An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach #1)(44)
“You think on that second recipient, and I’ll contact the college. We should go through them to set this up, though I’m sure there won’t be a problem. A prestigious law firm wants to reward your students with some healthy financial aid, you don’t turn it down. I’ll make the calls in the morning.”
“Dad would have been really happy.”
“Somehow, I think he knows, and he is happy. And he’d have been proud that you made sure this happened. Thanks so much for the reminder, Nat. A scholarship in his name was a dream of his. It’s exactly the sort of thing that became more important to him toward the end of his life.” Maggie cleared her throat, which had tightened at the thought that her late husband might still be taking a peek at the goings-on he’d left behind.
She didn’t know what happened once you left this plane—this dimension, as a self-proclaimed psychic had once referred to life on earth as we knew it—but she hoped wherever Art was, he knew she was doing the best she could, and that he approved. “Now, you remember I’m driving up to Wyndham Beach on Tuesday for the opening of the showing of Jessie Bryant’s paintings at Emma’s art center?”
“And that you asked me to water the plants in the sunroom on Friday? Yes, of course I remembered. Daisy is ready with that little watering can you gave her for Christmas.”
“Bless her little heart,” Maggie murmured.
“So you’re just going to spend like, what, a week up there with Liddy and Emma?”
“More or less a week. I haven’t decided how long yet. I want to see how Liddy feels after the exhibit.” Maggie fell silent. “She’ll need someone to be there for her emotionally. It still eats at her that Jessie died the way she did. Not that I blame her. I can’t even imagine the pain.” Maggie shivered. Knowing your child chose to leave this life must certainly add a whole different level of suffering. Not knowing why had to add even more.
Maggie opted to drive to Wyndham Beach this time around, the weather maps showing mostly clear though cold weather for the next week, with only an occasional rainy day in the forecast. It would take a good seven to eight hours, depending on traffic, but she needed the time to de-stress from the holidays, which had held moments of sadness as well as moments of joy.
She missed Art the most during the Christmas season. He’d loved everything about the month between Thanksgiving—when he pulled out all his favorite Christmas CDs—and the new year. He took great pains to decorate the house inside and out, loved the cooking and baking for their family meals as much as he loved preparing for their annual parties—one for friends and neighbors, one for business associates. When the girls were little, he’d hired a Santa to come to the house on Christmas Eve and give them each a special present, and he’d wondered every time that they never realized it had been their friend from the office, Alvin, behind the beard. Art had made special dishes for Christmas Eve and had insisted Maggie and the girls bake cookies with him to distribute to the neighbors. The holidays since his death had seemed flat and colorless, and the need to keep up the traditions he’d established for their family exhausted Maggie. She baked and cooked and decorated the house to honor his memory, but once the holidays were over and everything was packed away, she wanted to collapse.
Art’s death had left her untethered, and at first, she didn’t know what to do with the rest of her life. She had periods when she did nothing, when she’d stay in her house for days, only to emerge and dive into something headfirst. She would cut back on her volunteering and her substitute teaching for a while, then sign up for several of the charity benefits she’d once chaired. She’d wear herself out, then step back again for a few months. She’d putter around the house, then jump back into the thick of it all over again. There was a randomness to her days, and while she knew her life had become unbalanced, it had taken her months to find her footing. But even after settling into a workable schedule of volunteer activities, she’d lately been having more and more-frequent Is that all there is? moments.
She’d been Art’s wife for more than thirty years, and now that she wasn’t, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. The trip to Wyndham Beach had come at a good time. Worn out from the holiday and all the emotions it had dredged up, a week away was exactly what she needed.
She drove along the New Jersey Turnpike and followed her old route to Wyndham Beach, through New York State and Connecticut, Rhode Island into Massachusetts. She’d hoped the drive would be long enough to think through her situation, but she was starting to realize the length of the ride wasn’t the issue. A week home was how she’d secretly thought of it. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she still thought of Wyndham Beach as home. In her heart, she knew she needed the cold salty air like she needed sleep and food. The fact that she was coming home because Liddy needed her made the trip even more meaningful. It had been a while since she felt truly needed by someone she loved.
And then there was the elephant in the room: Brett. Seeing him had had a powerful effect on her. Denial would be a big fat lie, and she knew it. It seemed after all this time, all those things she’d forced herself to forget really hadn’t been forgotten. All it had taken to remind her had been the feel of his arms around her, his voice soft in her ear.
The truth was that he’d been in her head since the reunion, and nothing she’d told herself about their past—not even the memory of the worst day of her life—had pushed him out. She wasn’t sure which man was more to blame for the funk she was in: Art for dying or Brett for reminding her of the life she might have had—and that she still had a life to live.