“We wear T-shirts with my son’s picture on them, which Chris already sent, and your favorite jeans,” Emma told her.
They discussed the travel arrangements Chris had made for them, and then, travel and wardrobe issues settled, they said good night. Maggie closed up the house, turning on the security system before turning off the downstairs lights, then slowly climbed the steps to the second floor, her heart heavy. All night she’d tried to forget that tomorrow would be the anniversary of the worst day of her life. In its honor, she’d allow herself a good cry in the shower, which was a habit she’d developed while Art was alive. She’d turn the water on high to muffle her sobs, and if Art noticed the red blotches on her cheeks, she’d pass it off as the water having gotten too hot. Over the years, she’d become so accustomed to crying on her own that she’d long since stopped wishing for someone to hold her and to comfort her, someone who would understand. But that someone was the only other living soul who knew of her heartache, and when it had mattered, even he hadn’t understood. So she’d learned to weep alone and mourn in silence and tried not to wish that the day would ever be marked by anyone except herself.
The Flynns’ normally sedate Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be anything but. While Maggie had to accept the fact that her turkey would never be as golden brown and juicy as Art’s, her sweet potato casserole never quite as delicious as his, her cranberry sauce somehow not quite as sweet even though she followed his recipe to a T, the day had been a success. Grace drove to the airport to pick up Liddy and Emma, and they’d arrived at the house just as the florist delivered a gorgeous centerpiece in autumnal shades. When Maggie had read aloud the card—Wish I was there with you. See you soon. Love to all, Chris—Emma had sighed and said, “Ah, my boy.”
“Just imagine how much that card would be worth if Chris had signed it himself,” Grace noted. “You could auction it off.”
“And if you’d had the presence of mind to save all his dirty socks over the years instead of laundering them,” Maggie said, “you’d make a fortune.”
“Yes, well, if only I’d known.” Emma laughed. “I should have learned to read tea leaves like my mother.”
“I say we toast Chris for sending those flowers.” Not bothering to wait for a response, Grace opened a kitchen drawer and brought out the corkscrew. “Nat, grab some glasses.”
Nat passed around the glasses, and Grace filled them.
“To Chris,” Grace said. “With thanks for his thoughtfulness.”
“And may he be with us next year,” his mother added as she lifted her glass.
“Thank you, Chris. You’re a good boy,” Liddy said, at which everyone laughed and patted Emma on the back. “We know it’s because you raised him right, Em.”
“Thank you.” Emma took a sip of wine.
“Credit where it’s due,” Maggie added.
“So what shall we do between now and dinner?” Grace asked.
“Cards?” Natalie offered. “Or Monopoly?”
“Monopoly!”
Everyone agreed.
Maggie found the game box and brought it into the kitchen, setting it up on the table overlooking the yard. As the Monopoly money was distributed, they finished the bottle of wine they’d opened to toast Chris and opened a second between trips to the oven to check the turkey’s progress, then a third. They paused the game long enough to eat dinner on the beautifully appointed table, the traditional china and silver, the golden turkey on the white platter. After they’d tasted each of the pies—a pumpkin and a pecan—they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher before playing three games of Candyland so Daisy could take part in the festivities. But once Daisy had been tucked into bed, the unfinished game of cutthroat Monopoly was resumed.
Shortly before eleven, after having cornered the market on the three orange properties and all four railroads, Grace was declared winner and real estate mogul.
“Wow. That was an impressive win,” Natalie conceded. “Congratulations, but I don’t remember you being so serious about Monopoly.”
“You played that game like your life depended on it,” Maggie said as she watched Grace count her winnings.
“Zach and I used to play a lot,” Grace told them as she held up her play money gleefully. “He was really into it in a big way. There are sites online where you can go to learn strategy and how to maximize your winnings.”
“Oh, really?” Natalie sat back against the cushioned banquette. “Do tell.”
“Yeah, they’re really informative. I had to make him stop looking stuff up because then he’d use that information to cheat when we played.”
“Did you just use what he learned to cheat just now?” Natalie narrowed her eyes.
“Maybe.” Grace grinned.
Natalie tossed her game piece—the Scottie dog—onto the board. “Cheater.”
“You’re just pissed because you don’t know the inside dirt,” Grace told her.
“The least you can do is share what you know, now that the game is over,” Emma said.
Grace began sorting the money in piles to return to the box. “Statistically, the most frequently landed-on spot is Illinois Avenue. So if you can put a house or two there—or better still, a hotel—you’ll be collecting a lot of rent. Also, orange is good. Always buy the orange places—Tennessee and New York Avenues and St. James Place.”
“Someone actually sat down and figured out the probability of landing on which spaces?” Emma asked.
Grace nodded. “And as we’ve just seen, the odds were in my favor.”
“Okay, that’s it for me tonight.” Liddy stood and stretched. “Early morning tomorrow. Fun game, ladies—cheating aside. And Maggie, thanks so much for making such a delicious dinner.”
“Not quite up to Art’s standards, but we all survived another of my attempts to re-create the perfection of my late husband’s turkey.” Maggie had risen when Liddy had.
“Mom, stop. It was fine,” Natalie told her.
“Sweetheart, Thanksgiving dinner is supposed to be more than just ‘fine.’ But it’s okay. I’m a work in progress where holiday meals are concerned.”
“Dad set impossibly high standards,” Grace reminded her. “That said, don’t put yourself down. You did a great job.”
“Thanks, Gracie.”
“Listen to your daughters.” Emma kissed first Maggie, then each of the girls good night. “This was the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in . . . oh, years. Chris usually is somewhere else, so I’m at the mercy of any kindhearted soul who’ll have me.”
“And for the last few years, I’ve done potluck with my book club,” Liddy said.
“You both have a standing invitation at my house,” Maggie assured them. It hadn’t been the kind of holiday the Flynns used to have, but it had been fun. More fun than the last two had been. Change is good, she reminded herself. Maybe her life could use a little more of it.
“Excellent. I was hoping you’d say that.” Liddy gave Maggie a hug before she headed for the stairs. “I’m over that whole potluck thing. Maureen Harper’s green bean casserole and Deb Burke’s runny pumpkin pie.” She turned to Emma. “I’m ready to turn in. How ’bout you?”
Emma nodded. “The car is supposed to pick us up early tomorrow.”
“You two go on up. I’m just going to close up down here, and then I’ll be going to bed, too.”
“Mom, we’ll finish cleaning up in the kitchen and straightening the dining room,” Natalie said as Liddy and Emma went upstairs. “You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Yes, go. Shoo.” Grace motioned with both hands toward the stairs. “It’s not every day you get picked up by a private car and flown in a private jet to see a concert. Go get rested. We’ve got this.”
“Thank you both. It’s been a long day, and I am tired. I’ll see you in the morning, assuming you’re up before we leave.” Maggie kissed Grace, then Natalie, on their cheeks and headed for her room on the second floor.
Early Friday morning, a long black
car pulled up in front of the house, and the stout driver got out. Maggie opened the front door before he reached the porch. He tipped his hat, then pointed to the women’s bags piled in the foyer. “This all the stuff that’s going?” he asked, pointing to the luggage.
Maggie nodded. “That’s it.”
Without another word, he gathered it up and headed for the car.
“We’ll be out in a minute,” Maggie called after him.
Emma came out of the kitchen carrying a travel mug of coffee in one hand and a danish in the other. Liddy, late as always, flew down the steps, retreated to the kitchen for the coffee Maggie had waiting for her, then followed her friends out the door, pausing while Maggie locked up behind them. Within five minutes of his arrival, the driver was on his way to the airport, three excited, giddy, middle-aged women in the back seat, singing songs from the seventies and laughing like kindergartners.
Maggie had never flown in a private jet before, and she entered the plane with her curiosity on alert.
“This is going to ruin me for anything less,” she said when the flight attendant, who introduced herself as Ginger, handed her a glass of champagne. “Even first class is going to seem like a downgrade after this.”
Emma swiveled her chair around to face her friends and raised her glass. “To us. To road trips. To friendship.”
“To us.” Liddy nodded.
“To friendship. And to sons who send private planes to bring his mama and her buds to see him play with his band.” Maggie touched the rim of her glass to the others, then took a sip.
Emma took out her phone and held it up. “I have all the songs from Chris’s playlist right here. I’m going to play them until we know them at least well enough to sing the chorus.”
“You have to be kidding.” Liddy glared over the top of her glass. “Em, the only person I know whose singing is worse than mine is you. Do you really want to inflict that on the people around us tonight?”
“They won’t be able to hear anything over the band, believe me. So okay. The first one is called ‘If You See Me.’” Emma increased the volume and repeated the line from the chorus, “If you see me, keep on walkin’, don’t come knockin’ on my door.”
“See how easy? We don’t have to know the whole song, just enough so that if Chris looks down and sees us, he’ll think we know his songs, and it’ll make him happy,” Emma explained.
“Em, honey, Chris is going to have about eighteen thousand screaming girls in various stages of undress in the audience,” Liddy said. “I don’t think he really gives a crap about whether or not his mother and her friends know his lyrics.”
“You just wait. He’ll be glad.” Emma turned her attention back to her phone. “Okay, so we’re good on that one, right? Now here’s the next one. It’s called ‘Living My Best Life . . .’”
Ginger served Cobb salads followed by individual pumpkin soufflés, and for a few minutes the singing stopped. But once their plates had been cleared away, Emma insisted on resuming the crash course in DEAN’s greatest hits.
Two hours later, the plane landed, and they were escorted off, their bags in their hands.
“Who’s picking us up?” Maggie followed Ginger across the tarmac.
Emma shrugged. “Chris said he’d send someone.”
“You don’t know who?” Liddy asked.
“No.” Emma kept walking.
“How will we find our ride?” Liddy caught up to her.
“I think she’s found us.” Maggie grabbed Emma’s arm and pointed off to the left, where a young woman held up a sign that said, WELCOME MAMA DEAN & FRIENDS.
“Yup. That’s us.” Emma made a beeline for the woman with the sign, and Liddy and Maggie trailed behind. “We’re here.” She waved.
The smiling driver—who introduced herself as Penelope—led them to the car, and it was off to their lodgings. Chris had found a special place, he’d told his mother, close to the concert venue but small and luxurious. When they arrived at the small boutique hotel, they discovered he’d bought out all the rooms on the top floor so they wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Oh, now he’s just showing off,” Maggie teased Emma when they were led to their suite. There was a large vase of dahlias along with a tray of fruit and cheese and a bottle of wine on the round table that sat by the windows in the common sitting room. “This is amazing. Remind me to thank your son for being so good to Mama Dean and her friends.”
“You can thank him yourself later. He’d wanted to make it over here to have dinner with us, but he has some TV interviews to do. But we’ll definitely see him after the show.” Emma settled into one of the overstuffed chairs near a gas fireplace. “I can’t wait. I haven’t seen him since my birthday.”
“That was two months ago.” Liddy held up the unopened bottle of wine. “Anyone?”
“None for me, but feel free.” Emma added wistfully, “Two months is a long time.”
“I’ll pass for now, too.” Maggie cozied up on the sofa, her legs tucked under her. “I’d hate to go even two weeks without seeing my girls.”
“I think daughters are different. You guys go shopping together, you meet for dinner.” Emma toed off her shoes. “Sometimes you even have breakfast together just because. The last time I had breakfast with Chris, he was just getting in from the night before.”
“Different lifestyles, Em.” Maggie held up the brochure she’d picked up in the hotel lobby. “I looked up things to do in Charlotte. There’s a self-guided walking tour called the Liberty Tour. Nineteen historic sites from the American Revolution. There are carriage tours, too. Oh, and the NASCAR Hall of Fame is in Charlotte.”
“Ruvvvv, ruvvvv.” Liddy mimicked what she apparently thought was the sound of a roaring engine. “I’d go for the walking tour. The liberty thing.”
“Yeah, me too.” Maggie set down the brochure.
“Okay, me three.” Emma appeared deep in thought. A few moments later she said, “But I think we should do something special to commemorate our trip. Something different. Something . . . memorable.”
“Like what?” Liddy joined Maggie on the sofa and sat facing Emma. “We can ask someone to take pictures with our phones at every stop of that walking tour.”
“We can. But I’m thinking something more permanent.” Emma’s eyes began to twinkle.
Maggie laughed. “What exactly do you have in mind? And will it involve calling your son to bail us out?”
“I don’t think you can get arrested for getting a tattoo.” Emma looked first to Maggie, then to Liddy.
“You want to get a tattoo?” Maggie’s eyebrows raised in exaggerated shock. “Em, that’s so unlike you.”
“I was thinking all three of us should get tattoos. The same tattoo.”
“Matching tattoos,” Liddy said flatly.
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Because we’re . . . ,” Liddy began, then stopped. “I don’t know why not. Maggie?”
Maggie shrugged. “I never thought about getting one, but I could be persuaded. Depending, of course, on what you have in mind.”
“I was thinking something small and tasteful that would be meaningful to the three of us. Something that represents our years of friendship,” Emma said softly.
“Like what?” Liddy asked.
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I was hoping one of you would have an idea.”
They sat in a prolonged silence, each apparently contemplating the possibilities. Finally, Maggie said, “Well, maybe it should have three parts. Like a shamrock. Or a triangle. Or a Celtic knot.”
“Or three stars. Three hearts. Three tiny kayaks,” Liddy said.
“Lid, we haven’t kayaked together in years,” Emma reminded her.
“Yes, but we used to. And we could again.” Liddy seemed to think twice about that. “Okay, scratch the kayaks.”
“Or it could be something that we share, like, we could get the same rose. Or the same butterfly.” Emma was still pondering the choices. “A single feath
er. A sandpiper. A dragonfly.”
“Sun, moon, and stars.” Liddy tossed out another. “The sun with three tiny planets, for the three of us.”
“This is more difficult than you’d think. Maybe we should find a tattoo artist and see what he or she has. You know, like a design book,” Emma suggested.
“You really think we’d be able to agree on a choice while we’re standing there?” Maggie looked up from her phone. “There are several artists in Charlotte. I’m reading the review comments right now.” She read silently for a moment, then aloud. “‘Botched a simple design. Avoid at all costs.’ Okay, nix Main Street Anthony. Here’s another. ‘Spent a month on antibiotics after S. did my tats.’ Ah, thank you, but no, Mr. S. We’ll pass.” Maggie scanned a few more. “Oh, here we go. Nicole’s Tattoos. Mostly four- and five-star reviews. One negative because the customer thought Nicole was expensive, though he admitted the work was perfect.” She looked up from her phone. “Nicole gets my vote.”
Liddy and Emma both nodded their agreement.
“I’m going to call and get some information. Like, do we need an appointment?” Maggie tapped in the number, then waited while the call went through. When Nicole herself answered, Maggie went through her list of want-to-knows. When she hung up, she didn’t look happy.
“What?” Liddy asked.
“Nicole can’t take three of us tomorrow at the same time. And unless we have something drawn out, we would have to select one of her designs.”
“If we can’t go together, it sort of takes the fun out of it,” Emma said as her phone played the ringtone signaling a call was coming in from her son. “Oh, there’s Chris.” She grinned broadly. “Hello, yes, we’re here and we can’t wait to see you.”
While Emma spoke with her son, Maggie picked at the fruit in the basket, snagging a few grapes. She poured herself a glass of wine and returned to the seating area in time to hear Emma say, “Oh, that would be great. Call me right back. And thanks, son.”
An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Page 10
