The Guest Book

by Marybeth Whalen

  Max sidled up to Macy as they waited for their turn at putt-putt golf. Together, silently, they watched as Buzz helped Emma take a swing at her neon-orange ball, his big hands covering hers as he helped her line up the club, causing her to giggle. For a moment Macy closed her eyes and pretended it was her father doing that, getting the opportunity to be the grandfather he’d never had the chance to be.

  They were at the same course Max had taken her to that last summer. Macy wondered if that was what he was thinking about or if he’d forgotten completely.

  “So you and Wyatt looked mighty friendly a minute ago,” he said, interrupting her thoughts with a teasing grin on his face. Her eyes flitted over to the next hole where Wyatt was talking to Buzz.

  She knew what Max was referring to. Wyatt had been making fun of her golf swing, so she’d swatted him. Then he’d grabbed her arm to stop her and held it a bit too long, his eyes boring into hers with something that was a mixture of challenge and fun. They’d been behaving like teenagers.

  “It was nothing,” she said to Max, feeling self-conscious as she thought of Nate. It was clear where Max’s loyalties lie. An odd friendship seemed to have sprung up between him and Nate after their middle-of-the-night post-jail conversation. Soon Macy would ask Max about that conversation, but she reasoned he wasn’t ready to talk about it any more than she was ready to talk about Nate … or Wyatt … or Dockery for that matter. It was a good thing Max didn’t know about her afternoon with Dockery, or he’d really give her a hard time.

  “Didn’t look like nothing to me,” he retorted. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could say a word. “My turn,” he said, slipping away.

  Macy watched his back, thinking of what she’d been prepared to say to him. She felt Wyatt’s eyes on her but pretended she didn’t know he was watching. Still, she felt the heat from his gaze burning her skin. She couldn’t deny there was something between them, something unspoken that was begging to be said. Even Max could see it. She glanced at Brenda and Buzz, wondering if they saw it too. She wondered if they were hoping for a romance between their children. Brenda put a hand on Buzz’s shoulder and let it rest there for a moment as she threw her head back and laughed at something he said. Macy couldn’t deny there was something between her mother and Buzz as well. It was all too weird.

  She scanned the evening crowd of miniature golfers. The people milled around the course, their faces unfamiliar, though the scene was very familiar: teen couples flirting with each other, retirees with their grandchildren, frazzled parents just counting the hours until they could put their kids to bed.

  A woman shrieked when she made a hole in one, and Macy watched as her boyfriend raced over to slap her high five. The woman held on to his hand and pulled him in for a lingering kiss.

  This is a family establishment, Macy thought to herself at the same moment she realized the boyfriend looked familiar.

  She watched as he pulled away from the kiss, and his eyes met hers. Dockery! She closed her eyes and looked away, thinking of their odd afternoon with Emma on the beach, the way he’d seemed to be on the verge of saying something to her. Now she knew what it was: he had a girlfriend. Which, in hindsight, made their picnic together even more odd. Why had he insisted on spending time with them? She remembered her resolve for Emma to be the focus of the afternoon. So what if they’d flirted a little. It had been harmless and meaningless. She’d blame it on the beach.

  “Mommy!” Emma shrieked. “Look who’s here!”

  Macy closed her eyes for a moment as everyone in their party looked in the direction of Emma’s pointing finger. Brenda and Buzz started waving at Dockery as soon as they realized who he was. To Macy’s horror, she saw him start walking toward them, his hole-in-one girlfriend following merrily behind. Macy busied herself with placing her ball on the tee. It was her turn next, after all, though it seemed it would be delayed by this chance encounter.

  She found herself drifting down the green toward Wyatt, trying to look as natural as possible. Thankfully, he was standing closest to the hole, and she could pretend she was telling him to move so she could tee off. She couldn’t have explained it, but at that moment, the last thing she wanted was to meet Dockery’s pretty, perky girlfriend so soon after her afternoon with him.

  “Hey, Emma,” Dockery said, “did you tell Buzz about our kite?”

  Emma grinned proudly and announced for all to hear, “We tried it out on the beach today, and it really flew, didn’t it, Mommy?”

  Dockery reached his hand out to Wyatt, ignoring Emma’s comment and deftly changing the subject. “Nice to see you again, Wyatt.” He looked over at Max as he shook Wyatt’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He glanced at Macy as he made the comment. Macy noticed Max’s brows furrow as he put two and two together.

  She stepped forward, holding her club. She pointed at Max. “This is my brother Max. And you apparently know Wyatt.”

  “Yeah, Wyatt and I have met before,” Dockery said. Both men gave little manly nods of acknowledgment.

  The girlfriend stepped forward, reaching out to shake Macy’s hand. “Dockery, you’re so rude.” She pushed him playfully. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Porter. Dockery’s better half.” She rested her hand on her ample chest and fluttered her eyes, a parody of a southern belle.

  Dockery ignored her, his eyes flitting from Macy to Wyatt and back again. Macy took a step closer to Wyatt. “Well, I guess we’ll let you guys get back to your game. We’ve got one to finish ourselves.” He elbowed Rebecca good-naturedly. “I need to redeem myself. She’s killing me.”

  He shook Buzz’s hand as he left and squeezed Macy’s mother’s shoulder. “Good to see you guys.” He tweaked Emma’s nose. “And will I see you at camp Monday morning?” He was asking Emma but let his gaze rest on Macy.

  Emma nodded enthusiastically, her chin tilted skyward as she gazed adoringly at Dockery. “Mommy’s coming to help!” She looked at Macy for confirmation.

  For a moment, Macy had forgotten all about her promise to help. She mustered a smile for Emma’s sake. “You bet!” she said brightly, not missing Max’s smirk.

  “Well then, I guess I’ll see you both.” Dockery smiled.

  Rebecca wrapped her arm around him and pulled him back to their game, waving at Macy as they walked away. “Nice to meet y’all!” she shouted, her thick southern drawl unmistakable. Macy nodded, waved, and walked back down the green to take her shot. She would take her frustration out on the ball now and wonder later why seeing Dockery with someone else bothered her so much. She turned to look at Wyatt, who was watching her with a question in his eyes. It was a question she couldn’t answer, for him or for herself. Not yet.

  twenty

  On Saturday morning Emma announced that they were going to spend the whole day on the beach, her hands on her hips in a pose that had earned her a new nickname with Max: “The Little Dictator.” With her camp taking up weekday mornings, Emma was getting out to the beach only in the afternoons, so Macy understood her demand. She agreed to The Little Dictator’s plans, provided they all slathered on the sunscreen. Satisfied with that, Emma trotted off to find a dry bathing suit. A whole Saturday on the beach sounded nice. This time next week, Macy thought sadly, they’d be in the car headed home.

  The day couldn’t have been more perfect if they’d ordered it off a menu. Max had brought a Frisbee, and they’d tossed it back and forth, playing Monkey in the Middle with Emma, who didn’t like the game until they put Macy in the middle and soared the Frisbee right over her head. Together, they’d laughed and teased and played tricks on each other and… been the family Macy suspected they were meant to be all along, a family free to find joy and make new memories. She was grateful the time was spent just with them—no Nate, no Wyatt, no Dockery, not even Buzz. Just the four of them. Brenda snapped pictures the whole time to preserve the day—just like she used to do when Macy was a little girl. Macy felt the sun’s glow on her shoulders as if God Himself were wrapp
ing His arms around her, sending His comforting warmth to them all. She looked skyward and whispered a thank-you.

  At lunchtime, Macy volunteered to go back to the beach house to make lunch for everyone. She smiled to herself at the thought of another picnic on the beach as she assembled sandwiches and loaded the cooler, tucking in some old bread to take out with them. Emma could feed the seagulls with the crusts of bread like Macy had when her mother snapped that picture long ago. If she was quick enough, perhaps she could capture the moment the way her mother had. She thought about how she’d left the photo in the guest book for him all those years ago and couldn’t help but wonder if he still had it, wherever he was, whoever he was. Sadly, she was no closer to figuring that out.

  Finished with making lunch, Macy hefted the cooler with one arm and a grocery bag full of chips and snacks with the other before walking out the front door, smack into Dockery. He made a grunting noise and staggered backward as the cooler hit him in the chest.

  “I’m so sorry!” she said, setting down the cooler and bag. “Are you okay?”

  He recovered and smiled at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. You must have been deep in thought. You didn’t see me at all.” He chuckled.

  She didn’t dare reveal what she’d been thinking about. “Yeah. I was intent on getting lunch out to my hungry family.” She gestured toward the picnic items.

  “Guess you’ll be eating lunch on the beach again today.” He crossed his arms over his chest, probably because he was in pain from being knocked by the cooler. He was wearing a polo with some sort of company emblem on it. One of his many jobs, she assumed, thinking back to their conversation on the beach when he’d said he worked for his family’s business.

  “Yeah, I guess. Emma loves picnics. I did too, when I was her age.”

  “Yeah. Seems to be something little kids like to do. I bet she loves to feed the seagulls too.”

  She shivered a bit at his comment, which was so close to what she’d been thinking moments before. “It’s sort of a family tradition,” she said.

  “Around here it’s how we know the tourists — they’re the only ones who feed the seagulls. We think seagulls are just rats with wings.” He winked at her to let her know he was teasing her.

  She nodded. “Well, I will take that under advisement.”

  A few seconds passed as they stood in silence, awkwardly looking at each other. “Did you need something?” she finally asked.

  “Well, I just wanted to stop by after last night. I didn’t have your phone number, and I just … wanted to offer an explanation about asking you to the beach yesterday and then being at putt-putt with Rebecca last night. I feel like I sent mixed signals. And I don’t want to be that guy.”

  Macy shook her head, wishing she’d made Max come to the house to make lunch. “It’s no problem. You’ve been nice to my daughter. And you were nice to me at the beach. That’s all.” Two kids rode by on their bikes, singing at the top of their lungs, and she waited until they passed by to continue. “You don’t owe me any explanation. Really.” She wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he owed her. She shrugged her shoulders as if it had meant nothing to her, was all but forgotten, when the truth was she could still picture him helping Emma with the kite, picture the way Emma had beamed up at him as the two of them worked to get it up in the air. She couldn’t help but be drawn to a man who was so kind to her daughter.

  He studied her for a moment. It almost looked like he was going to say something, but then he must have thought better of it. “Yeah, I guess I’m just overthinking things.” He laughed. “I was in the neighborhood on business anyway, so …” He shook his head. “Sorry. Forget I stopped by.” He turned and started to walk away.

  “I’ll see you Monday, right?” she called after him. Something had changed between them in that moment, but she couldn’t have said what it was.

  He turned to look at her, his smile forced. “Yeah, of course. Seascapes!” He gave a little wave and walked to a truck parked on the street, his head down as if he was studying the pavement, trying to find the way home.

  After lunch, Brenda and Buzz went for a walk, headed to the pier and probably Bird Island beyond that. Macy didn’t expect to see them for some time. She wondered if they would hold hands as they walked. Macy waffled between thinking her mom’s beach romance was cute and worrying that Brenda would get hurt.

  Emma settled in with a sand-castle-building kit Max had bought for her. She had begged Max to help her to no avail and seemed pretty content to play alone for now. Macy and Max both lay quietly on their towels, eyes closed against the glaring rays of the sun. Someone had brought a radio out to the beach and turned it to country music. Kenny Chesney’s “Summertime” played, a perfect anthem for the day.

  “Mom, Uncle Max, look!” Emma said, pointing at a large circle she’d dug in the sand. “It’s a moat!”

  “That’s good,” they both said in unison, then looked at each other and smiled.

  “Jinx. Buy me a Coke,” Max said, quoting a phrase from their childhood.

  She laughed. “I’ll have to owe you.” She watched for a few minutes as Emma set about creating the first of many parts of her sand castle, all according to her master building plans, which she’d loudly announced earlier in the day. Macy lay down again, hoping Emma would stay busy all afternoon. She ignored the part of her that said a good mother would be helping her daughter build that sand castle right now. She just wanted to take the opportunity to relax.

  “You were her age when Dad had that shell contest,” Max said, out of the blue.

  She opened one eye and looked over at him. “Yep.”

  “You sure were mad at me. I think that’s the maddest I’ve ever made you.” He laughed. “And that’s saying a lot.”

  She thought about everything that had happened since they’d gotten to Sunset: the prayer, the men, the chance to finally see the last picture the artist had left her. “Actually I owe you a thank-you for that,” she confessed. “In a strange way, you started something that changed my life.”

  He looked over at her, pulling his sunglasses down. “Explain, please.”

  She sat up and leaned back on her hands as she stared out at the horizon. “This is kind of a long story.”

  “I’ve got all afternoon.”

  “Okay. Well, the year Dad did the contest you so cruelly sabotaged” —she gave him a sideways glance and a forgiving grin—”I ended up sulking about losing, and Dad found me. I was feeling sorry for myself, because I was too little to find the best shell and too little to write in the guest book. Just generally feeling sorry for myself.”

  Max nodded. “As I recall, you were good at that.”

  She elbowed him and continued. “So Dad convinced me to draw a picture in the guest book instead. To draw something that told the story of our time there that year, since that’s what guest books are for.” She smiled. “I drew those butterfly shells I loved, that I was sure were going to win the contest. But of course, I didn’t, as we’ve established. Not that I’m bitter or anything.” She chuckled at her own joke.

  “Here’s something I’ve always wondered about,” Max said. “When you go so mad at me, why’d you say you weren’t going to invite me to your wedding?”

  She smiled. “Because back then I believed a wedding was the most special thing that could ever happen to a girl — it was the stuff of fairy tales. You got to be a princess and wear a beautiful dress. You got to be the center of everyone’s attention. It just sounded like the most wonderful thing. So I figured if you didn’t get to come, it would be the worst thing I could ever do to you.”

  He smiled. “Girls are so weird.”

  “Yeah, well, be that as it may, I got over the wedding thing. Obviously.” She gestured to Emma, who was toting a large bucket of water from the ocean back to her castle. She dumped it into her moat and laughed with delight.

  “The coolest part of the story is what happened the next year, though. When we came back, I ran to see
my picture in the guest book, turning the pages so fast I nearly tore them. And when I got to the picture I’d drawn, I was surprised to find another picture left there for me from a little boy. He’d drawn a picture of a sand dollar and left a photo of himself holding one. He looked about my age. Of course, I couldn’t have put it into words back then, but I was just … drawn to him.” She smiled as she realized what she’d said. “Pun intended,” she said before continuing. “But he hadn’t left his name or anything, so I did the only thing I could. I drew another picture for him.”

  Max shook his head. “I kinda remember you always drawing in that guest book first thing. I always wondered if it was the same one.”

  “Yeah, it was. Most people didn’t write in it. There’s only a few signatures in the whole thing. It always just sat there, like a piece of furniture — until it became more. To me, at least.”

  He chuckled. “So I take it you kept writing to him?” He corrected himself. “Sorry, you kept drawing to him.” He smiled.

  “Yeah. I did. Every year I’d draw him a picture, and he’d draw me one back. He never left his name, so I never knew who he was.” She looked over at him. “And that’s always bugged me, as you can imagine.”

  He nodded. “Oh yeah. I can imagine.”

  “One year, I left a photo of myself in the guest book. You know the one when I was about eight, and I was feeding the seagulls?”

  “How could I not remember? Mom only had it blown up and hung it over the fireplace.”

  “Well,” she said coyly, “it was a good picture of me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Did he ever leave another picture of himself? Or reveal his identity?”