Firefly Summer (20 page)

C
HAPTER
42

B
irdie stood at the kitchen window, watching the rain trickle down the glass. She pictured Bailey—wet and frightened and hungry—somewhere out there in the darkness.

“Oh, please let me see her again,” she murmured, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Lord, please keep her safe. Please let her find her way home. I'll do anything to have her back home.” She felt as if her heart would break if she never saw her sweet dog again, and she blamed herself. She blamed her foolishness . . . her selfishness. . . and her complete lack of self-control. What in the world was wrong with her? If she'd just gone with David, or stayed home and behaved like a normal person—making dinner or taking Bailey for a walk—it wouldn't have happened. Now, she'd give anything to be able to take her dog for a long, meandering walk again. They'd walk slowly and she wouldn't be impatient . . . and she'd let Bailey stop to sniff every lovely scent she could find along their quiet road.

“Hey,” David said softly, coming into the kitchen. “Do you want some supper—some scrambled eggs, maybe?”

Birdie wiped her eyes and shook her head.

“How about a cup of tea?”

She shook her head again. “No . . . no, thanks,” she whispered.

David put his arms around her. “We'll find her,” he said softly. “I'm sure she's fine—she's probably curled up in someone's warm kitchen right now.”

Birdie shook her head. “If someone has found her, they would've called—she has her collar on . . . she has a chip. They would've found our number and called to tell us she's okay.”

David was quiet. Birdie was right—if someone good and caring had found Bailey, they
would
have called. They would have known she belonged to someone who was missing her very much, and they would've wanted that person to know she was safe.

Birdie looked at the empty dog bed and the untouched bowls. “I just want to see her again,” she cried. “I just want to hold her in my arms and tell her everything's okay. I can't bear the thought of not finding her . . . of never holding her head in my hands and looking into her sweet eyes. . . .”

David pulled her closer, his own eyes filling with tears. Birdie was right—the thought of never again seeing Bailey's sweet brown eyes gazing up at him with all the love in the world was unbearable. “We'll find her,” he whispered.

C
HAPTER
43

P
iper knelt down next to the wet, orange tiger cat that had followed them into Sailor's kitchen. “Who is this?” she asked in surprise. The cat pushed his head into Piper's hand and closed his eyes in contentment.

“I don't know who he is, but he keeps showing up and sauntering in here like he owns the place. I've been meaning to make posters for him, too. I even took his picture, but I haven't gotten around to printing flyers. His family is probably worried sick.”

“He doesn't have a collar so maybe he doesn't have a family.”

Sailor shook her head. “I think he has a home.”

“He thinks he has a home, too,” Piper teased, “and it's right here, isn't it, sweetie?” The cat stretched out on the floor, purring loudly, loving all the attention.

“Don't get too comfortable,” Sailor warned as she unwrapped the takeout dinner they'd picked up at Arnold's. She pulled a little piece of lobster out of one of the rolls, knelt down, and offered it to him—and he sniffed it curiously and then gulped it down. “I guess you
are
hungry,” she said, standing up to get him another piece.

“Do you really think you're going to get him to leave when you're feeding him lobster?! And, by the way, he told me he likes it dipped in butter.”

Sailor chuckled and stood up. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Nah, I better not,” Piper said. “Mike filled our glasses to the brim when we were waiting for our food, and now I can hardly stay awake.”

Sailor took a bottle out of the fridge and poured herself a glass. “Iced tea?” she asked, surveying the contents of the fridge.

“No, that'll keep me awake.”

“Water?”

“You want me to have to get up in the middle of the night, don't you?”

“My goodness, you
do
have problems,” Sailor teased. “Don't worry,” she added, laughing. “I have all the same problems myself.”

Piper laughed as she poured melted butter over her lobster. “Like Mom used to say, ‘It's no fun getting old.' ”

“It definitely isn't,” Sailor agreed. She took a sip of her wine. “How do you think Remy's doing?” she asked.

“I'm sure she's fine,” Piper said, taking a bite of her lobster roll. “I'm so glad she went. I kept expecting her to back out, didn't you?”

Sailor nodded. “I thought for sure she'd call on Thursday and tell me she'd changed her mind.”

“Well, I'm glad she didn't. It's good that she's getting out of the house and doing something fun ... and I'm glad John went, too. That whole thing is such a hoot!”

“It
is
a hoot!” Sailor agreed, leaning down to give the cat the last bite of her lobster. “I
never
saw it coming!”

Piper shook her head. “Me, neither!”

Sailor took another sip of her wine. “Oh!” she said, motioning for Piper to follow her. “I want to show you something.”

Piper and the cat followed her into her studio and Sailor turned on the light over her desk. “Ta-da!” she said, motioning to the pictures.

“Wow!” Piper said, crossing her arms. “Wow! Wow! Wow!” She stepped back, taking in the entire wall, and then stepped closer to study each photo. “It's so cool to see them all hung together. . .
and
to see how we've changed—it's like having your whole life in front of you.” She pointed to the very first photo David had taken. “Look how young we were,” she said, smiling. “Do you remember how young and handsome David was when we first met him? When he and Birdie first started dating? I had such a crush on him.” She paused. “It's funny—he isn't in any of the pictures . . . but seeing them conjures up images of how he looked when he took them.”

Sailor nodded. “You're right. I never thought of that before, but in every one of these pictures, we were looking at him.” She smiled. “He was . . . and still is . . . very handsome. And he has captured us all growing old through the lens of his camera.”

Piper studied each photo. “Look at this one,” she said, pointing to one in which they all looked like they were in their thirties. “Birdie looks like she might even smile.”

Sailor nodded. “That was right before her last miscarriage. She was about eight weeks along.”

“That's right,” Piper said, remembering how devastated her sister and David had been after losing their fourth baby. She shook her head sadly. “I hope they find Bailey. I can't stop thinking about her being out in the rain and the dark—she must be so scared and hungry. . . .”

Piper's words hung in the air as “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” started playing in Sailor's pocket. She pulled her phone out, looked at the screen, and frowned. “I don't recognize this number. I don't even recognize the two-oh-three area code. . . .” She shook her head and started to slip her phone back into her pocket.

“What are you
doing?
” Piper asked. “You need to answer it!”

“Oh, right!” Sailor said, suddenly remembering that her number was on some of the posters now. “Hello?”

Piper listened, her heart pounding as her sister spoke. “You did?! Is she okay? Where? Oh my goodness, thank you,” she murmured, tears of relief spilling down her cheeks. Piper continued to listen wide-eyed, her own eyes filling with tears. “She was limping? . . . Is she okay?” Sailor nodded. “Well, thank goodness your sons were out running.” She nodded again. “We're in Truro. . . . No, she's not from Truro, but we . . . we'll be right down. What's the address?” She reached for a pen and scribbled down the address on a scrap of paper. “Five Bridge Road. I know where that is. Yes, we'll be there in twenty minutes. Thank you so much!” She hung up the phone, smiling and crying all at the same time.

“Where is she?” Piper asked, her heart pounding.

“Right in Orleans,” Sailor said. “A family that is renting a house on Bridge Road found her. The man said his sons were out running and saw her limping along the side of the road. They'd just passed a poster on a telephone pole and they couldn't believe it was the same dog.”

“I can't believe it, either!” Piper exclaimed, following Sailor back to the kitchen. She looked down at the cat curled up on the new chair in the living room. “I think your new pal plans to spend the night.”

Sailor looked over. “Okay,” she said to him, “but only because it's raining.”

“Don't worry,” Piper whispered as she stroked his ears. “I'm sure she'll let you stay as long as you like.”

Sailor eyed her sister suspiciously. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh, nothing,” Piper teased as she closed the door.

C
HAPTER
44

R
emy took one last look at herself in the mirror. She was wearing the blue and white linen dress and matching shoes she'd bought in Chatham—
and
she'd finally taken off the tags. She sighed resignedly. “Oh well, it's the best I can do,” she said, picking up her purse and opening the door.

John—who'd knocked a moment earlier—looked up and smiled. “Wow! You look lovely!”

Remy raised her eyebrows. “I won't believe you if you overdo it.”

“You should believe me because you do.”

“Thank you,” she said, hearing her mother's admonishing voice: “
Always accept a compliment graciously
.” He offered her his arm and she took it, too, leaning lightly on it as he escorted her down the stairs and through the lobby.

“You kids look great,” the innkeeper said. “You're going to
wow
your old classmates,” he added with a grin. “Have fun!”

“Thank you,” Remy said, feeling her heart start to race at the mention of her classmates.

A half an hour later, John parked near Gifford Hall and walked around to help her out of the car. “We
have
arrived,” she murmured nervously, looking up at the stately stone building.

“Indeed, we have,” John said, smiling, “
and
it's a beautiful night. I heard it's raining back home.”

“It is?” Remy frowned, picturing the rain on Cape Cod—which suddenly seemed very far away. She pictured Route 6, wet with puddles; she pictured the cars traveling with their wiper blades splashing back and forth; she imagined the rain on her stone steps and gardens, and suddenly, she missed it very much. “Let's go home,” she said, pulling John to a halt.

“Go home?” he said, looking at her in surprise.

“Yes, I'm suddenly very homesick . . . and I don't really want to see any of these people anyway.”

“Let's just go in and have a drink,” John encouraged. “And afterward, if you still want to leave, we will.”

Remy nodded, gripping his arm for support—moral and emotional—and went inside.

“Remy Landon!” a woman called from across the room, waving her hand. She swooped toward them like a hawk, and gave Remy a hug and a peck on both cheeks. “I would've known you anywhere! You haven't changed one iota!”

Remy smiled, trying to place the woman, and then noticed her name tag. “Paula Peck,” she said, “you haven't changed a bit, either.”

“It's incredible,” Paula said conspiratorially, “our children have all grown up, but we've stayed the same age!”

Remy laughed in polite agreement.

“And who is this handsome fella on your arm?”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Remy said, feeling flustered. “This is John Sanders.”

Paula held out her hand in greeting. “You're a doctor, I see,” she gushed.

Remy frowned.
How did she know
that
?

John nodded, lightly touched his lapel pin—the one Remy hadn't noticed—and shook her hand. “Yes . . . yes, I am. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, trust me, the pleasure's all mine,” Paula swooned.

John smiled politely.

“Well,” Paula said, turning back to Remy. “We're so glad you came. We haven't seen you since the first time you came . . . you know, after Jim died . . . and we were wondering if we would ever see you again!”

Remy wondered why Paula kept using the word
we
—was she speaking for herself and her husband or was she speaking on behalf of the whole class? “Well, here I am,” she said awkwardly.

Paula nodded and motioned in the direction of the bar. “The real party's getting started over there . . . and the name tag table is over there,” she said, pointing, “but I don't think you need a name tag because everyone will know who you are!” She gave her another kiss and swept off in the direction of the bar.

“Wow,” John said, laughing. “I didn't think they made 'em like that anymore.”

Remy shook her head. “Yes, and now I remember why I didn't want to come.”

“Well, let's get a drink before you really decide. What's your poison?”

She smiled—John was definitely making it more fun. In fact, she was certain, if she'd come alone, she wouldn't have made it this far. “Just a glass of white wine.”

“Chardonnay or pinot?”

“Pinot.”

John turned to the bartender, asked for two glasses of pinot grigio, and returned a moment later, holding a glass out to her. “Cheers!” he said softly.

“Cheers,” she said, smiling and clinking his glass.

Remy looked around the room and saw Paula standing with a group of people, nodding in their direction, but she didn't mind. They could talk all they wanted. She was a proud alumna of an old New England college. She'd graduated with honors and married a wonderful man. She'd survived his loss and soldiered on alone. She'd raised three amazing children and kept current with the times by reading and continuing to learn. And now, years later, she was here again and she'd brought an old friend who thought she had a wonderful, warm personality. And she wasn't going to be intimidated by the sideways glances of former classmates—who were probably just curious, friendly old people—like herself.