Holidays at Crescent Cove

 

H
OLIDAYS AT
C
RESCENT
C
OVE

Two Novellas

S
HELLEY
N
OBLE

 

 

A Crescent Cove Thanksgiving

Chapter One

“
I
T IS APPROPRIATE
that this week of Thanksgiving we gather to officially open the Crescent Cove Boardwalk Historic District.” The mayor gestured to the row of once festive, now slightly derelict buildings that lined each side of the street that led to the point.

“Seamus McGuire, owner and operator of the Crescent Cove carousel, will now officially cut the ribbon.” The mayor stepped aside and Seamus, once a tall and robust man, now slightly stooped and thin, hobbled over to the red ribbon that stretched across the entrance of the boardwalk, accompanied by his son Jake.

“Mr. McGuire looks frail,” Grace Holcombe said to her friend Margaux Sullivan. “Having to close the carousel down last year took it out of him. Hopefully, being able to reopen will give him a little lift.”

“I hope it does. It's hard to see someone you've known all your life start to falter.” Margaux impulsively slipped her arm around the shorter Grace's shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “And if he does perk up, he'll owe it all to you.”

Grace shook her head. “I just filed a few papers and let the system take its course.”

Seamus cut the ribbon; a sudden gust of wind cut through the November morning and the ribbons snapped in the air—in a victory dance.

There was a healthy burst of applause and a few hoots and whistles. Seamus handed the scissors back to the mayor. It seemed to Grace that he walked a little taller as he stepped back into the crowd.

“And lastly,” the mayor continued. “We owe a debt of gratitude to Grace Holcombe and the Holcombe law office for guiding us through the red tape and being an advocate for the Crescent Cove way of life.”

Everyone turned toward Grace, and she blushed and shook her head slightly.

“Speech!” someone cried.

Grace swore it sounded like their friend Bri.

“Speech!” cried another and another.

Grace pushed her finger up the bridge of her nose as if she were still wearing glasses. Though she'd converted to contacts years before, she still made the habitual gesture whenever she felt nervous. An embarrassing tell for a lawyer. Fortunately she was rarely nervous when it came to the law. The rest of her life? That was another story.

“Well?” Brianna Boyce, Grace's other childhood friend, came to stand beside her.

If Margaux made Grace feel short, Bri, the blond ex-model, absolutely made her feel like a midget.

Bri gave Grace a shove. “Your fans await.”

Grace shot an anguished look toward Margaux.

She was no help at all. “Just think of us as a gaggle of jurors,” she said, and pushed Grace from the other side.

Knowing retreat was impossible, Grace walked toward the mayor, trying to smile. The crowd parted as she passed—like the Red Sea did for Moses—and she actually smiled for real; it was so laughable.

Grace took the microphone. “I appreciate the mayor's words and I was more than happy to do the paperwork on this project, but the real heroes are you. All who participated in last summer's flea market, the funds of which are responsible for the new tarmac and parking lot. The citizens who have helped clean and refurbish and bring the buildings up to code. Those of you who have already signed on for the Spring Restoration. For Seamus McGuire and his desire to reopen the carousel. It takes a village to make progress like this, and it makes me proud to call my self a resident of Crescent Cove.”

She shoved the microphone at the mayor as the crowd burst into applause and whistles and scuttled back to Margaux and Bri.

They were both grinning at her.

“Not bad, counselor,” Bri said.

“Don't ever do that again,” Grace said, looking up at her with her most formidable frown.

Bri smiled. She looked tired but happy. She'd just returned from China with her two new daughters, Mimi and Lily. Lily played on the beach with several other children. Mimi stood close to Bri, the older but the less outgoing of the two. And Grace felt a pang of unexpected loneliness.

“Auntie Grace.” That's the way Bri had introduced her to the girls. And it seemed to Grace that auntie was going to be the best she could do. Always a bridesmaid . . . She'd been a bridesmaid at Margaux's marriage to the chief of police, Nick Prescott, last month. Now they were in the process of adopting his six-year-old nephew, Connor.

Grace shook herself. It was just the holiday season, statistically a time for loneliness and depression. She just felt a little . . . She sighed. Single? Unattached? Orphaned?

Several people stopped by to shake hands and say how much they appreciated her fight to reclaim the boardwalk and keep it out of the hands of developers. Grace smiled and thanked them but knew she really hadn't done that much. Filled out the forms, badgered those along the pipeline who dragged their feet. It was mainly tenacity and knowing how to navigate the system. Pretty uncreative stuff. But with good results.

She sighed.

“Anything wrong?” Margaux asked.

“Me?” asked Grace. “No. I think this is great.”

“Well, Seamus McGuire certainly thinks so,” Bri said. “I don't think we've seen him this energetic in months. And it looks like the ladies of Crescent Cove appreciate it.”

“The most eligible bachelor in town and having a ball,” Grace said.

“Well, good for him,” said Margaux. “Oh Lord, would you look at Nick?”

They all turned toward the adjacent beach where the local chief of police, strong and big and normally deadly serious, was turning in a circle, Connor and Lily swinging by each arm, like a human whirligig.

“With all they've eaten today, there's bound to be disaster ahead. Excuse me.” She hurried away.

“I better help her out,” Bri said, and hurried after Margaux, Mimi still clinging to her coat and taking four hurried steps to each of Bri's.

Grace stood by herself looking after them until she became aware of Seamus McGuire making his way toward her, grinning and practically dragging his son Jake along.

Seamus had thick gray hair and his skin was crinkled from the sun. It didn't make him look old but as if he was carrying around a great joke he was just waiting to tell. Next to him, Jake looked as Seamus must have looked in his thirties. Tall, wiry, with black hair and eyes that made Grace's heart bump.

Stupid
, she told herself, and beamed a fuller smile on Seamus as they approached.

Seamus was an old fashioned lady's man who flirted outrageously with every woman in town regardless of age or marital status. It was all good-natured, and though more than a few widows had tried to snare him, so far he'd never showed an inclination to marry again.

Grace remembered him from her childhood when he ran the carousel, and Bri, Margaux, and Grace would come to the boardwalk to play the arcade, ride the carousel, and stuff themselves with funnel cakes, lemonade, and clam rolls.

Bri always rode the same horse, a grand palomino bedecked in jewels and fringe. Margaux always chose her horse depending on what her favorite color was that day. And Grace, youngest and shortest, would have to wait for Seamus to lift her up onto her noble white steed. Always him, because even then she knew she would be one of the good guys.

Then one day Jake, who worked there after school and summers, was there to lift her onto her horse. The boy she'd hardly ever noticed suddenly looked extremely tall, and not at all the gawky, goofy kid who sometimes sneaked them in to ride for free.

He hoisted her into the saddle and looked up at her, and she felt a little dizzy. She'd just turned eleven, and though she didn't realize it until much later, that would be her first experience of infatuation.

It only lasted a split second, and she forgot about it as soon as the music ground up and the carousel lurched forward. And she hadn't thought about it again until she started working on the historical designation project. She'd spent a lot of time with both McGuires while getting historical status for the carousel, which had been the linchpin of saving the boardwalk. She liked them both.

Seamus had become like a favorite uncle or father. Which was more than she could say for her own father. Probably one of the reasons she was feeling a little out of sorts today.

Her own father had barely spoken to her since she stormed out of his law offices several years ago. There hadn't been a family holiday, celebration, or even dinner since.

Spilled milk
, she reminded herself, and smiled at the two men headed in her direction.

Jake had become a friend, but every once in a while she remembered that first moment of childhood awakening. Fortunately, she'd never shared that story with anyone, including her friends.

“How's the prettiest, smartest lady in Crescent Cove?” Seamus asked, and gave her an encompassing hug.

Grace smiled. “You're going to get me in trouble with all the widows in town,” she said as he let her go and looked at his son.

Grace stepped back. Did Seamus expect Jake to hug her, too? Of course he did. The minute Jake and Grace were thrown together over the restoration project, Seamus had been making broad and broader hints about the two of them, finding excuses to keep Grace nearby.

It was sweet but a little embarrassing. Okay, a lot embarrassing. Jake was Nick's best friend. Everybody knew him. Liked him.

She liked Jake. She really did. But it wasn't like she couldn't go out and find a guy to date. She could. If she had the time or the inclination.

The restoration project had thrown them together a lot during the last few months. But they were both busy. Grace had her law practice and Jake was refurbishing his father's carousel and had taken on the restoration of the arcade as well as his paying work as a master carpenter and woodworker. They were both busy people. They didn't have time for anything else.

Even so, there was an awkward silence while Seamus smiled at both of them and waited for Jake to say something.

It was long in coming.

“Well,” he said. “You did it.”

“We all did it,” Grace answered.

Seamus threw his head back and looked at heaven.

“Dad,” Jake warned.

“If your dear mother—” He said in a faint Irish accent.

“Dad.”

Ignoring his son, except for the increased twinkle in his eye, he repeated, this time in an over-the-top accent, “If your dear-r-r mother-r could see—”

“Dad, can you cool it with the blarney? Save it for those who appreciate it.” Jake lifted his chin in the direction of the parking lot.

Three ladies stood by a white Volvo, waving furiously. “Yoo hoo, Seamus.”

Seamus chuckled. “Must be off. Ta ta.” He hurried away.

“Amazing how he lost his stoop since the ribbon cutting,” Grace said.

“Yeah,” Jake said, looking after his father. “Incorrigible. If he's not careful, one day one of his ladies is going to catch him and not let go.”

“And no one will be more surprised than your father,” Grace agreed.

“Who's for the diner?” Nick asked, coming up to them. He and Margaux were holding Connor by each hand.

“I am,” said Connor.

Nick ruffled his hair. “We know you are, sport.”

“Bri took the girls home,” Margaux explained. “They were pretty tired. All three of them.”

“Lily's teaching me Chinese,” Connor volunteered.

“That's cool,” Grace said. It was hard to believe that Connor had come to Crescent Cove only a year before, traumatized and hardly speaking.

Shows you what family can do,
she thought. And had to fight the desire to burst into tears.

She really needed to get a grip.

“You guys come,” Margaux said. “I've been so busy I feel like I haven't talked to you at all.”

Grace shrugged. “I seem to have the day off. I'm in.”

Jake cast a glance over to the parking lot where Seamus was holding court. Seamus saw Jake and waved him off.

“Guess I'm free, too.”

The five of them headed across the bridge through the salt marshes and into town.

Dottie's Diner was filling up fast, but a waitress led them to a booth along the front window. Someone had left a folded newspaper on the table, and as Grace slid into the booth, a headline caught her eye.

She froze halfway in. Stared at the headline. The diner went out of focus. The noise buzzed to nothing. It couldn't be. It. Could. Not. Be. She touched the paper with one finger, inched it around so she could see it better.

“Excuse, me,” she managed. She slid out of the seat right into Jake. There was a momentary scuffle as she tried to get away.

“Grace?”

“Sorry. I just remembered. I have to go.”

Jake stepped back to let her pass. She stumbled toward the door.

Margaux ran after her and stopped her at the door. “Grace. What is it? Are you okay? Are you sick? Can I do anything?”

“I'm fine, I just have to—I'll talk to you later.” Blindly, Grace pushed through the glass doors to the sidewalk.