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

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.