Inside, Laura interrogated him about the ashram in India while Lucy wandered off to look around the studio. He watched as she strolled slowly around the perimeter of the room, taking in the floors and the simple light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. She leaned her head back and he followed her gaze up to the building’s old tin ceiling.
A low rustic table ran along one wall. He could tell from the way Lucy held her arm as she moved past that she was counting the votive candles that were placed every few inches. Sterling silently counted along with her. Twelve candles.
Sterling answered Laura’s questions as best he could, but he was really seriously distracted by being in a yoga studio with Lucy. It brought back memories of the class they took together with Sreenivas. Sterling had been as surprised by Lucy’s interest in yoga as she had been surprised by his.
Would he have still fired her if she had told him about Derrick Jones and the concert in advance? Ah, probably. He had been so blindsided by it, and by the notion that Lucy could be that devious. He still had trouble believing it. Look at her, he thought. She had such a peaceful expression on her face, her arms swinging by her side as she walked. She looked utterly uncomplicated at the moment.
She turned and caught him staring at her. At last, she returned to where Sterling and Laura had been standing all along.
“It was lovely to see you again,” Lucy said and gave Laura a warm, genuine hug. “Good luck with this. Maybe I’ll stop in and take a class the next time I’m in town.”
Outside on the sidewalk, Sterling said, “I thought you were never going to come rescue me.”
“Laura is nice.” He detected a note of injury in her voice.
“Yes, she is. But my six months of yoga in an ashram in India was really more like one month of yoga, six times over.”
“So now what?” Lucy asked. “Are there any more social ills you want to see?”
Now it was Sterling’s turn to look injured. “I don’t think your friend’s yoga studio is a social ill.” Apparently, the peacefulness she was feeling had evaporated the minute they stepped outside.
“No, it’s not. And good for her. But it’ll most likely be closed the next time I’m in town.”
“True. But businesses that never open are failures, too. You don’t succeed by not trying.” Sterling laid his arm across her shoulders as they walked down the street. “You still haven’t taken me to see your childhood home.”
“My mother and I lived in a bunch of places, actually, when I was growing up. Some of them torn down by now, thankfully. I don’t exactly have an ancestral family home.”
“Does your mother still live in town?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she’s home right now?”
“Sunday morning? Yes, she’s probably home. I don’t think she goes to church anymore.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“Why?”
“Because I would like to. Do I need more of a reason than that?” Sterling replied. “Not to mention that you can’t come into town and not see your mother. Even I don’t do that.”
“Lucy! What a surprise,” her mother cried out when she opened the door to find Lucy and Sterling standing awkwardly there. “Come in. You should have let me know you were coming.”
Lucy surveyed her mother’s outfit. She was wearing a denim skirt way too short for her age, a red tank top and brown leather flip flops. She sighed inwardly. Why did she agree to coming here? It was going to be a disaster, an unmitigated disaster. She hoped Sterling was having plenty of fun. At her expense.
“Uh, it was a last-minute decision.”
“You drove all the way here this morning?”
“No. We stayed at the Rt. 1 Motel last night.”
Lucy’s mother lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. She looked Sterling up and down appraisingly, then looked back at Lucy. “So are you going to introduce your friend?”
Lucy was flustered and uncomfortable and suddenly feeling like a teenager again in her mother’s house. Sterling stepped forward and extended his hand to Lucy’s mother. “Sterling Matthew, ma’am. CEO of The Chesapeake Inn.”
“CEO, you say?”
Uh-oh. Lucy could practically hear the wedding bells chiming in her mother’s head right now. Her mother had been devastated by Lucy’s divorce from Josh, and she was upfront about her belief that Lucy was to blame. That she just hadn’t been able to hold onto her husband.
Her mother turned to Lucy. “I always pictured him as older. From how you described him.”
“That would have been my father Lucy was talking about,” Sterling explained.
“He passed away recently,” Lucy said quietly.
“My condolences. Are you two staying awhile? Can I get you something to drink? A soda? Tea?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Sterling said.
“I’ll come help you,” Lucy said, following her mother.
“No, no,” her mother hushed at her. “Stay out there with that gorgeous hunk of man. He might make me forgive you for Josh.” Lucy rolled her eyes at her mother. “Lucy, you need to think more strategically.”
Yeah. Trying to think strategically worked great. I made a fool out of myself by sleeping with my boss and the camp is still dead at the end of the summer.
Lucy spent the longest ten minutes of her life sitting silently with Sterling in her mother’s living room. She tried to see the room through his eyes. The worn-out carpet, the broken blind on one window, the threadbare sofa they were sitting on, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. She wanted to tell him that this wasn’t really her childhood home. She and her mother had lived in over a dozen houses in Lost Cave when Lucy was a child. Whenever her mother couldn’t make rent, they had to leave and find another landlord who remembered what a beauty Serena Hahn had been when she was younger or who pitied them because Lucy’s father had abandoned them.
“Relax,” Sterling whispered. “You’re at home.”
Lucy realized that she’d been digging her fingernails into the upholstery. “Are you relaxed at your parents’ home?”
“I suppose you’ve got a point there.”
He touched Lucy’s hand just as her mother reappeared with a melamine tray topped with fancy-looking tea cups and a cellophane package of graham crackers. Lucy wanted to die. She had seen Sarah’s china many times. This was so far beneath the way Sterling lived, Lucy had half a mind to jump up, drag him out of there and hit the road for St. Caroline pronto.
Sterling accepted a cup of tea and a cracker and let his body sink back into the sofa. He rested one soccer shoe-clad foot on the opposite knee.
“So we ran into Lucy’s friend, Laura, just awhile ago,” he said.
“Oh Laura, yes. She’s opening that yoga studio on Main Street. She had to go to New York or someplace to get her teacher training. Don’t know how she and Mike can afford that, on his pay. So you’re the CEO of the Inn. Did you know that Lucy went to that camp you have there? The one for uncontrollable kids.”
“Mom!” And to think she had hoped to avoid the subject of the camp this weekend. Well, her mother had no idea how much of a sore point the camp was between herself and Sterling.
“Yes, I believe I did know that.” Sterling nudged Lucy’s knee with his.
“Saved my life, I’ll tell you. That girl sitting next to you was hell on wheels as a teenager. She ran around with older kids, stayed out all night, didn’t pay attention to school. If she’d continued on that path, she’d have been barefoot and pregnant in high school.”
“Oh my god,” Lucy moaned.
“So the camp had that much impact?” Sterling said.
“Honestly, I didn’t expect much from it. But I needed a vacation from Lucy—sorry, hon, but I did.”
Lucy threw up her hands.
“So I signed her up and drove her to the bus pickup. She came back to me a changed girl. Like night and day.”
“What do you think changed her?” Sterling probed.
�
�Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve never been to your fine resort. But somehow you succeeded where I couldn’t.” Lucy’s mother set down her tea cup. “Guys, I hate to rush you out, but I’ve got girls poker afternoon today and I need to shower and get ready.”
At the door, Sterling reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a business card. He handed it to Lucy’s mother.
“Mrs. Hahn, I’d love to have you as a guest at the Inn. My compliments. When it’s convenient for you, give me a call and I’ll make all the arrangements. My direct line is on here.”
Sterling watched Lucy pick at her McDonald’s salad, pushing lettuce around aimlessly with her fork. Personally, he was starving. He bit into his Big Mac with gusto.
When he swallowed, he said, “You know, St. Caroline didn’t have a McDonald’s when I was little.”
“You were horribly deprived.” Lucy finally lifted a forkful of lettuce to her mouth. “Lost Cave didn’t either.”
“There you go. Our childhoods were more similar than you thought.”
A wry smile spread across Lucy’s face, but her eyes were still sad. Other than that brief, peaceful moment in the yoga studio, Lucy’s mood had vacillated between quiet wariness and exasperated embarrassment all weekend. She was ashamed of all this, he realized. That was where their childhoods parted ways—well, they parted ways almost everywhere—but he had never been ashamed of St. Caroline. He hadn’t wanted to live there, but he wouldn’t be uncomfortable taking someone to visit. Lucy was uncomfortable in her hometown.
Outside, cars and trucks buzzed by on the highway. Another five hours and they would be home. Home. Well, I wouldn’t want to live here, he thought, but neither did he think Lost Cave was the huge boil on her face Lucy seemed to think it was. The people had seemed decent enough, just not with that many opportunities.
Lucy was staring out the window, her fork pointed at nothing in the air. He studied her profile. How he wanted to reach out and place his hand on her cheek. I’ve fallen hard.
Oh, the stories he could tell her about the Inn. Contrary to her idealized image, not all of the guests had been decent people. He had seen a lot as a child. More than a child should witness, even a wealthy child. Blistering arguments between couples. Icy silence at dinner tables. The wife and kids one week, the mistress the next.
“How did you do that?” she asked suddenly, putting down her fork.
“Do what?” He was startled out of the past.
“Get along with my mother.”
Sterling took a sip of his soda. “Why do you ask that? Don’t you get along with her?”
Lucy shrugged. “More or less. But you don’t spend much time with people like—” Lucy waved her arm aimlessly in the air.
“Lucy. I grew up in a hotel, with hundreds of complete strangers coming through my life every single week. I could make conversation with anyone by the time I was five years old. I can find something in common with anyone.”
A short laugh escaped from Lucy’s lips. “What, exactly, do you have in common with my mother?”
“You.”
“I notice you failed to mention that, as CEO, you fired me and that I’m now unemployed.”
“I didn’t know whether you had told your mother about that or not. She didn’t say anything, so I blithely ignored the issue. Have you told your mother about that?”
“No. In her eyes, it’s bad enough that I’m divorced—and that’s been five years, mind you. Divorced and unemployed? I’d never hear the end of that.”
Sterling was quiet for awhile. Lucy went back to staring out the window.
“Did the camp really make that big a difference?”
Lucy said nothing at first. Then she turned and looked at the people working behind the counter and the cash registers. “I’d probably be working here.”
“I’d like to offer you your job back, Lucy.”
Lucy’s head snapped back to the table. “I don’t want my job back.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for starters, what’s to say you won’t just fire me again? And I don’t want to work at the Inn if Douglas isn’t there. Even if you give me my job back, he still loses his next month, right?”
“Why did he tackle me last weekend at your house?” He rubbed his jaw where Douglas had hit him.
“I think he was presented with an opportunity to finally pound you, and he took it.”
Sterling recalled the tale of Douglas’ teenaged boast. So was Lucy, evidently. He watched her eyes darken and she looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time all day. Her eyes dropped down to his chest, just for an instant, but Sterling saw it. Did she realize how little it took to stoke the growing fire inside him? Just from this, a look, and the flame sizzled up his spine
“He waited around for me, you know, to make sure I got back to the camp safely,” she said at long last.
“Did he? I guess we weren’t as good at sneaking around as we thought we were.”
Sterling balled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it back and forth between his hands a few times, then set it back down on the orange tray.
“I’m glad you brought me here, Lucy,” he started. “And you were right. I’ll probably never really get what it’s like to grow up in a place like Lost Cave. And I don’t know what it took for you, as a teenager, to pull a one-eighty in your life the way you did. But I met that teenager, you know. I liked her. And there’s still quite a bit of her in you.”
Chapter 23
Lucy was sitting, cross-legged, on the floor in her bedroom. She was wearing her improvised painting outfit, a stretched out tee shirt from college and grey sweatpants that she had cut off mid-thigh to make shorts. The sweet-sharp smell of latex paint filled her nostrils as she meticulously brushed paint onto the baseboards. When she finished, they would be a fresh gleaming white.
Lucy had no idea what the excursion to Lost Cave had settled for Sterling. It must have settled something because the silence since then was deafening. Was it too much to expect a phone call, an email? Even a measly text? At least she had gotten a kiss out of the concert and that was far less personal than a trip to her hometown and a visit with her mother. And okay, she could admit it. Her ego got a little bruised when Sterling had handed her that second room key.
When it came to Sterling Matthew, Lucy no longer knew up from down.
She finished one length of baseboard and moved her tarp and bucket of paint around to the next wall.
Lucy hadn’t expected a trip home to settle anything for her, but it had anyway. Running into Laura Hagel had been pure serendipity. Standing in that huge empty space, Lucy had been able to see a future for herself—and a future that kept her in St. Caroline.
When the yoga studio in St. Caroline closed, it wasn’t for lack of business. The owner married and moved to her new husband’s city. No one else had opened a yoga studio in town since then and the space still sat empty and unleased. Why couldn’t Lucy open a studio there? The thought of another job where she just sat in an office made her heart ache.
But first, she was going to have to leave.
She had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, researching teacher certification programs online. There was a yoga center in upstate New York that had an intensive six-week program and it was starting in August. She would rent out her cottage—with a fresh coat of paint—for the rest of the summer, while she was in New York. The month’s rent would pay for the certification course.
And maybe a month away would dim Sterling Matthew’s sparkle. I want him. And I know I can’t have him. A girl like Lucy Hahn couldn’t have had a boy like Sterling Matthew when she was a teenager. And she couldn’t have him now. The privileged boy and the underprivileged girl.
Lucy moved outside and was swiping paint onto the porch railing when a pickup truck pulled up in front of her cottage. It was Douglas’ truck. She watched as he walked around the back of the truck and opened the passenger door, helping an older gentleman step down from the se
at.
Lucy put down her paintbrush and wiped her hands on her sweatpant shorts. Douglas and the gentleman came up the stairs.
“Be careful where you touch,” Lucy cautioned. “I have wet paint everywhere.”
“Okay,” Douglas said, looking around and clearly puzzled. “Lucy, this is Mr. George Adams. Mr. Adams owns that beautiful estate on the other side of the Inn’s property.”
Oh yes. Lucy knew the one. Douglas’ look of puzzlement had turned to a merry smirk.
“Oh, the white house with the big columns?” Lucy said, trying to keep her face arranged in a neutral expression and trying not to look at Douglas.
“And the cute boathouse,” he added.
“Yes, that’s the one,” George Adams affirmed.
The Adams estate was one of the largest in-town estates. The house was a bonafide mansion with a wide green lawn that sloped gently down to the water and the private dock. Every spring, the front lawn was ablaze with masses of pink and purple azaleas. And of course, it was on the water with a private dock and boathouse.
George Adams cleared his throat. “I would like to donate my estate to the Inn.”
Lucy looked over at Douglas in confusion. Why would George Adams be announcing this to her? She didn’t even work at the Inn anymore, a fact he might not be aware of but Douglas certainly was.
Mr. Adams continued. “But on one condition. The property has to be used for the camp.”
“You want to ...” Lucy’s voice trailed off. Had she just heard what she thought she did? The man wanted to donate his land to the camp? “Why?”
“My grandchildren prefer the beach and the livelier atmosphere of Ocean City, so I am buying a home there. I want to be able to spend as much time with them while I’m still kicking.”
Lucy swayed on her feet. She felt a little woozy.
“You want to just give your property away? I mean, the house and land—waterfront—are worth millions.” Lucy needed to confirm what she’d just heard.
Summer Again Page 15
