The wind became fiercer by the minute, and seaweed from the fish float was now swirling everywhere. Taylor let out a yelp and dodged a flying plastic elf that had escaped another float. “Okay,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand. “That’s it. We’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to go,” wailed Miranda. “I want to see Santa.”
“You will, but not today,” Taylor said. An escaped umbrella cartwheeled by, spooking one of the horses trotting past, making him toss his head and half rear up.
“Yeah, I think it’s time to go,” Sarah agreed. “We don’t need to get hit by flying debris.”
* * *
“Enough is enough,” Darrell said, pulling a piece of pretend seaweed out of his hair. “You’re freezing and we’re leaving.” What had started out as a little wind and rain was quickly turning into the full-fledged storm the weatherman had predicted for the coast. Darrell had never paid much attention to weather predictions. It seemed half the time they were wrong. Not this time, though.
Kat didn’t argue with him. “I’m ready to go back to the motel,” she admitted.
“Forget the motel,” he said. “We’re going home.”
* * *
The sisters had braved both the wind and the rain, but Karen drew the line at flying objects. The plastic elf that tried to take off her kneecap was the final straw.
“I think I’ve seen enough of the parade,” she said to Lisa.
“Me, too,” Lisa agreed.
“In fact, I think I’ve had enough of the beach,” Karen continued as they started back to the motel. “This is shaping up to be a major storm. Let’s go to my house. We can watch movies and drink wine. And if you’re dying to shop we can go to the mall.”
“Oh, come on. We’ve got the room for two nights. Let’s get our money’s worth and stay.”
“Are you kidding? This is get-the-ark weather. Let’s scram while we can.”
“Don’t be such a wimp. It’s only a rainstorm. It’ll blow over,” Lisa said. “Anyway, do you really want to go home in defeat? The guys are bound to give us a hard time.”
“It’s not as if we can control the weather.”
“No, but we can control our paranoia. By tomorrow it’ll be beautiful. We can have a nice breakfast and kick around town before we head back.”
“I guess.” Karen held on to her knitted cap and leaned against the wind. “Good grief. I feel like I’m in a hurricane.”
“It’s not that bad,” Lisa scoffed. Then they arrived at the motel in time to see the wind blowing a dumpster across the parking lot. “On second thought, wine and spending the night at your place sound perfect to me.”
* * *
Jenna was on the viewing stand with Mayor Parker Thorne and Aaron Baumgarten from the newspaper. The stand was shaking in the wind and a deluge of rain was pelting them, but the mayor was smiling gamely and reminding the few brave souls remaining on the parade route that Moonlight Harbor residents never let a little wind and rain spoil their good time.
Good time? Who among the parade participants was having a good time? The high school marching band was drenched, the plumes on their hats drooping over their dripping faces. The goat and sheep had bleated pitifully when the live Nativity rolled past, and Mary had looked anything but beatific. Brody’s real estate agents, inside their appliance-box houses, had to be cursing his name. One had blown over, struggling on the wet street to right himself. He’d probably never have made it to his feet if one of Tyrella’s shovel-wielding marchers hadn’t left their formation to help him. (Brody had realized he couldn’t be in the parade and keep it moving, so he’d escaped public humiliation, but he was probably going to get a very public punch in the face as soon as that agent found him.) The wind was tearing decorations off floats right and left. “Joy to the World,” the Dickens carolers sang even as their faces said, “End of the world.”
How would the paper report this disaster? Jenna could almost see the headlines. Seaside with Santa Parade Big Failure.
Susan Frank had been right. This had been a stupid idea. Why, oh, why hadn’t they all listened to Susan?
“Our Moonlight Royal Court is a little wet,” the mayor observed as the cars bearing the princesses rolled past. “But they’re smiling. We coastal residents are tough, aren’t we, Aaron?”
“Oh, yeah,” Aaron said, and the mayor ignored the sarcasm in his voice.
Yes, they were tough, and as the various floats and people marching in the parade trudged past, Jenna waved encouragingly at each one. The Driftwood Inn float lumbered by, and she noticed that some of its shiny blue fringe was missing. She smiled at her sister, and Celeste glared back at her and hollered something. The wind whisked the words away, but the expression on her sister’s face gave her a pretty good idea of what Celeste was trying to tell her. The only thing that kept her from jumping off the float and coming to strangle her big sister was the fact that she couldn’t walk in her mermaid tail.
“And here’s the float from the Driftwood Inn,” announced the mayor. “Jenna Jones, who manages the inn, was the inspiration behind our festival.” She may as well have added, “So talk to her if you have any complaints.” A herd of raindrops came at them, and Parker covered the mike and leaned over. “Is this going to electrocute me?” she demanded.
“No, you’ll be fine,” Jenna assured her and hoped that was true.
The wind was now blowing so hard that both she and the mayor were having trouble staying upright. “Oh, my, that was quite a gust,” the mayor said and tried for a lighthearted laugh.
But she wasn’t laughing when a melting papier-mâché clam came loose from a float and whacked her in the leg. She glared at Jenna as if it were all Jenna’s fault.
Maybe, in a way, it was. Jenna gave her a helpless shrug.
The last of the parade-goers were now leaving, pushed along by the wind, but the mayor, the reporter, and Jenna, the organizer of the ill-fated event, were stuck on the viewing stand.
Finally, Santa and his carriage came into view. The driver wore a rain slicker, and rain was pouring from his hat like a waterfall. Poor Brewster Thorne was drenched. He’d lost both his Santa hat and his smile. The elves walking beside the carriage looked equally miserable.
A couple of old men in the departing non-crowd happily taunted him. “Having fun up there, Brewster?” he called, and Santa gave him the finger. Fortunately, there were no children left to witness Santa’s naughty behavior.
“And that’s it for this year’s parade, everyone,” said Mayor Thorne, even though there was no one there to listen.
Without a word to Jenna, she climbed down from the viewing stand and joined her husband in his carriage, and Santa and the Mrs. disappeared down the street.
“I’ll try to put a positive spin on it,” Aaron said to Jenna as the sound man hurried to rescue his equipment. They’d been under cover, but it hadn’t spared them from the rain.
She nodded and thanked Aaron, although she knew there was no positive spin. A moment later Brody showed up with one of his helpers. “We’d better take this stand down before the storm gets any worse,” he said. She nodded miserably, and he gave her a one-armed hug. “Hey, it’s okay. It was a good parade.”
“It was a disaster,” she said miserably.
“It’s not your fault Mother Nature’s being a bitch.”
“Storm’s gonna get worse,” said his helper.
Brody frowned at him. “We don’t know that,” he said to Jenna.
“Yes, we do,” she said, resigned. She’d seen a few ocean storms when she was a kid, and she knew what was coming. “Where’s Ellis?”
“Wiping down his car.”
“He’s probably mad at me.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Jenna’s cell phone summoned her. It was Nora. “We’re shutting down the rides,” she reported. “It’s too
dangerous on the pier. I’ve got the vendors taking down their booths, too.”
“Okay,” Jenna said. “Do what you have to do.”
Just as well. No one would want to be out in such nasty weather. She didn’t even want to be out in it. In fact, she wanted to be far, far away. Seaside with Santa was an abysmal failure. Could this day get any worse?
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m done,” Taylor announced as the families walked back to the motel.
“Done?” repeated her sister.
“Done. As soon as we get back to our room, we’re packing up.”
Sarah was silent, and Taylor could tell by the set of her jaw that she was angry. Well, let her be.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? The storm will probably pass in another couple of hours,” Greg said.
“I’m not going to sit around in that dinky room all afternoon, hoping it stops,” she informed him.
“Fine,” Sarah said. “We’ll all have more fun if you’re not here complaining.”
Her sister’s words stung. She hadn’t complained before this, and she wouldn’t be complaining now if they weren’t in the middle of a typhoon. Or if they were staying at a halfway decent motel with fireplaces in the rooms and an ocean view. She clamped her lips shut, determined not to get into an argument. She’d reimburse Sarah for what she’d spent on the rooms and then...never talk to her again.
Okay, that was a momentary fantasy born out of irritation, rather like when she was a child and would stamp off to her room in a snit when she was feeling misunderstood, sure that the offender would be sorry and come to apologize. Of course, that never happened, and estranging herself from her sister wouldn’t happen, either. Sarah was bossy and self-righteous, but she also cared. They had their fights and yet in the end they always made up because that was what sisters did.
But that didn’t mean sisters couldn’t get mad at each other. And that was where Taylor was. She’d had enough family togetherness to last her until Christmas...of next year.
* * *
It was a sad procession back to the Driftwood Inn. The float was missing fringe, shells and its resident mermaid, who sat shivering in the car next to Jenna.
Celeste cranked the car heater up even higher. “I don’t want to hear ever again about the dumb things I’ve tried to rope you into,” she growled.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna said for the fifth time.
“You owe me chocolate for life.”
“Yes, I do.” If only everyone else in town could be so easily placated. Businesses had invested time and money in this festival. Nobody was going to see a profit.
They pulled into the parking lot behind the storm-buffeted float, and Seth and Pete, his wingman, emerged from underneath it, dry and warm.
“Next year put Seth on top of the float, and I’ll drive it,” Celeste muttered.
There would be no next year. The tears Jenna had been holding back demanded to be set free, and she laid her head on the steering wheel and turned them loose.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” Celeste said, instantly penitent.
“This whole festival is a disaster,” Jenna sobbed.
“It’ll be okay, sissy. Don’t cry,” Celeste said, and scooted closer, putting an arm around Jenna.
Seth chose that moment to open the passenger door. “Hey, what’s this?”
“This is my sister blaming herself for the weather,” Celeste told him.
“I’ve let everyone down,” Jenna said miserably.
“Cheer up. No good deed goes unpunished,” Seth said. “Come on, Celeste, we should get you into the house.”
Jenna let them go and stayed in the car and cried.
A few minutes later, Seth was climbing in and settling into the passenger seat. “You gonna get on yourself for doing something good for the town?”
“Yes,” she said, and sniffed. “It was a stupid plan. People tried to tell me that.” Well, one in particular. “But I wouldn’t listen. Like my mom says, pride goeth before a fall.” Her mom also told her to look for the rainbow in the storm, but any rainbow in this storm had been blown away.
“Hubris, huh?”
“Leave him out of this,” Jenna said, indulging in a moment of black humor. Except she was in no mood to laugh. A fat tear leaked out of her eye and rolled down her cheek.
Seth reached over and wiped it away. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said gently. “Nobody’s going to prison.”
Their private code for “things could be worse.” It always put her circumstances into a proper perspective. She sighed and wiped her eyes.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he continued.
“I lose customers.”
“More will come when the weather gets nice.”
“Everyone in town will hate me.”
“For doing something good? Yeah, right. Want to try again?”
“No. That’s all I can think of so far,” she said and managed a smile.
He smiled back, giving a lock of her wet hair a playful tug. “I’ll see you later, then. I’m off to get some gas for the generator, just in case.”
She’d been so worried about the festival she’d forgotten about the ultimate thing that could go wrong. Losing power would be the final nail in the tourist coffin. “Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”
“You’ll get my bill,” he joked, and left.
Seth Waters should have become a shrink. Jenna still felt miserable, but not half as miserable as she had before she talked to him. And not half as miserable as she’d feel if they lost power. There was no sense going down that worry road, though.
She trudged to the office to relieve Aunt Edie.
Her aunt had missed the parade, but she’d gotten into the spirit of the festival and was wearing a green sweatshirt over her favorite elastic-waist jeans. She’d dolled up her outfit with a Santa hat, a necklace of blinking Christmas lights and dangly earrings to match.
“How was the parade?” she asked.
“Awful,” Jenna said.
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.”
“The storm’s getting worse. I don’t think people will want to go out in it.”
Of course, Aunt Edie knew what that meant. No business. “Well, dear, you can’t control the weather.”
That was what everyone kept telling her, but she could control when to hold a festival. This really had been a dumb idea.
“It might blow over by tonight,” Aunt Edie said.
Pete stopped in at the office to snag a couple of cookies from the plate. “The parade didn’t go so well.”
Thank you, Pete, for pointing out the obvious. Jenna scowled at him.
“I knew it wouldn’t, not with the storm,” he continued.
“That will be enough, Peter,” Aunt Edie said sharply, shocking Jenna. Aunt Edie favored and fussed over Pete like a fourteen-year-old girl with a crush. It wasn’t like her to speak harshly to him.
He looked a little shocked himself. “Hey, I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t. Jenna’s already upset over how things went.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Guess you don’t want to hear that there’s another parade—lots of cars leaving town.”
No, she didn’t. But she wasn’t surprised. It was only a matter of time before their guests joined the crowd of people fleeing Moonlight Harbor.
“I’ll go tie down the dumpster,” he said and started for the door.
He avoided work like a germophobe avoided a handshake. This was an olive branch, and Jenna accepted it. “Thanks, Pete.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what got into him,” Aunt Edie said irritably as he slouched across the parking lot.
As if he’d suddenly been taken over by rude aliens? He’d been a rude, old crumb ever since Jenna met him. Hard to believe her au
nt had never noticed. Hard to believe she thought this was a momentary aberration. Maybe Seth was right. Maybe her aunt did have the hots for the old guy, even though he had to be at least ten years younger than her.
Eew. There was a place Jenna didn’t want to go.
“Anyway, don’t you pay him any attention,” Aunt Edie said and patted Jenna’s arm.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Jenna promised. “Why don’t you go back to the house before the wind gets any stronger? I can take care of things here until Courtney comes in.”
“I’ll go make us some corn chowder and cheese biscuits. Something hot we can reheat on the stove later if the power goes out.”
Don’t even say that, Jenna thought. The festival flopping was bad enough. She didn’t think she could cope with a power outage on top of it. Surely they would at least be spared that.
Obviously some of their guests weren’t going to wait and see. Jenna watched out the window as one of the two families who’d checked in on Friday stowed a suitcase and a couple of bags in their car trunk.
She remembered them. The husband and wife and little girl. The woman had been pretty and stylish and had looked like she had a bad case of PMS. From the frown on her face, it appeared nothing had changed. There would be no good reviews on Yelp from her. Jenna sighed.
Aunt Edie had seen them, too. “People come and people go. Don’t you worry.”
Oh, yeah. No worrying here. Jenna could feel her nervous tic returning with a vengeance as her left eye began to twitch.
“I’ll bake some Christmas brownies, too,” Aunt Edie said as she headed for the door. “Our cookie supply is running low, and I think, after this day, we’ll all need something sweet.”
They needed more than that. Pete had been right about the parade out of town, and it appeared to be leaving from the Driftwood Inn.
Darrell Wilson, the nice, middle-aged man who’d asked Jenna to recommend a restaurant, was the next to scram. He came in just as Aunt Edie was on her way back to the house. “My wife’s not well. I think I need to get her home where she can rest more comfortably.”
Winter at the Beach Page 18
