An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach), Mariah Stewart [best classic novels TXT] 📗

“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 picked 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