The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge

by Stewart, Mariah

  “You did,” he reminded her. “You called me Clay Pot Head.”

  Lucy laughed. “Only until someone told me what that meant. Back in first grade, it just meant, you know, a clay pot. In fifth grade, it meant something entirely different, as Kevin McMillan explained to me one day on the playground. And that,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “was the end of Clay Pot Head.”

  “Kevin McMillan.” Clay grumbled. “Sneaky little weasel was always trying to get your attention.”

  “He succeeded. I went on my first date with him. Seventh-grade dance. He brought me flowers. Yellow and white daisies.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  She laughed again. “Kevin was nice.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He was nice to you because you were the prettiest girl in the class and all the guys had a crush on you.”

  “Jessie Linton was the prettiest girl in the class,” she corrected him. After a few seconds, she added, “And if memory serves, it was every guy but you.”

  “Not true.” Clay shook his head. “At least, it wasn’t true after eighth grade.”

  “Then what happened?” She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward, her lips curved in a soft smile.

  “Then hormones kicked in and you turned into a girl.”

  “I was always a girl.” Her smile widened. “I never tried to pretend otherwise.”

  “Yeah, but once we hit puberty, it got harder and harder to remember that we were buddies.” He put his glass down and caught her gaze. “Especially when the other guys would be fighting over who was going to ask you to go to so-and-so’s party, or to the movies.”

  “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

  “Because we were supposed to be friends. Best friends.”

  “We were best friends, Clay. You were the best friend I ever had.”

  “So what happened, LuLu?” he asked softly. “Why did we stop being friends?”

  For a moment, she looked stricken. Then she broke eye contact and stared at her wineglass for a long moment. When it looked as if she was about to speak, Candace appeared to serve their dinners.

  “Okay, we have two rockfish and fried oyster combos,” the waitress said as she placed a platter in front of both Lucy and Clay.

  She put her hands on her hips. “What else can I get you? Another beer, Clay? Another glass of wine for you?” she asked Lucy.

  “Oh, yes. That would be fine. Thank you.” Lucy nodded.

  “I’ll take another beer, thanks, Candace,” Clay said.

  “I’ll be right back with those.” Their waitress refreshed their water glasses before disappearing into the crowded dining room.

  Clay and Lucy ate in silence for several moments.

  “The fish is delicious,” she said at last. “Just the way I remember it. And the oysters are perfect. They just don’t taste the same from anywhere else.”

  “True enough.” He’d thought about pressing her on his unanswered question—he’d thought for a moment she was going to finally shed some light on that subject—but decided to let it go. For now.

  “Mom told me that you’ve been growing produce for some restaurants these past few years,” Lucy said, apparently happy enough to have been let off the hook. “Are you abandoning farming in favor of brewing beer?”

  “No, growing barley and hops will be in addition to my produce business.” He put down his fork. “I was thinking the other day about how the farm has evolved since my ancestors arrived and claimed that land. You know, for almost three hundred years, the farm sustained my family. Today, it’s a hybrid operation of mostly organic produce that I sell to farmers’ markets and restaurants—including the inn. Tomorrow, with luck, it will be as successful providing the raw product for MadMac Brews.”

  “You don’t sell anything directly?” she asked.

  “I sell directly to the restaurants. Almost all of the ones here in town buy from me, some in D.C., others in New York.”

  “I meant, don’t you have a little veggie market on the farm?”

  “No one to operate it,” he replied. “I work the fields, my mother’s moved out, and my sister is going to be moving in another few weeks.”

  “Where’s Brooke going?”

  “She’s moving into the old tenant house. Cam O’Connor’s doing the renovations, and he’s just about finished.”

  “I remember that old place. There used to be an old guy who lived out there …”

  “Mr. Littleton.” Clay nodded. “He worked for my dad back when we were kids. Sort of helped run the place.”

  “I guess he’s moved on by now.”

  “He died when we were in high school, don’t you remember? He was killed in a hit-and-run accident out on Charles Street. They never did find the car who hit him. My dad always suspected one of the politicians from D.C. who has a vacation home across the Bay. He figured any one of them would know how to hide the evidence.”

  “I’d forgotten that.” Lucy frowned. “It’s not the type of thing I usually forget.”

  “Well, you’ve been gone for a long time, Luce. It’s not surprising that some things have slipped your mind.”

  “I guess.”

  There was another silence that was only minutes away from becoming awkward when Lucy said, “Oh, by the way. I loved the tree you decorated in the inn’s library. It was perfect.”

  “Is it still up?” He speared an oyster and raised the fork halfway to his mouth. “I’d have thought all the decorations would have been taken down and stored away by now.”

  “Everything’s coming down tomorrow, but Mom left it all up for me to see. We had our Christmas last night. Ford called and we all got to talk to him for a few minutes, so I got to thank him for these.” She flicked a finger at one of her earrings and made the dangling part dance. “He sent these to Mom to hold for me.”

  “I noticed them,” Clay told her. He had noticed. They caught the light of the candle much the way her eyes did, and brought his gaze back to her face again and again. “They’re very pretty.”

  “I love them.” She touched them once more before picking up her fork. She seemed to aim at a piece of broccoli, but put the fork back down again. “Mom worries about me being in California alone—even after all this time—but it’s hell on her worrying about Ford. She can go weeks without hearing from him. It just breaks my heart sometimes when I think about how all she really wants is to have both Ford and me back here in St. Dennis, and neither of us seems to be able to make the move.”

  “You both have your reasons,” Clay said. “You’ve invested a lot of time and hard work in your business. I’m sure that Ford believes in what he’s doing, and you have to admire him for giving up what could be a much easier life to do something he thinks is right and important. Being a UN Peacekeeper isn’t the path most of us would choose to follow, but he has. He had all that special training while he was in the service, so he has skills that most of us don’t have.”

  “All true.” Lucy nodded. “He’s well equipped for the places they send him, but still, you never know …” She picked up her wineglass and swirled the last bit of liquid around. “My mom worries that he’ll be in a bad situation someday and that he’ll be the one who saves everyone else but doesn’t get out alive himself. Even a cat only has nine lives.”

  “Has he told you that he’s used up a few?”

  “He tells Danny things, but he won’t tell me much. He’ll just say he’s in Africa, for example, but he won’t say that the country he’s in is in the midst of political turmoil and that villages are being annihilated and women and children murdered and raped and that he’s having a hard time keeping the lid from blowing off.” She stared at her glass. “I get all that from the news. I always hope to God my mom isn’t watching the same broadcast.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He didn’t really say. Just sort of hemmed and hawed and talked past it. Which worries me as much as it worries Mom,” she admitted.

  “Maybe he didn’t wa
nt to say too much in front of your mother,” Clay suggested. “Maybe you could give him a call when you get back to California.”

  “I thought about that.” She nodded. “That’s probably what I’ll do.”

  Clay looked down at his plate and was surprised to find he’d eaten pretty much everything on it.

  “Wow,” he said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  “Me either. I haven’t eaten this much in … I don’t remember the last time I ate so much.” She laughed. “Oh, yes, I do. Last night. Huge dinner last night.”

  “Christmas dinner, right.”

  “I’ll need two seats on my flight back home.” She touched her napkin to her lips then folded it and placed it on the table.

  “Which is when?”

  “Sunday.”

  “That’s great.” He grinned. “That means we get to do this again.”

  “I think your email called for ‘dinner,’ not ‘dinners,’ ” she reminded him.

  “A technicality.” Clay saw their waitress approaching. “Luce, do you want dessert? They still make the best cheesecake in town. It’s amazing stuff.”

  “The best, is it? Sounds like we’ll have to get the inn’s new pastry chef to up her game,” Lucy replied good-naturedly. “But thank you, no. If I ate one more thing …”

  “Just the check, please, Candace,” Clay told her.

  She brought the bill and he paid it. At the coatroom, he picked up Lucy’s jacket and held it as she slipped her arms in. It was the closest he’d been to her all night, and for just a moment, he caught the scent of her hair when she flipped it out from under her collar. She smelled faintly of flowers and sunlight, even on this wintry night.

  “Looks like the rain has stopped,” he said when they stepped outside. “Want to take a stroll along the pier?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to try to walk off a bit of dinner. It really was a treat, Clay. Thanks so much.”

  “My pleasure.” He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. “I waited twenty years for this date—and don’t break my heart by insisting this wasn’t a date, all right? Play along with me if you must. But don’t say—”

  “I wasn’t going to. And for the record, it’s the best date I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Now you’re just being nice. But I’ll take it.”

  “No,” she insisted. “Really. It’s a pleasure to be with someone you’ve known all your life. Not at all like a first date with someone you’ve just met.”

  “Ha! You said first date. The implication being that there will be another.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.” In the dark, he could see that she was smiling.

  “This is what I think of when I think of the Bay at night,” she went on. “The moon reflected on the water, that gentle, rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the side of the boats. I love that sound. I’m glad they weren’t all put in dry dock.”

  “Most of the boats you see still in the water will be heading south through the Intercoastal Waterway within the next week or so.”

  She stopped and took a deep breath. “It smells like winter in Maryland. It smells like snow.”

  “It’s in the forecast.” He stopped when she did, and followed her gaze as it swept across the marina. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. When she turned toward him, his lips caught hers full-on in a kiss that neither of them was expecting. She tasted of lemons and wine, and he knew that he would never again taste either of those things without thinking of this moment. Her lips were warm in spite of the cold, and soft, and he couldn’t help but kiss her again.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for real since we were in seventh grade,” he whispered. “Remember when you wanted me to practice kissing with you so that you’d know what to do when you went to that dance with Kevin?”

  She laughed. “I do remember.”

  “After we practiced, I tried to think of some way to disable Kevin so that he couldn’t take you. I was so jealous that he was going to get to kiss you for real while I only got to practice.”

  “Seriously? That bothered you?”

  “Made me crazy.”

  “I guess I should have told you then …”

  “Told me what?”

  “That I never did kiss him.” She took his hand and started toward the parking lot.

  “Damn. And here I’ve held a grudge against him all these years.” He realized he was smiling, realized, too, how silly after all this time that it still mattered somehow. “Why didn’t you kiss him?”

  “Didn’t want to.” Lucy shrugged. “And don’t look so smug …”

  He was still laughing when they reached the car. He unlocked her door and opened it, ignoring the fact that she’d reached for the door handle at the same time. When he slid behind the wheel, she’d already fastened her seat belt. He started the car and drove up Kelly’s Point Road to Charles Street, where he stopped for the light.

  “So are you going to tell me what it was that I did that ended our friendship back in high school?” he asked.

  “I never thought our friendship ever really ended, Clay,” she said softly.

  “You shut me out for all these years,” he reminded her. “You’ve said more to me tonight than you did through the last three years of high school.”

  When she didn’t respond, he added, “Okay, this may not be a very manly thing to say, but it really hurt that you just stopped talking to me. I know I must have done something that upset you or hurt you, but I’ve never known what it was, and it’s bothered me all these years.”

  The light turned green, and he made the right turn.

  “So I have to ask: What was it that I’d done back then that kept us from being friends all these years?”

  “It wasn’t something you did, Clay. It never occurred to me that you’d think that you’d done something.” She spoke so softly that he could barely hear her words. “I’m so very sorry that you thought it was you.”

  “Then what was it?”

  He turned into the inn’s drive, and followed the lane to the back of the building. He stopped the Jeep near the back door and shifted into park. In the dark, he heard her breathing, ragged and uneven.

  “Something happened that summer that changed me. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.” She looked across the console, her eyes wide and haunted. “I am more sorry than I can say that I shut you out. You were the one person I could always depend on—you didn’t deserve the way I treated you. It’s embarrassed and shamed me all these years because you had been such a good friend to me, always, and I treated you unfairly and unkindly. Thank you for not holding it against me, for giving me a chance to tell you how much I’ve regretted my actions.”

  Before Clay could react, Lucy jumped out of the car and disappeared through the double doors into the lobby.

  What, he asked himself, was that all about?

  He sat outside the inn, watching to see if the lights went on in her old room, the corner room on the second floor, but the windows remained dark. He eased the car toward the no parking sign, and sat in the silent car, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Diary ~

  It’s lovely to have a little time to reflect during the holidays. Of course, for just about everyone else, the holidays are over, but here at the inn, we’re still celebrating. Lucy arrived on Wednesday afternoon, and that night we had Christmas all over again. I don’t know who enjoyed the double holiday more, me or Daniel’s children. Probably me—because Lucy was home and Ford called and we all had a few moments to speak with him. Still not clear on exactly where he is, but no matter. It was good to hear his voice. He sounded in good spirits and it was wonderful to see how everyone’s face lit up when it was their time to chat with him. I do miss my youngest …

  But I do have Lucy home until Sunday and that’s a gift, so I will not complain. She had her meeting with Robert and Susanna about their wedding today. Trula called a little
while ago—she tells me that both the prospective bride and groom are thrilled with Lucy and her take-charge attitude and her willingness to work with their ideas, not to mention the glorious plans they have for their wedding. I didn’t share with Trula that arriving at a date might be a wee bit of a problem—not my place to get involved in all that. I’m sure Daniel will work it out, though—what a feather in the inn’s cap to host such a high-profile affair. I know that Lucy is accustomed to such grand shindigs, but other than the MacGregor wedding, we’ve been pretty low-key here. Looks like the times, they may be a-changing.

  We’re going to—reluctantly—undecorate the inn tomorrow. Daniel has done his best to keep the trees and decorations fresh for Lucy’s Christmas, but alas, all has gotten pretty dry—though no one seems to mind so very much. Lucy is on a date with Clay Madison tonight—she keeps insisting that it’s only dinner in that no-big-deal way of hers, but if you could see the look on that young man’s face when he looks at her … it’s pretty clear he doesn’t think of her as just another old school chum. I think he’s always been a little sweet on her. As for her, who knows what goes through that girl’s head sometimes? If she can’t see what everyone else sees in Clay … well, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for her.

  And speaking of spells … no, no, of course I wouldn’t do one of those where my daughter is concerned, tempted though I may be at times. But I am thinking I’d appreciate a little help from the other side right about now. There’s a strange vibration sometimes when Lucy is in the inn—I can’t put my finger quite on it, but it comes from Lucy and it’s unmistakable. I’m so frustrated because I can’t interpret what she’s feeling—not that I’d ever try to “eavesdrop” on my daughter—not intentionally—but there’s something there that’s just … off. Some sadness or sense of unrest … which doesn’t really make much sense, since Lucy’s always been happy and loved here. I was hoping perhaps my old friend Alice might have some input, but she’s been scarce these past few weeks. Things are rough when a girl can’t rely on her friends—in whatever dimension they might dwell—to lend a hand once in a while!