“Jonathan Banks is out of our life now and forever,” Natalie declared when she turned on the kitchen light and picked up Boo Boo Kitty, the stuffed cat Daisy had dropped. “Case closed.”
She pulled the spiral-bound notebook containing her grandmother Lloyd’s recipes from the shelf and slapped it onto the counter and repeated, “Case closed.” She located the recipe for the scones and began to gather the ingredients and line them up next to the notebook. She’d been happy to hear her mother sound so upbeat on the phone, because in Natalie’s opinion, Maggie hadn’t been herself since she returned from her high school reunion over a month ago. There’d been nothing Nat could put her finger on, but it seemed a sadness had followed her home from Wyndham Beach. When asked, Maggie said she’d had a great time in Wyndham Beach, had spent several delightful days with her two oldest and dearest friends, and had renewed friendships with people she hadn’t seen or heard from in years.
“It was a wonderful weekend,” Maggie had told her. “I should go back more often. No one knows you like the people you grew up with, and no friends ever love you more.”
Liddy and Emma were fine, she’d told Natalie, and everything in her hometown was just swell. So why did Natalie have the feeling that something happened that had dimmed her mother’s usual sparkle just a touch? Maybe she could get her mother to talk about the reunion a little more on Sunday, see if she could intuit some slight or incident that had been unsettling. Maybe it had saddened her to visit her hometown without her husband—Nat knew it was the first time her mother had returned since her father had passed away. Or maybe she’d visited the cemetery where her mother and sister were buried.
Natalie had no way of knowing what Maggie may have found in Wyndham Beach. But just in case, she doubled the scone recipe so she’d have extras to take with her on Sunday. She’d drive to Bryn Mawr early and hopefully arrive before her sister, so she and her mom could sit in the sunroom, drink coffee, nibble on scones, and chat. Maybe without Grace’s ever-present drama, Maggie might be more inclined to talk about herself for a change. At the very least, Natalie could look forward to a pleasant hour spent with her mother and her daughter over good coffee and homemade scones, all of which added up to win-win in her book.
Chapter Six
MAGGIE
Sitting in her pretty sunroom, surrounded by her jungle of plants, with her granddaughter curled up next to her with a book and Grace and Natalie chatting amiably was Maggie’s idea of the perfect evening. There were few things that made her happier than having her girls home. Dinner had been drama-free, and her daughters had gone an entire afternoon without arguing about something inane.
“Mom, are you ready for a little more?” Grace stood, the bottle of pinot grigio poised over her own glass.
“Oh, just a splash. Thanks, Gracie.” Maggie held out her glass as Daisy slid to the floor, speaking softly to the illustrations in her board book, an owl and squirrel, both of whom wore dark glasses and berets.
“That’s about all that’s left.” Grace emptied the bottle and set it on the table.
“Wait just a moment while I get a pen and paper.” Maggie got up and went into the kitchen.
“Let me guess.” Natalie pulled a few yellowed leaves off a trailing pothos on the table next to her. “Time to make the list for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Why do we have to make a list?” Grace frowned. “We have the exact same meal every year.”
“It’s more for me to remember what to put on my shopping list.” Maggie returned with a notepad and a pen. “Unless you’d rather go out this year for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“No,” both daughters replied at the same time.
“But we know what’s on the list, Mom. Turkey. Some of that packaged stuffing,” Natalie began.
“The cornbread kind,” Grace interjected.
“And dried cranberries and sage sausage.” Maggie began to write.
“Mashed potatoes. Roasted sweet potatoes. Green beans.” Grace ticked off on her fingers.
“And cawotts?” Daisy piped up.
“Yes. You like carrots with orange juice, so we’ll have those.” Maggie continued making notes. “And homemade cranberry sauce.” She looked up from her list. “You guys can toss a coin to see who gets to bring the appetizers and who brings dessert.”
Natalie looked at Grace. “Why don’t we both make one of each?”
“Why don’t we just plan on eating from the second we get up until we have to head for the nearest vomitorium?” Grace rolled her eyes. “There are three adults and one child here. How much food do we need?”
“Actually, I invited Liddy and Emma to join us this year.” Maggie glanced from one daughter to the other. “We’re saving Liddy from potluck Thanksgiving with a group of friends, and Emma’s going to be alone because Chris is touring with his band. Actually, on Friday, the three of us are going to—”
“Oh, cool. I haven’t seen Liddy or Emma since Gram died,” Natalie interrupted. “That was the last time I was in Wyndham Beach. So we’ll be five ladies and one girl.”
“Oh, we could get tickets for the special holiday display at Longwood Gardens. I’ll go online right now and reserve tickets for Friday for the five of us and Daisy.” Grace dug in her bag for her phone.
“No, that’s not going to work. Emma and Liddy and I are leaving on Friday afternoon for Charlotte.” Maggie looked up from her notepad. “I started to tell you.”
Natalie and Grace exchanged blank looks. “What’s in Charlotte?”
“Chris invited the three of us to his concert on Friday night, and we’re staying for the weekend. He’s arranged everything, right down to having a car pick us up here on Friday morning and drive us to the airport, where we’ll take a private jet to North Carolina. Accommodations at the number one inn in the city. Oh, and did I mention front-row seats at his show?”
“Mom!” Grace exclaimed. “What? When—how did this all come about?”
“We’ve been talking about doing it someday since the reunion. Emma called yesterday to tell me Chris had it all arranged if I was available.”
“If she’s available.” Natalie rolled her eyes. “Duh.”
“Duh,” Daisy repeated, nodding for emphasis.
“And we’re just hearing about this now because . . . ?” Grace was wide eyed.
“I’m so jealous I could weep.” Natalie looked as if she was in fact about to cry. “Little Chrissy Dean, rock star and international man of mystery.”
Grace scoffed. “No mystery. I read he nails everything that comes within ten feet of him.”
“One wonders. Emma visited him in California, and she said there were women following him home and climbing over his back fence and sneaking into his house, all manner of goings-on that Emma . . . well, let’s just say she wasn’t happy to see the kind of girls who were stalking her son.”
“What does she expect? He’s gorgeous, rich, the lead singer in an enormously popular band, and oh, yeah, he really can sing.” Grace ticked off his attributes on the fingers of her right hand. “Emma should know better than to expect him to be different from any other guy who’s gorgeous, rich, yada yada yada.”
“He’s her baby. Her only child,” Maggie reminded her, then changed the subject. “Anyway, we’re looking forward to having a grand time that weekend.”
“I’m really jealous, Mom. I wasn’t kidding,” Natalie said again.
“I’ll bring you a T-shirt.”
“Me too.” Grace raised her hand.
“Me too,” Daisy chimed in.
“I’ll see if I can find one small enough for you, pet,” Maggie said. “Oh, Grace, could you pick up the wine for Thanksgiving?”
“Sure. I’ll plan on extra since Liddy and Emma will be here.”
“Well, it sounds as if we have our holiday weekend pretty much planned. Good for us.” Maggie rose and collected the empty glasses and headed for the kitchen, which had been renovated the year before Art died. A gourmet cook, he’d pic
ked out everything himself, from the tall white cabinets to the granite countertops, the tiles for the backsplash, the appliances, and the flooring. The new kitchen had pleased him every time he came into the room, and he would run his hand over the smooth counters or stop to wipe away a smear from the front of the stainless steel refrigerator every time he passed by.
“I wonder what Chris is like now,” Natalie mused as they all followed Maggie.
“He was such a pain in the butt when we were little,” Grace said.
“Who was a pain in the butt?” Maggie rinsed out the wineglasses.
“Chris.” Grace leaned on the counter.
“Why would you say that? He was always nice to you. And he was only a year older than you, Grace. Don’t you remember, he used to take you both for rides in his wagon?” Maggie began to stack the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. “Nat? Do you remember?”
Natalie frowned as if searching her memory. “Not really.”
“I remember.” Grace pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, sat, and pulled her niece onto her lap. “Sort of.”
“We have pictures somewhere. You were all so cute when you were little.”
“Too bad we grew up to be such beasts, right, Nat? Except for Chris, who grew up to be the golden boy.”
Natalie nodded. “Chris was always the golden boy. There always was something special about him. Like you knew he was going to be someone when he grew up.”
“He worked pretty hard to get where he is, remember. Emma says they played a lot of tiny clubs for years before they could even get a record deal. It didn’t all fall into his lap, you know,” Maggie reminded them.
“Unlike the redheaded starlet I saw on his arm at the Billboard Music Awards a few months back. I bet she fell into his lap easily enough.” Grace reached across the table for the book Daisy was straining to grab.
“Just cut all that talk when Emma’s here, okay?”
“Sure, Mom. I wouldn’t do anything to upset her,” Grace said. “On the other hand, I’d have loved if we could have been included in that round trip to Charlotte.”
“Maybe next time,” Maggie told her. “This time is for the moms.”
Natalie turned to her mother. “When was the last time you were at a rock concert?”
Maggie turned and leaned back against the counter, thinking. “It was at the old Spectrum in Philadelphia, but I don’t remember what year. Your father and I and the Larsons went to see Steve Winwood. Warren Zevon was the opening act.”
“I saw my first concert there. Britney Spears. I loved that place,” Natalie said. “What a shame they knocked it down.”
“Progress, sister,” Grace told her. She turned to her mother and asked, “And what does the well-dressed fiftysomething woman wear to a rock concert?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll ask Emma what she thinks.”
“Oh gosh, look at the time,” Grace said suddenly. She lifted Daisy from her lap and stood her on the floor next to the table. “I need to go.”
“Where do you need to be at seven on a Sunday night?” Natalie asked.
“I need to check in on a couple of friends.” Grace walked into the hall and grabbed her coat from the closet. “Mom, thanks for dinner. It was delish, as always.”
“We should probably go, too.” Natalie guided Daisy in the direction of the hall.
“Come here, my Daisy girl. Give me a big kiss.” Grace scooped up the little girl and planted kisses all over her face, then handed her over to her mother. “Do you believe our mom scored front-row tickets to a major rock concert while we languish at home?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with this picture?” Natalie struck an indignant pose.
Grace sighed. “Maybe if we’re lucky, she’ll remember to bring us those T-shirts.”
“Maybe.” Maggie slung an arm over Grace’s shoulder and walked her to the door. “If you’re really lucky, maybe Chris will autograph them for you.”
Natalie faked a squeal. “Oh, Gracie, did you hear that? Maybe we’ll get autographed T-shirts from our childhood friend.”
“Yeah, our childhood friend who grew up to be one of the hottest guys on the planet.” Grace opened the closet and took out her coat, which she slid over her arms. She reached back for Natalie’s and Daisy’s jackets, then tossed them to Natalie.
“You didn’t think he was hot back then. You just said you thought he was a PITA.” Natalie knelt to help Daisy into her jacket.
“You sure didn’t.” Grace smirked.
“I don’t remember either of you being particularly enamored of Chris when you were younger.” Maggie opened the front door and stood off to one side.
“Nat was.” Grace stood on the front step and grinned at her sister. “Deny it now, but there was a time . . .”
Natalie laughed. “We were friends. We were always just friends.”
“If you say so,” Grace whispered.
“Mom, is everything all right? Are you all right?” Natalie asked softly as she buttoned her jacket.
“Why, do I look ill? Am I pale?” She stepped in front of the hall mirror and examined her reflection. “Everything’s fine. Why would you ask me that?”
“You look great. You just seem . . . I don’t know, maybe just a bit distracted?” Natalie appeared to struggle to put her finger on what seemed off about her mother. “And you’ve been neglecting your plants.”
Maggie frowned, her hands now on her hips. “What are you talking about? I certainly have not been neglecting anything.”
“Mom, I pulled dead leaves off several plants in the sunroom. I don’t remember ever in my entire life seeing a dead leaf on anything green in this house.”
“I haven’t noticed any dead leaves,” Maggie protested.
“That’s my point. You’ve always been so meticulous about your plants. It just made me wonder if there was something on your mind, that’s all.” Chastised, Natalie softened. “It wasn’t an accusation. I asked because it isn’t like you not to notice. You haven’t been the same since you came back from Wyndham Beach.”
Maggie waved a hand as if to dismiss the conversation. She was pretty sure she knew why she hadn’t been the same since the reunion, but she wasn’t about to get into that with her kids. It was something she’d have to work her way through, something that had nothing to do with her daughters. Something she’d been avoiding thinking about. “I guess maybe I’m just distracted by the holidays being so close and your father not being with us.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense.” Natalie glanced at Grace, who’d watched the exchange but hadn’t commented. “We’ll all be missing Daddy even more at Thanksgiving. Remember how he loved to put the turkey on that big white platter—”
“The one with the big turkey on it.” Grace nodded.
“—and bring it into the dining room and make this big show of carving it.” Natalie smiled at the memory.
“Dad really went all out for every holiday,” Grace reminisced. “He loved seeing the dining room all dressed up for Thanksgiving. That plum tablecloth and the dark gold napkins and the dishes with the cornucopia in the middle. The table was always so gorgeous.”
“Mom always made these fabulous centerpieces,” Natalie added.
“And she always got those little pumpkins and stood up little candles in them and put them at every place,” Grace said.
“Mom is right here, and she can hear you,” Maggie said lightly, hoping to lift the nostalgic mood that was threatening to turn somber. “And yes, your dad loved to go all out for the holidays, and yes, before you ask, I still have the plum-colored tablecloth, and I can buy little pumpkins at the farmers’ market.”
“Excellent.” Grace made a thumbs-up.
“I can’t wait. Thanks again for dinner.”
Natalie turned to Daisy. “Dais, what do you say to Nana?”
“Thank you for my book.” Daisy reached up for a hug and planted a big kiss on Maggie’s cheek.
Maggie’s heart melted. “You’re
most welcome. Come back and see me again.”
Daisy looked up at her, nodded, and said, “I will.”
Natalie kissed her mom and followed her sister outside.
Maggie stood on the front step and watched her girls walk down the path to the driveway while she deadheaded the colorful mums she’d bought at a local farm to bring some autumnal touches to her porch, observing that the mums, too, appeared sadly neglected. The jack-o’-lanterns she’d carved for Halloween had collapsed upon themselves and should have been put into the trash days ago. Maggie made a mental note to bag them up and take them to the curb before the next trash day.
She folded her arms across her chest and watched Grace lean on the side of Natalie’s car while Daisy was strapped into her car seat. Her daughters spoke for another minute before hugging, Natalie getting into her car and Grace walking to the end of the driveway to hers. One last wave and Maggie stepped back inside the house and proceeded to straighten the kitchen, returning Daisy’s discarded toys to the basket she kept in the family room and setting the gas fireplace to a low flame as she finished picking up the last pieces of their visit. A photo out of place here, a magazine tossed carelessly onto the coffee table there. She settled into a chair near the fireplace, where she’d left the book she was supposed to read for her book club, and turned on a nearby lamp. She read almost a dozen pages before admitting neither the story nor the characters were appealing to her. She closed the book and stared into the fire, then grabbed her phone and tapped Emma’s number.
“What are we supposed to wear to Chris’s show?” she asked when Emma picked up. “My girls were here for dinner tonight, and I think they’re concerned that I’m going to dress like a nineteen-year-old. Or worse, a fifty-eight-year-old. What are three women who are closing in on sixty supposed to wear to a rock concert?”
An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Page 9
