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

“Yes, you said things I wish you hadn’t. I’m not going to say I wasn’t hurt. I was. But at the same time, I do understand you’d been totally blindsided. I get it.”

“I acted like a total brat. Especially after you were so kind and good and nonjudgmental when I screwed up so badly you had to sell Daddy’s law firm.”

“Don’t carry that guilt for too long, Gracie. I may have sold it eventually, who knows? Your situation merely served as a catalyst to get me off my duff so I could move forward with my life. I doubt I would have taken even one step forward if I’d stayed in Bryn Mawr, in that house.”

“I think you would have found a way. You’re resourceful and smart, Mom.”

“I don’t know. I was in such a rut. The house had too many memories. I think over time I’d probably have adopted about twenty cats and had my groceries delivered so I never had to go out again.” Maggie watched Daisy dig into her dry cereal. “Don’t you want milk or maybe some strawberries with your cereal?”

“I like it like this.” Daisy grabbed a handful of cereal from the bowl and ate it one piece at a time.

“Okay.” Maggie ran her fingers through Daisy’s long blonde hair and smiled. Having her only grandchild with her made her happy. It reminded her that regardless of what had happened in her past, she’d made the right decision to marry Art. It was through him she’d had these two girls—trying and contrary, even occasionally bratty. But she loved them with her whole heart. And through Natalie—thank God Nat was braver than her mother had been and had kept her child!—Maggie had this wonder of a girl to love and watch grow. This was her reward for having survived her life’s storms.

And now life held one more plum: her son was being returned to her. The reunion could very well be painful, but she felt certain it would be worth it.

Bring it on.

Maggie struggled with the email to Joe all day and well into the night. She wrote and rewrote, deleted, and started over more times than she could count. After another sleepless night, she forced herself to sit at her laptop and write what was in her mind and her heart.

Joe:

I’m sure by now you know I am the woman who gave birth to you and terminated my rights to you in favor of your adoptive parents. I never knew their names or where they lived. The only thing I knew about them was that the adoption agency thought they were the best people to raise you and that they wanted you very much. I’m sure you have questions after all these years, and I’d be happy to meet with you.

She struck that last part.

. . . and I’d very much like to meet with you whenever you like.

She paused and considered replacing that with “as soon as possible” but didn’t want to put pressure on him.

Thank you for reaching out to Natalie, and to your father . . .

She added “birth” before “father.”

. . . and eventually to me. All my contact information follows—please feel free to contact me when you feel the time is right.

She debated on how to sign off and eventually decided.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Maggie Lloyd Flynn

She hit “Send” before she lost her nerve. And now to wait.

She didn’t have to wait long.

She’d taken Daisy into the backyard and let her pick a bouquet of flowers for the kitchen. Of course, Daisy needed to know the names of every flower and tree, and by the time they’d made the rounds of the entire property, almost an hour had passed since she’d sent her email. When they returned to the kitchen, she saw the voice mail light on her phone blinking.

She’d expected an email reply and so wasn’t prepared for the strong male voice that greeted her.

“Hi. Oh, I don’t know what to call you. Is Maggie all right? This is Joe. Joe Miller. Okay, you probably figured that out. I was so happy to get your email. I was hoping you’d want to meet me as much as I want to meet you. Maybe not as much, but at least you’re willing to see me. I can be in Massachusetts any day that’s convenient for you. I have a project in Boston I check in on every other week, and I can drive out there where you are or meet you anyplace you want. Just let me know where and when. I was really happy to hear from you. Okay, I already said that once, but I am. I hope to hear from you soon.”

Maggie played the recorded message over and over several times, listening to the cadence of his voice. She detected a definite New England accent, not Boston, but more northern, like maybe Maine. She wondered what kind of project he had in the city. What did he do for a living? Had Brett told her? Her mind was buzzing to the extent she could barely think beyond the reality she was going to meet her son. She didn’t trust herself not to sound weepy or overly excited on the phone, so instead of returning the call, she sent a text, which she rewrote four times. She finally decided on, Thanks for getting back to me so quickly! Does Thursday of this coming week work for you? Maybe we could meet halfway for lunch? What works best with your schedule?

Less than ten minutes later, he replied, Thursday is good. There’s a place in Brockton called Eleanor’s. It’s easy to find, right on the main road going into town. If that is convenient for you, we could meet there at noon. Your call. (Did you know the first department store Santa was in Brockton?)

Maggie sent a text confirming, then after he confirmed back, she sat at the kitchen window and stared out it for