“I’m up to my ears in pies,” Christine nodded.
“What kinds?”
“Pumpkin. Pecan. Apple,” Christine said.
“Apple’s my favorite,” he said.
“Then I have a bone to pick with you,” Christine said, giving him a mischievous smile. “Because they’re the hardest to make. All that chopping!”
Everett thought again of his mother, up to her elbows in apple peels. Why hadn’t he ever offered to help?
“Where are you staying tonight?” Lola asked.
“Over in Edgartown,” Everett said. “I just have to figure out how to get over there.”
“No, no. You’re not going that way,” Lola said. “The roads are way too bad after all this snow, and my family owns an inn just a few blocks away. You’re coming with us.”
Everett laughed. “It’s really not a problem. I can call a taxi.”
“Nobody on this island wants to drive your sorry butt across it so late at night before Thanksgiving,” Christine retorted.
Everett turned toward Mike, who heaved a sigh and said, “I would think twice before you argue with the Sheridan sisters. If they get the other one over here to finish the job, you really don’t have a chance.”
“There’s another of you?” Everett asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Susan. And she’s the harshest one of all,” Lola affirmed.
About an hour later, Lola and Christine led Everett through the snowy center of town, back toward the docks, and then on down toward the Sunrise Cove Inn, which they said had been in their family for generations. The place was picaresque in every way, with big windows that cut out toward the water, a cozy foyer interior with a big antique desk, and an attached bistro, where Christine apparently worked as the pastry chef.
The front desk was empty, and Lola had to rush to the side to flick on the lights. “Shoot. I guess nobody is staying here at the moment. Did Susan say anything about that?” she asked Christine.
“She mentioned that there will be a few people checking in on Friday,” Christine said. “But, I would check the schedule to see which rooms are available.”
“You’re probably staying all weekend, right?” Lola called as she snuck back toward the office.
“Guess so,” Everett said. He scanned the little foyer until his eyes found a hanging portrait of a family: a woman who very much seemed the spitting image of both Christine and Lola, with her arms wrapped around three darling girls. A man towered over all of them, the formidable father.
It was funny, Everett thought, the types of people you met on the road. He could never fully prepare himself for it.
“Here we go,” Lola said brightly, directing him toward a staircase that wound up toward the higher floors. “Your room is on the third floor. It has a beautiful view of the Sound. I think you’re going to love it.”
Everett followed her up and paused outside the room as she turned on the lights and inspected it. “Looks clean to me,” she said. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect. All I need is a place to lay my head,” he said.
“Ha. You’re so charming,” Lola responded. “Don’t make the bride run away with you.”
He laughed as Lola walked around him, back toward the hallway. “We have Thanksgiving dinner at around one in the afternoon.” She reached into her purse, grabbed a little piece of paper, and scribbled the address. She then passed it to him. “Does that work for you?”
“Of course. Should I bring anything?”
“Don’t be silly. We’ll have more than enough of everything to go around. Just prepare yourself mentally for my family. We can be... a lot.”
Everett—whose family had always been bitter, cross, quiet—grinned wider. “I think I can handle it.”
Chapter Seven
It was one in the morning on Thanksgiving Day. Charlotte hovered over the dining room table at the Sheridan family house, her phone pressed hard against her ear, as she strained to hear Ursula’s personal assistant, Tobias, from all the way in Sicily. In front of her was her massive book of dates, times, details, along with a filled glass of wine, a half-eaten croissant, and Audrey and Rachel, in two different chairs, both on the verge of falling asleep.
“What was that, Tobias?” Charlotte asked.
“I said that the snow you guys have been getting—wow! It’s um. It’s a lot. I spoke with our private pilot, and he’s a bit nervous about the weather,” Tobias said.
Charlotte furrowed her brow. It was you guys who talked non-stop about this snow-capped wedding or whatever. The weather is here, and you’re not ready for it? What’s that about?
“We’re still receiving most of our flight traffic,” Charlotte replied. She had spoken at length with one of the airport operators that afternoon. “I don’t think you’ll have trouble landing. It’s Martha’s Vineyard. We’re used to handling a good bit of snow.”
Tobias lowered his voice ominously. “I think our bride has grown a tiny bit anxious about the whole affair and is looking for any reason to rip me in two, to be quite honest with you, Charlotte.”
“I see.”
“But I’ll speak to her. I’ll assure her again that the flights won’t be a problem.” He paused for a moment.
In the background, Charlotte could hear a flurry of spoken Italian. “You must be homesick, so far away on Thanksgiving,” she said.
“Oh, not at all,” Tobias said. “I love this life. I get to go all over the world. And really, Ursula is a dear friend. It’s just a chaotic week for all of us. I look forward to sending her off on her honeymoon, so I can sit down with a piece of pumpkin pie and shut my own pie hole for a little while.” He chuckled, then added, “Thank you for your patience, Charlotte. You’ve been a dream. And I know the wedding will go off without a hitch. Or—if there are any hitches—I know you’ll find a way to iron them out.”
“That’s what I do,” Charlotte said.
When Charlotte hung up, she sent along another brief of information regarding where the bride was meant to stay in the mansion, where the groom was meant to stay, where their family members would be stationed—and where the bridal party was meant to go. Of course, Charlotte would be there with them every step of the way to ensure there weren’t any mishaps. In her experience, however, it was always better to send the info ahead of time, just to keep things organized.
“What would I do without you?” Jason had always said, referring to her organizational skills.
Admittedly, if Charlotte had allowed Jason to handle things like yearly taxes, he would have somehow found a way to foreclose the house and maybe even get them arrested. He was that bad.
Audrey hiccupped awake and blinked at her mother’s cousin. She placed a hand over her pregnant stomach and said, “Is everything okay? You sounded... stressed.”
“Have I gone a single moment without sounding stressed since this all began?” Charlotte asked.
“Good question. The answer is no,” Audrey said, delivering that sneaky smile of hers.
“What are you guys doing still up?” Susan Sheridan walked down from the top floor of the Sheridan residence, wigless, her hair still incredibly short after all the chemo. She gave them a sleepy smile and turned her attention to the book on the table before Charlotte.
“Just last-minute wedding things,” Audrey said. “And I’m working hard.”
“Or hardly working,” Charlotte said, teasing her.
“It’s horrible, the things places of employment make pregnant people do these days,” Audrey affirmed.
That moment, the back door barked open to reveal Christine and Lola, talking a bit too loud, revealing their tipsiness. When they arrived at the kitchen, Susan pressed her finger over her lips and said, “Shush! Dad’s asleep.”
“Oops,” Christine said, before bursting into giggles.
“What’s gotten into you guys? Where were you?” Susan asked.
Charlotte rolled her eyes inwardly. Although her cousins had been incredibly helpful ov
er the past few weeks, she couldn’t help but ache with jealousy at their ability to just go out and get drunk.
“It’s the night before Thanksgiving, Susie!” Lola said. “And we met a handsome stranger at the bar. He’s a photographer. We wanted to flirt, of course, but we were good girls.”
“I see,” Susan said. She turned toward the freezer, yanked out a large bag, then proceeded to slice at Christine’s homemade cookie dough, which they liked to keep on-hand for just these occasions.
“Fantastic idea!” Lola said. She then walked toward Audrey and ruffled her hair. “How’s my little pregnant mouse?”
“I’m more like a frog these days. Or a pig, better yet,” Audrey groaned.
“Anyway, it looks like this photographer is going to join us for Thanksgiving dinner,” Christine said. She drew off her coat, then disappeared to hang it up. “He has a lot of interest in Charlotte’s work as a wedding planner. He’s a photographer for Wedding Today!”
This piqued Charlotte’s interest for the first time. She yanked her head around and said, “Did he say which weddings he’s photographed before?”
“I don’t think so. But he’s not really the type of person to brag about that stuff,” Christine said. “We did discover we’ve crossed paths a few times. Both of us single through our thirties, working on our careers—that kind of thing.”
“So, he’s not married?” Susan asked, arching a delicate eyebrow.
“Susan always wants everyone to be married,” Lola said.
“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing,” Susan replied. “So what? I want everyone to have the kind of happiness I used to have with Richard, that I now have with Scott.”
“Then what’s keeping you, kids, from getting hitched?” Audrey asked.
Susan rolled her eyes as she settled each cookie dough slice on the baking sheet.
“Aunt Charlotte,” Audrey breathed. “Hey. Aunt Charlotte...”
Charlotte did generally like that Audrey called her Aunt. They were all one big, happy, weird family, after all. But her mind was abuzz with wedding info, and she barely blinked up.
“I just want a piece of cookie dough, pre-baked. Well, pregnant baby wants it,” Audrey said.
Charlotte heaved a sigh, turned around, and collected a slice of the frozen cookie dough into her hand. After her delivery, she turned back and retrieved a morsel for herself. After that, everyone else chimed in with similar needs.
By the time the cookies were baked and the first round eaten up, it was nearly two in the morning. Charlotte had finalized even more details about Friday and Saturday and had managed to cook up even more anxiety than she’d had before. Win-lose? Even-steven?
“I think we should call it for the night,” Susan said.
Christine and Audrey had collapsed on the couch. Rachel sat on the floor with Christine’s cat, Felix, rubbing his neck. Lola nibbled at another cookie while scanning her Instagram feed.
“We have so much to do tomorrow. So much to prepare for!” Susan said.
Charlotte grinned inwardly. She snapped at the end of her pen and gave a little shrug. “I guess that’s all I can do for the day, huh?”
“And you promised you’ll take all day tomorrow off, right?” Susan said.
“It’ll be a challenge,” Charlotte said, wiping her hands on a towel.
“We’ll all watch you like a hawk and make sure you’re living in the moment. No matter what,” Lola said with a funny smile.
Charlotte watched as everyone slowly walked toward their separate bedrooms. Scott, Susan’s high school boyfriend and now, again, boyfriend, had built onto the house, allowing for two extra big beds in two bedrooms.
Still, even though they were frequently invited to stay, Charlotte never felt comfortable waking up in a house that wasn’t the one she, Rachel, and Jason had lived in together. It wasn’t anything she’d ever been able to explain. It was simply necessary, always, to her that they go home.
Plus, it was only a twenty-minute walk away.
Charlotte and Rachel bundled themselves up and hugged Susan goodbye. Susan insisted they come over as early as possible, both to help and gossip with the rest of the girls. “Amanda and Jake will be here around noon, I think, along with my grandbabies and their mama,” she said, squeezing Charlotte’s elbow with excitement. “I just can’t wait.”
Charlotte and Rachel walked through the snow, back toward their home. They both wore thick snow boots and stuffed their hands into their pockets. Charlotte studied the way the moon reflected against the snow, as beautiful as any painting.
“Mom?” Rachel asked suddenly, as they cut across the center of Oak Bluffs.
“What is it?”
“I can’t wait for this wedding to be over,” Rachel admitted.
Charlotte laughed. Her laugh echoed from building to building and then swept out across the water, through that impossible darkness that lurked between this island and the mainland. She wrapped an arm around Rachel’s shoulder and squeezed her tightly against her.
“I know, baby. I feel the same way.”
But did she? Charlotte had ached to think about anything else but the sadness in her heart. And as she clicked the key into the lock and shot open the door of their now two-person home, she marveled that she was perhaps further from heartache than she had been in the past year.
Business was an antidote, or maybe, it was just something to hide behind.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Rachel,” she breathed, watching as her daughter swept toward her bedroom. “I love you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Happy Thanksgiving. Love you too, Mom.”
Chapter Eight
Everett awoke on Thanksgiving morning just after eight-thirty, which was a California man’s five-thirty. He rubbed his eyes and guffawed at the enormous amount of snow outside his window. It had shaken itself out over the boats that were latched to the docks, stacked itself over the nearby parked cars, and made itself up like icing on the tip-tops of trees.
It would be a winter wonderland wedding, after all.
Everett had placed the note Lola had given him on the bedside table. He lifted it to read the address again. A quick check on his phone revealed that wherever this was, it was just down the road. It marveled him to imagine it: a life of growing up on Martha’s Vineyard, walking to your job at the Sunrise Cove Inn, spending long days on boats, sunning beneath that glorious New England sky.
He was probably just romantic about it because he had never been to Martha’s Vineyard. He had been all over the world, but never here. He always got misty-eyed over places he didn’t understand.
Everett stood in front of the mirror shirtless and analyzed himself. After living a number of months in LA, he hadn’t done much in terms of “eating badly,” and had certainly chiseled his abs down to an impressive six-pack. He dropped to the carpet and did one hundred crunches, then turned over to do one hundred pushups. All the while, he told himself to call his mom, just to check-in. Not now—not at six in the morning west coast time. He would call later just to let her know he cared and to wish his family a Happy Thanksgiving.
When he got up from the floor, he snapped on the TV to watch the start of the Macy’s Day Parade. He had fond memories of watching this, nibbling on a Thanksgiving treat, his brother beside him. He wondered if his brother’s children liked the Macy’s Day Parade as much as they had. But what was it, exactly, that they had liked? The floats? The dancing? The idea of other people eating parade candy?
He had no idea.
But he did waste a lot of that morning before heading over to the Sheridan house, dressed in a dark blue button-up shirt, one he knew brought out his eyes, a pair of dark blue jeans, and his boots. On his walk, the sun warmed his back, a welcome thing after the previous night’s chill.
When he reached the Sheridan house, he was overwhelmed with the number of cars in the driveway. Christine and Lola had said there would be a number of guests, that he would be the one million and first
. He had thought they’d been exaggerating. When he reached what seemed to be the back door, he rapped on the screen door as loud as he could before just barging in. He dropped his boots awkwardly in the mudroom then continued on toward the kitchen, where he found some fifteen people, either crammed around a table or seated in front of the television or stationed around the kitchen counter. Outside, even more, people stood around a picnic table on the porch that overlooked the Sound, warmed with stand-up heaters that were normally used at restaurants.
An older man toward the far end of the room gave him a curious, not-overly-welcoming smile. At that moment, Lola burst down the stairs and stretched her arms wide in greeting. She barreled into him with a hug.
“Everyone! This is Everett. Christine and I met him at the bar last night. Apparently, he’s taking some photos at the big wedding. Not the trashy tabloid photos, either,” she explained.
Everett had to laugh. It was clear that she had already had a few glasses of wine.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Everett!” A pregnant girl sat near the television with a fist full of MMs. She waved with her other hand. “I’m Audrey, Lola’s daughter she had out of wedlock. As you can see, I’m following suit.”
Everett chuckled nervously. Another woman with very short hair approached. Her features were similar to Lola and Christine, although she looked a bit stricken, a bit exhausted.
“I’m Susan, Lola and Christine’s other sister,” she said. “And you’re so welcome. Can I get you a glass of something? We’ve got the wine flowing.”
More and more people went around the room, calling their names and greeting Everett. There was Steven and his wife, Laura, and their children. Then, there was Claire and her daughters, Abby and Gail, along with her husband, Russell. Amanda and Jake were introduced as Susan’s children. “Amanda’s studying to be a lawyer like her mom,” was something the older gentleman toward the side of the room interjected, which led Everett to learn that Wes was Lola, Susan, and Christine’s father. Beside him was “Uncle Trevor,” the father of Steven, Kelli, Claire, and Charlotte.
A Vineyard Thanksgiving (The Vineyard Sunset Series Book 4) Page 5
