Lovers at Heart, Reimagined (The Bradens)

by Melissa Foster

  He climbed the front steps, taking in the weathered cedar shingles. He could almost hear his mother’s voice. Oh, Treaty, look! The shingles have weathered. Don’t you just love the graying and the texture of them? She’d loved anything where each of the pieces that held it together were different from the rest.

  Inside, he set his luggage by the door and dropped his keys in the pottery bowl on the kitchen table. The curtains whipped around the open casement windows. He stood in the breeze and stared out over the bay. Goose bumps formed on his arms, and he found the thick, gray cable-knit sweater his mother had knitted for his father lying on the arm of the sofa table. Good old Smitty. He slipped it on, and a strange feeling came over him, as if he were not alone. He looked around the cozy space, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought his mother were right there with him, pleased that he was wearing that sweater. A strand of guilt tugged at his heart for dismissing his father’s beliefs so easily.

  He wondered what Max was up to and hoped she was out for a girls’ night with Kaylie and their friends.

  A knock sounded at the door, and he went to answer it, wondering if Smitty was checking on him. His childhood friend, Charley “Chuck” Holtz, stood before him.

  More gray than brown up top and more belly than muscle in the middle, Chuck beamed with the same vibrancy he’d always possessed. “TB!”

  “Chuck, how are you?” Treat waved him in, and they greeted each other with a manly hug.

  “Smitty told me he opened the old place up for you. I was on my way into town and figured I’d stop by. Haven’t seen you in a while. What brings you out?” Chuck had a thick New England accent.

  “Just closing negotiations on some property.” He and Max had reason to celebrate this weekend. After hours of negotiations, the owners of the Ocean Edge Resort had agreed to his terms. He wanted to tell Max before he shared the news with anyone else.

  “Must be nice. Man, I’d kill to get my hands on more property up here, but it’s too pricey for my blood. I’m meeting Bonnie at the Pearl for dinner. Why don’t you join us? You won’t get reservations anywhere else this weekend, and eating alone is no fun. We’ll surprise her. She tells everyone she knows about you. You know how that goes. Around here you’re a big deal, a big fish in a small pond.” He winked.

  The last thing Treat wanted to deal with was to be shown off like a trophy, but he adored Bonnie, and he knew she was just proud of his accomplishments. “Why not.”

  “Great. Let’s go.” Chuck headed for the door.

  “Now?” Treat looked down at his suit. He desperately needed a shower. He touched his chin. And a shave.

  “You’re right. Go get out of that monkey suit and put on some comfy clothes.”

  “All right, then. Just give me a few minutes to wash up and change.” He picked up his bags and said, “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Nah, I’ll wait.”

  On the way upstairs, Treat said, “Make yourself at home.” He heard the refrigerator open and the clink of beer bottles. Good old Smitty.

  “I already am,” Chuck called up.

  MAX STARED AT her phone, wishing it had a direct line to Treat. She’d Googled his name, hoping to find the street where his house was located so she could surprise him, but of course he was too private to have that information listed. His phone number was restricted, for heaven’s sake. Where the heck was fate when she needed it? At least she’d gotten a direct flight to Boston, and the rental car agent had been efficient. She followed the GPS toward Wellfleet. It was a straight shot up the Mid-Cape Highway, which ended at a rotary in Orleans. With less than twelve miles to go, she’d be in Wellfleet in no time.

  Traffic moved at a snail’s pace around the rotary, and when she pulled onto the main road, it came to a grinding halt.

  Twenty minutes later, she was still stuck in traffic. She’d entered Eastham, a quaint little town with cottages and a few shops off the main drag. Treat had said it was the off season, but as she inched down the narrow highway, she noticed that each of the cottage rental communities had No Vacancy signs out front. She was in desperate need of a bathroom, and she had absolutely no idea where Treat’s house was. Finally, after sitting in traffic for what felt like forever, she pulled into the parking lot of a Four Points Sheraton.

  The expansive lobby was packed with people milling around the registration desk. She squeezed between a large man and a petite blonde and spotted a sign for the restroom. After using the facilities, she tried to make her way through the lobby again, but there were even more people blocking her path now.

  “Excuse me,” she said to a middle-aged man.

  “Sorry, hon. We’re waiting for the rest of our club members to arrive. You can squeeze right between those two women.”

  Max looked at the two plump women who were deep in conversation and standing so close together that there was no way she’d get through. She looked back at the gentleman who had suggested it, and he held up his index finger.

  “Harriet, Kelly, please let this young woman through,” he said in a friendly tone.

  The women parted, never pausing their conversation, and Max slipped by, then wove around two children and another couple and finally reached the desk.

  “Excuse me. Is there a back road into Wellfleet?” Max asked the white-haired woman behind the desk. “The main road is really backed up.”

  She looked at Max as though she’d lost her mind. “Honey, you aren’t gonna find a clear road anywhere this weekend. This is Oyster Fest weekend. We’ve got more people in the area this weekend than we do space. It’ll be like this through Sunday.”

  A heavyset woman squeezed in beside Max and asked about transportation to the festival. A man nudged his way in front of Max, and she stepped back, wondering what in the world she was going to do until she heard from Treat. She grabbed a flyer about the festival and a Cape Cod map from a table in the lobby, then went out to her car and stared at the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  “Not exactly the romantic surprise I had in mind,” she mumbled, vowing not to let this bring her mood down. She’d find Treat one way or another.

  She climbed into her car and studied the map on the festival flyer, then flipped it over and scanned the event information. It was obvious that she would never get her car anywhere near the festival, but according to the flyer, she was only a few miles from White Crest Beach, where she could catch a shuttle to the festival. She might as well make the most of waiting for Treat’s call, and enjoy the scenery.

  When she finally made it to the beach, she wondered what kind of a fool set out across the country to a place she’d never been without a plan.

  The same kind that left in the middle of the night and drove to Colorado without a plan.

  She debated leaving another message for Treat saying she was there, but she wanted to hear the excitement in his voice when she told him. Besides, she knew her man. He’d call as soon as he was able. As she got out of the car she told herself this was just a little delay to what would be a fantastic weekend. Fate had brought them together before; it would happen again.

  Twenty minutes later she climbed out of the shuttle in front of the Wellfleet Town Center. The narrow streets and sidewalks were crowded with people moving between stores and vendors. Without even realizing what she was doing, she began studying every dark head of hair that rose above the crowd, despite knowing he was working.

  Large white tents lined the parking lot across the street. Max’s eyes lit up at the mass of people packed in as tight as a school of fish, leaving barely enough room to step between. She moved with the crowd across the street and into the first tent, where handmade baskets and driftwood painted with beach scenes, boats, and gulls lined long tables.

  Max went from one tent to the next, tasting oysters made fifty different ways, while local artisans smiled and chatted about their crafts and the festival, and soon looking for Treat fell by the wayside.

  “Shuck this!” a man yelled, handing Max an oyster
shell.

  “Thank you, but I’ve eaten so many that I think I might explode.”

  He leaned over the table and said, “That’s what your husband is counting on.” A wink and a nod later, Max finally got the joke—and it brought her mind right back to Treat.

  She already felt like one big, uncontrollable hormone when she was with him. She needed help like she needed a hole in her head. She grinned at the thought as she moved to the next tent.

  Time passed swiftly and, as the sun began to set, Max made her way back toward the shuttle bus. She took a window seat, and an elderly man with a shock of white hair sat beside her. She smiled and then faced the window, not in the mood to talk. As the rest of the passengers boarded the shuttle, the disappointment of not hearing from Treat settled in, putting her hopeful energy through a sharp reality check. What if Treat had to work late into the evening? What if he didn’t call? She pressed her hands to her chest, trying to quell the doubt blooming there. She glanced behind her at another stream of people getting off a shuttle bus and began to shake from the cold, her confidence about finding Treat coming down a notch.

  “Are you okay?” the man beside her asked in a sympathetic voice.

  Max nodded. “Mm-hm.”

  “Are you sure? Because you look a might bit upset.”

  “I am a little upset,” she admitted.

  “I thought you might be. You’re too pretty of a gal to let anything make you so upset. Wanna talk about it?”

  Max smiled. “No, thank you. It’s a little embarrassing.”

  The old man scratched his head. “All righty, then. Did you enjoy the festival?”

  “Yes. It was nice,” she answered as the shuttle ambled along the busy road.

  “Are you from around here?” he asked. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Just say this for me. Park the car in the Harvard yard and party hearty.” Every “ar” came out as “ah.”

  Max laughed. “I know this one.” She feigned a New England accent. “Pahk the cah in the Hahvahd yahd and pahty hahty.”

  “So, you are from around here,” he teased.

  “Colorado, actually. Well, that’s where I live now. I’m originally from Virginia.”

  “Either way, you’re a long way from home. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  He told her the history of the festival and about how it had changed through the years, but Max was too lost in her own thoughts to retain any of the details. She listened instead to the calming cadence of his voice. By the time the shuttle stopped at White Crest Beach she felt less anxious, and she thanked him for making her feel better.

  “If you just got in today, you probably don’t have any dinner plans,” he said. “You’re welcome to have dinner with me and the missus, if you’d like. I’m sure Vicky would enjoy having company, and I promise, no oysters.”

  Max thought about her options. She didn’t know how long it would be before she heard from Treat, and she was a little hungry and cold.

  “There she is now,” he said as a woman pulled up in an old pickup truck.

  “Chris, are you bothering that young lady?” the woman asked. She wore her long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail much like Max’s, and her wide smile brightened her friendly blue eyes.

  “No. He’s been really sweet,” Max said.

  “She just got into town today, and I was inviting her to have dinner with us,” he answered.

  “Why, sure! I have plenty of salmon and chicken, corn on the cob, and I know we have enough Jell-O for dessert,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Vicky Smith, Chris’s better half. His manners could use a good overhaul.”

  “I don’t know,” Max said. The responsible side of her wondered if she was getting herself into an unsafe situation. They seemed nice enough, but…

  A car pulled up with another older couple in it, and the driver rolled down his window. “Hey, Vicky. Y’all coming to the bonfire tonight?”

  “Oh yeah, we’ll be there,” Vicky answered. “Hey, Marge.” She waved to a woman walking by. “You coming to the bonfire?”

  “I’ll be there!” the woman answered, and continued on her way toward another couple.

  Max watched the interactions, and unless she had entered some alternate Stephen King universe where the entire town was involved in hacking up tourists, why shouldn’t she go spend some time with them? After all, she could answer Treat’s call at their house just as easily as she could sitting on the dune in the cold.

  MAX HAD BEEN hungrier than she’d thought she was, and the meal was delicious. She helped Vicky with the dishes while Chris gathered blankets and chairs for the bonfire she’d heard them talking about earlier. She was glad she’d accepted their generous invitation. But now that the conversation had stalled, thoughts of Treat came rushing back, and she wondered how much longer it would be until she heard from him. It was already dark out.

  “Did you come out just for the festival this weekend?” Vicky asked as she handed a plate to Max for her to dry. She reminded Max of her own grandmother. She had the same generous spirit and made the same type of quippy remarks to Chris as her grandmother used to make to her grandfather.

  “No.” I came searching for my boyfriend.

  “Work?” Vicky pressed.

  “No, not work.” Max dried another dish and placed it on the counter.

  “Love?”

  Yes was on the tip of Max’s tongue, but she didn’t say it. She didn’t want to get into a big conversation about Treat. She was already nervous about finding him at all tonight.

  “No wonder you seem sidetracked.” Vicky set down the dish she was scrubbing. “I’m gonna tell you what my mama told me many years ago. She said, ‘Men are like weeds. Some will strangle you until you can’t breathe, and some will strangle you once, see you can’t breathe, and till your soil for the rest of their lives to make sure you’re never strangled again.’ Then she would wink at me and say, ‘If he strangles you again, get your caboose right back here. If he tills your soil, make me some grandbabies.’ And that was that. I’ve never looked back. You just need to find your tiller, Max.”

  “I think I already found him. I just have to find him here. We keep missing each other’s calls.”

  “Gotta love technology,” Vicky said. “It’s not like the old days when you dated the boy down the street from the time you were thirteen until you married him at eighteen.”

  “Is she telling stories again?” Chris came into the kitchen with his coat on.

  Max loved these two already. “I like Vicky’s stories.”

  “See that, Chris? Not everyone has heard my stories as many times as you. Are we ready? Truck packed?” Vicky asked, drying her hands on a dish towel.

  “All set.” Chris waved toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Max, did you bring a coat? It gets cold, even with the bonfire. Chris, grab one of my coats for her.”

  “Um…? I thought you were taking me back to my car.”

  “To your car?” Vicky asked. “Oh goodness, Max. You can’t wait around for a man all your life. Come for a little while. Meet our friends.”

  Max pulled out her phone one more time, and the voicemail message light was on. “That’s weird. I didn’t hear my phone ring, but there’s a message.”

  “Sometimes that happens around here,” Vicky said. “I think it’s the Lord’s way of telling us to put the darn things down every once in a while. Unplug. Relax.”

  Max excused herself and walked into the dining room to listen to the message. Hi, sweetness. She melted a little inside at the sound of Treat’s voice. I thought I’d try to catch you again. I tried to text, but it wouldn’t go through. I’m heading out with some old friends for a little while. I’ll try you again when I get back. I love you, Max, and I can’t wait to see you.

  She couldn’t suppress her elation as she joined Vicky and Chris on their way out to the truck.

  Vicky took one look at Max and grinned. “Looks like someone got her call.”

  Max knew
her answer was in her mile-wide smile.

  “So?” Vicky raised her brows. “Are you coming with us for a little while? Or heading out for a romantic rendezvous?”

  “I’d love to come with you for a bit if you don’t mind. My tiller is out with friends.” Max followed them to the truck, her belief in fate reinstated once again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE WIND PICKED up, turning Treat’s thick hair into a mass of waves. He’d gone home to grab a sweater, and now he stood at the top of the dune looking down at the beach and counting the bonfires, realizing he had no way of knowing which one was Chuck and Bonnie’s. There were enormous groups of people around each fire pit, and for a minute Treat considered going back to the bungalow. Maybe Chuck and Bonnie wouldn’t even notice his absence.

  All he really wanted was to talk with Max, but Chuck and Bonnie had been good friends to him for more years than he cared to remember. He kicked off his loafers and descended the steep sandy ramp to the beach below. The deep, cold sand covered his bare feet with each step. He took a moment to listen to the waves breaking against the shore, and his thoughts traveled to the night in Nassau with Max. They’d come so far, and his love for her had grown to proportions he’d never thought possible. He’d give anything to have her by his side right now.

  The moon hovered over the water like a beacon in the clear dark sky. Laughter filtered up from his right, where children were tossing a ball and diving into the sand to retrieve it. The feel of the sea air on his cheeks had always been one of his favorite sensations. It reminded him of playing along the water’s edge when he was younger, while his mother and father watched from nearby. He bent down and rolled up the legs of his gray linen pants. From his crouched position, he watched a group of teenagers drawing pictures in the air with sparklers, just as he and his siblings had done. He remembered his mother’s laughter as she teased him, chasing squeals from his lungs as she’d swoop him from the sand and tickle his belly years before she’d been too weak to even lift her own chin. He didn’t allow himself to visit those memories too often. But now, while he was missing Max, he reveled in the warmth of them.