On Sunset Beach

Chapter 6

“HERE are the numbers I’ve come up with.” Cameron passed a spreadsheet across the table at an angle so that Ellie and Carly could see it at the same time. “What do you think?”

Both women leaned forward to look it over.

“I think it’s a little low.” Ellie studied the bottom line.

“I don’t see costs for too much other than the heating and air-conditioning.”

“I thought I’d eat a little of the cost here and there. Like the drywall.” He shrugged. “I can’t cut the number for my HVAC guy unless he agrees to do that on his own. Which he might be willing to do if we ask him nicely. He’s relatively new in town and a bit shaved off the top here would go a long way to endear him to the community.”

“In that case, I think the town council will love it,” Ellie replied. “Of course it’s hard to say, not knowing what their budget might be.”

“There’s no number for security,” Carly noted. “Security is going to be big, Cam.”

“I didn’t have any specs for that, and besides, that’s not a cost that I can estimate,” he told her. “You’re going to need a security expert to help you out there, since you said it would have to be a really sophisticated system.”

“I think the council needs to decide first if they want to use this building as a gallery,” Ellie said. “If yes, then they’ll have to decide if they want to go with the additional costs to secure Carolina’s work.”

“I think you’re right,” Carly agreed. “If the town doesn’t have the funds for the right kind of security—”

“We’ll deal with that if and when we have to. Right now I’m going to drop this off to Ed and see what he thinks.” Cam put the spreadsheet into a folder and stood.

“You might mention to him that a lot of people were talking about the proposed gallery last night and were really excited about it. Since he’ll be running for reelection in a few months, he might be interested,” Ellie said.

“I don’t know that the opinions of a few people at a party would sway him one way or another,” Cam replied, “but it can’t hurt to let him know that people are talking favorably about it. Though he probably heard some of that talk himself last night.” Cam leaned down to kiss the top of Ellie’s head. “What do the two of you have planned for the afternoon?”

“Just some sightseeing.” Ellie grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer to kiss him, then let him go. “We’ll meet up with you back here for dinner.”

“See you then.” Cam disappeared into the hall, and seconds later, Ellie and Carly heard the front door open, then close.

“So what did you think of Grace’s wandering boy?” Ellie got up from the table and began to fill the dishwasher.

“Who?” Carly frowned. “Oh. Right. The guy the party was for. I never did meet him.”

“Actually, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. I saw you talking to him when I went to the ladies’ room.” Ellie turned and added, “In the lobby.”

“I met some guy in the lobby but …” Carly paused. “That was him? Grace’s son?”

Ellie grinned. “Some hunk, huh?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Liar.” Ellie laughed.

“Okay, yeah, I noticed. He didn’t introduce himself. He just walked over and …” Carly blew out a long breath. “Yeah. He was pretty hot.”

“So what were you guys talking about?” Ellie leaned back against the counter.

“Mostly just the painting. I’d wanted to see it up close but the desk clerk wouldn’t allow me to go behind the counter. Then he came along and just walked back there and took it off the wall …” Carly sighed. “I should have figured out right then that he wasn’t just another guest at the inn. At the time, I guess I thought he’d charmed her into letting him hold it.”

“That’s it? You just talked about the painting?”

“Pretty much.” Carly got up and refilled her water glass. “Why no interrogation last night? Why wait till now?”

“I didn’t think you’d come clean with Cam in the room, since he and Ford are old friends.”

“There’s nothing to come clean about.” Carly shrugged. “We had one brief conversation, then the next thing I knew, someone was calling him from the room where the party was being held and he disappeared.”

“So, what? No impression?” Ellie persisted.

“I didn’t talk to him long enough to form an impression. Other than his previously established hotness. Why the interest?”

“As we were leaving, Grace mentioned that she was disappointed that she hadn’t had an opportunity to introduce you to Ford, that’s all. Apparently she hadn’t seen the two of you in the lobby.”

“I don’t know why that would have disappointed her.” Carly took a long drink of water. “So, did you actually meet him?”

Ellie nodded. “Sure.”

“So how did he impress you?”

“As not wanting to be there.” Ellie appeared to choose her words carefully. “As someone not comfortable with the spotlight on him.”

“Maybe he’s not a party guy,” Carly suggested.

“The party was clearly Grace’s idea, and it seemed as if everyone there was happy to see Ford, but it didn’t seem that he really engaged with anyone. He didn’t show much emotion.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’d think that if you’d been away from your friends for a long time, when you finally saw them again, you’d look happy to see them.”

“Well, yeah, if they were really your friends, you would be. Are you saying he seemed unhappy?”

“ ‘Unhappy’ isn’t the right word. I think maybe ‘distant’ is a better term. Or ‘detached.’ ” Ellie appeared to weigh the word. “Yes, detached is the best way to describe him.”

“Funny. I didn’t have that impression of him at all. At least, not at first.” Carly rinsed her glass and sat it on the counter. “In the lobby, he was friendly and talkative. We were going to go out front to look at the porch columns, but—”

“Wait. What?”

“He was talking about the painting, how it was the front of the inn. I mentioned that I hadn’t seen the front, so he said I should probably take a look, that I could go out through the double doors, and we started walking in that direction. That’s when someone came out from the party room and told him that people were looking for him.” Carly paused again. “I suppose it should have occurred to me right then who he was, if people were looking for him.”

“Not necessarily. But go on.”

“There’s not much more to tell. Just that when his friend said that, his demeanor changed from friendly to … I don’t know, disinterested, maybe.” She mulled over Ellie’s words. “Maybe detached, yeah. And then he just went into the room where the party was and I went outside by myself. A little while later the party was over and we came back here. End of story.”

“Too bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I could see the two of you—”

“Stop. No. No, you cannot see anything. I’m not here to get fixed up or to find a guy. I’m here because of your great-great-grandmother’s work and that’s all.”

“Not even to visit with your bestie?” Ellie had adopted a faux-injured expression.

“Okay, yes. Of course I wanted to visit with my bestie.” Carly laughed. “I always love to visit with you. I love your company and your house and your town. But I’m not looking for any other kind of love. Just not interested.”

“Pity.” Ellie shook her head. “Well, if not love, then how ’bout ice cream?”

“I’m always interested in ice cream.”

“Last night Stephie said she’s made some new coconut cashew mango something or other and it sounded heavenly.”

“Of course.” Carly could only imagine what Steph’s latest concoction might taste like. Whatever it was, she knew it would be delicious. “What’s a visit to St. Dennis without a stop at Scoop? Just give me a minute to grab my bag …”

“Did you enjoy the party, son?”

Grace had come into the inn’s dining room shortly after Ford arrived. This morning there’d been no tray of coffee and goodies left in his room, so he assumed that meant he was to eat where everyone else ate: in the dining room.

“It was a very nice party, Mom. Thanks for putting it together on such short notice.” He stood as she approached the table and held a chair for her before reseating himself.

“I detect a note of formality that belies your words.” Grace signaled a waiter for coffee. “I don’t think you enjoyed yourself as much as you pretended to. It’s all right. You can be honest.”

“I guess I’m not used to large gatherings,” he said carefully. “And I’m not much for small talk. It was nice to see old friends, though.”

“I realized after the fact that I should have asked you first. I’m just so accustomed to doing my thing and not asking for anyone else’s opinion.” Grace shook her head. “I just thought it would be so nice for you—”

“Mom, it’s fine. Perfectly fine. The party was really nice and I survived in spite of myself.” He tried to make a joke but she barely smiled. “Look, I know that you were only thinking of me and I appreciate it. Really, I do. It was very thoughtful. So no harm, no foul, as you always say.”

“All right, then. It’s done and behind us and you’ve become reacquainted with old friends and neighbors and that’s that.” She shook her napkin and placed it on her lap. “I’m having a crab omelet this morning. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great.”

The waiter served their coffee and Ford gave him their orders.

“So who all did you talk to last night?” Grace asked.

“Mostly people I knew from school. Cam O’Connor, that crowd. Met a lot of new people, too. Two of Curtis Enright’s grandkids …”

Grace nodded. “Jesse and Sophie. Jesse is married to Clay’s sister, Brooke.”

“Right. And Sophie owns a new restaurant out on River Road—I do remember that.”

“A lovely place. Blossoms, it’s called. Who else?”

He mentioned a few other people as he added a swipe of cream to his coffee and savored the flavor. He’d been drinking bad black coffee—bad instant coffee, at that—for so long that every cup now seemed like a tiny miracle.

“Did Cam introduce you to his fiancée? Ellie?” His mother pressed on.

“He did. She seems nice.” Ford figured that was the expected response.

“She’s lovely. Her father is Clifford Chapman, did you know?”

“Who’s Clifford Chapman?” The name meant nothing to him.

“The King of Fraud?”

Ford shook his head. “Sorry.”

“I guess the scandal broke while you were away. He was an investment broker who defrauded his clients of billions of dollars. He was arrested, pled guilty, and is serving a life sentence.” Grace leaned forward to add softly, “Along with Ellie’s former fiancé, can you imagine? Lucky for her that she had to move here and in the process met Cameron.”

“Why did she have to move here?”

“The poor thing had nowhere else to go. The government confiscated everything she owned because she worked for her father, and therefore everything she purchased with money she earned was considered ‘fruit of the poisoned tree,’ as they say.”

“If she worked for her father, why wasn’t she arrested, too?”

“She wasn’t involved in investing. She handled their PR.”

“That doesn’t explain why she had to come here.”

“She inherited a house in St. Dennis from her mother. Do you remember Lilly Cavanaugh?”

“Sure. She lived down at the end of Bay View. Mr. Cavanaugh carved duck decoys and they always had the best Halloween candy.” Ford’s eyebrows knitted together. “Wait, how could Lilly have been her mother? Lilly was ancient.”

“Not Lilly, dear. Lilly’s grandniece, Lynley Sebastian.” Grace tapped him on the arm. “And be careful when throwing around words like ‘ancient.’ ”

“I definitely remember Lynley.” Ford grinned. “Every guy in town was madly in love with Lynley.”

Grace sipped her coffee, then, as if an afterthought, added, “Oh, did you happen to meet Ellie’s friend Carly?”

Ford frowned. “Whose friend?”

“Ellie’s. Carly Summit.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t think so. The name isn’t ringing a bell, but I met a lot of people last night.” He hesitated, then asked, “Should I have?”

“I was just wondering because she came with Cam and Ellie. I invited her because she was staying with them this weekend, and I didn’t want them to decide not to come because she was a houseguest.”

“Here’s breakfast.” Ford dismissed all thoughts of the party and whom he met or didn’t meet. None of that mattered. The party was behind them, he had survived it, and there was no point in rehashing it any further, as far as he was concerned. He was just happy that it was over and that with any luck he wouldn’t have to deal with a crowd like that again. Ever.

He’d been right all along, of course. His mother had invited half the town. Everyone from his graduating class who still lived in or around St. Dennis, and everyone he’d known while growing up. At least when there were that many people to greet, there wasn’t time to get into any real discussion with any one person, so every conversation was pretty much superficial. He’d spent most of the night saying things like “It’s good to see you again, too” and “Yes, my mom is still going strong. Yeah, she looks great for her age” and “Yes, peacekeeping is a tough business, that’s for sure.”

So all in all, he did okay. The evening passed by pretty quickly, and the only time he felt the need to duck out was when Ed what’s-his-name started asking him where in Africa he’d been and had he been close to any of those villages that they were always talking about on TV—“You know, the ones where they took all the little boys to make them into soldiers and then raped and killed everyone else.”

Ford had made some lame response and excused himself, making his way through the lobby for the side door and some fresh air. It was on his way back that he’d seen the petite woman standing near the desk, her body at a near forty-five degree angle to the floor. His curiosity had drawn him to her, but when she’d turned around and looked up at him, he’d felt as if he’d been sucker punched. She was pretty—very pretty—and he’d liked the way her blond hair fell around her face. But there was something else about her that had pulled him closer—something he couldn’t put his finger on. Whatever the attraction, she held much more appeal than going back to the party, so he’d been happy to fetch and hold the painting she’d been trying to study from ten feet away. He’d convinced her to take a look at the front of the building, and had been thinking how nice it might be to share the history of the inn with her. Maybe they’d grab another glass of wine on their way out and they could spend some time having a conversation that wasn’t about him and his life. But two things had happened on their way toward the front door. The first was when some of his old buddies spied him passing the room where the party was being held and had made a big deal of how he needed to go back inside.

The second was when he’d touched her arm, and a jolt of something had traveled from his fingertip straight up his arm. Static electricity, he’d told himself at the time, even though he knew that made no sense at all under the circumstances. Whatever it had been, it had startled him and caused him to back off. He’d dropped her like a hot potato, and had immediately regretted it. He’d watched as she continued toward the front door as if she’d taken no notice that he was no longer with her—and that she couldn’t have cared less.

He knew that last part didn’t feel right.

He should have gone outside, but the party had already started to break up, and by the time he was able to get free of the crowd again, she was gone. The thought that she might be a guest at the inn was the only thing that had brought him to the dining room for breakfast. He’d been there for twenty minutes before his mother showed up, and the blonde was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe she plays tennis, he thought. Maybe she was down there at the tennis courts right at that moment.

But wait, that would mean she had a partner …

“Ford.” His mother was waving a hand in front of his face.

“What?”

“Have you heard anything I said?”

“Sure.” He dug into his omelet to avoid making eye contact.

“What did I say?”

“You said … ah, something about … ah … the party, and, ah …”

Grace laughed. “You never were good at fudging things. If you’re going to drift away when someone is speaking to you, at least nod your head from time to time or toss out an occasional ‘uh-huh.’ ”

“Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”

“I was just bringing you up-to-date on what we’re doing with the newspaper.”

“Ah, the St. Dennis Gazette. I can’t believe you’re still—”

“Stop right there, mister.” Grace put down her fork and slapped his arm. “I do not want to hear one disparaging word about my newspaper.” She shook her head. “Don’t even get me started on what that paper means to this community. And to me.”

“I’m sorry. I was only going to say that I was surprised to hear you were still running it.”

“Why? Because I’m old?” Grace did not look pleased.

“Ma, you’re not that old. What I meant was …” He cleared his throat, not certain what he’d meant. “I guess because the inn is doing so well, it just hadn’t occurred to me that you’d still need the income from the paper.”

There. That was good, wasn’t it?

She gave him a withering look.

“It has nothing to do with money, Ford. The Gazette is as much a family business as the inn. Only difference is that the Gazette was my family’s and the inn was your father’s. St. Dennis wouldn’t be the same without either of them.”

“Okay, I get that. But I’d think you’d have wanted to retire by now, have some time to yourself.”

“And do what with all that time?” No, she clearly wasn’t pleased.

“Mom, people do retire, you know. It’s not so terrible to take things easy for a while. Enjoy life. Do something for yourself.”

“I enjoy every day of my life. The paper is what I do for myself. Do you not understand that?”

“Apparently not.” He’d never had a conversation like this with his mother, but he knew this was one of those times when he’d learn something really important if he asked the right questions and listened—really listened—to the answers. “Why do you keep it going?”

“At first, it was for my father after he passed away. I’d taken over for him when he fell ill, temporarily, I thought, but then he died, and I felt obligated to honor his memory by keeping the paper alive. He’d loved it, as his father had loved it, and his grandfather, who’d founded it, had loved it. There was no one else to carry on with it.”

“What about Uncle Pete?” Ford asked.

“My brother had been the heir apparent all along, but as it turned out, he had neither interest nor aptitude for it. He’d have run it into the ground. I felt my father—and my family name—deserved better than that, so I kept it afloat. And, might I say, I’ve done a damn good job of it.”

“No question about that, Mom. But you know, you could have sold it. You had your hands full when the three of us kids were younger.” He remembered having to sit in the office of the newspaper waiting until his mother finished that week’s edition on days when Lucy and Dan had after-school activities and no one was around to watch him.

“I’d thought about that from time to time,” she surprised him by admitting. “But then Daniel—your father—died so suddenly, and it shook me to the core. Shattered my world completely.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes but did not fall. “Your brother was already out of college, so he stepped into your dad’s shoes, and to give him credit, over the years he’s made the inn more than anyone ever dreamed it could be. I held on to the paper then for my own sake. It gave me something to do, gave meaning to the hours, hours I couldn’t bear to spend at the inn. Watching your brother do all those things your father used to do …” Her gaze was far away, her jaw set squarely, as she remembered painful times. Ford took his mother’s hand and squeezed it, and was surprised by its delicacy. He didn’t recall that his mother’s fingers were so tiny.

“Danny had learned the business well,” she continued. “Things ran so smoothly, it was almost as if your father were still here. Of course he wasn’t, and that was unbearable. So I clung to the newspaper like it was my lifeline, and in many ways, it was.”

“But maybe now—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Now I keep the paper going for the town, for the community.” Her eyes narrowed. “That better not be a smirk, Ford Sinclair.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she said, “I’ll have you know that people depend on the Gazette to tell them what’s going on in St. Dennis and who’s having a sale on what. At the beginning of every month, I give them a general overview of what’s coming up. Then every week, I give them a list of all the events and all the particulars—what, where, when.”

He nodded. “I can see where that would be helpful to the residents.”

“Not just the residents.” She stared at him for a moment. “I suppose I should cut you some slack since you’ve been away for a long time and may not be aware that St. Dennis has become the ‘in’ place on the Eastern Shore.”

“I wasn’t aware of that. When did that happen?”

“It’s been gradual, over the past ten years or so. People from all over the country come here for vacation. Much of the inn is booked a year in advance—we have families who come every year for the same week. Most of the B&Bs are booked ahead as well. The restaurants are written up in magazines and newspapers from all over the East Coast, and the inn has been declared the number one spot on the Eastern Shore for destination weddings.”

“Lucy mentioned that.”

“Oh, that’s Lucy’s doing, make no mistake. Our event business has tripled since she brought her business back from California. But I digress.” She paused to take a sip of water. “People plan their vacations around certain events—First Families’ Day is always big, the regatta, the Waterman Festival, the Christmas Tour, always big draws for tourists. Think of what that means to the community, to the merchants, to have all these people coming into town twelve months of the year, booking rooms and shopping on Charles Street and eating at our restaurants. And every week I have a feature, something about the history of the town or an upcoming event, or an interview with one of our residents that might be interesting. For example, I did a lovely feature on Dallas MacGregor when she first moved back here and another when she married Grant. As a follow-up, I did an article on Grant’s veterinary clinic and his efforts to rescue dogs from highkill shelters and to find good, loving homes for them. A few months ago, I interviewed Dallas again about the film studio she’s built here and her plans to make movies right here in St. Dennis.”

He nodded. He got it.

“People like those features, Ford. They look forward every week to see who or what is on the front page. Of course, we cover the elections and the police blotter and new businesses, that sort of thing, but it’s the stories about the people and the events that have made the paper relevant again. And for the first time in its hundred and some-odd years in existence, the Gazette has paid subscriptions from out-of-towners, summer people and people who want to be summer people. Day-trippers. Friends of friends. We’ve never taken in as much advertising revenue as we do now. Every business in town—and some not in town—advertises with us because they know that this paper is read by the people who are or who will be their customers.”

“So in other words, you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.”

She laughed. “Why, I’d be burned at the stake if I tried. The merchants would never forgive me. I’d never be able to show my face in public again.”

“But you could still sell it, if you ever wanted to retire.”

“I won’t be wanting to retire, but I admit that I do worry about what will happen to the paper when I’m gone.”

“Mom …”

“Oh, don’t give me that face. Everyone dies, son. Every single one of us. It’s the only sure thing in this life. If you were born, you will die.”

He’d learned enough about this particular topic to know she spoke the truth. Still, the last thing he wanted to think about was life without his mother.

“I don’t worry about the inn. Danny is the Inn at Sinclair’s Point now, so your father’s family business is secured. It’s my family’s legacy I worry about.” She shook her head. “I thought perhaps your cousin Andrew might be interested—for a time, he seemed to be—but apparently that was just a passing fancy.” She blew out a long breath laden with sad thoughts. “But that’s a problem for another day, right? Today I’m happy because you’re home and you’re happy because the party is behind you, so let’s just finish our breakfast and get on with our day, shall we?”

“I agree.” He leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t aware of how deeply you care about the paper and what it means to you. I’m glad you kept it going all these years, Mom. I’m happy that there’s something in your life that gives you so much satisfaction.”

“Thank you, dear. You know the old recipe for happiness—I’d say I have all the ingredients.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”

“Someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to. I’m such a lucky woman to still have all those things in my life.” She was smiling but her eyes grew wary as she added, “Now tell me, what are you looking forward to?”

“Right now I’m looking forward to finishing this delicious breakfast and taking out a kayak and making it all the way down to Cambridge and back before lunch.”

He returned her smile but knew that the answer he gave wasn’t the one she was hoping to hear, but he couldn’t have answered any other way. Someone to love? The woman he’d once loved was dead. Something to do? At the moment, he had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life—and seriously, what did he have to look forward to now?

It was sobering to think that his mother, who was well into her seventies, had a life that was much more fulfilling and complete than his.

And what, he wondered, did that say about him?

Happy me! I’ve been waiting forever, it seems, to have all three of my children under the same roof. What a joy to see my wandering boy’s face again!

Now truth be told, my boy’s face is thinner than it should be—actually, all of him is too thin. And there are things inside him—dark things—that I cannot read. I’d thought the fog I’d sensed would lift once he was home, but it hasn’t. He’s here physically, but sometimes it’s as if he’s somewhere else. I know that something is hurting him deeply but I can’t read him the way I did when he was a child.

Which is probably a good thing, now that I think about it—after all, he is a grown man, for all I think of him as my boy.

But on to other things—the welcome-home party should have been a happy night for Ford, but he seemed so on edge that it saddened my heart. I could feel his unease from across the room. He did, however, remember his good manners and was cordial if not pleasant to everyone.

I just don’t know what to make of it. Dan says it’s just that Ford’s been away so long that he has to acclimate himself to being home, but somehow, that seems too simple an answer. There is a restlessness in Ford that worries me—it’s as if he might take off at any moment and disappear again. And of course, now that he’s home, I want him to stay—though I doubt the company of his mother and his siblings alone would be enough to keep him in St. Dennis.

My secret dream, of course, is that he’ll want to stay and take over the Gazette for me. I know! I know! A snowball’s chance and all that. We actually chatted about the paper and he gave me no indication that he had any interest in it at all.

But there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen.

Oh, sure, I suppose I could resort to a spell but I hate to interfere in that manner. I mean, what if his fate really lies elsewhere?

So I guess there is something I wouldn’t do after all. But don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me!

In other news, I met with Ellie and her friend Carly Summit—the New York art dealer and gallery owner—on Saturday at Curtis’s place to discuss the proposed art gallery. I must say, Carly has some wonderful ideas for the old carriage house. I’ve already decided to do a series of interviews with her as part of a feature about the gallery. I figure if the town council starts dragging their feet, perhaps public pressure will move them along. I think the whole idea of turning the Enright mansion into a cultural center is a wonderful idea, one that will only further St. Dennis’s reputation as a bright spot on the Eastern Shore. I cannot imagine anyone not seeing this as a good thing, but you never know when you’re dealing with the public. Here’s where I confess that my motives aren’t exactly pure. I’d invited Carly to the party hoping Ford would meet her and take a fancy to her, but he claims not to have met her. There is something about that girl … I sense she will be important in our lives in some way.

Yes, of course I’ve asked, but the spirits haven’t been speaking to me this past week. As a matter of fact, the silence has been deafening. I do hate to whine, but what good are spirit guides if they aren’t there when you need them?

Even Alice—who used to be so reliable at times such as this—seems to have taken the summer off.

~ Grace ~