The Chesapeake Diaries Series (157 page)

“So you had a chance to say good-bye,” Grace said. “That’s good. It was nice seeing you dancing together at the wedding the other night.”

When Clay didn’t respond, she continued: “Nice that the two of you had some time to catch up.”

“We didn’t really catch up all that much.” Clay set the basket back on the ground. “She was working. You know, trying to keep everything running smoothly.”

“I wish she’d …” Grace began, then stopped.

“Move back and take over the event planning here, I know.” Clay finished the sentence for her.

“I just don’t understand.” Grace shook her head. “Especially since we need her …”

“I guess she’s made a life for herself in California and she’s happy out there.”

“Did she tell you that?” Grace asked.

“More or less.” Clay bent again to pick up the basket. “You know Lucy, Miz Grace. She’s going to do what she wants to do.”

“True enough.” Grace sighed and walked with Clay to the door of the inn.

“Clay.” She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “You and Lucy used to be so close. You were inseparable all those years—then it seemed like one of you pulled the plug on your friendship. If you don’t mind my asking … what happened?”

Clay shifted the basket in his arms. “You’re going to have to ask Lucy, Miz Grace. I wasn’t the one who pulled the plug.”

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have even asked.”

“It’s okay. I’ve asked myself the same question for years.” He turned toward the service area. “See you later.”

He was almost to the kitchen door when she called to him.

“Have you ever thought of asking her?”

Clay went on into the kitchen, pretending not to have heard.

He wasn’t trying to be rude. The truth was, he had tried to work his way into asking Lucy on Saturday night, but every time he thought he knew exactly what to say, something intervened. When they’d been dancing and he thought he finally had her attention—and captive, it had occurred to him—the slow song
had stopped abruptly and the band started to play some line-dance thing he’d never heard before and Lucy excused herself “to see about the cake cutting.” And later, when he found her alone out on the portico looking chilly, he’d slipped out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Did you see where they remade
The Karate Kid
?” he’d asked casually.

“I did see that.”

“You saw the announcement or you saw the movie?”

“Just the trailers for it.”

“Reminded me of how much we both loved that movie when we were kids. Remember how we went to see it over and over?”

Lucy had nodded.

“And we made your dad buy the video when it came out and we sat in the lobby and played it over and over again on the TV in there because it was the biggest one in the inn.” He’d glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “We were both going to take karate lessons and become black belts, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Did you ever …?”

“Earn a black belt? No.”

“Me neither.”

Clay had leaned both elbows on the railing and followed her gaze out toward the Bay.

“Beautiful night,” he’d said.

She’d merely nodded.

“Everything seemed to go very smoothly today.” He’d thought to try a different tack. “With the weddings,
I mean. Must have been some job, getting two weddings off without a hitch.”

“The day wasn’t without its challenges,” she’d admitted, “but that’s my job.”

He’d started to say something but she cut him off.

“I need to get back inside and keep this show moving,” she’d said.

“Any chance we could get together for one more dance before the night’s over?” he’d asked.

“We’ll see how it goes,” she’d told him.

“You’re the wedding planner. Don’t you decide how it goes?”

“There’s a schedule.” She’d smiled and slid his jacket off and handed it to him. “Thanks,” she’d said, and then she was gone.

They never did have that one last dance after all.

When he came out of the kitchen, Clay was surprised to see Grace still in the lobby. She stood on the Bay side of the room, staring out a window, watching Trula’s car disappear down the drive.

“Did Lucy mention to you if something was bothering her?” Grace asked.

He hesitated, because he, too, had sensed something in Lucy that hadn’t felt quite right.

“Would you tell me if she had?”

“Depends on what it was, I guess.” Clay tried to sound casual.

“Did she?” Grace turned to him.

“No, she didn’t. But …” Again, he paused.

“But …?”

“But … there were times when … I don’t know, she seemed to be somewhere else.” He thought about what he’d said, and added, “Maybe I misread her. I
haven’t seen her in a long time. Maybe I just don’t know her anymore. Besides, I didn’t see that much of her. I’m sure you spent a lot more time with her over the past week than I did.”

Grace shook her head. “No. That’s part of what’s bothering me. I was hoping to spend some time alone with her, but she was so busy all week. Most nights, she slept at Steffie’s, said she had to help get things ready for the weddings.” Grace sighed. “I miss her. I don’t know what’s going on in her life anymore, and I guess I was looking forward to catching up. She just didn’t seem to have much time.”

Grace’s disappointment was almost palpable.

“Well, she was here to do a job.” Clay tried to rationalize on Lucy’s behalf. “And you know it must have taken a lot of work to pull off what she did this past weekend. I’m sure she would have rather spent the time with you, but she was pretty busy.”

“Do you really think that’s all it was?” Grace looked up at him, her eyes searching his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He put his arm around her reassuringly even as he questioned his own words. “That’s why she’s so successful, Miz Grace. She takes her business very seriously.” That much, he felt was true.

“I suppose you’re right.” Grace still looked concerned.

“She’s the party planner to the stars,” Clay reminded her. “You have to work hard if you want to be the best, and Lucy always did want to be the best at whatever she did.”

“Well, that much is certainly true.” Grace smiled. “Thank you, dear.”

She patted his arm and walked toward her office.
Clay wanted to say something else reassuring but couldn’t get his thoughts together before she’d closed the door behind her. He left the inn and got back into his Jeep.

He played the radio as loud as he could on the way back to the farm to keep himself from thinking too much about Lucy, about the things they’d said and the things they hadn’t said. He switched off the eighties station when they started playing a New Kids on the Block song. It reminded him of the decision he’d made back then to form his own boy band because he knew Lucy was enamored of them. He was going to be the lead singer. (So what if he couldn’t carry a tune? A lot of the singers didn’t sound much better.) He would make albums and go on tour with his group and then Lucy would wish she’d never stopped being friends with him. But school—and soccer—started before he could get that idea off the ground, and his dreams of rock stardom were replaced by ones in which he scored the winning goal in the state championship and became a whiz at algebra so he could spend more time on the soccer field and less on his homework.

He drove around his sister’s old Toyota and parked close to the barn. Brooke was coming down the steps from the back porch as he was walking toward it.

“Hey,” he called to her. “Where are you off to?”

She pointed beyond the field next to the barn.

“I’m meeting Cameron at the tenant house to go over his schedule of the renovations.” She paused. “I suppose I shouldn’t call it the tenant house anymore, since it’s going to be
my
house.”

“True enough.” Clay met her halfway along the
worn path between the barn and the farmhouse where they’d both grown up, left, and come back to. “Did Cam give you his final estimate?”

Brooke nodded and pulled her blond hair into a ponytail, which she held in place with an elastic she’d had on her wrist.

“It’s pretty much what we talked about. Right now I’m dying to see the work schedule. I won’t be moving in until well after Christmas, which is fine with me. I have almost a thousand cupcakes to bake between now and New Year’s Eve and the new kitchen at the shop to put together, so I don’t really have time to pack.”

“Just as well,” Clay told her. “Let Logan have a Christmas here in the farmhouse with Mom and me.”

Logan was Brooke’s almost eight-year-old son and the apple of Clay’s eye. Since the death of Brooke’s husband, Eric, in Afghanistan almost three years ago, Brooke and Logan had been living on the family farm, which Clay had taken over when their father retired.

“Mom was hoping to be into her new house by then,” Brooke told him, “or hadn’t you heard? She’s looking forward to hosting a New Year’s Eve party for some of her friends.”

“She shouldn’t move before Christmas.” Clay frowned. Their mother, also a widow, had just bought herself a spiffy town house in which everything was brand spanking new.

“That’s her decision, not ours.” Brooke shrugged.

“Do you think she’ll miss us after she moves out?” Clay asked.

“You’re kidding, right?” Brooke laughed. “She’s
not moving to Canada, Clay. She’s only going across town.”

“By herself,” he reminded her. “She’s never lived alone before.”

“Maybe it’s time she did. She married young, had her kids young. Devoted most of her life to Dad and to us. She went from her parents’ house to her husband’s, and after Dad died, Logan and I moved in with her. She’s looking forward to having her own place, to having some time to herself.” Brooke fell in step with her brother. “She’s really excited about her new house and I’m not surprised she wants to share it with her friends, but I do agree, it would be nice if we were all together on Christmas morning. Who knows where any of us will be this time next year.”

“You’ve got plans that I don’t know about? You and your boyfriend planning on running away together?” he teased. Before she could answer, he added, “Okay, then, leave if you must, but the kid stays here.”

Brooke laughed. “I doubt I’d ever be able to get Logan to leave the farm now. I’ve never seen him so happy. But no, Jesse and I aren’t planning on leaving town, and I’m not going any farther than right here.” She pointed up ahead to where the path ended at the front porch of the cottage that had been their destination.

Long known as the tenant’s house, the two-story clapboard had been scraped clean of its old paint and awaited a new coat. The shutters had been removed, scraped, and sanded, and leaned up against the front of the building. The small front porch had also been prepped for painting.

“Looks like Cam’s guys have been busy,” Clay noted approvingly.

“The entire exterior has been prepped,” Brooke pointed out. “Cam said the painters will start tomorrow out here while the carpenters continue inside. Come on in, and I’ll show you what they’ve done so far.”

Brooke unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“Wow, it sure looks different from when I lived here.” Clay walked around the large front room, nodding at the work that had already been done. “New windows, I see. That’s a real improvement. That first winter I stayed here, I thought I’d freeze to death. The wind whipped right around those sashes, so the house was always cold. I took to watching TV upstairs after that.”

“New windows, new insulation.” Brooke walked around the big room, her footsteps echoing.

“And we’re starting on that new kitchen tomorrow.” Cameron O’Connor, their contractor, pushed open the front door and joined them. “Brooke, did you tell Clay about what we’re doing in the kitchen?”

“Only about seventeen times,” Clay told him.

Brooke nodded, her eyes shining. “Lots of counters, two ovens, a big freezer—”

“I’m outta here.” Clay laughed. “She’s all yours, Cam. I’ve got work to do.”

“How are those plans for the brewery going?” Cam asked.

“Great. As soon as Wade gets back from his honeymoon, we’re going to start mapping out what equipment we’ll need and how to turn that first barn into a brewery.”

“Still planning on growing all your own hops and
barley?” Cam followed Clay to the door, Brooke’s project momentarily forgotten.

Clay nodded. “We found a great source of seed for both. It’ll be a few more years before the hops are ready, so we’ll buy some this year and experiment. Wade has some formulas he’s used before that we can work with. I love farming, but I have to admit, I’m excited about this new venture.”

“Hey, we’re all excited to have some local brew to look forward to,” Cam told him.

“Stay tuned,” Clay said. He waved to his sister. “See you back at the house.”

Clay smiled all the way back to the house. MadMac Brews was still a working plan in progress, but he had no doubt that he and Wade MacGregor, who’d owned a brewery in Texas not too long ago, would make some of the finest beer on the Eastern Shore. Once they got up and running, that is.

And as he’d told Cam, they’d be growing a lot of the ingredients that would go into their beer. Clay’s success with his organic produce over the past few years encouraged him to try growing what they needed to brew organic beer as well. Wade had some pretty interesting ideas for beer flavors.

Flavored beer. Clay had laughed when Wade first mentioned it, but once he saw the numbers Wade had from his previous venture, Clay was sold. Why not beers flavored with herbs or fruits? The possibilities, it would seem, were endless.

And if it kept Clay’s farm profitable, well, that was the bottom line, wasn’t it? He paused midway to the barn and looked out over the fields that his family had farmed for over two hundred years. His ancestors
had settled here and built the earliest section of the farmhouse he grew up in, the same one he now shared—however temporarily—with his mother and sister.

Clay had never wanted to do anything but farm, never wanted to be anything but a farmer. It was in his blood and in his heart, and over the past few years, he’d found ways to make Madison Farms relevant to the community in ways his forefathers could never have imagined. He grew for the farmers’ markets and he grew for restaurants from D.C. to Manhattan. Certain famous chefs requested that he grow herbs and vegetables for them, and he grew rows of flowers that he sold to a number of restaurants for their tables. There was the orchard that still produced some of the finest apples and pears in the region, and the fields of wheat and rye that provided nearby Autumn Mills with the raw product they ground and made into breads and other products that they sold to some of the best restaurants on the East Coast. Thanks to Clay’s foresight in recognizing the direction the food market was headed, Madison Farms was thriving. Growing organic hops and grains to make beer in his own microbrewery—well, his and Wade’s—was just one more way to keep the farm intact. It was a promise he’d made to his father when the farm passed to him, and it was a promise Clay intended to keep.