Summer at Oyster Bay: A gorgeous feel good summer romance (13 page)

“
H
ey
, Emily,” Rocky said through the phone as Emily lay on the sofa downstairs. She’d been there a while before he’d called, just thinking about everything. She’d noticed there was a crack that had started in the corner of the ceiling. She kind of liked it there. It made her feel like the house was showing her how many storms from which it had sheltered her.

She sat up. “Hi. What’s up?”

“I wanted to make sure you thanked Charles Peterson for getting all our drinks at the concert. I tried to pay my tab and the bartender said Mr. Peterson had run his card for all of us all night! You don’t think he was trying to get us in his favor, do you?”

Emily took in a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“I only ask that because I’m starting to get questions from the planning commission. They’re considering, Emily. He’s been talking to them, convincing them that expansion is what they need. I’m struggling to keep a foothold here…”

“Well, don’t back down, whatever you do.”

“I won’t. I’ll do my very best to convince them otherwise. You know I will. I just wanted to let you know.”

After she and Rocky ended the call, Emily got up. As she walked down the hallway to the stairs, she looked down at the roller-skate scratch on the floor for a long time. She was going to miss seeing it every day. She wondered if she should take a photo of it. Maybe she could start a memory book with all the wonderful things from Oyster Bay.

She might do that, but right now, she had something else on her mind. Flash followed Emily upstairs as she made her way to Gram’s room. Before Rocky had called, she’d been thinking about Winston. She opened the jewelry box and took out the locket, turning it over in her hand. Who was this guy? Was he the reason that Gram didn’t mind letting this house go? If he loved Gram and Gram loved him, didn’t he deserve to know that she was in the hospital? Emily dug through the jewelry box looking for anything else that might give her a clue, but it was just that one locket. It glared at her from the box, challenging her to find out more.

She returned the locket and left the room, looking for Gram’s boxes of photos. Perhaps there was a photo of Winston. Every picture had the names of the people in it and the year it was taken, in Gram’s slanted, cursive script, on the back. Then it was filed behind the letter of the first name she wrote. It didn’t take but a minute and Emily had located her boxes. They were labeled by year and stacked neatly in the closet.

In no time at all, Emily had gone through over ten years of boxes, and she was losing hope, thinking she should give up, but something made her pull out the next box. She retrieved the 1956 box and flipped through the Ws. Her mouth dried out as she found a photo that said, “Winston McBride and Paul Tate, 1956.” She took a close look at the men. Winston was on the left; she knew that because her Papa, Paul Tate, was on the right.

The unknown man was wearing a button-up shirt with a tie, a sweater vest overtop, and he had his arm around Papa. The man was handsome. He had thick hair—dark brown or black; with no color in the photo it was hard to tell—and strong cheekbones. Was this the Winston who had given Gram the locket? And he’d known Papa?

Emily read the date again—1956. So Winston wasn’t someone new in Gram’s life. Gram married Papa in 1955, so she and Papa were married when this photo was taken. Did Gram have an affair with this man while she was married to Papa? If this were true, had Papa known? Was that why he was always professing his love to her Gram—so that he could keep her from straying? Heat filled Emily’s cheeks at the thought, and suddenly her perfect Gram didn’t seem so perfect anymore. She covered her mouth with her hand as if it would stop her thoughts from entering her mind.

Flash whined and nudged her arm. Absentmindedly, she reached down and petted him as she kept her eyes on the man in the photo. Still pondering this new possible reality, she put the box away and shut the closet door. Then she took the photo with her to her room and set it on the dresser. Her bedspread was slightly askew from Flash sleeping on it, but she didn’t really process that fact. She lay down and looked at the ceiling.

So Gram might not have been perfect. She was human like anyone else. But what was bothering Emily more than anything was the thought of Papa—whether he’d known or not, and if Gram had betrayed him.

For her own wellbeing, she needed to talk to Gram, to figure out what was going on. But she didn’t want to put any undue stress on Gram’s heart. Why had Gram been crying in her sleep in the hospital? Emily’s head was swimming, but she had to get ready for work. She had the wedding.

With a deep breath, she got up, dragged Flash’s bed near the bathroom door, offered him his bone, and then turned on the shower. As the steam filled the small bathroom—the ventilation never was very good in there—her face disappeared slowly in the increasing fog on the mirror. She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on getting ready.

E
mily slipped the long
, silky dress over her head and let it shimmy into place. As she looked at her reflection, she watched her breathing rise with the memory of the last time she wore the navy blue dress—the night that had changed everything. Brad had taken her out to dinner. It was a rustic restaurant with brick walls and exposed beams, a wall of shiny taps behind a glossy bar, and windows from floor to ceiling.

To her surprise, the entire restaurant was full—every table—with people she knew, all smiling and glittery-eyed as she took her seat. Brad nodded to the servers and they began delivering champagne to everyone. She knew what was about to happen, and, like a speeding train, she couldn’t make him stop. Brad was talking, making them laugh, his hands shaking. All she could think about was the boulder-sized weight in her stomach and the fear that was probably showing on her face. Brad said something about her being his rose, and he handed her a small bunch. They were perfect in every way—deep red and tied with a matching ribbon—but above the ribbon was a platinum ring with diamonds all the way around the band and an enormous square-cut diamond in the center. She had closed her eyes and shook her head just as she was doing now.

The memory was still so fresh in her mind that she struggled to prepare for work. She fluffed her hair and put on her lip-gloss. “I’ll be back,” she said, reaching over and patting Flash’s head.

As she left the house, she texted Rachel to see if Gram had woken up. Rachel texted back immediately, telling her that she’d opened her eyes briefly, but she was asleep again. Emily let her know that after the wedding, she’d check back in. Then she got in her car and headed toward the inn.

Libby, who’d been standing out front when Emily got there, walked straight over to her, a worried look on her face. “The bride has been bugging me for over an hour. The musicians haven’t shown up!”

Emily tried to stay calm. “They have two hours. I’ll try to call them and make sure they’re ready.” She pulled out her cell phone and brought up the number she’d saved earlier for the quartet and hit “call,” knowing that they should be here and be setting up. She’d told them three o’clock. As she entered the inn, she got their voicemail. The bride came barreling toward her. Emily smiled as if nothing was wrong and gently held up her finger to let the woman know she’d be right with her. “This is Emily Tate at Water’s Edge. We’re calling to check that you’re on your way. Please call us at this number if you have any difficulties.” She hung up and turned toward the woman.

“Hello,” she said with a smile, trying to keep calm for the bride. “I’ve just called the musicians and left a message. Voicemail is good. It means they’re on their way.”

“And if they aren’t?” the bride nearly snapped. “How will I walk down the aisle with no music?” There was utter panic on her face.

“I’ll go pick them up myself if I have to. But if—and I stress the word ‘if’—they don’t show, we have music that can be played on the sound system. It’s beautiful and no one will be the wiser. Let’s give them a little more time before we worry.”

The bride was starting to cry. She was standing there, her hair in a curly up-do, a sparkly tiara, diamond earrings, perfect makeup, with jeans and a button-down shirt.

“It’ll be okay,” Emily said. “Please don’t ruin your eye makeup. Remember that you’re here to marry the man of your dreams. He’ll be yours no matter what music you have. We’ll do our best to make this evening amazing and we will deliver. I promise. Now, please, don’t worry at all. Get dressed, and I’ll check on the cake, the tables and chairs, the flowers,
and
the men. And I will not stop pestering the musicians.”

“Okay,” the bride said with a sniffle. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re my wedding coordinator.”

“You’re welcome,” Emily said, and she meant it. Then she went to check on everything else.

C
harlie came
around the corner on the other side of the inn’s grand patio.

“Hi,” he said as Emily lined up the chairs to put them away.

Her head was pounding and she was tired. She took a deep breath and turned to greet him.

“How did the wedding go?”

“The musicians were late,” she said. He took the chair from her hands and stacked it up for her. “But they made it, and everything else went perfectly.”

He picked up the patio phone and dialed. “Hello, Libby. Would you mind sending some extra staff to assist Miss Tate with cleaning up the wedding? I’m going to steal her away for a meeting. Thank you.” He hung up the phone, grabbed two wine glasses from the small bar that had been set up for the event, and an open bottle of wine. “Walk with me,” he said.

She stood there, deliberating.

“You’ve had a long day. It’s time for a break.”

She still had a half-hour of work left, so technically, she was on the clock and he was the boss; she followed him.

They walked down to the beach where chairs were set up with umbrellas and little tables between them for the inn’s guests. Charlie set the glasses down and filled them up. Then, he handed one to her.

Reluctantly, she took it. She really didn’t think the alcohol would be good, given the state of her head, nor did she feel that being in Charlie’s presence would make it any better. “Thank you,” she said, kicking off her shoes so the sand wouldn’t get inside them.

“How’s your Gram?” he asked, sitting down with his glass and motioning for her to do the same.

“No change yet. She’s been sleeping.”

He nodded.

The breeze blew off the water, blowing her hair behind her shoulders as she dug her feet into the sand. It felt odd to be all dressed up, given her surroundings.

“I did catch the very end of the wedding,” he said. “You did a fantastic job.”

“Thanks.”

“But the whole time, I could see how much you were hurting. Your grandmother will be okay, you know?”

Emily took in a deep breath of salty air and let it out. “It’s not just that. It’s a lot of things,” she said. He knew exactly what things.

“Want to talk about them?”

“Not really.” There was nothing she could do sitting on the beach at the inn to change her predicament, so why talk about it?

Charlie looked out at the water and sipped his wine. “Well, I’ll talk about mine then.”

She looked over at him.

“I feel a mixture of emotions. Emily, I don’t want to take that house from you, but I can’t just stop this expansion. T & N Construction—your friends—would lose the contract and it’s probably the biggest contract they’ve ever had. City Council wants me to expand because they feel that we could capitalize on increased tourism in the summers and, at the very least, overflow from the Urbanna Oyster Festival every year. But it’s more than that. Robert Saunders, who’s on the planning commission—he’s a friend of my father’s. Not everyone on the commission agrees with Robert, but he’s the reason I bought the inn, the reason I even knew it existed. Robert called me in because he wants this expansion to keep up with the growing demands of the area, and we owed him a favor. I have to do this for him. I’m not lying when I say a lot of people will benefit from this and the more I scale back my plans, the less effect the expansion will have. Rocky is being stubborn; he’s the last person I have to convince. Everyone else is on my side. They all feel that expansion would be well-received by the public. And I plan to convince the public. I’m going to meet with the people who own neighboring properties to convince them expanding is a good idea.”

The concern on his face made her headache worse.

“You make me feel so guilty,” he said. “I enjoy being around you so much. But I know that, too, will eventually come to an end. I will worry about you once I’m gone.”

She couldn’t look at him anymore for fear she’d start to cry, so she looked out at the bay.

“Have you looked for a place to live yet?”

Emily shook her head. She felt terrible. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty.

“Would you like me to help with that?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ll make sure of it. But would you like my help anyway?”

“No. I know the area. I can find a place to live,” she said. She kept her eyes on the bay.

“Look,” he said. “Your grandmother will be okay, and you’ll adjust to not having the house. I mean, you were able to live without it for three years…”

“I didn’t live
without
it for three years,” she said, her frustration bubbling up. “The whole three years, it was there because it belonged to my family. Oyster Bay was waiting for me. I didn’t, for a second, live without it. And when I was ready to come home to it, it was here for me.”

Emily drank her wine, contemplating whether or not to get up and tell him she needed to leave. But she had more to say to him. “You don’t understand me or my family. You don’t understand how that house is part of me, how I spent night after night in Richmond, wishing I was there, worrying that I’d made the wrong choice and wondering what my life was supposed to look like. You don’t know what it is to have a home—a place you love where you can retreat when times get rough. You don’t understand the importance of memories because you don’t have any. You don’t understand how I start to shake every time I think about how my little family might have had some cracks in it… ”