“He’d never break a promise to Maggy,” Parrish agreed. “But to his wife? Different story. Right?”
Riley wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. “All too true.”
“Typical passive-aggressive bullshit. He doesn’t want to be the one to break his kid’s heart.”
2
“Shitheel,” Parrish said. She shook her head. “I know. You don’t have to remind me. It’s all my fault, right?”
Riley shrugged. “If you hadn’t made me go to that stupid barbecue…”
It was the summer of ’97. Riley was working as a reporter for the local CBS affiliate in Raleigh, living in a tiny, bug-infested garage apartment in Cameron Park, while Parrish had gotten a job clerking at a local law firm.
After a messy breakup with her senior-year boyfriend and a series of laughable one-night stands and blind dates, Riley had sworn off men—at least for the summer. But Parrish had insisted on dragging Riley to a law-firm party at the managing partner’s country house.
At first, Riley had flatly refused to go. “No way,” she’d told Parrish. “No offense, but your work friends are either boring, stuck-up, or ancient. I’d rather stay home and give myself a facial.”
“This party is different,” Parrish said. “It’s a pig-picking, and it’s at Boomer Grayson’s farm. He’s having a bluegrass band play, and besides, it definitely won’t be all lawyers. Boomer’s son, Bryan, played shortstop at Wake Forest and he even played a season in the minor leagues for the Boston Red Sox farm team until he hurt his throwing arm. He’s moved back home and is in his third year of med school at Duke. So there’ll be plenty of hunky baseball players and hot doctor types. You gotta come!”
“Why do you need me?” Riley had asked, her suspicions aroused by Parrish’s insistence. “Why not save all the hunky medics and jocks for yourself?”
“Okay, well, I might have a little crush on Bryan. But I don’t want to go to the farm for the weekend by myself, because that would look too obvious.”
“So I’m your wingwoman?” asked Riley.
“You got it.”
“I’ll go. But you’re driving, and if you take off with this guy to go play doctor and leave me alone with a bunch of boring lawyers, I’ll never speak to you again.”
Despite Riley’s threats, Parrish had totally snuck off with the jock-doc almost the moment they’d arrived at the pig-picking.
But the band was great and, left to her own devices, Riley found herself drawn into a circle of partygoers clustered around the fire, tapping her toes to “Little Liza Jane.”
He’d materialized by her side, seemingly from nowhere. Tall, preppy looking, singing along to all the verses. He was sunburnt, which made his blue eyes look bluer, sipping on a red Solo cup of what he swore was moonshine.
“I say we name our first kid Little Liza Jane. That okay with you?”
She’d turned to this brash stranger and frowned. “What if it’s a boy?”
He had an easy answer, of course. “Liza James?”
His breath on her cheek was warm and boozy.
“Do I know you?” she’d asked, amused.
“Not yet. My name’s Wendell Griggs, but I already know yours,” he confided, leaning in. “You’re Riley Nolan.”
“And how do you know me?” Riley asked.
“I see you every night on channel nine,” he replied. “You’re the girl who did all the stories about that puppy mill over in Kinston, right?”
“Well, I’m not on every night. More like once or twice a week. But, yeah, I did the puppy mill stories.”
“I actually went over to the Humane Society and tried to adopt one of those beagle puppies, but the shelter wouldn’t approve me because I live in a condo without a yard.”
“Those little guys were soooo cute. I just wanted to scoop one up and run away with him,” Riley confided. “But, let me tell you, beagle puppies are loud! And my landlady doesn’t allow pets. Anyway, I’m gone all day, so I guess it doesn’t make sense for me to have a dog right now. But someday…”
“I know, right? We always had black Labs growing up. I can’t wait to get a real house with a yard so I can get another Lab.”
A little while later, after some more pleasant chatter—and a lot more moonshine—Wendell had a sheepish look on his face. “We have something else besides puppies in common,” he admitted. “I actually work for your dad.”
“No! You work for Belle Isle Enterprises? How come we’ve never met?”
“I just started working as a leasing agent for the new retail shopping village a couple of weeks ago. I’m mostly working in the Wilmington office right now.”
Wendell had been so easy to talk to in the beginning, so charming. So much fun. He’d been interested in everything. They’d stayed talking by the bonfire that night until finally Parrish had emerged from the shadows, hand in hand with Bryan Grayson, her hair mussed and her clothes askew, sometime around 3 a.m.
Early Saturday morning, Riley had gotten called back to the station to fill in for an ailing reporter, but somehow, Wendell had finagled her phone number from Parrish, who’d stayed over for the rest of the weekend.
He’d called that Monday, and she hadn’t bothered to call back. Then he called again the next day, and the day after that, had a huge bouquet of sunflowers delivered to her at the station, with a note that read, You Are the Sunshine of My Life.
Tamika, the noon anchor, had read the note over Riley’s shoulder and given her nod of approval. “A dude who sends something besides roses? And quotes Stevie Wonder? That’s a dude worth keeping.”
It didn’t take long for Wendell’s charm—and persistence—to erode Riley’s resolve to take a hiatus from dating.
But it had been her father who’d swayed her opinion on the matter.
Although her parents always spent the summers on Belle Isle, her father had made a special trip to Raleigh on a weekday, called her ahead of time, and invited her to lunch at the Carolina Country Club, an unusual move for him.
“I understand Wendell Griggs has been trying to wangle a date with you,” her father had said, sipping on his usual pre-lunch scotch and water. “He claims you’ve shut him down every time.”
“He told you that?” Riley blushed.
“He casually mentioned that you’d met at a party, and that he was very taken with you,” W.R. said. “I guess he was just trying to figure out why you won’t go out with him.”
“Casually. Right,” Riley said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I told him. I’m not dating anybody right now. I’m concentrating on my career.”
“Your career,” W.R. scoffed, putting the phrase in finger quotes. “Covering the Miss Carolina tobacco pageant and cow-milking contests.”
“I’m the newbie at the station right now. They always give rookies the crap assignments,” Riley said. “But that story I did on the puppy mills got picked up by The News and Observer and by the wire service. And I’m working on a piece about the county foster-care system.”
“Good for you,” W.R. said, nodding his head. “But I still don’t see why you shouldn’t have a little fun on your own time. Wendell Griggs is a nice guy. A real go-getter. Your mother likes him, too.”
“What is this?” Riley asked, half-amused and half-annoyed. “You and Mom are now taking votes on who I should date?”
W.R. tipped his glass and emptied it. “And why not? Who knows you better than your own parents?”
“Forget it,” Riley said flatly. “Sorry, Daddy, but I am not currently in the market for a boyfriend. And when I am in the market, I doubt I’d choose a guy like Wendell Griggs.”
W.R. had sighed and shook his head, then signaled the waiter for the lunch ticket, which he’d signed with a flourish. “That’s what your mother said you’d say. But I had to try.”
The next time Wendell Griggs called, for reasons she still couldn’t remember, Riley had finally said yes.
He took her to dinner at the most expensive
restaurant in Raleigh, insisted on ordering champagne, and afterward, as he walked her to the door of her garage apartment, he’d given her a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Which had come as a surprise to Riley, considering how hotly he’d pursued her.
She’d been intrigued, enough to say yes when he’d called the next night to ask her out for the coming weekend.
Things were not nearly as innocent that night. And the following week, he’d insisted she move out of what he referred to as her “roach motel” and in with him. Two month later, he’d surprised her with the most magnificent diamond she’d ever seen. A diamond so big it took Riley’s breath away.
Wendell Griggs, Riley quickly learned, was all about the grand gesture.
It took several years before she realized that her husband wasn’t quite as attentive when it came to the nagging little details of daily life.
3
“So, what’s happening between you two now?” Parrish asked as they walked toward the dock.
She’d known for months and months that things weren’t good between her best friend and husband, and Wendell’s conspicuous absence during their traditional spring break trip to the Florida panhandle had only confirmed her suspicions that the marriage was doomed. But up until now Riley had been typically tight-lipped about her marital status, saying only that they’d been going to couples therapy.
She’d known something was off the minute she’d set eyes on her. Riley had lost weight—at least twenty pounds. Riley was still beautiful—she had the kind of effortless good looks that money couldn’t buy—but today her jaw was set in a rigid line, and fine new worry lines radiated from her eyes and chin.
“Separation. And a divorce, I guess,” Riley said, keeping her voice low as they approached the throng of people gathered near the departure ramp. The ferry was tied alongside the dock now, its big diesel engines thrumming.
“Oh, God,” Parrish moaned. “I had a feeling, but still. Things are really that bad, huh?”
Riley nodded, then glanced down at her watch and frowned. Ten minutes until boarding time.
She looked around to be sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
“I put the house on the market two weeks ago. And it’s under contract.”
Parrish’s eyes widened. “Riles! You always loved that house! What does Wendell have to say about that?”
“What can he say? He’s been trying to keep up this crazy façade, but despite what he says, I know things aren’t going well with the business. I think he’s overextended but, of course, he denies that. Anyway, it’s ridiculous for us to live in an eight-thousand-square-foot house, even if we aren’t splitting up.”
“That’s a pretty drastic change. How is Maggy handling everything?”
“She’s sad about it, naturally. She grew up in that house. I’ve told her we’re moving to be closer to her new school, which is true, partly. I’ve found a new place, with a yard for the puppy.”
“And the puppy was a consolation prize, for having to give up her house—and her dad?”
Riley’s smile was tight. “Yes, that’s about the size of it.”
“And Maggy has no idea—about the divorce?”
“If she knows, she’s keeping up a good front. Wendell’s clothes and things are still at the house, but he’s almost never there. Typical of him, he doesn’t want to be the bad guy, doesn’t want to break his daughter’s heart by just admitting that the marriage is over. The plan was that we’d tell Maggy together—this weekend. And you see how that’s working out. No sign of him. He just assumes I’ll do all the dirty work by myself.”
“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but he’s such a selfish douche-canoe,” Parrish said. “I know how hard you tried to make it work, but sometimes, it’s just time to admit you’re licked. Have you talked to a lawyer?”
Riley sighed. “Not yet, and that’s another thing I’m dreading. The property settlement process is going to be brutal. Belle Isle Enterprises is my family’s business, of course, but Dad himself anointed Wendell as CEO.…”
“And, knowing you, there’s no prenup, right?”
Riley gave a rueful smile. “Right.”
“You’re right. It will be a nightmare. But Ed will know who you should call. There’s a woman who does divorce law whom I like a lot … Susan, something. I can’t remember her name. She’s got the face of an angel and the soul of a pit bull–piranha hybrid.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“That’s the general idea, dear. You want a divorce lawyer who’ll make the other side’s testicles shrink just at the mention of her name. I just remembered her last name. Simpson. Sue Simpson.”
“Speaking of Ed, he’s coming this weekend, right?”
“Yoo-hoo! Parrish!” Andrea Payne had spotted the two women and was waving her arms frantically to draw their attention.
“Oh God,” Parrish said under her breath. “Belle Isle Barbie. Hide me.”
“Too late. Houdini couldn’t hide from that woman.”
“What’s she want? Besides my soul, I mean?”
“She wants to invite you over for drinks before the full moon party tonight. And to see her new kitchen. Now, what about Ed? Don’t tell me he’s a no-show, too.”
“He took the first ferry over yesterday so he could start opening up the house for the season.”
“Ed’s such a love,” Riley said. “We’ve been summering on Belle Isle for nearly twenty years together, but do you think it ever occurred to Wendell Griggs to help me get the house opened up? Never! He’s just like my dad that way. He thinks magic elves show up to take down the storm shutters, sweep up all the dead bugs, air out the house, drag the lawn chairs out of storage, and get the golf cart batteries charged up.”
“Ed’s just feeling guilty. He didn’t help close the house down at all in November and, except for spring break when we were with you at Grayton Beach, he’s been mostly AWOL for the past six months.
“Lots of trials?”
Parrish nodded. “That big plane crash in the Alps, plus there was a corporate jet that went down in the Maldives last year that got hardly any press. People die in a plane, Ed Godchaux is the man to call.”
Riley gave Parrish a sideways glance. There was a bitter undertone to her best friend’s glib patter that hadn’t been there before.
Parrish spied her next-door neighbor across the deck. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and hustled off in that direction.
The ferry’s horn sounded—loud and low. It was the five-minute warning. The metal gangplank clanged against the concrete dock, and arriving passengers began trickling off the boat while the crowd of departures edged closer. Memorial Day was about to start.
“Mom!” Maggy appeared at her side, her face reddened and tearstained.
Riley looked backward over her shoulder. No black Jeep. No Wendell. Another broken promise.
Before Riley could find words to comfort her daughter, Maggy was suddenly lifted into the air by a pair of hairy, tanned arms encircling her waist.
“Saggy, baggy, Maggy, why you lookin’ kinda draggy?” he sang—in perfect pitch.
The girl’s tears were instantly forgotten.
“Bebo!” She thumped her uncle’s chest.
“Magpie! Why the tears?”
Banks sat on his haunches and gave a bark of happiness at the sight of the newcomer.
Billy Nolan had that effect on people. He’d been an irresistible imp as a child, and had grown into an adorable adult. He was irresponsible, drank too much, and played too hard. He was a wildly talented and totally unmotivated jazz pianist who worked only when it suited him, which was rarely.
And Riley Nolan Griggs doted on her baby brother, her only brother.
She hugged Billy now and whispered in his ear. “Wendell’s a no-show, and Maggy’s heartbroken.”
“I’ll kill the bastard if you want me to,” Billy whispered back.
“Deal,” Riley agreed.
“How shall I
do it?”
Riley watched while the ferry’s motors churned the surface of the river as it backed away from the dock. There was still no sign of the black Jeep. “I don’t care, as long as it’s slow and painful.”
* * *
They stood against the railing on the lower deck, watching as the mainland retreated. Billy had one arm loosely draped around his sister’s shoulder and the other around his niece.
“What are you now, fifteen, sixteen?” he asked, tapping the top of Maggy’s head. “All of a sudden, you’re three inches taller than me.”
“I’m almost thirteen, as if you didn’t know it. And, no offense, but everybody’s taller than you, Bebo,” Maggy retorted.
“True that,” Billy agreed. “I’m that tragic cliché—a short, sassy, gay man. Doomed to spend my life shopping in the boys’ department at J. Crew.”
“How come you’re so tan?” Riley asked, studying her brother’s face. His dark hair was close-cropped, and his hazel eyes looked almost green against his deeply bronzed skin. He wore a blue-and-white-striped boat-necked T-shirt tucked into white jeans with rolled-up cuffs and immaculate white espadrilles. “Has it been that nice in New York?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Billy said. “I got summoned down here by Mama two weeks ago and I’ve been at her beck and call ever since.”
“You two are speaking again?” Riley lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
“Oh, sure. She sent out all the living room furniture to get recovered and refinished back in the fall, and she needed a stooge to pick it up and haul it back over to the island and rearrange it at Shutters. So all is forgiven. Until next time. I take it she’s not currently on speaking terms with you?”
“Nope,” Riley said. She cut her eyes meaningfully in Maggy’s direction, a clear sister signal that she did not want to discuss family drama in front of her daughter.
“Count your blessings,” Billy said. “Hey, Saggy Maggy. Does your forehand still suck, or did you get some coaching since I played you last?”
Maggy shrugged. “I’m not so into tennis. It’s boring.”
“Tennis is boring? Since when?”
The Weekenders Page 2
