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

find Emma seated at her desk and engrossed in a conversation with the man in the navy jacket.

“Oh, Em. Sorry. I didn’t know . . .”

“Maggie, come in. Meet Owen Harrison.” Emma smiled. “Owen, this is my very dear friend, Maggie Flynn. Maggie grew up here in Wyndham Beach, but she’s been living in Pennsylvania for years. Maggie, Owen is . . .”

Before Maggie could ask, he said, “Yes, that Harrison.”

Owen extended a hand in Maggie’s direction. “And yes, you needn’t ask—thanks to Emma, the carousel will be brought out and assembled for the Fourth of July. Tell you the truth, I’d forgotten about it, but she’s been reminding me relentlessly in her yearly calls.”

Maggie nodded. “Emma can be quite persuasive when she wants something.”

“Apparently so.” He turned to look out into the gallery area. “She’s certainly managed to get the word out on this obscure artist, didn’t she? I see people here from several very influential galleries in the city. How on earth did you get them to leave Boston and drive all the way out here to look at the work of an unknown?”

“I prefer to think of Jessie as undiscovered.” Emma smiled graciously. “And we’ll leave the story of how I got their attention till summer, when you come back to bring out the carousel.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a card, which she handed to him. “My address is here, and my cell number. So you can let us know when to expect you. I’d hate to publicize something I have to apologize for later when it doesn’t happen.”

“Oh, trust me. I’ll be back. I appreciate your tenacity—and your concern for the community.” He slipped a hand into his back pocket and removed his wallet, opened it, stuck in the card, and returned the wallet to its place. “You have my word.”

He turned to Maggie and, with a somewhat formal nod, said, “A pleasure, Maggie Flynn.” And to Emma, “You’ll be hearing from me.”

One last smile meant to be shared by both women, and he was out the door.

“Well, well.” Maggie sat on the edge of Emma’s desk. “That was interesting. Did you really contact him every year reminding him about the carousel?”

Emma nodded. “I sure did. I just wanted to make sure someone whose last name is Harrison remembered and was planning on making it happen.”

“Sounds more like harassment to me,” Maggie teased.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Emma grinned.

“Apparently. And I’m betting Owen will make sure he’s back from wherever it is he goes to make sure it happens.” Maggie grinned. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” The color of Emma’s cheeks rose just a little.

Maggie laughed out loud. “Bull.”

“I wouldn’t mind. He’s nice. Much nicer than I expected. And I had no idea how old or young the current Harrison heir was,” Emma told her. “But we’ll see come summer whether he’s all talk or not. Now, was there something you wanted to tell me, or were you seeking refuge from the crowd?”

“Yes. And yes.”

“I don’t blame you. Some of those artsy folks can get a bit tedious. I don’t mind if it helps get the word out on Jessie’s work.” Emma went to the door and looked out onto the room. “It would mean so much to Liddy.”

“I guess you won’t know for a while if anyone’s interested in her paintings?”

“Oh, no. Several people already have expressed an interest in moving the exhibition to their gallery, doing a showing in the city. I’m taking their information, and I’ll go over everything with Liddy after I know who’s offering to do what.”

“So the show’s successful.”

“More than I could have hoped for,” Emma said softly.

“You’re a good friend to do this for her, Em.”

“You’re a good friend to be here for her, Mags.”

“Friends to the very end, the three of us.”

“And we have the tattoos to prove it.” Emma stretched out her forearm and turned it to show off the three crested waves that rose alongside each other. “Waves of the same sea, rising and falling together.” Emma admired the ink for another second or two. “So what was the other ‘yes’?”

“The other . . . oh.” Maggie nodded, remembering why she’d come into Emma’s office in the first place. “Did you know Brett and Kayla Crawford are separated? Getting divorced?”

“What? No!” Emma’s eyes widened at the news. “Who told you that?”

“She did. Kayla. Just a few minutes ago.”

“Did she say why? And why she told you?” Emma frowned. “Wait, why would she tell you?”

Maggie hadn’t wanted to say it out loud. If she said it out loud, it would be real.

“Maggie? What did she say?”

“She said”—Maggie sighed deeply—“that it was because of me. That he only ever loved me.”

Emma stared at her for a moment. “That’s not news. Everyone’s always known that.” She made a face. “But why is it a problem now?”

Emma’s words rang in Maggie’s ears for the rest of the week. While the news of Brett Crawford’s latest—third!—divorce spread like wildfire, the real talk of the town was the successful showing of Jessica Bryant’s paintings at the art center, the number of bigwigs from the art world who’d attended, how many important galleries in Boston were vying to exhibit the collection, and how much Liddy had been offered for this painting or that. Winter White, as Emma had decided to call the collection of all-white canvases, had become a sensation, and Liddy was still reeling from the news. Maggie was grateful for just about anything that diverted attention from the fact that the gossips were looking to make something out of the fact that Brett and Kayla’s announcement had come while Maggie just happened to be in Wyndham Beach.

Emma popped into Liddy’s for coffee the morning Maggie was set to leave for home. She’d stopped at the bakery and picked up a selection of gorgeous pastries, which she’d plated almost the minute she’d walked into Liddy’s kitchen.

“They’re almost too pretty to eat,” Maggie declared as she looked over the