At the River’s Edge

by Mariah Stewart

  “Thanks, Mom.” Sophie swallowed a lump. Her mother was the first person in the family to give her venture wholehearted and optimistic support.

  “I’ll be here on opening day,” Olivia assured her. “Now, tell me what you’re going to have on the menu …”

  “Mostly basics, with a special every day.” Sophie reiterated her conversation with Shelby as they walked around the building.

  “It sounds as if Shelby has given you good advice.” Olivia paused out back. “You’d have a lovely view of the river if you removed some of those trees. You could have some tables out here …”

  Sophie grinned. “I’m planning on it. Maybe not this year …”

  “Why not this year?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to afford to have all the trees removed, a patio put down, and purchase the sort of tables that should be out here. So maybe next year.”

  “I wish we knew what was going on, on the other side of that fence.” Olivia frowned disapprovingly at the sight. “Does the fence belong to you or to the property next door?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s theirs. It goes all the way across the front and down the other side, and now that I’m looking at it more closely, there’s a big double gate out front.”

  “It’s really ugly. Well, maybe you can sweet-talk the owner into removing it.”

  “I don’t know who owns it, and I doubt they’re going to go to the expense of taking down a perfectly good fence—ugly though it may be—and then pay to put up something that’s more aesthetically pleasing to me.”

  “Evergreens, definitely. And maybe you could plant some flowering vines on it,” Olivia suggested. “At least along the section that faces your building.”

  “We’ll see.” They reached the bait shop side of the building and Sophie shared her plans for the garden.

  “Yes, yes, I can see it. It’s going to be beautiful. I applaud your good eye, Sophie. And I can see where this could be a success, given the amount of early morning traffic you can expect, and the opening of the studio down the road.” She paused. “Now, if we’re done here, why not show me where that new film studio is going to be. I read somewhere that they’re casting their first movie. Then maybe we can stop in that little shop so I can take a closer look at that bag that was in the window. And after that, you can take me to that ice-cream place. I’m thinking this is a dessert-first kind of day …”

  Jason rounded the bend in River Road just in time to see a dark SUV drive away from the parking lot of the building next to his property. The building he’d been coveting. The one where he’d planned on opening his retail business. The one that Paul Dunlap, his Realtor, had just told him had been sold.

  “Sold!” he’d all but shouted into the phone. “How could it have been sold? You told me it wasn’t even on the market!”

  “It wasn’t. At least, the owner told me that it wasn’t. When I called this morning to check in with her again, just like you asked, she told me she’d had an offer and decided to take it.”

  “But she promised I’d have first shot at it.”

  “I don’t remember a promise, Jason. I’d asked her to call if she wanted to sell the place, and she said she’d keep it in mind. There was no promise, nothing binding. She wasn’t under any real obligation to call me.”

  “So it’s done?” He couldn’t believe it. His place. Sold out from under him …

  “Not done as in gone to settlement. But she was pretty adamant.”

  “Can’t you go back to the owner and see if we can make a better deal with her?”

  “She’s signed an agreement of sale. The only way it’s going to be nullified is if the buyer found some way out of the contract, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I’m sure that whoever’s buying it is taking it as is, no contingencies.” The Realtor paused. “I’m sure that’s the case, since it’s such a fast settlement.”

  “How fast?”

  “She said they go to closing week after next.”

  “Can we find out who bought the place? Maybe I can make them an offer.”

  “I’ll ask around, see what I can find out … but you know, if someone went out of their way to buy that property that quickly, they must have some plans for it.”

  “Who was the Realtor?”

  “Hamilton Forbes. Look, Jason, I’m sorry …”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Jason hung up, kicking himself for not going to Forbes himself when he first spied the property. Forbes was a lifelong resident of St. Dennis, his company had been around forever, and he knew everyone in town. Jason had gone with Paul because, even though he was new to St. Dennis himself, Paul had been the listing agent for the nursery property and had assured Jason that he’d keep an eye on the Walsh building, that he’d make certain that when it came up for sale, his would be the first offer.

  So much for that. Jason blew out a long stream of agitation. He idled the engine and leaned on the steering wheel, watching the dark SUV disappear around the bend in the road, his earlier good mood growing fouler by the minute.

  He’d counted on buying that building. He’d sketched it out fifty times—where he’d grow what, where he’d eventually build a greenhouse. He’d calculated how many people he’d have to hire right away, how many more he’d likely need next year and the year after, and how much income the business would have to generate in order to pay for it all. That property—that building—had played such an integral part of his overall long-term business plan that he felt momentarily stunned at the reality that it would belong to someone else.

  He tried to remember if he’d ever before been too stunned to even curse, but was pretty sure that this was a first.

  There was no way around it. He was going to have to come up with a Plan B, find another place for the retail shop. Unless, of course, he could convince the new owner to sell the property to him. Paul obviously thought that was a dead end, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe the buyer picked it up on spec, thinking to hold it for a while, then sell at a profit. With Dallas’s studio opening up soon, surely property values would increase along this stretch of River Road.

  He finished his coffee and crushed the cardboard cup. He’d started the day on such an upbeat note and he hated that it had gone downhill in the time it took for him to answer his phone.

  Good mood or bad, he still had a long day’s work ahead of him. There was a new office building out on the highway that had contracted him to landscape, and his best crew was already on their way to the job site where he was to meet with them. He’d get them started, then spend the rest of the morning having sod laid in Curtis Enright’s backyard.

  “Got all the grandkids in town for Jesse’s wedding this weekend,” Curtis had told him. “I know the gardens can’t be finished in time, but could we get some grass out there where the backhoe tore up the lawn when those big trees were brought in? I’d sure like it if I could walk the kids down there to show off what we’re doing, maybe play a little horseshoes or badminton on Sunday afternoon.”

  “Not a problem.” Jason tried to picture Curtis swinging at the birdie, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “I’ll take care of it.”

  They were cutting it close—Curtis’s family was due to arrive in St. Dennis tomorrow—and the sod had taken longer to arrive than had been promised. It would need to be well watered today and with the weather forecast for tomorrow calling for temperatures in the 80s, Jason was pretty sure it would be dried off by the time Curtis’s family descended on him.

  All in all, no time to pout, Jason reminded himself as he turned the pickup around. Things were what they were. If he’d dwelt on hardship or misfortune every time something bad happened to him, he’d be in therapy right now. Tomorrow was bound to be better—his mother always told him that, that sun always followed the rain. She’d been an optimist, always looking for the bright side of things, always looking for the good in every situation and everyone she met. That was one of the things he best remembered about her, her little homilies
about life and how everyone’s life had hills and valleys. When things were not going so well and you felt like nothing was ever going to be good again, you were in the valley.

  “When you’re down, you have to look up,” she’d tell him. “Watch the top of the hill, and see how much closer you get to it every day. Before you know it, you’ll be at the top. Don’t ever forget to appreciate your good fortune, hold on to how it feels when things are right, and be grateful. Then when someday you find yourself sliding back down to that valley, remind yourself that it’s only a matter of time before you head on back to the top of the hill again. Peaks and valleys, Jace. That’s what life is all about.”

  “Why can’t we just stay at the top of the hill all the time?” he’d once asked her. “Why do we have to sit in the valley and feel bad? Why can’t things just stay good?”

  “If things were good all the time, you wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, no one’s life is without some pain. Everyone goes through some bad times.” She’d shrugged. “So when things are good, enjoy it. When things are not so good, make the best of it and remember that it will get better.” She’d ruffled his hair. “Life has lots of ups and downs in store for you. You ever want to talk about it—the good or the not so good—I’ll always be here to listen.”

  And she was always there for him—until the day she wasn’t.

  Until the day his entire world went black and changed forever, and there’d been no one to blame but himself for the gut-wrenching loss that had, for a while, made time stand still. His left thigh began to throb at the memory, and the scars on his chest began to sear as if they’d been set on fire, fueled by guilt and pain and an emptiness he’d never get used to.

  But there were times when he could swear he heard his mother’s voice inside his head, times when he’d needed some strength that he couldn’t find on his own. Whether memory or simply wishful thinking on his part, her words always seemed to come when he needed her guidance. Like the day they’d buried her and his father, and the day he got the call that Eric had been killed. Those were the darkest times, the worst times of his life, he reminded himself, life-changing moments that were real, the times that were seared into his soul. This—the news about the property being sold—this was nothing compared to those times, was meaningless in the scheme of his life. This was merely a minor setback of his business plan. There’d be another property, another opportunity.

  He tried channeling his mother’s optimism, her cheerfulness, but he was still really pissed.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  He thought of Curtis’s insistence that his wife’s spirit still inhabited the house they’d shared, and thought it probably wasn’t much different from the way he felt when he thought he heard his mother’s voice. He never thought he saw her, the way Curtis seemed to think he saw his wife; it was more a whisper inside his head. Real or imagined, it hardly made a difference, since whatever he thought he heard her say always seemed to be exactly what he needed to hear.

  He drove along the winding two-lane road, the scent of magnolias wafting in through the open windows, the sun warming his arm that rested on the door frame, but the beauty of the day was lost on him. Losing the property without having a chance to purchase it didn’t sit right with him, but apparently someone else wanted it and had had an in with the seller that he didn’t. It irritated him to know that all along, someone else had had an eye on the same prize, and that someone had beaten him to the sale.

  But who, he wondered? What were they planning on doing with the property? And more importantly, what might it take to get them to sell?

  Chapter 15

  “WELL, I have to say, this is the first time I’ve been to a wedding where the color scheme was pink and black,” Olivia whispered to Sophie from behind her program. They’d just been seated in the front row of the tiny church, where Jesse stood at the altar after having escorted his mother and sister to their pew.

  “I like it.” Sophie leaned closer to her mother’s ear. “I like those black-and-white toile cones holding the pink roses at the ends of each row, and I like the way Brooke incorporated the pattern into the programs with the toile ribbon.” She held up the program she’d been given when they entered the church. “Sophisticated and sweet at the same time.”

  “She said last night at the rehearsal that her dress was pink. Not pale pink, but a real pink-pink.” Olivia turned to keep her eye on the back of the church, as if concerned that the bride might sneak in without her knowing it. “Have you seen it?”

  “No, but Steffie has. She said it’s gorgeous and very Brooke.”

  “My boy looks so handsome.” Olivia nodded toward Jesse, who stood at the altar awaiting his bride. “All the boys look handsome in their black suits.”

  “I’ll bet it’s been a long time since anyone referred to Pop as a boy,” Sophie mused.

  Olivia lightly swatted at Sophie’s hand with her program. “You know what I mean. Logan and Clay and Delia’s son.”

  “Nick. Delia’s son’s name is Nick. Jesse asked him if he’d act as an unofficial usher, since they wanted to keep the wedding party small but still wanted to have a few guys on hand to show guests to their seats. As you can see, the altar area is very small, so you really couldn’t have a crowd up there. This is the oldest church in St. Dennis, and on the National Register of Historic Places.”

  “Well, it may be small but it’s lovely. Simple but charming. I love the flowers growing in those big urns at the altar.”

  “Those were Lucy’s idea. Spray paint the urns black and fill them with bulbs that would bloom in time for the wedding. She’s ridiculously clever when it comes to things like that.”

  “And the flowering branches—the cherry and peach and pears—in those tall galvanized steel containers at either side of the entrance to the church … gorgeous. Who would think of something like that?”

  “Lucy would. You know that she’s a very well-known event planner, right?”

  “Grace’s daughter, yes. I met her when I arrived at the inn. Clay’s wife.”

  “Right.”

  The string quartet that was set up at the side of the altar began to play, and all heads turned to the back of the church where Clay began to walk his mother, Hannah Madison, down the aisle. Next came Dallas MacGregor in a sleeveless black silk sheath with a low drapey neckline and a huge bouquet of mixed pink flowers of every hue.

  “Not sure I like the idea of black on the matron of honor.” Olivia nodded in Dallas’s direction. “I was afraid it would look more like a funeral than a wedding when I first heard what she was wearing, but I must say, she certainly can carry it off.”

  “Dallas can carry off anything. That figure and that platinum hair … she always looks stunning. Even when you see her in the grocery store.”

  “She does her own grocery shopping?”

  “Of course. This is St. Dennis, not Beverly Hills. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it herself when she lived in California. She’s pretty down to earth from what I can tell.”

  “Oh, look at Brooke!” Olivia wiped away a sudden tear. “Did you ever …?”

  On the arm of her brother, Clay, Brooke started down the aisle, the layers of her pink chiffon skirt flowing around her like billowing waves. She carried an all-white bouquet of roses, tulips, baby’s breath, orchids, and ranunculus, and wore a tiny pink birdcage veil.

  “That’s so totally Brooke.” Sophie grinned. “So girly and feminine and chic and, well, totally herself.”

  The bride passed their pew, and as Sophie began to turn toward the front of the church, her eyes met Jason’s across the aisle. He winked. Smiling, she winked back.

  “Well, I take back everything I said about the whole pink-and-black thing,” Olivia whispered as the congregation took their seats and the brief service began. “The look is starting to grow on me.”

  “Ummmm.” Sophie fought an urge to look back over her shoulder.

  In consideration of the best man, who was in his mideight
ies, the ceremony was short and sweet. The vows were traditional—“Do you take this woman … in sickness and in health …”—even if the color scheme was not. Twenty minutes after the bride walked down the aisle as Brooke Bowers, she turned to the congregation as Brooke Enright, and those gathered in the church applauded as the happy couple made their way to the back of the church.

  “Oh, that was lovely.” Olivia dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Way too short a ceremony, but what there was, was just lovely.”

  “I think Brooke wanted it short because it wasn’t her first marriage.” Sophie gave a little finger wave at her grandfather, who looked proud as a peacock with Dallas on his arm. “And also because Pop can’t stand forever.”

  “Surely there are chairs …”

  “Where would you put a chair on that altar?” Sophie followed her mother out of the pew. “It’s so narrow, there’s no room.”

  “Good point.” Olivia took Sophie’s arm as they started toward the door.

  On the opposite side of the aisle, Jason stood with his hands in the pockets of his dark suit jacket. Sophie had never seen him dressed in anything but jeans and a tee or a sweatshirt. Dressed up or dressed down, she decided as she passed by, he was one fine-looking man.

  The wedding party and the family members made their way to the Inn at Sinclair’s Point, where photos would be taken on the lawn and amidst the new garden paths, at the gazebo that had been erected the previous year, and in front of the small wooded area that was bursting with the color of a thousand daffodils and tulips. The sky was clear April blue, the Bay behind the lawn sparkling in the sun. It was a little over an hour before the photographer finally finished bossing them around for pictures.

  “Now, Jesse, one with you and your mother and Sophie … and let’s have your brother and Zoey and Georgia in there next to Sophie for the next shot …

  “I think we’ll have your grandfather join you … Now all of Mr. Enright’s grandchildren with him in the middle. One with him and Brooke … Now, Jesse, you step into the shot right there next to Brooke …”