An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach #1)(12)

Liddy pulled all the way to the garage at the very end of her driveway and parked, then cut the ignition.

“Well, if you’re thinking about getting lucky tonight, I suggest we get on with it. We have some work to do.” Maggie opened the car door and got out. In Liddy’s heart and in her wardrobe, the seventies were alive and well. It was part of her charm, but at the same time, it was a little predictable. The woman had so much going for her: smart, witty, so much fun. But her look—which might have been considered a little edgy in her teens—today looked tired, matronly. Her colorful clothes couldn’t hide the sallowness of her skin or her crow’s feet. Maggie knew it was a long shot, trying to talk Liddy into changing things up even a little.

As she slammed the car door closed, Liddy asked, “What do you mean, some work? What kind of work?” and followed her into the house.



“Seriously, Maggie? I haven’t worn that stuff in a million years.” Liddy staunchly declined Maggie’s offer to share her makeup. “I’m not going to start now.”

“What do you think will happen if you swiped on a little mascara?”

“I won’t look like myself. I’ll feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“A little makeup isn’t going to make you look like someone else. It just enhances what you already have. Who you already are.”

“Not going to happen.” Liddy was unmovable.

“Okay.” Maggie ceremoniously dropped the eye shadow stick, mascara wand, and blush into her makeup bag and zipped it closed.

She could have reminded Liddy of all the nights the three of them—she, Liddy, and Emma—had crowded into the bathroom Maggie shared with her sister and passed around the latest cosmetic purchase one of them had made. Back in high school, they’d shared it all, experimented with it all, worn it all, especially for special events. Like when Liddy had wanted to attract the attention of a certain junior, or when Maggie wanted to catch the attention of . . . okay, she let herself mentally say his name. Brett. Brett Kyle Crawford. Even his name had sounded golden to her. She’d wanted to attract his attention the first time she’d laid eyes on him, wanted him to notice her before one of the other girls got her hooks into him. She’d known he was meant to be hers the minute he walked into homeroom on the first day of school sophomore year.

Hers to win, hers to lose.

Maggie brushed the memories aside and slid the dress she’d picked up at Nordstrom over her head. She’d decided to go low key tonight. Black sheath with elbow-length sleeves, a camel leather belt double-looped around her waist, and leopard print heels. A choker of oversize cat’s-eye beads fit just inside the scooped neckline of the dress, and she chose large round gold discs for her ears.

“Wow. Sexy.” Liddy wiggled her eyebrows when Maggie joined her in the kitchen.

Maggie made a face. “Hardly. There’s no flesh showing above my knees or my elbows.”

“Maybe so, but the overall impression is a wow.” Liddy had donned a calf-length purple cotton skirt, which she’d paired with a plain white long-sleeve jersey knit top. Around her neck she’d wrapped several bead necklaces of various shapes, colors, and sizes. Long silver earrings dangled almost to her shoulders. She’d unbraided her hair and brushed it into a long ponytail that lay low on the back of her neck. Maggie bit her tongue. If Liddy was looking for action, the odds weren’t in her favor tonight, but Liddy was . . . Liddy.

“Thank you. Natalie helped pick it out.”

“The girl has good taste.” Liddy opened the back door and stepped outside.

“She always has.” Maggie followed Liddy out the door, down the back steps and to the car.

Maggie barely spoke on the drive to the Beach Club, built in 1860 as the home of the Wyndham Beach Ladies League of the Anti-Slavery Society. Her three-times-great-grandmother, Polly Wakefield, had been a charter member, her husband Henry having fought for the preservation of the Union. Maggie thought about Polly and Henry as she climbed the steps and approached the front door, wondering how they’d feel about the fact that none of their descendants now lived in Wyndham Beach. She suspected if they felt anything at all—and she wasn’t sure they did—they’d not be very happy.

Thoughts of the distant past vanished when Liddy grabbed Maggie’s elbow and steered her off to the right into the room known as the Fireside Room, which was set up with several round tables, a scattering of chairs, two long tables upon which an array of desserts had been displayed, and an open bar. The lights had been lowered to that precise point of bright enough to see but not harsh enough to make everyone look, well, harsh. The room was crowded, and the noise level ranged from happy chatter to boisterous laughter.

“Maggie. Three o’clock,” Liddy whispered. “Blue blazer. White turtleneck. Yellow sweater.”

Maggie looked off to her right, where a small group of men were animatedly chatting next to the bar.

“Who am I looking at?” Maggie kept her voice low as well.

“That’s Rick. Don’t you recognize him?”

“Ah, no.” Maggie tried not to stare while at the same time trying to see something familiar about him.

Liddy took a hurried step in his direction, forcing Maggie to grab her by the arm to stop her forward motion.

“Uh-uh. Too soon,” Maggie cautioned.