An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach)

by Mariah Stewart

  “I like it. Waves on the same sea,” Emma agreed. “Good job, Maggie. You saved poor Nicole here an afternoon of the three of us going round and round and . . .”

  Chris laughed and held up a hand as if to stop her flow of words. “Please. I’ve been there. This young woman has a business to run. So you’re set? This is it?”

  Emma, Liddy, and Maggie nodded.

  “Great. Glad that’s settled.” He handed Nicole the envelope. “As promised. Four front-row seats and backstage passes. I can’t thank you enough for accommodating my mom and her friends. I’ll give you a shout-out at the show tonight, in case anyone’s looking for a tattoo.”

  “You might want to wait to see if I do a good job.” Nicole took the envelope with shaking hands. “You wouldn’t want to be remembered in Charlotte as the guy who gave everyone a bum rec on a tat.”

  “I think you’ll do fine.” He turned and kissed first his mother—“Love you, Mom”—then Liddy and Maggie in turn. “Guys, it’s been great to see you. I’m glad you made it to the show. I’ve gotta go—I have an appointment in fifteen minutes, and I can’t be late. Nicole, thanks again. I’ll see you tonight.” He was almost to the door when he paused and turned back. “Hey, Mrs. Flynn, don’t forget to tell Nat I said any show, anytime. I’d love to see her again.”

  “She’ll take you up on that, I’m sure,” Maggie said. He nodded and left, the bell over the door ringing softly.

  “Phew.” Nicole slid back into her chair, fanning herself with the envelope.

  “Take a drink of water and calm yourself,” Emma told her. “You’re not going to be sticking a needle in my skin with those shaky hands.”

  “Sorry. I’m fine. He’s just . . . so . . .” Nicole was still a little wide eyed.

  “I know.” Emma patted her on the arm. “He’s a good boy.”

  It was such a mom thing to say, Maggie’d laughed at the time, and she laughed at the memory as she got off the train at her Center City stop and walked the three blocks to Flynn Law.

  Once at the office, she greeted the receptionist and several staff members who passed in the hall. She chatted with Lois as she unlocked the door Art’s assistant had guarded like a pit bull since the day Art went out sick. Maggie sat at her late husband’s desk in the office she’d taken over as her own those times when she’d ventured into Flynn Law to take care of the responsibilities Art had unexpectedly left to her. When he was dying, he’d told her he’d changed the structure of the firm so that while Alvin Cummins was in charge of the finances, and George Young was effectively the senior partner and managing attorney, she, Maggie, would be the final word on any matter of substance.

  “Trust them to do their jobs,” Art had told her. “You won’t need to get involved in most issues. The accountants will give you a year-end report, and if you have any questions, they or Alvin can answer them. George will oversee the work product, hiring and firing, but I’m leaving the firm in your hands. If you ever decide to sell it, get an appraisal of what it’s worth, then give George first right of refusal and give him a ten percent discount off the appraised price. You could also decide to simply dissolve it—though that might not be as easy as it sounds. There are steps that would have to be taken. I’m hoping you keep it going as it is, but as we’ve learned over the past few months, you never know what’s around the next corner. Eventually, I’d like to see Gracie become the face of Flynn Law, but she’s not ready to take over. And if you ever, for any reason, feel the need to pull the plug, do it and don’t worry that somehow you’ve let me down. You’re the one who has to live with this from now on. Don’t be afraid to move on, Maggie. You’ll know when—and if—something needs to be done, and you’ll do the right thing.”

  She’d done the right thing by effectively doing very little. She looked over the reports Alvin and George sent her quarterly, asked the occasional question, and went into the office on the first Monday of every month mostly to remind the firm’s employees that there was still a Flynn at the helm.

  It drove her crazy that Zach was still there after he’d left her daughter so suddenly. He always managed to be out of the office on the days Maggie would be in, or he’d make himself very scarce so at least she didn’t have to look at him. She still had no clue as to why he’d dumped Grace the way he had, how he could have fallen out of love with her, as he claimed, so soon after Art’s death. Had he been banking on Art leaving the firm outright to Grace—and therefore through marriage to him? Had he been so disappointed in Art’s decision to leave the firm to Maggie that he’d taken it out on Grace? She might not ever know.

  Maggie accomplished what she’d set out to do that morning, meeting with Alvin and George to arrange for the firm to underwrite several scholarships for students who excelled in their work at the local community college.

  “I’d like the money from the stipend the firm pays me as CEO to be used for tuition and books for the two-year college, and if the recipients maintained an A average, tuition, books, and room and board for the final two years at a four-year college,” she told them.

  “That’s very generous of you,” Alvin said. “I know Art mentioned several times he wanted to do something along these lines, but are you sure . . . ?”

  “Positive. Art left me more than enough to live comfortably,” she told them. “I believe he would have wanted me to do this.”

  The two men looked at each other and nodded.

  “Consider it done,” George said.

  Pleased, Maggie returned to Art’s old office, where she watered the large snake plant in the corner and the fern on the table next to the sofa. She’d stopped in to see Grace but found she was in court, so with one last glance around the office, Maggie gathered her coat and her bag and locked the door behind her. After she and Lois shared their customary lunch at one of Art’s favorite restaurants, Maggie headed for the afternoon train.

  The minute she situated herself in her seat, she called Natalie.

  “Mission accomplished,” Maggie said after Natalie answered the phone.

  “Mom, that’s incredibly generous. I can’t even begin to tell you what this will mean for Ava.” Natalie had all but wept when Maggie told her what had been agreed to.

  “Well, keep in mind we’re awarding two scholarships each year, so if you don’t have another worthy student in mind, you might want to confer with your colleagues.”

  “Oh, no, I could recommend any one of a dozen students,” Natalie had said, “but I do have another kid in mind. Thanks a million, Mom.”

  “You think on that second recipient, and I’ll contact the college. We should go through them to set this up, though I’m sure there won’t be a problem. A prestigious law firm wants to reward your students with some healthy financial aid, you don’t turn it down. I’ll make the calls in the morning.”

  “Dad would have been really happy.”

  “Somehow, I think he knows, and he is happy. And he’d have been proud that you made sure this happened. Thanks so much for the reminder, Nat. A scholarship in his name was a dream of his. It’s exactly the sort of thing that became more important to him toward the end of his life.” Maggie cleared her throat, which had tightened at the thought that her late husband might still be taking a peek at the goings-on he’d left behind.

  She didn’t know what happened once you left this plane—this dimension, as a self-proclaimed psychic had once referred to life on earth as we knew it—but she hoped wherever Art was, he knew she was doing the best she could, and that he approved. “Now, you remember I’m driving up to Wyndham Beach on Tuesday for the opening of the showing of Jessie Bryant’s paintings at Emma’s art center?”

  “And that you asked me to water the plants in the sunroom on Friday? Yes, of course I remembered. Daisy is ready with that little watering can you gave her for Christmas.”

  “Bless her little heart,” Maggie murmured.

  “So you’re just going to spend like, what, a week up there with Liddy and Emma?”

&nbs
p; “More or less a week. I haven’t decided how long yet. I want to see how Liddy feels after the exhibit.” Maggie fell silent. “She’ll need someone to be there for her emotionally. It still eats at her that Jessie died the way she did. Not that I blame her. I can’t even imagine the pain.” Maggie shivered. Knowing your child chose to leave this life must certainly add a whole different level of suffering. Not knowing why had to add even more.

  Maggie opted to drive to Wyndham Beach this time around, the weather maps showing mostly clear though cold weather for the next week, with only an occasional rainy day in the forecast. It would take a good seven to eight hours, depending on traffic, but she needed the time to de-stress from the holidays, which had held moments of sadness as well as moments of joy.

  She missed Art the most during the Christmas season. He’d loved everything about the month between Thanksgiving—when he pulled out all his favorite Christmas CDs—and the new year. He took great pains to decorate the house inside and out, loved the cooking and baking for their family meals as much as he loved preparing for their annual parties—one for friends and neighbors, one for business associates. When the girls were little, he’d hired a Santa to come to the house on Christmas Eve and give them each a special present, and he’d wondered every time that they never realized it had been their friend from the office, Alvin, behind the beard. Art had made special dishes for Christmas Eve and had insisted Maggie and the girls bake cookies with him to distribute to the neighbors. The holidays since his death had seemed flat and colorless, and the need to keep up the traditions he’d established for their family exhausted Maggie. She baked and cooked and decorated the house to honor his memory, but once the holidays were over and everything was packed away, she wanted to collapse.

  Art’s death had left her untethered, and at first, she didn’t know what to do with the rest of her life. She had periods when she did nothing, when she’d stay in her house for days, only to emerge and dive into something headfirst. She would cut back on her volunteering and her substitute teaching for a while, then sign up for several of the charity benefits she’d once chaired. She’d wear herself out, then step back again for a few months. She’d putter around the house, then jump back into the thick of it all over again. There was a randomness to her days, and while she knew her life had become unbalanced, it had taken her months to find her footing. But even after settling into a workable schedule of volunteer activities, she’d lately been having more and more-frequent Is that all there is? moments.

  She’d been Art’s wife for more than thirty years, and now that she wasn’t, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. The trip to Wyndham Beach had come at a good time. Worn out from the holiday and all the emotions it had dredged up, a week away was exactly what she needed.

  She drove along the New Jersey Turnpike and followed her old route to Wyndham Beach, through New York State and Connecticut, Rhode Island into Massachusetts. She’d hoped the drive would be long enough to think through her situation, but she was starting to realize the length of the ride wasn’t the issue. A week home was how she’d secretly thought of it. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she still thought of Wyndham Beach as home. In her heart, she knew she needed the cold salty air like she needed sleep and food. The fact that she was coming home because Liddy needed her made the trip even more meaningful. It had been a while since she felt truly needed by someone she loved.

  And then there was the elephant in the room: Brett. Seeing him had had a powerful effect on her. Denial would be a big fat lie, and she knew it. It seemed after all this time, all those things she’d forced herself to forget really hadn’t been forgotten. All it had taken to remind her had been the feel of his arms around her, his voice soft in her ear.

  The truth was that he’d been in her head since the reunion, and nothing she’d told herself about their past—not even the memory of the worst day of her life—had pushed him out. She wasn’t sure which man was more to blame for the funk she was in: Art for dying or Brett for reminding her of the life she might have had—and that she still had a life to live.

  “Lid, you sure you’re up to this?” Maggie had insisted on driving her car to the art center in case Liddy became too emotional, but she should have known better. Liddy was facing the display of her daughter’s art with more pride than pain.

  “Are you kidding? My girl would have loved this. She’s not here, so I’ll stand for her. You and Emma will stand for her.” Liddy’s eyes were wet, but no tears fell. “She was a hell of an artist, and I’m proud that her work will finally get some recognition.” She smiled wryly. “Even if it’s only from locals.”

  “Emma seems to think the opening will attract interest from more than just the home front. She said she’d had inquiries from several dealers, so we’ll see. It would be nice for Jess, though, if she had a showing at a big Boston gallery.”

  “I’d be happy with even a small Boston gallery,” Liddy said. “Something Jess hadn’t been able to arrange while she was still alive. Though I suppose Chris’s letters to the gallery owners touting the talent of his childhood friend and personally asking for their support could have had something to do with their interest in this showing.”

  “That was a nice touch on his part,” Maggie agreed.

  “He’s a good boy,” Liddy said solemnly. She and Maggie looked at each other and broke into laughter. “Would he die if he heard me say that?”

  “Nah. He’d roll his eyes and chalk it up to the mom in you. He knows Emma says it all the time.” Maggie turned onto the sand-and-shell road that led up to the art center. “Oh. The parking lot is full. I don’t see an empty spot. Looks like half the town is here already.” She turned to Liddy, who’d rolled down the window for a better look. “How ’bout I let you out here, and I’ll park on Bay Street and walk up?”

  “Are you sure? I can walk with you from the street.” Liddy’s neck was craned to see who was getting out of the black BMW sedan that had taken the last spot.

  “Go on in,” Maggie commanded good-naturedly, knowing how excited Liddy was about the showing. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.” Liddy already had the door open and was on her way.

  Maggie was glad she’d talked Liddy out of the severe black sheath she’d worn to the reunion and into the midcalf purple skirt that, over the years, had become almost her signature. Despite her efforts to push aside the hippie and dress—her words—“more like someone her age,” Liddy never quite looked herself without the ropes of beads around her neck and her hair flowing behind her or in a braid draped over one shoulder. At her core, Liddy was still a would-be flower child, albeit an aging one, and she was beginning to not only acknowledge but embrace her inner goddess.

  “You’ve always had your own style,” Maggie had told her that morning. “I think you need to be true to it. Not that it isn’t a good thing sometimes to dress up. You did look smashing at the reunion dinner in that black dress, but this is an art event, and let’s face it, no one rocks that artsy look better than you.”

  “True.” Liddy’d tossed the black dress aside without even watching to see where it landed. “So you think the purple skirt?”

  The purple skirt combined with an ivory cashmere sweater, topped with acres of colored beads, paired with knee-high brown leather boots, was quintessential Liddy. Maggie sat and watched her friend hustle through the cold wind that blew in off the bay, her skirt billowing in the breeze, her brown puffy jacket clutched tightly around her as she made her way to the squat white building.

  “You go, Lids,” Maggie murmured as she turned around in the parking lot and headed for the street. She found a spot not too far from the center, then walked back up the drive, crushed clamshells crunching beneath her feet.

  Once inside the center, she found Emma in the midst of discussing a painting with a tall man with a receding hairline and what looked like a recent tan. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a navy sport jacket with khaki pants, and he appeared to b
e totally engrossed in the conversation, or in Emma—Maggie wasn’t sure which. Either way, it had to be good, she told herself as she glanced around the room for Liddy. She found her standing next to a short balding man in a black turtleneck sweater and dark jeans, deep in conversation in front of one of Jessie’s largest canvases, the one Liddy had named Snowfall.

  “The use of whites is remarkable,” the man was saying, the index finger of his right hand held as if instructing her. “The spatter of the lighter white upon the darker gives the illusion of a blizzard. I can see the flakes falling, falling, swirling around in the wind. Yes, I see them.” He was nodding. “Just so. Brilliant.”

  Liddy turned when Maggie touched her on the back, and crossed her eyes before turning back to her companion.

  “Go on, Darren,” Liddy told him with a straight face. “This is fascinating.”

  “Yes, of course.” He nodded as if acknowledging his own importance and expertise. “Now, in this corner of the canvas, she’s added a remarkable touch . . .”

  Maggie stifled a giggle. Remarkable must be the man’s word of the day. She wandered around the exhibit, pausing to listen to conversations here and there. Jessie’s paintings were well received, judging from the comments Maggie overheard.

  Good, she thought. Good for Jessie, great for Liddy. Maggie knew how badly her friend needed to hear the accolades for her daughter’s work.

  She wandered till she found herself standing in front of another all-white canvas, thinking while she didn’t completely get the whole white-on-white thing the way the art people seemed to be doing, she did find them soothing, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “Maggie? You are Maggie, aren’t you?”

  Maggie turned to the voice and found herself face-to-face with Brett Crawford’s wife.

  “Maggie, I’m Kayla. Kayla Crawford. We haven’t been introduced, but I know who you are.”

  “Oh, well. How are you?” Maggie faked her most pleasant smile. “Enjoying the exhibit? Jessie did some remarkable”—heh—“work, don’t you think?”