The Guest Book

by Marybeth Whalen

“Nothing, Dad,” the man said.

  Dad? Macy looked closer at the man on the porch. The hair was grayer and thinner, the pace a little slower, but as she studied him, she could see the Buzz she knew standing in his place, minus the bright-yellow swim trunks.

  “Buzz?” she asked.

  He looked at her, confused. “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Macy. Darren and Brenda Dillon’s daughter?” In her mind’s eye, she could see Buzz and her dad laughing together, joking about who’d caught the bigger fish, shot the lowest golf score, worked the hardest. It was always a competition between those two, but neither of them really wanted to win. The best competition was seeing who could make the other laugh the hardest.

  His eyes widened as her words hit home. He looked from her to Emma and back again. “Is this … is she —”

  Macy gave Emma’s shoulders a little squeeze. “Yes, this is my daughter, Emma. Emma this is Buzz … I mean, Mr. Wells.”

  “You can still call me Buzz,” he said. He walked over to Macy and threw his arms around her. “It’s so good to see you. I have to say, after all these years I never thought I’d see you back here at Sunset.”

  She heard footsteps and looked up from Buzz’s enveloping hug to see the construction guy walking toward them.

  “I guess this is your son?” she asked. She recalled Buzz telling her he had a son who lived with his ex, teasing her about how much his son would like her if he ever met her. But that had been a long time ago.

  Buzz smiled and motioned for his son to join them, pride evident on his face. “This is Wyatt, my knucklehead son, who — from the sound of things — was giving you a hard time just now.” Buzz turned and gave his son a glare.

  Wyatt held his hands up. “Me?” Wyatt fixed Macy with his intense gaze and raised his eyebrows.

  Macy knew she should confess. “Actually, Buzz, I started it by giving Wyatt a hard time. I was asking him to not be so loud for about an hour so Emma here could have some rest.”

  “And I merely told her that this is the beach. Kids aren’t supposed to rest at the beach. They’re supposed to play!” He reached over and gave Emma an enthusiastic high five.

  Macy shook her head. “Remind me to pay you back for that one later,” she said to Wyatt.

  “By all means,” he responded quickly, and gave her a look that made her breath catch in her throat.

  Buzz seemed not to notice this exchange and invited Macy and Emma in. “I was just about to make this hungry crew some lunch. Wyatt has his own construction business, and these kind gentlemen used their day off to come over here to do some repair work from the storm we had this spring. Isn’t that nice?”

  Wyatt looked at her as if to say, See? I’m nice.

  Macy ignored him. “Yes, very nice,” she said to Buzz. “But actually, I’m going to let the guys have their lunch and take Emma home to finish her nap. Buzz, so nice to see you again. We’ll have to catch up sometime soon. I’m sure Mom and Max would love to see you. They’re both here with me.”

  “And your husband?” Wyatt asked, the cocky smile back on his face.

  “Nope. He’s not here,” she retorted over her shoulder as she walked away. She didn’t see the point in explaining that there was no husband. Let Wyatt wonder. From the looks of things, he was a man who could use some uncertainty in his life. She crossed the yard and entered the house, feeling Wyatt’s eyes on her, yet too stubborn to turn and see if he was really watching.

  As Macy listened to the sounds of Brenda in the kitchen, water running over dishes, and Sunset Beach coming through the open windows, it took her back in time. She was ten years old and looking forward to a bike ride with her dad after dinner. She was hoping he would surprise her with ice cream at the pier. She closed her eyes and pictured it all, her mouth curling up at one corner with the vivid memory.

  Max’s deep voice penetrated her trip down memory lane, and she opened her eyes to find him and Emma looking at her.

  “What do you say, Mom?” the little girl asked. “Can I go with Uncle Max?”

  Macy’s eyes filled with sharp tears that she blinked away while pretending to be engrossed with a crumb on the table. How she wished her dad was there to take Emma on a bike ride like he used to take Macy. But how grateful she was that Max — in spite of his issues — was there to take her in Dad’s stead.

  “Sure,” she said.

  Max winked at her and caught Emma as she flung herself at him. Then she ran into the kitchen to tell her grandmother they were leaving.

  Macy smiled after her and turned to Max. “You might be unwittingly starting a tradition.”

  He shrugged. “We’re not here long. I can handle it.”

  Macy looked at her brother, took in his threadbare khaki shorts and worn T-shirt, which may have borne a logo long ago but didn’t anymore. He looked like an overgrown boy.

  “It’s too bad you never settled down,” she ventured. “You’d make a great dad.”

  He smiled and rocked back on his heels, digging his hands into his pockets. “You act like I’m over the hill.”

  Max was nine years older than she was, and she certainly didn’t feel like a spring chicken anymore.

  “Does that mean you think about it? Think about settling down? Having kids?”

  “Sure, I think about it. Even talked about it a bit with this girl I’ve been seeing. I just know”—he looked away—”there are some changes I’d have to make, and I—” He fixed his gaze on Macy, a helpless, uncertain look on his face Macy didn’t recognize. “I don’t know that I can do that.”

  Macy didn’t hesitate giving him the answer she knew they both needed to hear. “Of course you can. You can change your life if you really want to.” She thought of her prayer by the ocean the night before while Max was off wherever it was he’d gone. She almost told him about it, but something kept her from saying more. She looked down at the floor instead, decided her toes needed a new coat of polish.

  Their mother cleared her throat in the kitchen. “You’re taking Emma on a bike ride?” she asked, looking at Max with a stern look on her face. “I hope you’re going to be careful.”

  Max looked relieved to be interrupted. He lifted Emma off the floor and carried her across the room like a rare jewel on a silk pillow. “I will be extra careful with this precious creature, madam,” he intoned in a fake British accent. “I will protect her with my very life.”

  Emma giggled and squirmed away from him. She ran back across the room and plopped down on Macy’s lap, wrapping her arms around Macy’s neck. “Why don’t you come, Mommy?” she asked.

  Macy thought back to the exhausting day she’d had playing on the beach with Emma — who never did end up resting. Being both Mom and Dad to a child was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Brenda had only spent an hour on the beach, and — not wanting to be a burden — Macy hadn’t asked her or Max for help. Several times that day she’d thought of giving in to Chase, telling him he could stay nearby. At least that way there’d be someone there to help her, someone who was actually responsible for Emma too. But then she thought about how her mother thought Emma was Chase’s access to Macy and was able to bite back the urge to call him, to not take the easy way out like Avis had warned her about doing.

  She looked down at her daughter. “Why don’t you just have some special time with Uncle Max?” She willed Emma to accept her answer without protest and was thankful when she did.

  Her mother, a smile on her face, watched Emma and Max tromp out the front door. “That was nice of your brother to take her,” she said.

  Macy nodded, her head in her hands. She could feel the effects of the sun and waves on her body. She would most likely fall asleep before Emma did tonight. She closed her eyes, thinking of the novel she’d brought to read and wondering how many sentences she’d get through before she was sleeping with the book in her hand.

  Her mother’s voice roused her. “I think I’d like to go to church tomorrow.”

  Macy opened her eyes
. Her mother was still standing in the kitchen doorway. She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  They’d always gone to the little Methodist church on Ocean Isle Beach when they were vacationing before, but her mother had stopped going to church after Dad died. None of them really seemed concerned about God anymore. It was like they were all angry at Him for taking the core of their family away, and they’d been giving Him the silent treatment ever since.

  Her mother shrugged as if her suggestion were nothing. “I just thought that we should have the full experience,” she said. “Do as many things we used to as possible.”

  Macy wanted to ask Brenda, Why now? Why push to recreate something we’d all let go of a long time ago? But she was too tired to broach such a serious subject. Instead she made a suggestion.

  “Well, if you’re looking to do as many things as we used to do as possible, you should invite Buzz over. Remember Buzz?” She shot her mom a teasing look. She knew Brenda couldn’t help but remember Buzz. “He still owns the house next door.” She thought of the look on Wyatt’s smug face. “And he’s got a cocky son,” she added.

  Her mother ignored her suggestion and turned back to the kitchen, but not before Macy noticed the odd look on her face.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Brenda said. “I’m making brownies. Want to help me?”

  It didn’t escape Macy’s notice that her mom had changed the subject when Buzz came up, but that was another question Macy didn’t have the energy to address. She pressed her lips together and rose slowly from the table. “Sure,” she answered half-heartedly. “I’d love to help.”

  eleven

  Sitting in the pew at the little church on Ocean Isle Beach brought back memories so thick Macy could feel them hanging in the air around her. In her mind’s eye she could see young Max slumped down in the pew, his arms crossed in front of him, his hair still wet from their dad slicking it down. That was the year she’d begged to go to “Big Church” with her family instead of Sunday school with the rest of the kids. She could still see white sandals on her small feet as she kicked them in front of her, making dusty smudges on the gleaming polished wood of the pew in front of them until her mom made her stop. She could see her dad sitting tall and proud, his attention tuned to the minister as though he were divulging the secrets of world peace and not just another sermon in a tiny beachside church. What had he been listening to all those years ago? Perhaps it was something Macy needed to hear today.

  She crossed her arms in front of her and looked at Max on the other side of their mother. He looked about as happy to be there today as he did when he was fifteen. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she giggled just as the choir finished singing, her laughter too loud in the suddenly quiet church. Brenda reached over and laid her hand on Macy’s leg, a signal to behave. Macy knew it well. She put her hand over her mouth and tried to regain her composure even though she was well aware of Max waiting to egg her on. Not much had changed.

  She thought about Emma tucked away in Sunday school, eating cookies and making crafts. Emma had held onto Macy’s hand and begged her not to go when she’d been dropped off.

  “Please, please, stay with me, Mommy,” she had pleaded, her eyes wide.

  Now, as Macy watched the man who’d prayed take his seat and the congregation wait for the pastor to begin his sermon, she wished she could’ve stayed with Emma, eating cookies and doing crafts with her.

  Macy half wondered if the church still had the same pastor. She had a clear memory of him droning on and on, time slowing as she sank into the pew. He’d been as old as dirt then. Could he still be preaching? She was relieved to see a much younger man slide into position behind the foreboding pulpit. A much younger and — she was pleased to note — much handsomer man. At least this one would keep her attention, if for the entirely wrong reasons. She decided she could tolerate sitting through his sermon. As he opened his Bible and began to speak, she noticed she was sitting straighter than before. She snuck a look at the front of the church bulletin out of curiosity, and sure enough, found his name. Pastor Nate Wagner was printed on the front of the bulletin under a pen-and-ink drawing of the church.

  Hello, Pastor Nate, Macy thought, and bit back a smile when his eyes fell on her, almost as if he’d read her mind. She felt her cheeks warm as a blush crept across her face.

  Resolving to be serious and actually pay attention, Macy focused on Pastor Nate’s message. His sermon was on living with purpose, embracing one’s calling. The pastor talked about the parable of the talents and how one man buried the talents he’d been given while the other two men invested theirs and made more. The man who buried his — while trying to play it safe —was the one who was chastised by his master when he returned. Playing it safe, it turned out, wasn’t the way to go when dealing with the blessings given by God.

  Macy thought about her art and how she’d spent too long painting store windows and store signs, too afraid to put herself out there and try anything else. She’d buried her talents, played it safe, too scared to ask for more. She swallowed hard and was so lost in thought that when the sermon ended and the service was over, her mother had to nudge her to stand up and exit the pew.

  They filed out the back of the church, which it turned out, included walking past the young pastor. Buzz was there, smiling at him and clapping him on the back. Macy didn’t remember Buzz ever darkening the doorway of a church. If anything, she recalled heated discussions between her father and Buzz about faith. God was one of the few things her dad and Buzz had not shared an interest in. So what was he doing at church?

  She watched as he gripped another parishioner’s hand with his right hand, covering both of their hands with his left. Out of habit, Macy noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

  Pastor Nate looked over and caught Macy’s eye for a second time, but she looked away, hiding behind her mother in line as if she were a little girl again, embarrassed to think he knew what she’d been looking for. She watched as he took her mother’s hand, smiling so hard his dimples looked like they might crack. She sighed. Did he have to have dimples? He turned from her mother to her.

  “I’m Nate Wagner,” he said. “And you are?”

  She extended her hand because her mother was watching. “Macy,” she said.

  She shook his hand, then quickly pulled away. His hands were warm and like a surgeon’s, soft and gentle. Her mind flashed to Buzz’s son, Wyatt, and she imagined what his hands felt like: rough and calloused, but certain. She blinked her eyes—Wyatt’s face disappearing—idly wondering why she’d thought of him. She forced a smile at the pastor and wondered what in the world was wrong with her. She was acting like a boy-crazy middle schooler.

  “Nice to meet you, Macy,” he said, giving a little wink so fleeting Macy wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, and made a right down the corridor that led to Emma’s class. Her mind was racing as she tried to figure out why she was suddenly thinking about other men when it was Chase who’d monopolized her thoughts for so long. Was this a sign of strength, of forward progress? Or did just being at the beach fuel these thoughts? Then she had another thought: Maybe her prayer was being answered.

  She walked into the classroom to retrieve Emma, grateful for the distraction the little girl brought her. The same little girl who’d pleaded not to be left in the classroom now frowned when she saw Macy.

  “I haven’t finished my cookie.” She pouted.

  Macy wanted to get out of the church. “We’ll take it with us!” she said brightly as the teacher smiled at them.

  Macy wondered if somewhere in this town there was a home filled with Sunday school teachers so sweet and kind they glowed. Hers, as she recalled, had looked much the same. Maybe they were related. Macy took Emma’s hand and tried to lead her out, wrapping the half-eaten cookie in a napkin decorated with pink crosses.

  Emma pulled her hand away. “My pot! It’s drying in the next room!” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, f
or Pete’s sake,” Macy grumbled, following Emma as she beelined for the adjoining classroom, where terra-cotta pots bearing the children’s paint jobs were lined up on a counter.

  Emma took her sweet time going down the line, inspecting each one. “Not this one,” she mumbled to herself. “Oh, this one’s pretty! See, Mommy?”

  Macy nodded absently and made a hurry-up motion, her hand circling in the air as Emma looked back at the pots, ignoring her.

  “She’s got to find the right one,” a voice behind her said.

  Macy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She turned to face the handsome pastor, now missing his robe and wearing — surprisingly—jeans and a T-shirt, leaning in the doorway. He smiled.

  “It always surprises people what I’m really wearing under that robe.” It seemed he had a knack for reading her thoughts.

  He grinned at her as color crept up her cheeks a second time. He’d noticed her surprise, had read her just like he’d read the Bible on the pulpit.

  “I guess I was expecting a suit,” she managed.

  “Not here in OIB,” he said. “We’re much more relaxed around these parts.” He smiled. “That’s why I like it so much.”

  She nodded for lack of a better response. “It’s nice,” she agreed.

  He turned to Emma, who’d found her pot at last. It boasted hearts and flowers and rainbows, as Macy expected. She was positive Emma would insist they plant something in it when they got home. But Macy lacked a green thumb, and she was already anticipating the plant dying shortly after its planting. “Did you have a good time today, young lady?” he asked.

  Emma rewarded him with a big smile. “Yes,” she said. She held up her pot. “I painted this myself.”

  “That’s lovely. You’re quite the artist. Something tells me you get that from your mother.”

  Macy was startled. How could he know that? She looked at him and he held his hands up. “Lucky guess.”

  She motioned to Emma to follow her toward the doorway, which was currently blocked by the pastor. She wondered where Max and her mother were and why they hadn’t come looking for them. She could use some saving right about now.