That Chesapeake Summer (Chesapeake Diaries Book 9)

by Mariah Stewart

  “So, Diana,” Jamie said, “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll be there.” Diana’s face said it all: Jamie had made a friend for life. She came out from behind the counter to hug her father. “ ’Night, Daddy.” She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Thanks.”

  “Thank Jamie,” he whispered back.

  Diana turned to Jamie and mouthed the words Thank you.

  Jamie winked, then steered Dan toward the door. Once outside, she fell in step with him. She knew he was annoyed at her, but she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut when she saw the look on Diana’s face that said, You don’t trust me to act responsibly because you think I am still six years old.

  Finally, when they got to the car, Jamie said, “I’m sorry if you’re annoyed with me.”

  “I don’t think you are,” he replied.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” She got into the car and snapped on her seat belt.

  Dan slid behind the wheel and said, “You don’t have the right to toss in your two cents. It’s none of your business.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t.”

  They drove back to the inn in silence, but when he pulled up to the back door, he said, “I think you were right and I was wrong. I know I have to let her grow up a little, but I don’t know how to do that. I don’t want to do that. She’s always been my little girl. This new person . . . I don’t feel like I know her at all. And for the record, it sucks being a single parent. You have no idea . . .”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  He stared straight ahead through the windshield. “When she was little, things were different. I was okay with her then. I was a good dad back then. I knew what to do with a toddler, with a small child. Even last year, things were different. But now . . . I don’t know what’s expected of me. I don’t know what’s what. I feel like the rules have changed, but no one’s told me what they are.”

  “I think the rules are the same. I don’t think they ever change. You love your kid and you try to do what’s best for her.”

  “I don’t know what’s best anymore, that’s the problem.” He sighed. “How did you know what to do back there? How did you know what was going on?”

  “I don’t have a daughter, but I’ve been one. It was pretty clear that the other kids were waiting around for Paige and Diana to close up. When Diana came out of the back room, she looked positively mortified to see you.”

  “Mortified? Why?”

  “Because she’d made plans she knew you wouldn’t approve of. When you told her you’d wait for her, she looked like she was going to cry. For Diana’s sake, I’m glad you didn’t push it.”

  “When you were fifteen, sixteen, did your parents ever embarrass you?”

  “Oh, dear God, yes.” Jamie laughed. “But there were times when my dad, in particular, showed understanding I hadn’t expected, so I guess it all balanced out.”

  “I hope Diana feels that way someday.”

  “She will.”

  “I still don’t like the idea of her being in a car with a boy.” He started the engine.

  “Even if there are four other people in the car?”

  It took him a moment to consider. “I guess that’s okay.”

  “Get used to it, Pop,” she said. “She’s going to be a teenager for another four or five years.”

  Dan groaned and muttered something under his breath.

  “Come on, let’s go inside,” she said.

  They’d gone halfway across the lobby when someone called Dan’s name. He turned and looked around. The only other person in the lobby was the woman at the reception desk.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” she called him again. “Could I see you for a minute?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Dan said.

  Jamie leaned against the newel post and waited for Dan to return. When he did, he appeared rushed.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “We have three parties who haven’t checked in yet. The good news is that they’re still coming. The bad news is that Jenna can’t stay to check them in. She has a babysitter who needs to leave by eleven.”

  Jamie looked at the clock that hung over one of the doors. “She’s got twenty minutes. Does she live far?”

  “Off River Road. Which means that I’m playing desk clerk until everyone checks in.”

  “Don’t you have a backup? Someone who could step in for her?”

  “You’re looking at the backup. Come on, I’ll walk you up to your room.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  They walked up the steps side by side, not speaking. When they got to Jamie’s door, Dan stood back while she unlocked it, then leaned forward to push it open for her. Once the door had closed behind them and they’d stepped inside, he pulled her to him. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, a good, long, kiss, a kiss that Jamie felt all the way to her toes.

  “Thanks for, you know, the whole thing with Diana,” he said when he let her go.

  “Anytime. She’s a good kid, Dan. I really like her.”

  “Yeah, well, you sure made points with her tonight.” He reached for the door handle. “By the way, what was that between you and Curtis Enright?”

  “What?” she said, taken off guard. She’d been hoping that he hadn’t noticed after all.

  “At the reception. What was that all about?”

  “Oh. Well. He was asking me if I was related to Herb Valentine.” The lie came easily. “He and my dad went to law school together. Small world, right?”

  “And that’s what you were discussing?”

  “Yes.”

  Dan wasn’t buying it. “That’s not what it sounded like.”

  “Oh? What did it sound like?”

  “Nothing like ‘Your dad and I went to law school together,’ ” he said. “It sounded more like an argument. Like he was accusing you of something.”

  “I can’t imagine what that could have been.”

  “Neither can I,” he said before he opened the door, went through it, and closed it softly behind him.

  Chapter 11

  SUNDAY’S drizzle and humidity found many of the inn’s guests opting for breakfast or lunch and shopping someplace other than the inn’s dining room, so Jamie had her pick of the tables. She opted for her favorite, the window overlooking the bay, where she could watch the sky turn different shades of gray. It was still early when she finished—too early for Grace, she was sure, though she did check the office and found it locked. Back in her room, Jamie wrote and rewrote the opening chapter of her new book seven times. Finally, she gave up, turned off her computer, and turned on the TV, where she found a Friends marathon in progress. So much easier to watch others—even fictional others—bumble through their lives than it was to examine her own situation.

  She alternated between deciding to forget that whole kissing-Dan thing from the night before, and reliving the moment and the warmth she’d felt when their lips first touched. That was not in the plan, she reminded herself. She’d just act as if it never happened, because it never should have happened. Friendship was the safest course for both of them.

  Besides, it’s ridiculous to make so much of one kiss. It’s not like I haven’t kissed a man before.

  Of course, it had been a while . . .

  The last time she’d been kissed, she hadn’t enjoyed it nearly as much, and it had been . . . She was hard-pressed to remember just how long ago. It was before her mother’s death, but that event and the aftermath had muddled time for Jamie. Things were before or they were after.

  At a little after eight, Jamie went downstairs and found Grace happily at her desk, sorting through yesterday’s findings.

  “I can’t remember when I had so much enthusiasm for a project,” Grace told Jamie. “I
t’s like seeing old friends again, or reliving past moments of my life. I can’t thank you enough for spending your time working with me.”

  “Grace, I can honestly say that I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

  “Did you enjoy the exhibit last night?” Grace asked.

  “I did. I really liked Shirley Wyler’s work. She’s so talented.”

  “I have to say I was surprised to see Dan at the reception desk when Ford brought me in last night.”

  “Why is that?” Jamie pretended not to know what Grace was getting at, though her intent was coming through loud and clear.

  “Because the boy needs to get his priorities straight.” Grace sipped her tea. “It was good to see him out and about, and it looked like the two of you were having a good time.” She glanced at Jamie, apparently for confirmation that she and Dan did have a good time together, but Jamie kept her nose in the box marked 1955.

  “He takes no time for himself, and when he does, it’s as if he feels guilty about it.” Grace was still muttering away. “Tethered to this place like his life depends on it.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?” Jamie put the stack of newspapers down on the table and took a seat.

  “From the day his father got sick to this very day, he feels like the family fortunes are on his shoulders.” Grace sighed. “Which, I suppose, they have been. And that’s partially my fault. When my husband passed away, it was such a shock. Even knowing that his illness was terminal, when it finally happened, I had a very hard time accepting it. When Dan stepped in and took over everything, I let him, because for a long time, I wasn’t capable. Habits were formed back then that, over the years, have proved very difficult to break.”

  Jamie thought it best not to comment. It was obvious that Dan was tied to his phone and that he believed every issue involving the inn, no matter how small, needed his personal attention or the roof would fall down around them.

  “My Daniel was a wonderful man,” Grace went on. “He was a terrific husband and a great father. But he was not a very good businessman. It was years before I found out that the inn was in terrible financial straits when Dan took over after his father’s death. He worked tirelessly to get this place into the black and to build the business so his sister and brother could go to college and to ensure that the inn would remain in the family. I daresay he shouldered the weight of all of us and never complained, never let on the extent of the burden he carried alone.” Grace stared at her hands for a long moment. “But it’s time he realized that he doesn’t have to do it all anymore. He needs to start living again.” She looked at Jamie and added, “I was hoping that—”

  Whatever it was Grace hoped for was lost as Diana breezed into the room.

  “This is a nice surprise.” Grace smiled and beckoned the girl to give her a hug.

  “I told you I’d help.” Diana blew her grandmother a kiss. “I’m all wet from the rain.”

  “Please tell me you did not walk from Paige’s in this downpour.” Grace looked over the top of her glasses.

  “It’s not so bad.” Diana greeted Jamie with a “Hi.”

  “Hi, Diana.” Jamie looked at the girl’s clothing. “You really are wet, kid.”

  “Go on up and change your clothes,” Grace told her. “And dry your hair while you’re at it.”

  “I guess I am a little uncomfortable.” Diana tugged at the front of her shirt. “But I’ll come back.”

  Grace shook her head as her granddaughter left the office. “That child . . .”

  “. . . is a really good kid,” Jamie finished the sentence for her.

  “She is that. I adore her.” Grace grinned. “But I suppose that’s apparent.”

  “It’s equally apparent that the feeling is mutual.” Jamie reached for a box. “What do you suppose we’ll find today?”

  She began to sort through the newspapers in front of her, checking the social pages for the photos Grace was looking for and any smidgen of information that she might find useful. The morning passed with little of interest other than photos of Curtis Enright and his wife.

  “Oh, she was something, Rose Enright was,” Grace said.

  “She was very pretty.” Jamie held up the page to get a better look.

  “She was a beauty,” Grace agreed. “One of the blossoms.”

  “The blossoms?”

  “Rose Enright, Lilly Ryder, and Violet Finneran. Everyone in town knew them as the blossoms. Lilly was a bit older than the other two, but they were good friends. Violet and Rose were inseparable, the very best of friends. Violet worked for Curtis at the law firm for, well, forever. She still goes into the office a few days every week to make sure things are running smoothly.” Grace took another sip of tea, then frowned. “I need a little hot water.”

  “Want me to—”

  “No, it’s fine. I should talk less and drink my tea and mind my own business.”

  What are the odds that’s going to happen? Jamie thought.

  “Anyway, Curtis had a health scare a year or so ago, and everyone thought his next move would be to a retirement home, one of those assisted-living places. But didn’t he surprise everyone by donating his house and property to St. Dennis and then moving into Violet’s house with her.”

  “He’s living with his secretary?”

  “Oh, no, dear, not like that.” Grace chuckled. “Curtis never in his life looked at another woman, even after Rose died. He’s always maintained that she never left, you know.”

  “Wait. Let me guess. Her ‘spirit’ remains.”

  Grace ignored the sarcasm. “And what a strong spirit it is. Everyone in town has sensed her presence in the big house.”

  “What do you mean, sensed?”

  “Curtis has always maintained that he could see her, speak with her.”

  “And people allowed him to handle their legal affairs?”

  “Don’t be so quick to judge things you don’t understand, dear.” For a moment, Jamie thought Grace was going to wag a finger at her. “And of course,” Grace went on, “there are the gardenias.”

  “The gardenias.”

  “Rose’s favorite flower. Though there hasn’t been one in the house in the twenty years since she passed, the house still smells of gardenias.” Grace looked up from her teacup. “That’s how you know Rose is around.”

  “And you’ve experienced this?”

  “Everyone who’s been there since Rose died has experienced it.”

  “We were in the house last night. I didn’t smell gardenias.”

  “Curtis doesn’t live there anymore.” Grace spoke as if instructing a child.

  Jamie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “So did Rose make the move with Curtis to Violet’s house?”

  “They both seem to think she did, dear.” Grace set the cup aside and stared at the photo of Curtis and his wife, both of whom were dressed to kill, Curtis in a tux, Rose in a floor-length gown. “I remember this night as if it were yesterday. The last Harvest Ball at the old Grange Hall.” She seemed to be lost in the past. “I wonder what happened to all the old negatives. The originals, I mean. I wonder if . . .” She tapped her fingers on the desk before picking up her phone. “Ford, would you give Ray a call and ask if he knows where the old negatives are? Yes, for the photos that ran in the paper over the years. Let me know if he finds anything.” Grace hung up and told Jamie, “Ray’s been with the paper for over forty years. If anyone can find things in that building, it will be Ray.”

  “That would be great. If he located the negatives, we could have them developed. Real photos would be so much more helpful than the faded pictures in the papers.”

  “Real photos definitely would be much more interesting,” Grace agreed. “Displaying the real photos next to the articles would make a wonderful display. We could organize them chronologically. Just think, the evolution of the town in photogr
aphs, accompanied by the commentary of the day.”

  “It would make a fascinating time line,” Jamie agreed. “A true social history of St. Dennis.”

  “Exactly.” A few minutes later, Grace asked, “Have you come up with an idea for your next book yet?”

  Jamie shook her head.

  “I’m assuming you want to stay with the truth theme.”

  “I’m . . . not sure.”

  “You know, there are many angles to the truth. There’s the flat-out, undisputed, no-question-about-it truth. ‘The sun is shining’ sort of truth. Then there’s the truth as we see it. ‘Shooting animals for sport is barbaric.’ And there’s the personal truth. ‘My child is the smartest child in the world.’ ” Grace smiled at Jamie. “And then there’s the opposite of truth. Have you thought about exploring the flip side of truth, Jamie? About the many reasons and excuses for why people don’t tell the truth? Why we lie?”

  “Write about lying?”

  “Well, it is something we’re all familiar with. We’ve all told lies at some point in life. I think there are probably as many kinds of lies as there are truths. White lies: ‘Oh, no, that dress doesn’t make you look fat.’ There are lies of omission. There are the truths you never tell.” Grace went back to the newspaper on the desk in front of her. “I would think you’d find plenty to write about. Of course, you’re the writer. I’m sure you’ll come up with exactly the right thing.”

  The truths you never tell. Well, that certainly hit close to home.

  Jamie played with the phrase and its meaning, turning it over and over in her mind for the rest of the afternoon. Later, when she returned to her room, she turned on her laptop, and for the first time in months, she had something to write about. She wasn’t sure what form it would take in the end, but she knew instinctively that Grace had hit on something worth thinking about. It no longer occurred to her to wonder how Grace knew.

  DAN SAT IN his office, reading through the stack of messages that had come from the front desk. Every complaint, every compliment, was directed to him. He felt obligated to keep his finger on the pulse of everything that went on in the inn, good and bad. He’d worked his ass off for twenty-some years to earn that “Best of the Bay” rating the inn had held for the past five years, and he was determined to maintain it. He felt immense pride that the Inn at Sinclair’s Point had been recognized as the top in its field. Getting and keeping that recognition of high standards had been more important to him than anything other than his family.