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

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