing on your wedding. Someone has to think about seating charts and the color of the napkins and the music,” I said. “Believe me, details are important. All those little things don’t just fall into place by themselves. You’ve done an excellent job of planning. You should be proud that things are going as well as they are, considering all the . . . extra things that have come up. I think you’re handling it really well.”
Summer blinked and sniffed. “I suppose that’s true, about the details.”
“It is. I’ve had plenty of experience in that area. Trust me, details matter.” Summer nodded, but didn’t look any happier, which set off my mom instincts. “Is there something else bothering you?”
“Yes, and this really is selfish. I really do feel bad for Ned’s family, but at the same time”—Summer lowered her voice—“I hate it that all these things that have happened have overshadowed the wedding. I mean, Brian’s not even here to enjoy the bonfire. He’s off answering questions with the police again and this was the one part of the weekend he was really looking forward to. All the other stuff—the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, all those things—he thinks of as formal . . . duties, I guess, that have to be done. Events to get through. It’s only when he’s out here, on the beach or in the forest, that he really enjoys himself. The island, the wildlife, the habitats are so important to him.”
“Oh, don’t get him started on the beaches,” said a voice from the beach. Graham and Julia had returned from their stroll on the beach. “Beach habitats are Brian’s personal hobbyhorse,” Graham said as he stopped beside us, while Julia went over to the chaise and collected her beach bag. “He’ll drone on and on about native species and dunes. And sea grass,” Graham said with a mock shudder. “Trust me, never mention sea grass. He knows every kind and variety and will give you a detailed list. Even if you don’t want it.”
Summer shook her head at him. “He’s not that bad.” I was glad to see the shiny film of tears had receded from her eyes. “Besides, it’s part of his job.”
Julia rejoined Graham. They immediately linked hands as Graham said, “But that’s no excuse for boring people. Trust me, sea gras
s is never that interesting. We’re calling it a night.”
Julia sent us a tentative smile as she said, “Good night. The bonfire was great.”
We watched their meandering progress through the sand dunes for a moment, then I asked, “What did you mean about Brian’s job?”
“Oh, Brian does a lot of pro bono work for barrier island conservation groups. Checking the legality of development, helping them draft potential legislation to limit development and prevent habitat erosion, that sort of thing. He is licensed to practice law in Florida and Georgia, you know. He’s even on the board of the Camden Island Authority.”
“I probably should know what that is, but I have no idea what it is,” I confessed.
I was glad to see Summer smile. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not well known. It’s a state agency that oversees the management of Camden Island. The governor appoints board members for four-year terms. It was quite an honor for Brian when he was picked last year. He’s the youngest member they’ve ever had. And he’s the only board member who doesn’t live in Georgia full-time, but he grew up here and visits often enough that they looked past that detail.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“Yeah. Contrary to what Graham says, Brian doesn’t go around boasting about it. I promise you, that if Graham got appointed to anything, he would work it into every conversation. Brian’s not like that. He does talk about the island and how important it is to preserve the habitats here, but he doesn’t bore people with it.”
“No, I’ve never heard him mention it,” I said.
A pair of red flip-flops dropped onto the sand beside Summer, and we both jumped. Neither one of us had realized anyone was that close to us. “What a gorgeous night.” Yvonne settled into the lotus position with her back completely straight, making me think that she must do a lot of yoga. She tilted her head up and gazed at the stars. “Amazing what you can see out here, how many ‘candles of the night’ there are.”
Summer looked at me out of the corner of her eye and widened her eyes, conveying, Here we go again. . . .
Yvonne had changed out of her sundress into a pair of jean capris and layered an open-weave red sweater over a white tank. She must have been walking along the beach because the cuffs of her capris were wet and her feet were covered in a fine layer of sand, which was getting all over her pants, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Such a shame about Ned. That poor young man.” Yvonne transferred her gaze from the starry sky to Summer. “I can’t believe he’s gone. That he could be so vibrant and alive one moment and gone the next.” She shivered.
I leaned forward. “I saw you with him, right before he left.”
“Yes,” she said, and grinned sadly. “He was telling me about another wedding he’d worked where the bride, who was very high-strung and particular, took a Valium. She was so loopy she could barely walk down the aisle.” Her smile vanished and Yvonne blinked rapidly. “It’s so sad. It really is.”
I waited a moment as she got her emotions under control, then asked, “Do you know what he talked to Patricia about? Did he say what he was going to talk to her about?” The mention of Patricia’s name snapped Yvonne out of her despondent state. “No. Something about the wedding, I suppose.” She shifted slightly on the sand, turning toward Summer. “It’s awful, what’s happened, but don’t you think—” She broke off as Brian joined us, holding out a Styrofoam cup with steam rising from it.
“Oh, thank you. You’re a darling.” Yvonne reached for the cup, intercepting it before Brian could hand it to Summer.
Brian and Summer exchanged a look. “Mom, that was for Summer.”
“Oh, sorry!” She handed off the cup. “I would love some coffee too. Would you be a dear and get me one too?”
“Of course. Ellie, you want some?”
I declined and Brian set off to the other side of the fire where picnic tables had been set up with drinks.
Yvonne turned back to Summer. “Now, as I was saying, Ned’s death is terrible, but don’t you think it may be a sign?”
Summer sipped her coffee. “A sign of what exactly?” she asked cautiously.
“An omen.”
“Omen is a pretty strong word,” I cautioned, sensing a gathering tension in Summer.
“Perhaps omen isn’t the right word. Maybe portent is better? In any case, no one should get married after one of the wedding party dies. It’s just bad luck.”
“Ned Blackson wasn’t part of the wedding party,” Summer said. “He was the photographer.”
“Still. It tinges the whole event with . . . a sad atmosphere.” Yvonne put her hand on Summer’s arm. “I think you and Brian should delay the wedding. It would be best, for everyone.”
Summer had gone very still, and I knew her well enough to realize she was working to keep her emotions under control. “We cannot cancel the wedding.”
“Oh, darling, everyone would understand.”
“Patricia wouldn’t,” Summer said in an undertone, but Yvonne hurried on, shifting so she was completely facing Summer.
“Just put it off for a few weeks. Maybe even a month or two. You know, until you’re sure.”
Brian returned with another cup, but sensed the tense atmosphere and slowed down as he approached. “Hey, everything okay?” he asked, his voice uneasy.
Summer gazed up at Brian for a long moment, her face tight and angry, “No. Everything is not okay.” She switched her gaze to Yvonne. “Brian and I are sure about getting married—completely sure, but that’s what you don’t like. You’re not worried about the atmosphere. You just don’t want us to get married, or more specifically, you don’t want Brian to marry me.” On one smooth movement, Summer handed off the cup of coffee to me and got to her feet. Her jaw was set and her hands clenched into fists.
The chatter around the fire died away as Summer said, “I’m sick of your insinuations that I’m not good enough for Brian and all your hints that we should call off the wedding. You’re trying to sabotage the wedding. Brian and I are getting married. Deal with it.” She whirled away and strode out to the beach.
Yvonne uncurled her legs and stood. “Bride nerves,” she announced to everyone. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Mother,” Brian said warningly, his gaze going to Summer’s figure as she walked along the waves.
Yvonne gave him a pitying look. “She’s a sweet girl, but rather temperamental, don’t you think? Are you sure you want to deal with that, day in and day out?”
Brian gazed at her with an expression that I couldn’t quite read. It almost looked like fascination. “Summer was right,” he said, nodding slightly. “I argued with her, said you’d never be that petty and selfish, but she was right. You don’t want us to get married.” His voice was filled with amazement. “Despite all your outward show, inside you’re rooting for us to call everything off.” He stepped back and his voice changed. “It’s not going to happen,” he said firmly. “I’m marrying Summer. Don’t make me choose between you and her. I’ll choose her. Always.” He threw the cup in the trash and set off at a jog along the beach to catch up with Summer.
Chapter Eight
A sudden thump jarred me out of a deep sleep. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that Nathan had jumped on the end of our bed.
“Beach! Beach! Beach!” he chatted, matching his mantra to his bouncing, which was shaking the mattress.
I snuggled deeper against Mitch and kept my eyes closed. “I must be dreaming.”
Mitch, his voice thick with sleep, said, “I knew I should have locked that door to the adjoining room.”
Livvy’s earnest tone sounded beside my ear. “Dad promised we could go to the beach this morning, after breakfast.”
“You didn’t.” We had nothing planned until lunch when I was meeting Summer to go over wedding details, and then we had the rehearsal dinner this evening. An early-morning visit to the beach wasn’t on my list of things to do.
I felt Mitch’s chest move as he sighed. “Afraid so.” He s
hifted and murmured so low that only I could hear, “I thought they’d sleep in after their big day yesterday.”
“Silly man.” I scrubbed a hand across my face and spoke through a yawn. “Kids wake up even earlier when they are on vacation than they do at home. It’s like a law of nature or something.”
I cracked one eyelid open to check the clock on the nightstand. Six twelve. I struggled up on one elbow, ready to decree that the beach would still be there at ten o’clock, when I caught sight of the kids’ expectant faces. Nathan seemed to sense that the beach expedition was in danger of being delayed. He’d abruptly dropped onto his knees and stopped bouncing. Livvy stood beside the bed, already dressed in her swimsuit, her body language rivaling those images of saints waiting expectantly at altars.
She deposited the woven beach tote on the bed. “I have our goggles, fins, and beach toys. There’s a sign on the bathroom counter that says we can pick up beach towels on the way.”
I exchanged a glance with Mitch. “We are awake now.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Nathan let out a cheer, bounded up from the bed, and raced around the room, repeating, “We’re going to the beach!”
An hour later, after a short stop for breakfast, the four of us were rambling along the trail that led from the resort to the beach. Mitch was loaded down with beach chairs, I had the beach tote, and the kids were each carrying plastic pails and shovels as we moved through the forest. Once we left the wide, manicured lawn around the house, we’d followed the sign pointing down a trail that took us through the forest. We had walked the same trail last night, but it had been so dark that it was impossible to see a few feet beyond the lighted pylons that edged the trail. Now, in the grayish light of dawn, I could see the dense greenery of layer after layer of the forest from the fan palms at ground level to the Spanish moss hanging from the twisty oak branches overhead.
