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

Penelope grinned without commenting and hit the button to send the elevator to the lobby.

Charlotte’s Spectrum Center arena was mobbed from the parking lot to the brightly lit concourse. Maggie, Liddy, and Emma were whisked away to a guarded back entrance to the building and ushered inside and down a hall.

“There are guards everywhere,” Liddy whispered.

“So no one can sneak in and harass the performers. Chris told me we’d need to show our passes about four times before we got to him.” Emma held up her pass to the tall, beefy, bearded guard at the dressing room door.

He reached behind him and opened the door, and Emma disappeared into the arms of her grinning son. Chris held her for a moment, then turned the grin to Maggie and Liddy, gesturing for them to follow him. The door closed behind them as Chris lifted his mother off her feet and swung her around.

“Put me down,” Emma protested, though not, Maggie thought, very convincingly.

“You look great, Mom.” He planted a loud kiss on her cheek, then turned to his visitors. “Mrs. Flynn! I’m so happy to see you.” He kissed Maggie, then leaned over to kiss Liddy as well. “Looking good, Mrs. Bryant.”

Chris looked to Maggie like the kid who’d gotten an air rifle for Christmas. He was beaming, one arm around his mother. With his other arm, he reached out and hugged Maggie.

“Mrs. Flynn, I was so sorry to hear about your husband. I wanted to come to the service, but—”

Maggie cut him off. “Your mom told me you were out of the country, Chris. We didn’t expect you. But the flowers were gorgeous. Just perfect. Dahlias were Art’s favorites. And thank you for the centerpiece yesterday. It was lovely.”

“You’re welcome. But I still would have liked to have been there.” Before Maggie could again reassure him, he added, “How’s Natalie? I haven’t seen her in . . . damn, years.”

“Nat’s fine. Teaching remedial English and creative writing at a community college. She hasn’t changed much,” Maggie said. “Same old Nat.”

“And Grace? How’s Grace?”

Maggie paused, wondering if she should tell the truth, then reminded herself that most of the time when people asked how you were, they were being polite and not really expecting much of anything beyond “okay.”

Maggie opted for simplicity. “Gracie’s well, thanks. I’ll let her know you were asking about her.”

“Mom said she has a daughter. Natalie, that is.”

“She does. Daisy is three, and the smartest, most beautiful child on the planet,” Maggie told him.

“I bet you’ve got pictures,” he said.

“Of course I have pictures.” Maggie laughed. “What kind of a grandmother would I be if I didn’t have pictures?”

He held out a hand, wiggled his fingers. “Hand ’em over.”

“You don’t need to . . . ,” Maggie began to protest, thinking how nice it was for him to ask, but asking was sufficient.

“Yeah, I do. I want to see what Nat’s kid looks like.” That grin again. Maggie remembered that grin getting him out of all sorts of scrapes when he was younger. She took her phone from her bag, scrolled till she found her photos of Daisy, then handed it over to Chris. “If you insist . . .”

He swiped the screen several times, his smile spreading with each swipe. “She looks like Nat.”

“She does. Hey, you don’t have to look at them all,” Maggie told him.

He looked at a few more, paused at one or two, then handed the phone back to Maggie.

“Nat looks good. Please tell her I said hi.” He gave Maggie a quick hug. “And give her that from me. Maybe we’ll all be in Wyndham Beach one of these days and we can get together.”

“She’d love that. Both the girls would.” Then remembering that this wasn’t just their childhood friend Chris but Chris Dean, lead singer of DEAN, she added, “They’re hoping to catch one of your shows, one of these days.” She picked at the front of her shirt. “And they were plotting behind my back, trying to figure out how to get this away from me. Thank you for the shirts, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, but tell Nat I’d love to see her anytime. She’s still in Philly?”

“Outside of the city, but yes, they both are.”

“I think we’re playing there in the spring. I’ll get in touch. And those shirts were designed and made just for you and Mom and Mrs. Bryant, but I’ll have a few more made up.”

“That would be such a fun surprise for them.”

“Mrs. Bryant, I was hoping to get a moment to talk to you . . .” He skillfully led her a few steps away, his arm around her as if to shelter her.

Maggie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she knew instinctively he would be speaking to her about Jessie, offering words of comfort even though Maggie knew he’d canceled a show to come home for her funeral.

“You’ve raised a remarkable boy, Em,” Maggie said quietly.

“He is that,” Emma whispered.

A moment later, someone shouted, “Chris! It’s time, man.”

Chris raised a hand behind Liddy’s back to acknowledge he’d heard but finished whatever it was he was saying before giving her one more hug. When Liddy turned back to Maggie and Emma, her eyes were brimming, but she was smiling.

“Some kid,” she said simply.

“And now that kid’s going to work.” Chris touched Emma on the shoulder. “Mom, I got you all earplugs.”

“Earplugs? Pshaw,” Emma said dismissively. “I was going to concerts long before you were born.”

“Maybe, but that was back in the day, before speakers and electric guitars, right?” he teased, nodding at someone behind Maggie.

She turned to find two large, burly men, tattooed sleeves from their wrists to their shoulders, wearing black T-shirts with DEAN SECURITY in big white letters on front and back.

“Ladies,” Chris was saying, “this is Turk, and this is Brando. They’re your guides for tonight.” He looked over Maggie’s head and said, “This is my mom and her two friends. Guard them with your lives, guys.”

He turned back to Emma. “Have fun. See you