The Chesapeake Diaries Series (152 page)

Chapter 20

Jesse dropped off Brooke so that she could get busy with the orders she had lined up for the following day, then made a detour on his way home to the stone jetty that jutted out into the Bay off Cannonball Island. He walked out onto the rocks and stood watching a sailboat being driven by the wind into a few sharp turns. He’d never sailed, though he’d thought about taking lessons last summer. He’d been tempted, but had decided against it because he figured it would be one more thing he’d be leaving behind if his grandfather decided not to keep him on.

The thought of having that happen—of having Curtis decide he’d rather close the firm that had represented so many local families for well over a hundred and fifty years than turn it over to Jesse—made Jesse physically ill. The humiliation of having an entire town know that your own flesh and blood thought you were unworthy to carry on the family name would have been too much, and Jesse had promised himself that if that happened, he’d just pack up and leave St. Dennis and forget that the entire place existed.
Curtis had given him one year, and he’d taken a one-year lease on the house on Hudson Street.

But then Jesse met Brooke, and he knew it would take more than professional embarrassment to make him leave and not look back. He’d spoken the truth when he told his grandfather that he didn’t think he’d ever been in love. There had been any number of women he’d liked and whose company he’d enjoyed throughout his life. Some he had definitely been in lust with. But love was something he hadn’t planned on, something he’d wanted none of. To Jesse, love was a stepping-stone that led to a lot of pain. His mother was living proof of that. She’d loved his father a great deal, and look where that had gotten her. The last thing Jesse ever wanted was to do to a woman what his father had done to his mother. Not that Jesse would set out to hurt someone, he’d certainly never plan on it, but how did he know he really wasn’t a chip off the old block?

But that was before Brooke.

There was no denying he’d fallen hard and fast for her, and he knew in his heart that he could never be what his father had been. He’d proven professionally that he was a good lawyer, good enough to carry on the family name here in this town where
Enright
meant so much.

That was important to him—there was no way around it, living up to Curtis’s high expectations meant the world to Jesse. Knowing that he’d made the grade had lifted an enormous burden from his shoulders.

Finding the siblings that had been lost to him over the years, finding that they had open hearts and open
arms, had lifted an old sorrow from his heart. He’d be forever grateful that they’d taken the chance, and after what had apparently been a long debate, had accepted his invitation.

But finding Brooke had filled him with a joy that he could never have anticipated. He’d played it just the way Clay had told him to, played it cool for as long as he could, but there was no way he could pretend that she wasn’t the center of his life. He was head over heels and didn’t think he could hide that from her much longer, if in fact he’d hidden it at all.

Did she know? He wasn’t sure.

The only thing he was sure of was how he felt, and that the days of playing it cool were past. As soon as the wedding was over and Brooke had more than a minute to focus on something other than her business, he was going to lay it all on the line. Staying in St. Dennis now meant more than staying at Enright and Enright. It meant staying with Brooke, and building a life with her and Logan right here in her hometown.

St. Dennis was now Jesse’s home, too, and he had no intention of leaving.

Curtis turned on the lights in the conservatory and proceeded to water his wife’s orchids and ferns. He’d made a point of tending her plants, those she’d cultivated and pampered, and it was a source of pride to him that over the years, he’d lost very few. He’d repotted and divided the way he’d seen her do, and as a result, had more orchids than he knew what to do with. But tending them had kept him close to her, and when he was here, doing what she would have done
herself, he knew she approved and silently applauded and appreciated his efforts.

The night before, when all of their grandchildren had gathered in the big formal living room, the scent of gardenia had been so strong that at one point, Zoey had asked if there was a plant nearby. Mike’s daughter, Elizabeth, had mentioned that she used a gardenia soap because their grandmother had been fond of it, and that had satisfied everyone. But Curtis knew it had been more than soap that had perfumed the air.

“Weren’t they lovely, the lot of them?” He spoke aloud as he watered the ferns. “Mike’s boys and Elizabeth were wonderful, made everyone feel at home. It did my heart good, I swear, to see them all together, talking and laughing like old friends.” He put the watering can down on the bench and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’d have given whatever years I may have left to have had you here for that, Rose.” He paused. “But of course, you were here, in your way, and I’m grateful for that.”

The only one who’d been missing had been Craig, and for all the chaos his son had caused in so many lives, some small part of Curtis wished he’d been there as well.

“Not the real Craig, though,” he told Rose. “The
should-have-been
Craig. The real Craig would have brought along too much pain to too many people.” He sighed deeply. It was terrible to want so badly to love your son, when your son insisted on being so unlovable. How, Curtis wondered, had such a man fathered five such wonderful children?

It was one of those mysteries he’d never solve.

Curtis walked to the glass wall that overlooked the gardens that he now had to pay someone else to care for. His days of weeding and planting—the things he’d taken up after she was gone—had ended. These days, it was all he could do to walk the entire length of the property in the back and pull out the occasional dried and dead plant.

Like I’ll be soon enough
, he thought. Not for the first time, he wondered if he and Rose would be able to come back and look in on their progeny, much as Rose looked in on him. Curtis had no fear of dying, no intention of praying for another day or a little more time. He felt he’d died a little every morning he’d had to wake without her by his side and was more than ready to be with her again in whatever form that next world allowed. But he would like to make a final decision on what to do with this place. There were eight grandchildren. How to decide? How to choose one over the other?

The thought occurred to talk it over with Violet, and he was pretty sure that thought had been planted by Rose.

“All right,” Curtis said aloud. “I’ll give her a call in the morning, see if she has any thoughts on the matter. Between now and then, perhaps you’ll slip an idea to one of us.”

He picked up the watering can and shuffled to the door, pausing to turn off the light. He locked the front door and started slowly up the steps, but paused as her scent surrounded him. He smiled and turned off the hall light at the top of the stairs, and followed his wife into their silent room.

Chapter 21

Invitations to the wedding of Dallas MacGregor to Grant Wyler, and that of Steffie Wyler to Wade MacGregor, were the hottest tickets in town. Even though scheduled for the same date at the same venue, separate invitations were mailed out. Guests were requested to keep the information to themselves to cut down on the invasion of paparazzi who vied to take the first photos of Dallas on her wedding day.

Things had been kept under wraps for the most part, but late in the week word had leaked out somehow and St. Dennis was overrun by photographers and reporters from every celebrity and entertainment magazine, TV show, and Internet social website. The good people of St. Dennis, however, did their best to ignore their requests for information about times and dates and addresses.

Lucy Sinclair arrived five days before the wedding, and when Brooke met with her at Scoop to test Steffie’s wedding-day ice cream and Brooke’s cupcakes, she looked as if she’d been hit by a truck.

“When did you last sleep?” Brooke asked Lucy.

“I don’t know,” Lucy replied wearily. “What day is it now?”

“It’s Wednesday and the bags under your eyes have bags. You can’t be working twenty-four hours a day, Lucy.”

“For some reason, I just can’t seem to sleep at the inn,” Lucy confided. “It’s crazy, right? I grew up there. People come from all over the country to stay there. But I don’t get a wink of sleep when I’m home.”

“You’re going to be dead before Saturday if this keeps up. Can’t you stay somewhere else?” Brooke opened the box of cupcakes and offered Lucy her choice.

“Gorgeous. I love them. If they taste as good as they look …” She picked up a white frosted cake covered with iridescent edible glitter and took a bite. “Heaven. Who needs wedding cake when you can have one of these little lovelies?”

“Thanks.” Brooke cut one that had a silvery-lavender frosting and handed Lucy half. “Luce, you’re going to have to sleep between now and Saturday. If you can’t sleep at the inn, you’re going to have to sleep somewhere else.”

“How do you think my mother and brother would react if I told them I was staying at one of the other inns or B and Bs in town instead of at home with them?” Lucy covered a yawn with her hand. “Besides, everyone in town would be wondering why I wasn’t staying there.”

“Why would you want to stay at another inn since your family owns the best on the Eastern Shore?” Steffie carried a tray to the table and placed dishes of creamy white ice cream in front of Lucy and Brooke
and saved the last one for herself. “Something going on at the inn that I don’t know about?”

Lucy turned to Brooke. “See what I mean?”

“Lucy hasn’t been able to sleep at the inn,” Brooke told Steffie.

“Why do you suppose that is?” Steffie asked.

“I don’t know.” Lucy shook her head. “I never can sleep when I’m there.”

Steffie took a spoonful of ice cream and grinned. “Perfection.” She dipped the spoon in for a second bite. “Maybe the inn has ghosts.” She put the spoon down in the dish. “I’ll bet it does. I read in the brochure that the house was built in the 1800s. I’ll bet there are lots of ghosts there. I’ll bet that’s what’s keeping you awake, especially since you’re descended from the original Sinclairs who built the place.”

Lucy glanced at Brooke. “Is she always like this?”

Brooke nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Stop it, you two.” Steffie laughed. “This town is full of ghosts, everyone knows that.” She turned to Lucy. “I’ll bet your mother could find out who it is. She has this Ouija board, and she could probably contact whoever it is.”

“My mother has a Ouija board and contacts ghosts,” Lucy said flatly. “You have got to be kidding me.
My
mother?”

Steffie nodded. “She helped me to contact Horace, my grandmother’s cousin who left his house to me?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice as several customers entered the shop. “We found out that Horace and Alice Ridgeway—her family built Vanessa’s house and Alice lived there for ninety-some
years and Ness bought it from Alice’s estate—they were lovers.”

“Vanessa and Alice were lovers?” Lucy deadpanned.

“Alice and Horace. No one knew, all those years.” Steffie got up to wait on the two women who were looking over the selections in the freezer cases. “Ask your mom. Think about it.”

“Steffie always was a fanciful girl with imagination to spare,” Brooke said as she scooped up some ice cream onto her spoon and tasted it. “This is fabulous. I wonder what’s in it?”

“I don’t know, but I definitely agree.” Lucy nodded.

“I taste coconut,” Brooke said. “And maybe something fruity.”

“You taste coconut and white peaches. There’s also white chocolate, but the flavor isn’t as pronounced.” Steffie told them from the counter.

“It’s delicious.” Lucy waited until Steffie’s customers had paid for their ice cream and seated themselves. “You know, you could sell this. There are a lot of ice creams on the market, but nothing as good as this. And I’m not saying that just because you’re paying me a gajillion dollars to do your wedding.”

“Dallas is paying you a gajillion dollars,” Steffie reminded her. “Our affair is a lot more modest.”

“Whatever. The point is that your ice cream is amazing. I would love to be able to offer this to my L.A. clients,” Lucy said.

Steffie shook her head. “I’d have to do things differently if I expanded. I’d have to buy bigger machines and I wouldn’t be able to fit them into the back room, so I’d have to move at least part of my business. I’d
have to hire more people to run the machines and quality control would become an issue for me. I’d have to travel to meet accounts and do PR and talk up my ice cream. I wouldn’t have time to do the things I like to do, like play around with different flavor combinations in between customers. You’re not the first person to suggest that I expand and try to become the next Ben and Jerry, but I don’t want to do that. I’m happy just the way things are. I have total control over every aspect of my business, every day. I know my customers and love chatting with them. Now, if you can think of a way that I could make Scoop better, I’d love to hear it. But bigger?” She shook her head again. “Not interested in bigger.”

Lucy held up her spoon. “This stuff could make you rich, Stef.”

“I’m already rich. I own this business lock, stock, and freezer. I make enough money during the tourist season to keep me happy and in shoes all year long. I set my hours and make whatever kind of ice cream I feel like making on any particular day. The only orders I have to fill are the ones I decide to take. I have my evenings with my honey and my girlfriends and a very good life. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The bell over the door rang and Steffie smiled. “Hey, Barbara. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to drop off a little something for you and Wade.” Barbara Noonan, who owned the bookstore on Charles Street, paused on her way into the shop. “Is that Lucy Sinclair I see?”

“It is.” Lucy touched her napkin to the corners of her mouth and got up from her seat to give Barbara a hug. “How’s my favorite bookseller these days?”