Who the hell was she kidding?
He never lied to you, Maddy. Not once. It doesn’t matter if you live in Seattle or Botswana. He’s not coming back to you. He’s never going to be the father to Hannah that you want him to be.
There weren’t enough wishing stars in the galaxy to make that dream come true. She knew that. She had accepted it a long time ago. So why did the same ridiculous dreams come creeping into her heart every time she let her guard down? She didn’t love Tom anymore. Not the way she once had. She loved the memory of all they had shared and would always share in the person of their little girl, but the giddy, head-over-heels love she had once had for him was long gone. Still, if he knocked on her door right now and said he was willing to give familyhood another try, she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t say yes.
Children didn’t care about soul mates or life plans or following your bliss. Children wanted you to be as steady and unbending as a redwood, as sheltering, as strong. Children wanted you to hold their hands when they crossed the street, to hear their prayers and tuck them in at night. Children wanted you to know without being told about the monsters in the closet and the scary shadows on the wall and why it’s okay to have a night-light as long as your best friend doesn’t know.
But more than anything, they wanted you to stay.
August 1978
It wasn’t until Daddy took her picture down from the mantel and stuck it in his big brown suitcase that Maddy believed he was really going to leave them.
“I want to go with you!” She grabbed him by the leg and held tight. “Take me with you!”
He bent down and took her face between his big hands. She could see tears standing on the tips of his eyelashes, and somehow that made the whole thing more awful than ever. He gathered her in a bear hug. “You know I wish things could’ve been different, little girl. Your mother and I tried everything we could to make it work, but some things just aren’t to be, no matter how sad it makes you feel.”
And he did look sad. She had never seen Daddy look that way before, like something terrible was about to happen and he couldn’t stop it.
“We could go with you,” she said. “Why can’t Mommy and I go live out there with you?”
Mommy had been standing near the front door, but now she stood next to Daddy and Maddy’s heart began to pound super fast.
“Please, Mommy,” she said. “Please can’t we?”
Mommy and Daddy looked at each other for a very long time, then Mommy bent down and rested her cheek against the top of Maddy’s head. “We tried, honey,” she said, so softly Maddy could hardly hear the words. “Remember? We lived on Daddy’s farm when you were very little, but I just—” She stopped and Maddy saw Mommy and Daddy look at each other again, longer this time, until Mommy turned away.
“Your mommy was very unhappy in Oregon,” Daddy said, “and”—his voice wobbled like a broken wheel on her favorite toy car—“I’m a farmer, little girl. I need land and my animals. I can’t make a living for my family here, and I won’t live off—”
“It will be fun, Maddy!” Her mother’s smile made Maddy cry even harder. “You can live here with me with the beach right outside our back door, and in the summers you can live with your daddy on the farm with the horses and the dogs and—”
“No!” Maddy screamed as she struggled out of her father’s hug. “I want us to be together. I want Daddy to stay here!”
Her mother reached for her, but Maddy pushed her away. “Honey, we explained it to you. Your daddy and I love you with all our hearts, and we’ve tried everything to keep our family together, but it didn’t work.”
“Why didn’t it work?”
Her mother sighed. Daddy looked old and sad.
“Divorce doesn’t mean we don’t love you, honey,” her mother said. “We both love you more than anything in the world.”
“Do you love each other?”
“Yes,” said Daddy, his voice loud and clear. “I loved your mother from the first day we met. Nothing’s changed.”
Mommy’s eyes were wet, but she didn’t cry. Maddy couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother cry, not even when their cat Jingles ran away. “I love your daddy very much, honey, but sometimes grown-ups can’t—”
Maddy ran out the door, down the front steps, across the sun-parched grass, ran as fast as her bare feet could carry her. She heard her mother calling her name, heard Daddy’s voice, but that only made her run faster. If they really loved her, they would stay together forever.
No matter what.
HANNAH’S BREATHING WAS deep and even and before long the room was filled with the sweet smell of a sleeping child. They had more in common than curly hair and a stubborn streak. When Maddy looked into her daughter’s eyes, she saw herself all those years ago, and the pain in her heart was fresh and new. But this time it wasn’t for the little girl she once was; it was for Hannah.
She had to make things better for her. She had hoped that surrounding her daughter with family would make a difference, but so far Hannah had shown little interest in her cousins and aunts and uncles. She loved her grandma Rose, but Maddy’s stomach knotted each time she left them alone together. Hannah was a fey and imaginative creature, qualities Rose found disconcerting, if not incomprehensible. The very traits Maddy sought to encourage in her daughter were the ones Rose had tried to control in her own child.
Maddy knew she would be in for another lecture on the dangers of fantasy when the samovar arrived, but she didn’t care. Hannah’s face, aglow with happiness on Christmas morning, would make up for it.
She slipped quietly out of Hannah’s room and tiptoed down the hallway toward the stairs. She had been so busy e-mailing FireGuy that she hadn’t checked for confirmation from the seller. She’d check for messages and maybe do some more work on the Web site. The door to Rose’s sitting room was closed. Whispers of Verdi seeped into the hallway. Rose never locked herself away this early, and Maddy experienced a guilty burst of understanding.
I don’t blame you, Mother, she thought as she moved quickly past. A few weeks into their grand experiment, and already they needed a time-out.
The only light in the office was the dark blue glow from the computer monitor. She sank into the cushy desk chair, jiggled the mouse, then waited while the screen image rearranged itself. Bless Rose’s pricey fiber-optic connection. In the blink of an eye she downloaded her e-mail message, then let out a small cheer when she saw confirmation from the seller of Hannah’s magic lamp. He lived one town over and would be happy to drop it off at the Inn tomorrow if she’d prefer.
If she preferred? She was over the moon with excitement! Now she wouldn’t have to spend the next three days tracking the progress of the samovar as it made its way from one little Jersey shore town to another. By this time tomorrow that wonderful old teapot would be safely stashed away on the top shelf of her bedroom closet, far away from prying little eyes.
Fate, that’s what it was. Lady Luck finally remembered her name and address. Not only had she won the auction, the seller was willing to hand-deliver. If she had had any lingering doubts about spending so much money on the samovar, this last bit of good fortune sent them packing.
JACK BERNSTEIN PUSHED his way through the kitchen door in time to see Kelly vanishing out the back door.
“Good to see you, too,” he said at the sound of the door slamming shut behind her. He turned to Aidan. “Domestic disturbance?”
“I don’t know what the hell it was. One second everything was cool, the next she’s sobbing that I’ve ruined her life.”
“Rachel hasn’t talked to me since her bat mitzvah two years ago. Leah says she’d trade places with me, but I’m not crazy. I’ll take the silent treatment any day.”
“Sit down,” Aidan said, pointing to the other chair. “Burger? Wings? Ribs?”
“Got any tofu?”
“Cholesterol’s up?”
“Way up,” Jack said. “I promised Leah I’d give it my best shot before I
let the doctor put me on meds.”
“Still drink coffee?”
“Bring it on.”
Aidan and Jack had known each other since grade school. Jack’s grandfather had kept the books for Aidan’s old man, and the torch had passed from grandfather to son to grandson. He poured them each a cup of coffee, then sat down opposite his friend.
“Any changes I should know about?” Jack asked as he flipped the enormous ledger.
Aidan pulled the laptop over to his place and opened Quicken. “We’re holding our own,” he said. “Claire says don’t tell her anything until the Fourth of July when the summer people come to town.”
Most shore towns sizzled from May to September, then slumbered the rest of the year. Except for the splashy B&Bs at the sound end of Main Street, Paradise Point was no exception. The B&Bs enjoyed a steady stream of visitors but not enough to make a huge difference in the town’s economy. The people who stayed at the Candlelight drove Saabs and Volvos and drank designer waters. Not exactly the clientele that called O’Malley’s Bar and Grill their home away from home.
Jack made a notation in the small leatherbound notebook he always carried, then leaned back in his chair. “Ever think of opening a B and B?”
“Funny,” Aidan said, “real funny. We could put them up in that room over the garage.”
“Yeah,” said Jack, flashing the grin that had cost his father the price of a 1967 Mustang, “maybe offer them warm beer and bagel chips for breakfast.”
“One bathroom, lots of waiting.”
“So it was just an idea,” Jack said. “They’re not all winners, but it wouldn’t kill you and Claire to think about upscaling the image a little.”
“O’Malley’s isn’t one of those eighties fern bars.”
“No,” said Jack, “it’s more like one of those fifties places that looked outdated to our old men.”
“So you’re saying we have a problem.”
“I’m saying you’re going to have a problem if you don’t start thinking ahead.”
“Nothing wrong with the way things are.”
“You’re right,” Jack said. “O’Malley’s is a terrific place, but in case you haven’t noticed, things are changing around here and you’re gonna have to move with the times if you want to stay afloat.”
Aidan slugged down some coffee. “I like the way you worked in that nautical metaphor.”
“Thought you would.” Jack ran a few numbers through his pocket calculator, then shook his head. “Could be better.”
“Could be worse, too.”
“Worse I don’t want to think about. Better gives me something to look forward to.”
“Jeez,” said Aidan with a groan. “You’re giving me your serious-accountant look.”
“It’s not a joke.”
Aidan said nothing.
Jack took that as encouragement and forged ahead. “You and Claire have to start thinking about the future. You’re getting by okay now, but that’s not always going to be the case. This town is changing and you damn well better figure out a way to change with it or O’Malley’s—”
“You don’t have to spell it out.”
“Good.” Jack shut his notebook, capped his pen, and turned off his calculator. “It wouldn’t kill you to start thinking a little more like Rosie DiFalco. You heard her in October at the Small Business Owners Association meeting. She got a standing O from the crowd when she said we needed to base our future on the richness of our past.”
“Gimme a break,” Aidan muttered. “Easy to say when you’ve got a ten-bedroom Victorian with ocean views tucked in your back pocket.”
“You’ve gotta admit she seems to be putting her money where her mouth is.” The transformation of her late mother’s house from eyesore to showplace had been nothing short of miraculous.
Aidan wasn’t willing to admit anything. There was no doubt that the town’s B&Bs were doing great and that the Candlelight was doing greatest of them all. These days Rose DiFalco drove around town in a shiny new black Miata with vanity plates that read INNKEEP, and Aidan frequently found himself fighting the juvenile urge to let the air out of her Michelins. He and Rose had an adversarial relationship that had begun back when he was in high school and he’d lobbed a softball through her windshield. Rose’s satin-and-lace B&B was a far cry from his gritty neighborhood bar and grill, and it was no wonder he and Rose tended to be on opposite sides of most local issues.
The success of the B&Bs had brought about a renewed interest in Paradise Point’s rich history as a Gilded Age playground for wealthy families from the Main Line and Fifth Avenue. Marian Vroom, head of the Historical Society, said Web-site traffic had quadrupled since the Star-Ledger wrote a feature about the town’s upcoming Centennial Anniversary celebration.
Needless to say the Historical Society’s Web site had been Rose’s idea.
Jack made a few other suggestions on how to firm up O’Malley’s bottom line. Aidan agreed with most of them and promised to pass them all on to Claire.
“Tell Claire that Leah said she’ll drive them to the mall Thursday night.”
Jack slipped into his heavy coat and gathered up his belongings. “Hang in there, O’Malley,” he said as he stepped out onto the back porch. “Your luck’s gonna change any day now.”
“Yeah,” said Aidan. “It could get worse.”
The idea was to make his old friend laugh, but somehow his comment seemed to suck all of the oxygen out of the room. He wished he could backspace over it and start again, but life didn’t come with an erase feature. Jack looked as if he was about to say something, but he shook his head instead and left without a word.
The whole thing was getting old, he thought as he threw the lock and went back to the kitchen table to power down the laptop.
MADDY WAS ABOUT to shut down the computer for the night when the familiar jingle of new mail sounded. Denise had promised to send her scans of some photos of the Candlelight that she had found tucked among some embroidered linens in Aunt Florence’s very scary attic. They dated back to 1892 and would be a terrific addition to the local-history section of the Web site.
She toggled over to her e-mail screen and scanned the message headers. Lose weight . . . Buy a Ph.D. . . . Become a private investigator in your spare time . . . Teapot. A knot tangled itself deep in the pit of her stomach.
“Oh, damn,” she muttered. What if the sale was off? FireGuy or whatever he called himself might have e-mailed the seller behind her back and made an offer he couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t like that sort of thing didn’t happen every now and again in on-line auctions. This wasn’t a big operation like eBay with all sorts of rules and regulations and safeguards. This was a little mom-and-pop fund-raiser sponsored by a regional ISP and a quartet of Chambers of Commerce. If FireGuy wanted to play dirty, who could stop him? She clicked on the header and waited, holding her breath once again while the message loaded.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 4 December
SUBJECT: Teapot
You asked about my kid. She’s seventeen, honor student, valedictorian, in all of the school clubs, no trouble. At least she wasn’t until I told her I blew the auction and she started sobbing like she did the day she found out there was no Santa Claus. I don’t know why she wants that teapot so badly, but she does and I feel like a rat for blowing it. Your kid hasn’t seen the kettle yet. Mine has. I’ll double the price you paid. You can find the world’s best teapot for that kind of money.
I know I’m way out of line here, but when it comes to my kid I’ll take my chances. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking. Thanks.
He didn’t expect her to respond. Hell, he would’ve sent a note like his straight to the recycle bin and chalked up the sender as a total jackass. But damned if she didn’t write back.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 4 December
SUBJECT: Re: Teapo
t
I wish I could help you, but I can’t. You see, I’m not looking to hold a tea party here. This samovar looks like Aladdin’s magic lamp, and that’s not exactly something you stumble across every day in New Jersey.
I know just how you feel. I’d move heaven and earth for my daughter, too. Maybe if we hadn’t just moved back here I could help you out, but things have been really tough on Hannah and I’m desperate to make her smile again. I’m hoping this samovar will do the trick. Maybe I’m crazy, but at this point I’ll try anything.
Your daughter sounds like a terrific kid. You must be very proud.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 4 December
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Teapot
Proud doesn’t even come close. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I keep thinking how proud her mother would be. Sorry your Hannah is having a tough time of it. Moving is hard on everyone, especially kids.
So what brought you back to the Garden State?
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 4 December
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Teapot
Family.
I was born in a little blip of a town on the Shore (North of Cape May, south of A.C.), but I haven’t lived here since I was seventeen. It’s a long story so I’ll spare you the gory details. Let’s just say I needed a job and there was one waiting in NJ. Not very interesting but true.
I figure by your e-mail addy that you live down the Shore, too. Barnegat? Wildwood? Seaside Heights?
Shore Lights Page 8
