ON THAT NEXT SUNDAY, the Reverend Hobbs preached a blessedly short sermon, the gist of which was his entire congregation needed to be aware that they were all going to hell. Then, in an effort to allow them immediately to begin to change their ways, he dismissed church early for once, admonishing them to repent. The chastised congregation, like ants swarming out of a disturbed nest, dispersed into the warmth of the late-summer day. As glad as anyone to be set free, Maddie inhaled deeply of the commingled noonday scents. “I love this time of year, Celeste.”
“Well, don’t tell me to breathe the air. You always say that. And then I always say, what choice do I have if I want to stay alive?” Celeste snapped.
Maddie exhaled, knowing what was wrong with her friend. “Okay. Can I say that this is a beautiful day?”
“What’s beautiful? You’re making me walk great distances to and from church. I’m an old woman, Madelyn Louise. This could kill me, you know.”
“It’s three blocks, Celeste. And it was your idea to walk. Now tell me you don’t love this weather. For once I can’t even smell the saltiness from the ocean.”
“You watch—some stupid seagull will fly over and poop on us.” At Maddie’s tsk of annoyance, Celeste added, “Okay, okay, the air is fresh and crisp. Like a ripe apple with a big fat worm right in the middle of it.”
Maddie grinned. “And who would the big fat worm be?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”
After that, they walked along companionably silent, arm in arm, for several minutes. They turned left onto sunny, grassy Whaling Avenue with its row of picturesque New England–style homes. Celeste’s two-story house, one of the showplaces of Hanscomb Harbor, sat at the other end of the long, curving residential block. And somewhere down there, inside Celeste’s house, was Hank’s mother. Maddie grimaced, hearing in her head the circling-shark cello music from the movie Jaws.
Just then, Celeste tugged at Maddie’s sleeve to get her attention. “Did you hear what Lavinia Houghton, the patron saint of starched underwear, said about my new hairstyle?”
And there it was—one of the sources of Celeste’s sourness du jour. “Yes, I heard her. But don’t listen to her. I love your hair short, and I was wrong about your getting it cut, like Mrs. Madison suggested. It looks very fashionable.”
“Oh, pooh on fashionable. That’s what you say to old ladies. How about it looks bitchin’?”
“Bitchin’? Celeste, you have got to quit hanging out with Teddy Millicum.” She didn’t really mean it, though. Celeste and Teddy had a wonderful relationship. He visited her on a daily basis, and she provided positive attention for him that he didn’t get at home. However, it remained Maddie’s job to reinforce Celeste’s notion that she was shocking.
“Hmph. I will do no such thing,” Celeste announced. “I like Teddy. Besides, he gave me my new kitten, Bluebell. Now, there’s a corker. The cat is actually blue. And she can already climb right up the curtains.”
Maddie grinned. “You have that effect on a lot of people, too.”
“Now you’re just trying to cheer me up. But enough about air and Teddy and kittens. I want to talk to you about Hank.”
Maddie’s heart rate picked up, her cheeks warmed. Here it was—the other thing that had Celeste sour. “What about Hank?”
“I’m mad at him, that’s what. What the heck is he thinking, sticking around in Hanscomb Harbor like this—and him a pampered city boy? He’s lasted a week already and made me a loser in the betting pool down at the Captain’s Tavern, I don’t mind telling you.”
Relieved that she was taking this tack, Maddie laughed. “Celeste McNeer, here we are walking home from church and you’re telling me you participate in gambling? Does nothing that the Reverend Hobbs has to say take with you?”
She waved that away. “I don’t listen to him. Might turn me into another self-righteous prune pit like Lavinia Houghton.”
“You? I don’t think that’s possible. So how long did you give him? Hank, I mean.”
“Four days.”
“Is that all?” Maddie walked along a few more steps before adding, “I put down some money on ten days.”
Celeste stopped short, forcing Maddie to do the same since they were still walking arm in arm. They were in front of Mr. Bailey’s house with its nautical rope fence. “Madelyn Louise, you’re frequenting taverns and participating in gambling? Why, the next thing you know you’ll be the one to prove the Reverend Hobbs right and go directly to hell.”
Maddie grinned down at Celeste with her newly bobbed silvery-white hair and red lipstick—and neon-green dress under a demure lace shawl. “Why should you go to hell without me and have all the fun?”
Celeste reached up to pat Maddie’s cheek. “You’re a sweet young woman to think of me.”
They started walking again, both waving at Mrs. Bailey, who was outside watering her flower garden. The woman was still wearing her nightgown and robe. Known around town as “that poor old crazy thing,” she stared back at Maddie and Celeste as if she’d never seen them before.
“That poor old crazy thing,” Celeste whispered to Maddie.
“I know. But she’s harmless. And Mr. Bailey is good to her.”
“He’d better be, or he’ll have me to answer to.”
“And nobody wants that.”
Smiling, Maddie concentrated again on the day. Not the first hint of a breeze stirred the leaves. Bright sunshine smiled down cheerily upon her and Celeste. They’d already left the church crowd behind, so the only sounds were those of the occasional car that passed, the muted sound of children laughing somewhere nearby, and that of their heels striking the sidewalk.
Into the quiet, Maddie asked, oh so casually, “So how is Mrs. Madison doing? I mean, the two of you in the same house. What’s she like? Is she a good guest?”
Celeste chuckled and smacked at Maddie’s arm. “She’s a terrible guest. Can’t even work a microwave oven. Can you believe it? Never picked up after herself before now. But I like her. She’s got a big heart, and she loves her son. She’s definitely a hoot. I see a lot of myself in her.”
“Heaven help us all. I thought she would have fled back to L.A. by now.”
“Me, too. But she likes working in the shop.”
“I know. My worst nightmare.”
Celeste ignored her. “She talks to that lobster clock at the shop like it’s James and cusses it something terrible.”
“I’ve heard her,” Maddie said stiffly. “I don’t think that’s very respectful.”
“Maddie, honey, it’s a lobster with a ticking clock in its belly.”
Maddie fought the grin that wanted to claim her lips. “Maybe so. But it’s also her father-in-law’s last resting place, and she should show some respect.”
Celeste gave Maddie her best scolding harrumph. “Don’t get your knickers in a wad. She’s just venting. Evidently the old boy used to give them all fits.”
Maddie tried to be fair. “He did, from what Hank’s told me. Certainly his crazy will proves it. I’ll never understand that. Or why he dragged me into all this.” Maddie was quiet a moment, then forced herself to say, “All right, I guess she’s not all bad. I have seen Mrs. Madison dusting the silly ceramic thing and handling it carefully.”
“She does. And here’s another thing: she wouldn’t let me sell it the other day,” Celeste added, apparently in her newfound friend’s defense.
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Celeste, you have got to quit doing that.”
“A man was going to give me forty dollars for it.”
“Forty dollars? Wow. That’s a good price—” Maddie gulped back her words. “I mean, I don’t care what anybody offers for it. No matter what else it might be, it’s also an urn and it rightfully belongs to Hank.”
“Then why don’t you take it to him?”
Well, I’ve certainly stepped in it now. Here we go.
Sure enough, Celeste started in. “I can’t imagine that there’d be all that much out at the beach in late August to amuse a person with Hank Madison’s smarts and drive.”
Maddie grimaced. “And yet there seems to be.” She hadn’t seen him since last Monday’s picnic and drive and debacle. He hadn’t come in to the shop, and she hadn’t seen him around town. Not that she’d been looking for him.
“Sure seems to be a lot of reporters and cameramen in town. Good for the economy, but I hate all this commotion.”
Maddie eyed Celeste. The darned little thing looked deceptively like anybody’s sweet grandmother. “So much so that you gave ten interviews?”
Tottering along, leaning on Maddie’s arm, she nodded. “I was trying my best to keep them away from you, dear. Can I help it if they’ve made me a media darling?”
“Dear God.” Maddie remembered all too well the sudden infestation of the media this week. In fact, she couldn’t believe that they hadn’t attacked her the moment she came out of church today. Maybe they’d swarmed after Hank. Word of James’s quirky will had gotten out in earnest. Then some tabloid reporter had followed Lillian Madison here, they now knew, and that was all it took. One picture. One rumor. And bam—Hanscomb Harbor was hotbed central. It was awful. And the crowning moment had been all those pictures of her and Hank around town last Monday. They’d been followed and photographed from a distance. How embarrassing. She’d hated seeing her life paraded through the tabloids.
There she and Hank and Beamer had been. Like lovers, the pictures made it seem. They’d been shot in the gazebo. Then outside her shop—which was now ground zero and mobbed with the curious. The very rich and curious. People of Hank’s ilk. The nightmare was here—Hanscomb Harbor was the jet set’s new playground. And those pictures of them walking Beamer on the beach. God. Like one big happy family.
“I said,” Celeste fussed, pinching Maddie’s arm and eliciting a yelp from her, “have you been out to the beach house to see him? And where’s your head, girl? I’ve been talking to you.”
Maddie rubbed her stinging arm and said, “I’m sorry. And no, I haven’t been out there. You know what it’s like for me right now. I can’t go anywhere, do anything, without getting swarmed. Hank, either. We thought it best if we avoided each other.”
“Oh, you did, huh? Yet no one’s around now. Wonder if the new has worn off and they got their story and left?”
“That would be too good to be true. But I don’t think so. I suspect something a little more tantalizing is going on with one of the real celebrities who are here. Maybe some movie star has been sighted doing something provocative.”
“I hope it’s Mel Gibson, and he’s in a kilt.”
Maddie nodded. “That would be good.”
“Yes, it would. But I miss Hank. He hasn’t been around since you took off Monday and left me and Lillian to fend for ourselves in the shop.”
“Oh, fend for yourselves. You had three customers. And the two of you were playing bridge when I came back.”
“Isn’t that what a card table is for? And by the way, I’m disappointed in you. You may as well join Saint Lavinia Houghton in the Reconstituted Virgins Brigade.”
It was Maddie’s turn to smack at Celeste’s arm. “I swear, Celeste McNeer, every time I think I’ve heard it all from you, you top yourself.”
“I just speak the truth. Are you going to let that man get away from you?”
Maddie relived her humiliation of last Monday, of hearing Hank say what she’d feared—she was part of his six-week stay here and then he was gone. The ride back to town had been glacial and agonizing. “I don’t think it’s a matter of letting him get away from me, as you put it. He’s not a prize, Celeste.”
“That’s not what the newspapers and magazines say. They say he’s the world’s most eligible bachelor. And the most sexy man alive.”
Maddie exhaled. “He’s all that and more, I’m sure. He’s just not for me.”
Celeste was uncustomarily quiet for several steps. Maddie heard a bird happily singing and waved at two boys who rode by on their bicycles.
“Why isn’t he for you, honey?” This was Celeste’s loving, nurturing voice, the one that invariably put Maddie in tears. Sometimes she forgot how much Celeste cared about her and worried about her. “I think he’s perfect for you.”
“Well, that’s one vote. Come on, Celeste, you know how complicated this is. There’s that stupid will that makes me look like a gold digger and also trapped Hank here. There’s his mother, who hates me and thinks I’m after everything Madison. And there’s the press looking for a hot story, just one picture of us together. You know … the big kiss. There’s a huge bounty on that one. But it’s one they won’t get. Because it is not going to happen. So, given all that, why wouldn’t we avoid each other? You tell me.”
“That was a great speech, Maddie. But none of it matters. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m asking you how you feel about Hank. Period.”
And there it was. The salt in the wound. Celeste could always get right down to the nitty-gritty with her. Maddie swallowed gathering emotion. “I don’t know how I feel,” she hedged.
“Ha. You do, too. You care a lot about him, don’t you? More than you’re willing to admit.”
Maddie stopped and stared down at her elderly friend. “Well, if I won’t admit it, according to you, you’re not going to believe anything I might have to say to the contrary, are you?”
“No. Not until you say the truth, Madelyn Louise.”
“I don’t know what the truth is.”
“You’re as exasperating as hell, do you know that?”
Maddie raised her eyebrows. “We are not two blocks from church and you’re already cursing.”
Celeste screwed up her wrinkled little face. “It’s your fault. So what do you intend to do, Maddie? Live out your life alone and tucked away here in this village?”
“Yes, I do.” Maddie fondly pictured her tiny shop … her anchor, her one quiet place in a new and rocky world she didn’t understand. But a world fraught with blind alleys that would undoubtedly lead to another unhappy ending. She didn’t think she could take another one. So, against all that, it was her shop, her home, her friends, all of Hanscomb Harbor, the sameness and the familiarity that stood guard over her and kept her safe.
“Well, I think that’s just plain ridiculous. You may as well dress all in black like Lavinia Houghton and go get yourself a job in her library,” Celeste was saying. “You’re only twenty-nine years old, Maddie. Too young to say your life is over. Look at me. Been widowed four times. You see me hiding? No, ma’am. There are some things you just have to leap into with both feet. Two of them are life and love.” She thought for a second. “And money. That’s three. And I guess that’s all, too.”
With that, Celeste pointed up the block. “Come on. I want to get home. My bunions are killing me. I need to get these shoes off.” They started walking again. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to Hank Madison, you know.”
“Here we go.”
“Did you two have a fight last Monday?”
“No. You have to have a relationship to have a fight. And we don’t, so we didn’t. Besides, if we had, it would have been in the tabloids.”
“That’s true. Do you care about him at all, Maddie?”
She exhaled. “I don’t know, Celeste.”
“Don’t you think this would be a good time to find out?”
This brought them to Celeste’s house. They stopped, standing outside her white picket fence’s gate. Celeste gripped Maddie’s arm and pleaded in earnest. “For the love of Pete, Maddie Copeland—do something. Grab this chance at happiness that’s been laid at your feet, girl. Go after that young man.”
Maddie heard the earnestness and the affection in Celeste’s voice and in her plea. And it had her on the verge of emotional. “How, Celeste? How do I do that? And what if he doesn’t want me? What am I supposed to do—lasso and hog-tie him like he’s some prize steer?”
Celeste frowned in concentration, frightening Maddie into wondering if the woman was actually considering the viability of such a tactic. Celeste finally shook her head and said, “No. A steer won’t do you any good. I believe steers have had their thingies nipped. I think what you want is a bull, dear, a real stud with all his parts in working order.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Celeste. Look, maybe I’m one of those women just meant to be single. I mean, I’ve already been rejected once in front of a church full of people. You were there. And my other serious relationships—Wait. There weren’t any. But the truth is, I don’t need a man to be happy, Celeste.”
“That’s what all spinsters say, dear. But I’m saying you do need a man—you need this man. Why do you think James Madison went to all this trouble to get you two together? He wanted this match between you and Hank. He wanted it very much.” Celeste’s eyes widened. She popped a hand over her mouth.
And there it was. What Maddie had suspected all along. Anger exploded in her. “I knew it. I just knew it.” She began pacing up and down in front of Celeste. “Ohmigod, it’s true what they’re saying in the tabloids. I’m a joke. A big fat joke.”
Celeste wrung her hands. “Now, Maddie, calm down. You’re not a joke. Nobody thinks—”
“Uh-huh. Everybody thinks, Celeste. Why do you think my shop is suddenly so popular? I can’t keep stock on the shelves. And it’s certainly not because the whole world just realized they can’t live without postcards and plastic molds for making sand castles. God, people are even buying the bags with ‘Maddie’s Gifts’ on them. Buying them, Celeste. And only because I’m a scandal.”
“It takes two to be a scandal, honey.”
Maddie sighted on her friend. “You’re absolutely right.”
* * *
The next day, Monday, turned out to be Sunday’s exact opposite. It was always a Monday, it seemed. Chilly, overcast, damp, glowering. The weather was proving to be as schizophrenic as Maddie’s life suddenly seemed to be. The very air hung thick and oppressively heavy. And the leaves of summer seemed determined, before the end of the afternoon, to herald the approaching autumn by flinging themselves to the ground.
As if out of respect for their sacrifice, Maddie’s Gifts remained closed and shuttered. It was supposed to be open, but she’d called Celeste and told her and Lillian not to come in today. What, she’d told Celeste, would be the point with hardly any stock to put on the shelves? Besides, Maddie didn’t think she could endure the sight right now of one more slyly staring and smirking person bent on seeing her and having a Maddie story to share with the press.
On this dark day, then, one that matched her mood, Maddie set about viciously cleaning her shop. She ignored the repeatedly ringing phone, figuring it had to be some reporter or TV talk-show host or a member of the morbidly curious public. Instead, Maddie focused her energy on giving every shelf an angry dusting and the wood floors a cleaning they wouldn’t soon forget. Through it all, Maddie talked to herself and argued right back with herself.
She fumed as she took stock of the depleted stockroom and recalled Celeste’s revelations yesterday after church. James had set this all up. Well, of course she knew that. The will. Duh. Maddie hoisted an obviously overlooked box of trinkets to a higher shelf, thinking she could set them out later. So, this was more about James wanting her and Hank to get together than it was about James wanting Hank to relax and enjoy life. Okay, so it could be about both things, she supposed. And she didn’t fault James for that. He loved his grandson and wanted only good things for him. But that was also the part Maddie didn’t like. The part where she came in.
She was one of those things. A thing. God, how politically incorrect. It hurt to think that James might have befriended her as a means to an end, a love interest for his grandson. Couldn’t he have just liked her for herself? Surely he did. And shouldn’t she feel complimented instead of insulted that James had thought of her as someone he’d want for a granddaughter-in-law? Unlike the jerk doctor’s family who treated her like a leper. Maddie rubbed at her forehead. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. What would be so horrible about being with Hank? Well, nothing.
But only if it had been their idea, hers and Hank’s. Now it was like those guys who took out billboards to ask women to marry them. Or the ones who ask on TV and surprise the poor woman. Talk about pressure to say yes. Maddie had always found those situations a bit painful to watch and had hated the thought of something like that ever happening to her. She’d wondered if the woman really wanted to marry the guy or felt she had to say yes just because of the pressure—the very public pressure—to do so. Can’t disappoint the audience or the ratings. Or even break the guy’s heart with that big an audience.
And now look at her. She had a world audience waiting. It was as if this were Groundhog Day and she was the groundhog. Everyone was waiting for her to come out of her hole and tell them if they should be happy. She couldn’t believe that James hadn’t, apparently, even taken into consideration the fact that she and Hank might not suit each other. Or maybe that one would and the other one wouldn’t. See? Now she didn’t even trust her own instincts or even anything Hank would have to say. And then to tie Hank’s entire inheritance to her like this. How in the world were she and Hank to know for sure what they felt? Or if they felt anything for each other?
Oh, stop it, Maddie, her conscience railed. What did James do that was so horrible? He made you an extremely wealthy woman and brought a man into your life you could really come to care about. Ooh, how awful. Get over it. It’s not like he locked you in a dungeon or took anything from you.
Maddie angrily shoved the box of trinkets over on the same shelf. So James didn’t take anything away from me, huh? How about dignity? He certainly robbed me of that. He made me the butt of the town’s joke. Hello, village in search of an idiot? Here I am. And how entertaining is it now for everyone as they all laugh behind their hands?
It wasn’t like that, Maddie. You know that. And Hank has already told you he cares about you. What’s wrong with that? What’s hurt here? Your pride?
Maddie’s expression puckered. Yes. Her pride was hurt. What was so wrong with that? What’s wrong with righteous indignation? What’s wrong with wanting to be taken seriously? What’s wrong with wanting to be left alone to live your life in quiet dignity?
Quiet desperation is more like it. This is the life you want? Hiding here in your house, afraid to go outside?
That was because of the reporters, Maddie assured herself as she snatched up the broom and switched and swished the poor concrete floor in the stockroom until she was choking and coughing from all the dust she raised. She worked it all over to the delivery door. I am not afraid. I’m mad. I’m mad as hell at everyone, and I don’t want to look at any of them. And yes, this is the life I want. It is still my life, even if everyone sees me as a joke. So leave me alone.
Fine.
Fine. Maddie unlocked the solid door, jerked it open, remembered to look around—no lurking cameras—and then swept everything outside. She didn’t normally do that. She usually swept the refuse conscientiously into a dustpan and dumped it in the trash bin. But right now she was in rebellion. Here, she was thinking, you want dirt on me? Well, here’s some. Take that. She slammed the door closed, turned the dead-bolt lock, and shoved the broom into a corner. Planting her hands at her waist, she angrily observed her clean, neat surroundings. Was everything done? Had she cleaned the whole place?
Her eyes narrowed with a realization. No, she hadn’t. There was one more thing she had to do. This remaining chore was something she’d needed to do for a long time. And today—a day without any sentimentality attached to it—was the day to do it. Maddie chewed on a fingernail as she thought. But what could she do with it? Where could she take the stuff? Hank Madison’s face popped into her mind. Maddie smiled, somewhat like an executioner happy in his work might smile.
Reporters or no, and publicity be damned, she’d take it all to Hank. See how he liked that.
Thus galvanized, clinging to outrage and hurt, and denying that this was revenge and retribution, Maddie stalked across the stockroom, flipped the divider curtain aside, and stomped into her salesroom. Single-mindedly, like a ship under full steam, she headed for the jewelry counter … for the card table next to it. The card table underneath which sat that cardboard box of James’s belongings from the cottage that Mr. Hardy had brought her and she’d all but forgotten. This same card table was also the one above which sat, on a shelf, that silly, stupid ceramic lobster clock that held James’s ashes.
Maddie reached for it and tugged it down.