by Susan Wiggs
“He said that?”
“Yep.”
“I hope he meant it in a good way. Regina is my fiancée now.”
“Hey, congrats, buddy.” He raised another salute.
“Sometimes I think about the fact that I got engaged, and I’m like, whoa. How’d that happen?”
Logan folded his arms and leaned forward, scrutinizing Mason. “How come I’m not getting a here-comes-the-groom vibe from you?”
Mason drummed his fingers on the table. There were things he tried not to think about, but certain thoughts kept cropping up, and he didn’t really know what to do about it.
“There’s a complication,” he said.
“You mean another woman.”
“God, no.” He flashed on a memory of his father, kissing a strange woman in his Paris apartment. “Never. But...” He paused, frustrated with himself. How was it that he could put together complicated business deals that made people’s heads spin, but he couldn’t find a way to explain this weird feeling in his gut?
“Spill it, dude.” Logan drilled deeper with his stare. “The doctor is in.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a shot. So it’s all good with Regina. We work together, we like the same things, we’ve been dating a couple of years and we totally get each other.”
“But...?”
“There’s this woman—Faith McCallum. No, hang on, it’s not what you’re thinking. She’s a woman, not the other woman. She’s in charge of my mom’s care, a total impossibility for me. Nothing’s happened. Nothing’s going to happen. But I... We... I’ve never met anyone like her.”
Logan leaned back against the seat and regarded him calmly. “Problem solved, then.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you just answered your own question, dude.”
“There was no question.”
“Not aloud, there wasn’t. But I heard you loud and clear. What you’re trying to figure out is this—if I’m all in with Regina, why the hell do I keep thinking about Faith?”
“Wait, what? No, that makes no sense.”
“The whole world agrees that love makes no sense.” Logan shrugged philosophically.
“Bullshit. I wasn’t born yesterday. Regina and I are great together. We both like to work hard, play hard, travel, go to dinner... It’s all good. Believe me, I studied the terrain before I decided to settle down. We’re a solid match, the two of us.”
“Let me guess. Your families know and like each other. You share the same friends, the same social circles.”
“Sure we do. She’s just right for me.”
“Oh, dude.” Logan took a gulp of beer and set down his empty mug. “Been there,” he said, “divorced that.”
* * *
“How do we look?” asked Alice, waiting in the foyer for Donno to bring the van around. Ruby, Cara and Philomena regarded her and Faith with unmasked admiration. Bella skittered around, her nails clicking on the floor tiles. The little dog could read Alice’s signals perfectly and knew she was being left.
“Come on,” Cara said. “You know you look good.”
“Beautiful color choices on both of you,” Phil remarked.
Coming from her, that was high praise. The housekeeper had impeccable taste in decorating and clothes.
“You both look pretty every day,” Ruby said loyally. “Today you’re extra beautiful. I really like your hair like that, Mom.”
“Aw. Give me a hug, sweetie. And remember, you can call me on my mobile anytime.”
“No way,” Ruby assured her. “Phil and I are having pizza and movie night. The Sound of Music. She was shocked when I said I’ve never seen it.”
“We were all shocked,” Alice said.
“A gross oversight on my part,” Faith said. “There’s probably a special hell for parents who forget to make their children watch that movie.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ruby said. “You can’t remember everything.”
“Thanks, Rubes. Anyway, you’re in for a treat.” She turned to Cara. “What about you? Plans?”
Cara offered her usual noncommittal shrug, but her cheeks colored a little. “I’m going to help a friend out with a project.”
“Specifics, please.”
“Milo needs my help with some puppies. They’re too young to stay at the shelter over the weekend, so they’re at his house.”
So that explained the blush. Lately, Milo Waxman had been coming around, ostensibly to check on Bella, but most of the visits tended to end up with Milo and Cara going swimming or paddling together. He seemed like a great kid, dedicated to animal rescue and being eco-friendly. Still, he was a seventeen-year-old boy, and like any other boy, he probably spent most of his time thinking about sex.
“Is he home alone?”
“He’s got a sister,” Ruby chimed in. “Wanda Waxman. She’s a real pill.”
“Mom,” said Cara. “Jeez.”
Alice looked up at Faith. “You’ve had the talk?”
“Many times,” Faith assured her. “All the time. Much to Cara’s dismay.”
Alice nodded sagely. “I’ve said it before—raising boys is easier than raising girls. Especially in the teenage years, when the hormones hit. With a boy, you only have to worry about one penis. With a girl, you have to worry about all of them.”
Ruby giggled behind her hand. Philomena grabbed her and pulled her along the hallway toward the home theater.
“Oh, my God.” Shouldering her backpack and bike helmet, Cara marched toward the door.
“You really have no filters,” Faith said to Alice.
“I’m entitled,” Alice said simply.
Cara turned back toward Faith. “All the bike lights are working, I’ll check in when I get there and when I leave, and I’ll be home by curfew.”
“I don’t like you biking at night.”
“Fine, then teach me to drive.”
“This very minute?” Faith shot her a look. “Sure, I’ll get right on it.”
Cara pressed her back against the door. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ve been biking in the dark to the bakery for the past two years.”
Faith took a breath and let it out slowly. Her daughter was stronger, taller and smarter than Faith had been at that age. Cara was streetwise and confident. She would be fine. “Call my cell when you get there.”
“I will.” She yanked open the door, probably in a hurry to escape before Faith came up with another objection or condition. Then she stopped in her tracks and turned back. She gave Faith a quick hug, then bent and kissed Alice on the cheek. “Later, babes,” she said, and rushed away.
Alice looked after her thoughtfully. “Just a hunch, but I do believe you have nothing to worry about with that girl.”
“And that’s supposed to stop me from worrying?” Faith held open the door and Alice rolled out just as Donno was lowering the van’s lift.
“Of course not, but make sure you have a good time tonight.”
“Only if you make the same promise.”
“Does anyone have a good time on a first date? I scarcely remember.”
They rode to the ball field in silence. Donno turned the music to a Balinese track with soothing wind instruments and percussion, but Alice didn’t look soothed at all. She looked like a woman on the way to her own execution as the ramp lowered her to the parking lot. The weather was perfect—a golden summer evening. The air was redolent of popcorn. The lighted scoreboard announced a special appearance by Yankees pitcher Bo Crutcher, who had played for the Hornets before making it to the big leagues.
“This is a bad idea,” she said through her teeth. “I can’t believe I agreed to do this.”
“A very wise woman once said that fear makes the wolf—”
“Yes, yes, but you and I both know it’s just a saying,” Alice said.
“There he is. The big bad wolf himself.” Faith waved at Rick, who was coming toward them very slowly, leaning on a cane. He looked fantastic with his abundant salt-and-pepper hair and a pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled back at the cuffs. In his free hand, he held a small bouquet. “Go, Alice. Enjoy the game.”
Looking grim, Alice rolled forward. Rick met her halfway and said something that instantly made her smile. Then he leaned down and hung the bouquet on the armrest of her chair.
“Let’s go, Missy Faith,” Donno said, leaning out the window. “She’s gonna be okay, that one.”
* * *
Faith felt strangely vulnerable as Donno let her off in front of the Hilltop Tavern. She was so accustomed to managing Alice and Ruby that once she was on her own, she wasn’t quite certain what to do with herself. Together with the new hair and outfit, she was a stranger in her own skin.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
She spun around, then grinned. “Hey, yourself. I was just feeling as though I’m playing hooky tonight.”
“And that’s the point.” Kim Crutcher gave her a quick hug. “I’m glad you could join us for once. You’re going to love this group of gals. Some of them were beginning to think I’d made you up. I kept telling everyone, ‘Wait until you meet my friend Faith...’ and you never showed.”
“I’m here now. Thanks for including me.”
They went inside and found a group of women at a corner table. Kim introduced her to the gang—Maureen Haven, the town librarian, who was married to the band’s lead singer, Eddie. Sophie Shepherd was the wife of the local vet, who was also the band’s drummer. Kim’s husband, Bo, used to play bass in the group, but since his baseball career had taken off, he’d had to quit the band. Jenny McKnight, whom Faith knew because she owned the bakery where Cara worked, waved from the far end of the table. Guinevere from the bookstore and Suzanne from the boutique joined them, as well. And then there was Claire, a Bellamy by marriage, and a fellow nurse. Faith greeted everyone, reveling in the feeling of being out. Childless. Clientless. She needed to do this more often.
“Just so you know,” Suzanne said, “this gorgeous outfit she’s wearing is from my shop.”
“Such a great dress,” said Sophie. “That’s the perfect shade of plum on you.”
Faith felt instantly at ease with these women. “Thanks. I’m really glad to be joining you.”
“We’re here every week,” said Jenny. “Welcome to the Friday Night Drinking Club.”
They all raised their glasses, and Faith sipped her sweet summer drink. Everything about the evening felt good—the music, the women’s laughter, the platter of snacks delivered to the table by the good-natured waitress. It was the first time in a long time Faith had made her own social life a priority. That was the great thing about her job. There was always something to learn from a client. Alice Bellamy had a way of pushing people out of their comfort zone, and that included Faith.
She helped herself to snacks from the appetizer platter, her spirits lifted by the circle of friendly faces. She beamed at Kim. “I don’t have to ask how the twins are doing. I get to follow them on your Facebook page.”
“Aw, thanks,” said Kim. “They’re wonderful. You never post, though. What’s up with that?”
Faith shrugged. “Busy,” she said. “And boring, if you want to know the truth.”
“Stop it,” said Kim. “Look at you. You’re glowing. Love the hair.”
“Alice and I went to the salon today. And shopping.”
“A very sophisticated form of therapy. One of my faves.”
Claire Bellamy leaned in. “Good for you,” she said. “Did Aunt Alice enjoy herself?”
“Immensely. She’s at the Hornets game tonight.”
“Nice. Glad she’s getting out more. Ross and I want to drop by for a visit one of these days. And what’s this I hear about the elusive cousin Mason moving to Avalon?”
“Since Adam is away, we—he—thought someone should be there for her.”
“That’s nice.” Claire sighed. “I never had a family of my own until I married Ross. When they’re not driving you crazy, they’re the best thing ever.”
“Mason?” asked Kim. “What’s he like?”
“Drop-dead gorgeous and rich,” Claire said.
“Emotionally unavailable and taken,” Faith blurted out at the same time. She and Claire locked gazes, and she blushed. “He’s the son of my client. And he’s engaged.”
“So does he have a friend?” asked Kim.
“He doesn’t seem to have any friends,” she said. “Not around here, anyway.”
To her relief, the band started up with a cool version of “I Melt With You.” There were three pitchers on the table—beer, wine and blackberry-infused lemonade. She didn’t want to talk about Mason. She didn’t want to think about Mason. She wondered why she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Your husband’s such a good singer,” she said to Maureen. “I mean, the whole band is good, but he’s amazing.”
Maureen beamed with pride. “They’re fun, aren’t they? I’ll introduce you when they take a break.”
“Have you met Ray Tolley?” asked Sophie, indicating the keyboard player.
He was a tall, lanky guy in skinny jeans and a faux-vintage T-shirt with a “Willow Lake Surf Club” logo. Under a baseball cap turned backward, he had long, unruly hair and nice eyes.
“No,” said Faith. “Should I?”
“Absolutely,” Sophie said quickly. “He’s single, and he’s been checking you out since you got here.”
Faith’s cheeks heated. “Go on.”
“He has,” Maureen agreed. “And he’s a big sweetheart. Very talented, too. He studied classical piano at some fancy place in Rochester. I bet the two of you would hit it off.”
“Not interested.” Faith’s knee-jerk reaction to meeting a guy was always the same. She closed up like a clam. The only guy she didn’t feel that way about was Mason. It was safe to admire him from afar, because he was unavailable. Which made him the perfect crush for her.
“How do you know you’re not interested until you meet him and hang out for a while?”
“Believe me, I’m sparing the guy some awkwardness. I’ve got two girls. That’s almost always a deal breaker with guys.” She watched him do an impressive riff on the keyboard in the middle of “Certain Girls.” At the end of the riff, he looked directly at her and smiled.
“Okay,” she said, blushing. “He’s cute. Introduce us at the break.”
* * *
Mason was picky when it came to live music. He had no patience for screechy, amateurish, poorly mixed cover bands. Inner Child was a pleasant surprise. The lead singer had a quick hand on the guitar and a soulful voice. The bass player—and the reason Logan had wanted him to hear the band—was Brandi, their shared office assistant by day. She looked totally different in her bass player getup—a plaid miniskirt and tight top that showed her bare midriff, a funny flat driving cap with a pom-pom on top.
“With looks like that, she doesn’t have to be good,” Logan pointed out. “But she is.”
Mason was indifferent to her looks. He tried to enjoy the set, but he kept mulling over his earlier conversation with Logan. Been there, divorced that. How did a guy avoid making a mistake? Only by not taking a leap of faith in the first place.
Maybe his decision to move ahead with the wedding plans with Regina had been rash.
Come on, he told himself. Rash? He and Regina had been a couple for two years. They’d studied the situation from all angles. The two of them got along great. He could close his eyes and picture a future with her. A place in the city, and another on Willow Lake for weekends, once his mom was doing better and Adam returned. Trips t
ogether for business and pleasure. Maybe, just maybe, a kid. Maybe two. Regina claimed she was open to the idea, although she was quick to point out the virtues of nannies and household help.
He couldn’t figure out what was making him balk. Or maybe on some level, he did know. Against his will, it seemed as if every time he pictured that future, other images intruded. Images of the life he’d been leading since coming to live at the lake, such as workdays that didn’t extend through the dinner hour and into the night. Laughter around the dinner table, bonfires at the lake, the sound of little kids laughing, tomatoes ripe from the garden, music playing in the background, a sense of connection.
He was sure Regina wanted those things, too. If they worked at it hard enough, they could make it happen.
The band took a break, and music came through the speakers. A few couples got up to dance to “Wonderful Tonight.”
Logan checked the screen of his phone. “I gotta bounce. Darcy had a late meeting in the city, and her train gets in at ten.”
“Guess I’ll call it a night, too,” said Mason, finishing his beer and eating the last of the chips. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Is that what it was?” Logan grinned. “In that case, you might need another drink.”
“No, I’m good. Preoccupied, maybe.”
A burst of female laughter came from a table full of women across the room, on the other side of the pool table. “Darcy’ll be sorry to miss out on that,” Logan said.
“What is it, a hen party?”
“Her group of friends. They meet here on Fridays for drinks and gossip.”
Mason looked at the group again, and did a double take. He felt a flash of recognition, focusing on a woman with long, shiny hair, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Faith. Faith was with the group. She was laughing and talking, not taking care of his mom or her kids or planning and scheduling things. Oh, man. He’d never seen her all fixed up for a night out. She looked amazing.
“Perfect song for getting laid,” Logan was saying.
Mason frowned. “What?”
“The Eric Clapton song that’s playing. Women love that stuff. It’s probably why he wrote it—to get laid.”
