Charles Street represented an all-new St. Dennis to Lucy, and she was just fine with that. When she was growing up, many of those same shops were single-family homes, and others were boarded-up storefronts. There’d been fewer businesses and hardly any tourists, though the inn had always been packed in the summer, and of course, the crabbing and oyster fishing had had some good years along with some not so good. The St. Dennis Gazette—owned and operated for over a century by her mother’s family—was still the only local newspaper, but the inn was no longer the only place in town to book a room. Now, Lucy mused, it seemed like every other house that had been built before 1900 had been turned into a bed-and-breakfast.
But it was all good, she reminded herself, because it meant that her hometown was alive and growing. St. Dennis had always had charm, even when it had been little more than a tiny watermen’s village on the Bay. Houses that back then had been plagued by peeling paint and sagging porches were now the stars on the annual Christmas Tour. While in some parts of town the rejuvenation was still a work in progress, efforts had been made to offer something that would bring the tourists—and their dollars—coming back twelve months of the year. Certainly her family had benefited—the inn was slowly becoming the place for destination weddings on the Eastern Shore, and the St. Dennis Gazette was kept in print by virtue of the advertisements the local businesses were only too happy to place.
The big news, of course, was Dallas MacGregor’s decision to form her own production company and establish a film studio right there in St. Dennis. She’d purchased several old warehouses on some good acreage down near the river on the way out of town, and was already renovating them to suit her needs. In a million years, no one would have predicted that one day major feature films would be produced and made right there in St. Dennis.
Well, that was progress, Lucy thought, and thank heaven for it. Just as she was proud of herself for her own accomplishments, she was proud of her family and friends—including all the newcomers she’d gotten to know—for their ability to adapt and meet the needs of a changing world. It was the rare St. Dennis family that could survive solely as watermen anymore.
The divide between the commercial and residential districts was gradual, but soon Lucy passed the last of the businesses. Charles Street narrowed where it crossed Old St. Mary’s Church Road, and from that point, the homes were larger and more ornate, and set upon bigger lots that were increasingly farther apart. A mile farther, however, well-maintained homes gave way to woods that led down to the New River on the right side of the road, and fields of now-harvested corn on the right.
Lucy slowed as she rounded the curve that she knew from memory marked the beginning of the Madisons’ farm. From the road, she could see that the orchard where the apple trees grew was almost completely bare, only a few leaves and some overlooked fruit hanging on. Behind the orchard was the pond where all the kids skated when it froze over. Mrs. Madison and some of the other mothers would bring folding chairs so they could sit and watch their kids and socialize at the same time. There would be thermoses of hot chocolate and always a snack—rich brownies or gingerbread—and some nights, bonfires in a nearby field where they’d toast marshmallows.
Lucy remembered her first time at the farm, sitting on her mother’s lap, sniffing back a runny nose while she watched her marshmallow turn black and crispy.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to let it burn.” Clay had grabbed the stick on which her marshmallow had been speared and pulled it from the fire. He’d tossed the charcoaled nugget into the dark field and stabbed another on the stick for her. “Here, try again,” he’d said. “Don’t hold it so much in the flame. Just get it close …”
She’d leaned forward, her face flushed with embarrassment. For some reason, it was suddenly very important to her that she get it right this time.
“There you go.” Clay had smiled at her accomplishment. “It’s just right.”
Lucy had nodded and pulled the stick from the fire. With cold fingers she’d popped the marshmallow into her mouth and grinned when the white goo spilled out onto her lips and chin. She’d laughed and licked the sticky mess from her fingers, and Clay had laughed with her. The scene had remained in her memory all these years for two reasons: that night had been the first time Lucy had really laughed since the death six weeks earlier of her best friend, Natalie Wyler, and it had marked the beginning of her friendship with Clay.
The blast of the horn from the car behind her made Lucy jump, and she realized she’d all but come to a stop in the middle of the road. She waved a hand out the window, a gesture she hoped would be understood as an apology, and she stepped on the gas.
Get a grip, Lucy. She shook herself from her reverie.
LuLu. She could almost hear Clay’s voice, and in spite of herself, Lucy smiled. Hearing the name from his lips had brought back memories of the best time in her life, a time when everything had been so simple, so uncomplicated. Growing up in this place, at that time, could have spoiled her for living anywhere else. Would have spoiled her, but for that one thing …
The light up ahead turned green as she approached, and she breezed through it, made a left onto the highway, and headed toward Baltimore, her flight back to the West Coast, and the life she’d made for herself far from the shores of the Chesapeake Bay.
Chapter 2
CLAY eased the Jeep into the circle that led to the inn, looped around, and flowed into the lane that headed back toward Charles Street. He slowed as he rounded the first curve and paused, waiting for Daniel to finish taking a photograph of Grace and her friend Trula Comfort on the front porch. After a moment, Daniel turned and waved Clay on. Clay parked near the porch, right next to the NO PARKING AT ANY TIME sign, and turned off the engine while Daniel, Grace, and Trula descended upon the Jeep.
“ ’Morning,” Clay greeted them as he opened the car door and swung his legs out.
“Good morning,” Daniel and Trula echoed.
“You’re out and about early,” Grace noted.
“Got to get a head start on the day, Miz Grace,” Clay replied. He opened the back of the Jeep and pulled out a bushel basket of apples, which he set on the ground before closing the hatch. “I thought I’d drop these off for Franca while I was out this way.”
Grace smiled. “I see apple pies in our future.” She turned to Trula. “Our new pastry chef makes a mean apple pie.”
“Sorry I won’t be around to taste it.” Trula glanced at her watch. “I fear I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”
“Never,” Grace assured her friend. “You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“That’s nice of you, Gracie, but I need to be getting back home. Everyone’s going to think I ran away. Not that I haven’t been tempted at times.” Trula turned to Daniel. “Perhaps you could get one of those bellhops of yours to bring my bags down for me. I’m all packed.”
“I’ll take care of it myself,” Daniel told her. He turned to Clay. “Great-looking apples, by the way. Are they the last of the season?”
Clay nodded. “Pretty much. We’ll have some into January, but after that, we’ll be done until next year. I’ve had everything in cold storage, but we’re down to just a few more weeks.”
“We’ll take whatever you have left,” Daniel told him. “Any cider?”
Clay nodded. “I have raw and pasteurized. Not a whole lot of each, but there’s some.”
“I’ll take both.” Daniel smiled. “Nothing like fresh, mulled cider on Christmas Eve, right, Mom?”
“Nothing like it,” Grace agreed.
“You get many folks staying here over Christmas week?” Trula asked.
“You’d be surprised,” Daniel told her. “Ten years ago, I couldn’t have guessed we’d be such a year-round hot spot. Who knew that the business would grow the way it has.”
“Since St. Dennis was ‘discovered’ a few years ago, every business is doing well, in spite of the economy. This past year was a little tight, but for the
most part, the tourists have really kept the town running in the black.” Clay took off his glasses and held them up to the sunlight, then wiped at a spot with his T-shirt. “There’s always some grumbling about how the town isn’t the same anymore, things aren’t the way they used to be, that the tourists take over the town in the summer, but for a lot of the shops in town, the tourists have meant the difference between an end-of-the-season sale and a going-out-of-business sale.”
Grace nodded. “We’ve seen more shops open in the past three years than we have in the last twenty. Your mother’s is the exception, of course.”
Clay laughed. “My mother opened that pet supply place on a whim when she first moved back to give her something to do. As soon as my sister expressed an interest in opening her bakery, my mother couldn’t arrange to have her signs taken down fast enough. Brooke’s going to have the interior fitted with what she calls a baker’s kitchen so she can get her business up and running by February.”
Grace turned to Trula. “You met Clay’s sister, Brooke, at the wedding on Saturday. Her cupcake shop is due to open just in time for Valentine’s Day.”
“If everything she bakes is as delicious as the cupcakes she baked for the wedding, she can’t miss,” Trula said. “I wish I could have smuggled some out of the reception to take back home to Robert.”
“Brooke bakes for One Scoop or Two, the ice-cream shop down near the marina,” Clay told her. “I’m sure you could pick up a few cupcakes there if you get there before noon. Steffie mentioned that she sells out early most days.”
“I will stop on my way out of town. Which needs to be soon.” Trula tapped Dan on the arm. “I’ll take you up on that offer of assistance now.”
“Clay, leave your invoice for the apples with Franca and we’ll take care of it.” Dan took Trula’s arm.
“Good seeing you, Trula,” Clay said.
“Always nice to see you, Clay.” Trula looked back over her shoulder.
Clay bent to pick up the basket of apples.
“Now, how come you call Trula by her first name, but you always call me ‘Miz Grace’?” Grace asked after her son and her friend disappeared into the lobby to gather her bags.
“I guess because I’ve called you ‘Miz Grace’ all my life.” He grinned as he lifted the basket. “Old habits die hard. You’re the mother of one of my friends from school. I couldn’t call you just ‘Grace.’ ”
“Speaking of your friend from school, you just missed Lucy,” she told him. “She had to leave to catch a plane.”
“I didn’t miss her. I ran into her coming up the lane.”
“So you had a chance to say good-bye,” Grace said. “That’s good. It was nice seeing you dancing together at the wedding the other night.”
When Clay didn’t respond, she continued: “Nice that the two of you had some time to catch up.”
“We didn’t really catch up all that much.” Clay set the basket back on the ground. “She was working. You know, trying to keep everything running smoothly.”
“I wish she’d …” Grace began, then stopped.
“Move back and take over the event planning here, I know.” Clay finished the sentence for her.
“I just don’t understand.” Grace shook her head. “Especially since we need her …”
“I guess she’s made a life for herself in California and she’s happy out there.”
“Did she tell you that?” Grace asked.
“More or less.” Clay bent again to pick up the basket. “You know Lucy, Miz Grace. She’s going to do what she wants to do.”
“True enough.” Grace sighed and walked with Clay to the door of the inn.
“Clay.” She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “You and Lucy used to be so close. You were inseparable all those years—then it seemed like one of you pulled the plug on your friendship. If you don’t mind my asking … what happened?”
Clay shifted the basket in his arms. “You’re going to have to ask Lucy, Miz Grace. I wasn’t the one who pulled the plug.”
“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have even asked.”
“It’s okay. I’ve asked myself the same question for years.” He turned toward the service area. “See you later.”
He was almost to the kitchen door when she called to him.
“Have you ever thought of asking her?”
Clay went on into the kitchen, pretending not to have heard.
He wasn’t trying to be rude. The truth was, he had tried to work his way into asking Lucy on Saturday night, but every time he thought he knew exactly what to say, something intervened. When they’d been dancing and he thought he finally had her attention—and captive, it had occurred to him—the slow song had stopped abruptly and the band started to play some line-dance thing he’d never heard before and Lucy excused herself “to see about the cake cutting.” And later, when he found her alone out on the portico looking chilly, he’d slipped out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
“Did you see where they remade The Karate Kid?” he’d asked casually.
“I did see that.”
“You saw the announcement or you saw the movie?”
“Just the trailers for it.”
“Reminded me of how much we both loved that movie when we were kids. Remember how we went to see it over and over?”
Lucy had nodded.
“And we made your dad buy the video when it came out and we sat in the lobby and played it over and over again on the TV in there because it was the biggest one in the inn.” He’d glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “We were both going to take karate lessons and become black belts, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Did you ever …?”
“Earn a black belt? No.”
“Me neither.”
Clay had leaned both elbows on the railing and followed her gaze out toward the Bay.
“Beautiful night,” he’d said.
She’d merely nodded.
“Everything seemed to go very smoothly today.” He’d thought to try a different tack. “With the weddings, I mean. Must have been some job, getting two weddings off without a hitch.”
“The day wasn’t without its challenges,” she’d admitted, “but that’s my job.”
He’d started to say something but she cut him off.
“I need to get back inside and keep this show moving,” she’d said.
“Any chance we could get together for one more dance before the night’s over?” he’d asked.
“We’ll see how it goes,” she’d told him.
“You’re the wedding planner. Don’t you decide how it goes?”
“There’s a schedule.” She’d smiled and slid his jacket off and handed it to him. “Thanks,” she’d said, and then she was gone.
They never did have that one last dance after all.
When he came out of the kitchen, Clay was surprised to see Grace still in the lobby. She stood on the Bay side of the room, staring out a window, watching Trula’s car disappear down the drive.
“Did Lucy mention to you if something was bothering her?” Grace asked.
He hesitated, because he, too, had sensed something in Lucy that hadn’t felt quite right.
“Would you tell me if she had?”
“Depends on what it was, I guess.” Clay tried to sound casual.
“Did she?” Grace turned to him.
“No, she didn’t. But …” Again, he paused.
“But …?”
“But … there were times when … I don’t know, she seemed to be somewhere else.” He thought about what he’d said, and added, “Maybe I misread her. I haven’t seen her in a long time. Maybe I just don’t know her anymore. Besides, I didn’t see that much of her. I’m sure you spent a lot more time with her over the past week than I did.”
Grace shook her head. “No. That’s part of what’s bothering me. I was hoping to spend some time alone with her, but she was so busy all week. Most nights, she slep
t at Steffie’s, said she had to help get things ready for the weddings.” Grace sighed. “I miss her. I don’t know what’s going on in her life anymore, and I guess I was looking forward to catching up. She just didn’t seem to have much time.”
Grace’s disappointment was almost palpable.
“Well, she was here to do a job.” Clay tried to rationalize on Lucy’s behalf. “And you know it must have taken a lot of work to pull off what she did this past weekend. I’m sure she would have rather spent the time with you, but she was pretty busy.”
“Do you really think that’s all it was?” Grace looked up at him, her eyes searching his face.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He put his arm around her reassuringly even as he questioned his own words. “That’s why she’s so successful, Miz Grace. She takes her business very seriously.” That much, he felt was true.
“I suppose you’re right.” Grace still looked concerned.
“She’s the party planner to the stars,” Clay reminded her. “You have to work hard if you want to be the best, and Lucy always did want to be the best at whatever she did.”
“Well, that much is certainly true.” Grace smiled. “Thank you, dear.”
She patted his arm and walked toward her office. Clay wanted to say something else reassuring but couldn’t get his thoughts together before she’d closed the door behind her. He left the inn and got back into his Jeep.
He played the radio as loud as he could on the way back to the farm to keep himself from thinking too much about Lucy, about the things they’d said and the things they hadn’t said. He switched off the eighties station when they started playing a New Kids on the Block song. It reminded him of the decision he’d made back then to form his own boy band because he knew Lucy was enamored of them. He was going to be the lead singer. (So what if he couldn’t carry a tune? A lot of the singers didn’t sound much better.) He would make albums and go on tour with his group and then Lucy would wish she’d never stopped being friends with him. But school—and soccer—started before he could get that idea off the ground, and his dreams of rock stardom were replaced by ones in which he scored the winning goal in the state championship and became a whiz at algebra so he could spend more time on the soccer field and less on his homework.
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