Suddenly One Summer

by Barbara Freethy

  “It’s all so hokey, Joe. Bonfires, barbecues, carnivals—do you really like this?”

  “I do.” He met her gaze. “I know it’s not fair to you. I know you think that I changed our lives without asking you, without caring about your feelings. I do care. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. But I was suffocating in L.A.”

  “This is such a drastic change. We could have moved out to one of the suburbs, the west side of town, Pacific Palisades, Beverly Hills, Malibu. Here, we’re four hours away from everyone in our lives. And I have a career, Joe. I’m good at selling real estate. It took me a long time to find something I do well. Now you want me to throw it all away.”

  “There’s real estate here, and new developments going up along the coastline just south of here. Vacation homes being built on the bluffs. You can be good here. And so can I.”

  She shook her head. “You always talk me into things.”

  It had been the other way around for most of their life together, but since she was starting to smile, he decided not to press the point.

  “Fine, I’ll take a glass of wine, and your cell phone. I still need to make a call. And take this dog with you,” she said.

  “Come on, Rufus.” Joe grabbed the reluctant dog by the collar. “Let’s go inside.” As he shut the deck door, he glanced down at the dog, who made him feel guilty as hell for dragging him inside. Rufus and he had been sharing the last few sunsets together. “It’s going to be okay, buddy. She’ll like you eventually. Rachel is a good woman, and we want her to stay. So you have to behave yourself.”

  Rufus gave a little bark.

  “Exactly.” Joe went into the kitchen, hoping he actually had a bottle of wine. Since Rachel’s visits had been few and far between, he hadn’t picked up her favorite bottle in a long time. He’d always preferred a cold beer…like Charlotte did.

  He’d been a fool to invite Charlotte in for a drink, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Nothing had happened. Maybe there had been a brief moment when he’d felt like kissing her, but he hadn’t acted on it, because he wasn’t going to cheat on his wife. And Charlotte wasn’t the kind of woman to get involved with a married man. So they’d just be friends. It would all work out.

  Timothy Milton and James Holt were best friends and the infamous filmmakers of the Internet angel video. Reid had finally managed to get an interview courtesy of Henry Milton, who’d set up the meeting on his boat. Reid was far more interested in researching Jenna’s past, but Henry’s call had reminded him that he still had a story to write on the angels. He’d get that out of the way and then he could concentrate on Jenna’s story.

  “Can you tell me exactly what you saw that day?” Reid asked.

  Timothy, a lanky boy with sandy blond hair and an earnest smile, nodded. “It was early in the morning, about five o’clock and still dark. We were heading out for a deep-sea fishing trip. When we came out of the harbor and around the bluff, there they were. It was the most incredible thing. There appeared to be two or maybe three angels, I’m not sure. But we could see their wings and their hair. One of them had long, golden blond hair. She was beautiful.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “They were flying around the cliff. One seemed to have something in her hand, like a wand, and she looked like she was painting on the rock wall.”

  “It was my idea to take the video,” James interjected. He was as dark as Timothy was blond, with intense eyes and a lot of energy. He tapped his foot as he spoke. “I knew people were going to go crazy when they saw it.”

  “How long did you watch the angels?”

  “Only a couple of minutes, because one of them saw us,” James replied. “She flew right at us. Then it seemed like there were a dozen of them, not just two or three. They smothered us with their wings. We couldn’t see. We could barely breathe. When we finally got clear, we’d been blown a hundred yards away and everything was black again.”

  “That’s quite a story. How come we don’t see the angels flying toward you on the video?”

  “It happened so fast, dude, I couldn’t get it,” James said. “I think I dropped the camera when they covered us with their wings.”

  “Lucky for you that it didn’t break,” Reid said. “So was there any evidence of this angel attack on your boat?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were smothered in wings. Seems like maybe some feathers would have come off?”

  “Yeah, that would have been cool,” James said. “But no, there weren’t any feathers.”

  “You don’t believe us, do you?” Timothy cut in. “You think we’re making it up.”

  “A lot of people make up videos to gain Internet fame,” Reid said, studying Timothy’s face. The boy appeared to be sincere. His gaze moved to James, whose gaze wasn’t nearly as easy to read.

  “We didn’t fake it,” James said defensively. “It happened just the way we said.”

  “So what do you think the angels drew on the cliff?” Reid continued.

  “A map,” Timothy answered. “To the shipwreck.”

  “Everyone knows that ship went down with gold on it,” James added. “The angels are trying to tell us where it is.”

  “Why now?” Reid asked. “It’s been a hundred and fifty years.”

  “Because it’s time,” Henry interjected, coming on deck to join them. “Everything has a season.”

  “Why is it time now?” Reid repeated. “What changed?”

  “Well, you’re here, for one,” Henry said.

  “The angels came here before I did.”

  “But they got you here, didn’t they?”

  “Actually it was your grandson and his friend who got me here.”

  Henry shrugged. “Result is the same.”

  “I’m not a fortune hunter, or a shipwreck diver. If the angels are drawing a map to some long lost treasure, I won’t be the one to find it,” Reid said.

  “I don’t think it’s a map. But I do think they’re sending a message, and it’s up to you to figure it out,” Henry said. “You can’t take things so literally. Sometimes you have to read between the lines.”

  Reid sat back on the bench, annoyed with Henry’s riddle. “I’m a journalist. I report the facts and let the readers interpret them.”

  Henry grinned at him. “The teacher becomes the student. It happens to all of us at some point.”

  “Are we done? Because we have to go,” James said abruptly. He stood up and hopped off the boat onto the dock, motioning for Timothy to follow.

  “See you, Grandpa,” Timothy said as he followed his friend.

  “So you got your story,” Henry said when they were alone.

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” He had photos of the two boys, their eyewitness account, and the video evidence. Unless the angels made an unexpected appearance by Monday, he would file his story and call it a day. “Not much of one, though,” he added. “Do you believe them?”

  “Timothy is a good boy. So is James. They saw something; I’d bet my life on that. As for your question, why now…I believe something occurred; something changed in this town. You just have to figure out what it was. What’s new around here? What’s different?”

  “How would I know? I’m not from around here. Maybe you should answer your own questions.”

  Henry stroked his chin. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, this weekend being the anniversary of the town’s founding and all. That could be the reason. Or it could be something else.”

  “Just what I like—a definitive opinion.”

  Henry grinned. “I know you like your facts, but sometimes you have to follow your instincts.”

  “I’ve done that, and it got me into a lot of trouble.”

  “Was it your instincts that did that—or your ambition?”

  Reid gave him a half smile. “Are you sure you’re not a shrink, Henry? Every time I sit down with you, I feel like I’m getting therapy. You should put a couch on this boat.”

&n
bsp; “My granddaddy used to tell me that the best place to see your reflection is in someone else’s eyes. That’s the true mirror.”

  Reid looked at the old man, seeing encouragement in his eyes but nothing more. Was encouragement what he was supposed to see? The idea that someone believed in him, even if he didn’t believe in himself?

  “You’ll figure it out,” Henry said confidently. “You’re a smart man.” He started to cough, a deep hacking sound that seemed to come from his soul.

  “Can I get you some water?” Reid asked, a little worried by Henry’s sudden pallor.

  “I’m—I’m all right,” Henry said, clearing his throat. “Used to be a smoker. Even with the cough, I still miss it. My wife made me quit. She was dying, and I made the mistake of telling her I’d do whatever I could to make her happy. That woman always knew how to get me to do the right thing.”

  Reid stared at the old man, a question buzzing around in his head that he really should not ask, because it was ridiculous and there was no point. But somehow the words came out of his mouth anyway. “Did you ever see your wife—after she passed?”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “Now that’s not what I was expecting you to ask.” He let out a sigh. “Never did. Wanted to. Thing is, Mary and I, we had a lot of years together. We said our good-byes. We knew what was coming. We didn’t have any unfinished business. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  “You saw something when we were on the boat. I did, too—the shape of a woman. I didn’t recognize her, but I’m betting you did,” Henry said.

  “That was a shadow passing in front of the sun.”

  “Who died, Mr. Tanner?”

  Reid caught his breath. He didn’t want to answer, but he knew Henry wouldn’t let it go. “Someone I was very close to,” he said slowly. “Her name was Allison. I’ve been trying to forget what happened to her for almost a year. I thought I was getting close, but then I came here. Now I keep seeing her in my head.”

  “Just in your head?”

  “I thought I saw a woman who looked like her at Murray’s Bar, but she disappeared before I could get across the room. I got into a fight.”

  “Heard you were rumbling with the Harlan boys,” Henry said with a nod. “Figured a woman was involved.”

  “Well, this wasn’t a real woman. Just an illusion fueled by too much tequila.”

  “You feel guilty about your friend’s death?”

  “It’s not a matter of feeling. I am guilty. I’m the reason she’s dead. And if she’s back, then she’s a ghost, not an angel. She’s haunting me. Though what the hell is the difference anyway?”

  “Some think that ghosts are spirits trapped between this world and the next, with unfinished business. Others believe that all who die go to heaven and become angels. Sometimes they come back because the people they love need something from them: a message, a sign, guidance.” Henry shrugged. “Who’s to say?”

  “It’s all a lot of nonsense,” Reid said, knowing he was trying to convince himself as much as he was the old man.

  “If you thought that, you wouldn’t still be talking to me.”

  “Well, I’m done,” Reid said as he got to his feet. “Thanks for setting me up with your grandson.”

  “You’re welcome. You know, Mr. Tanner, maybe the story you’re meant to tell isn’t the one you’re chasing.”

  Reid had had the same thought. Maybe he was seeing Allison because she wanted him to make amends by saving another woman the way he couldn’t save her.

  Maybe that’s what he wanted to do, too.

  FIFTEEN

  As Jenna walked into the town square with Lexie in the late afternoon, her connection to Rose Littleton made her view the town a little differently. If her suspicions were true about her mother being Rose Littleton’s child, then Angel’s Bay was where her grandmother had spent all of her life. It might have been where her mother would have lived if she hadn’t been adopted.

  It still bothered Jenna that she didn’t know what her mother had known about her birth. But those answers would have to wait until they were free of Brad, until she had an opportunity to speak to her father and to other relatives who might be able to fill in the blanks. In the meantime…

  She glanced around the square. A community quilting bee was in full swing. Five large frames had been set up with groups of women seated around the edges, working on various quilts. Lexie was called over to join a kid’s table by one of her friends, while Jenna saw Kara Lynch waving her over.

  She said hello, and the next thing she knew, someone was getting up and she was being urged to take the seat next to Kara’s.

  “I shouldn’t be sitting here,” Jenna said quickly. “I don’t know how to quilt.”

  “So you’ll learn.” Kara handed her a needle and thread. “We’ll start with the basics. See the little hole in the needle? Put the thread through there.”

  Jenna grinned. “Well, I know how to do that.” Kelly had gone through an embroidery phase and had occasionally let Jenna hold the hoop and put some stitches in.

  “Good,” Kara said with a smile. “Do that, and then I’ll show you the next step.”

  “I don’t want to mess this up,” Jenna said. “Aren’t these quilts going to be on sale?”

  “Yes, they are. Every year, in honor of the town’s birthday, we remake the original quilt. We also make five other designs that are part of the Angel’s Bay quilt line and sold all over the world.”

  “Which is why I need to give up my seat to someone who knows what they’re doing.” Jenna started to rise, but Kara put her hand on her arm and smiled.

  “The quilting bee is about more than just making quilts. It’s community and tradition. It’s what connects us to each other, and to the past and the future.”

  Kara’s words rang through Jenna’s heart, reminding her of the link she’d never expected to find and which now seemed to appear wherever she went. Kara’s family traced their family tree back to the shipwreck. How odd to think that Jenna’s family tree might go back just as far, perhaps even to the central figure of the wreck, the baby Gabriella.

  Jenna’s gaze drifted to the center of the quilt, to the white fabric square symbolizing the baby’s bonnet, to the angel wing design representing the baby’s birthmark, the miracle of her survival. Had Kelly known the legend? Had she believed that somehow Angel’s Bay would save her and Lexie as well? It was a fanciful thought, but one Jenna couldn’t discount, now that she was starting to believe that her blood-line ran straight back to this town, to this quilt, to this pattern of connecting squares that linked all of the survivors together with one story—a story that had yet to be fully told.

  “Are you all right, Jenna?” Kara asked. “You seem lost in thought.”

  “Just thinking about the history of this town. I always lived in a big city, where people didn’t know their neighbors and didn’t care. It’s strange to think of how so many of you are tied to each other and to those who came before you, and how it’s all represented here in this quilt.” She fought back the urge to share her own personal link. She couldn’t reveal her connection to Rose Littleton while she was living a lie.

  Kara smiled at her. “I think you’re getting hooked, Jenna. This quilt always works its magic on whoever sits down with it. It draws you into the world and won’t let go. Don’t be surprised if once you start quilting, you don’t want to stop. Quilting gets in your blood.”

  “That’s right, dear,” an older woman on Jenna’s other side said. “I remember when I first came to Angel’s Bay forty-two years ago. I was twenty years old at the time. I’d never done a stitch in my life, but I fell in love with quilting.” She gave Jenna a wrinkly smile. “I’m Dolores Cunningham.”

  “She fell in love with Preston Cunningham, too,” an older woman from across the table interjected. “Dolores wanted to impress Preston’s mother by making her a quilt. That’s why she worked so hard to learn how to do it. I’m Margaret Hill, by the way. My friends call m
e Maggie.”

  “It worked, too,” Dolores told Jenna. “Preston’s mother didn’t like me at first. She thought I was a big-city girl out to seduce her son. I won her over with that quilt. I convinced her I was planning to stay, and that I’d fit in perfectly with the family. Preston asked me to marry him the next day, and I said yes.”

  “But she divorced him three years later,” Maggie put in. “You always leave that out, Dolores.”

  “True, but I still love quilting,” Dolores said with a laugh. She gave Jenna a mischievous smile. “Men come and go. Quilts are forever. That’s what I always say.”

  As Jenna listened to the two older women chat, she wondered if they’d known Rose Littleton, if they’d been friends with her grandmother. She wanted to ask them questions, wanted to know everything. But if she started talking about Rose being her grandmother, she’d draw too much attention to herself.

  Jenna focused her attention back on the needle in her hand. She finished threading it and then held it up, feeling a very minor triumph. “You’re not going to actually make me do something with this now, are you, Kara?”

  “Yes, you’re going to hand stitch the back and front of the quilt together.”

  Jenna gave her a dubious look. “Sure I am.”

  Kara laughed. “It’s easy. You just put the needle through here, then pull it up again, like so,” she said, demonstrating. “Now you try it.”

  Jenna did as Kara instructed, pleased when the stitches began to take shape in an even manner. Maybe she could do this. She concentrated hard with each insertion of the needle, praying that she wouldn’t screw up.

  “Don’t worry so much,” Kara said with a laugh. “Good grief. You’re holding the needle so tightly your hand is turning white.”

  Jenna lifted her gaze to Kara’s. “This is way out of my comfort zone.”

  “That’s a good thing. Quilts aren’t about perfection,” Kara said. “They’re made with love.”

  “But these will be sold. The customers expect perfection, or they’ll want their money back.”