Chapter Twelve

Ian woke up Saturday morning smelling of wood smoke. He’d taken a shower last night, but that campfire scent seemed to linger in his skin, ensuring his first thought, even before he opened his eyes, was of Maggie.

She was walking chaos, bursting into his life and wreaking havoc just by existing. The best thing he could do was steer clear.

Last night, there’d been a moment by the fire. A sort of stretching tension that had crackled with possibilities. Almost as if he could have leaned over and kissed her. But he was glad he hadn’t. The last thing he needed was an ill-advised fling with a hot mess movie star.

And she was a hot mess. The hot part was absolutely undeniable, but so were the cracks in her façade, like a stiff breeze could shatter her into a thousand pieces.

He had Sadie to think about, and his mother. He had plenty of his own problems to worry about without worrying about her. So Ian shoved the movie star from his mind and padded out of his bedroom in search of his family.

The house was too quiet, no high female voices or even the sound of baseball on the television or the music that usually floated through the house. Ian grabbed a cup of coffee and found his mother standing on the deck with a cup of tea, watching Sadie playing with Edgar on the beach below.

“Morning,” he greeted her, his voice still scratchy with sleep and smoke.

His mother turned, the furrow between her brows telling him that this wasn’t going to be a lazy, low-stress Saturday conversation. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, but he had the distinct impression she was biding her time before saying whatever was obviously on her mind.

“Well enough.”

She nodded, letting the words land for a beat before spitting out, “I’m sorry about last night. I never meant to undermine you with Sadie. It’s your call. I’ll tell her—”

“You were right.” Her mouth snapped shut and Ian covered his grimace with a sip of coffee. “I didn’t want her making friends with the kids at that school with their trust funds and their helicopter parents, but those are her classmates. When we made the choice to send her there, those kids became her peer group. I need to trust that we can keep her grounded even if her best friends are vacationing in Aspen and Greece.” The parent email loop he’d gotten on when Sadie enrolled in St. Vincent’s had been eye-opening. It seemed to be as much about a not-so-subtle competition to name-drop the most exclusive brand names and vacation spots as it was about organizing parent volunteers for school events.

“Sadie is the most grounded kid at that school,” his mother assured him.

“I’m not sure that sets the bar very high, but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“I shouldn’t have given you a hard time,” his mother continued, obviously not done with her mea culpa. “I know you always put Sadie first. Too much so.”

His eyebrows popped up. “Now I’m too good a father?”

Her eyes softened. “I just worry about you.”

“Don’t. I’m good.”

“Are you?” his mother challenged. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

“Since when has dating made anyone happy?” he asked, with a dry grin.

“Ian. I know you love Sadie and being her father, but don’t you want someone? You’re so alone out here—”

“If you think anyone could be alone in Long Shores, you haven’t spent enough time here.”

“I know, I know, the town loves you. But that’s not the same as really being close to someone. I know you confided in Lolly, but that kind of friendship is no substitute for a true partnership.”

Ian hooked up occasionally with the women who came onto him when he played at the Gull, but he somehow doubted his mother would consider that a true partnership either. She might tout relationships as a necessary part of life, but he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to tie himself to another person. To trust them. He’d thought he had the real thing before—and Scarlett had pulled the rug out. He didn’t want to set himself up for that again.

“I don’t see you out there splashing around in the dating pool,” he countered. When in doubt, deflect.

“Your father was the love of my life. It’s too soon for me to think about things like that, if I ever will. Maybe once the malpractice suit is complete, I’ll have the mental space to consider what I want to do next—” She broke off as Ian looked at her sharply.

“I thought you dropped that.”

Her lips pursed tightly. “I stopped talking about it with you because you were unreasonable. That doesn’t mean I gave up.”

“Mom.” He groaned. “Suing the hospital over his death isn’t going to bring him back. They did an investigation—”

“An internal investigation. They were just trying to pacify me and keep me quiet. They’ll do backflips to prove they aren’t liable, but something went wrong or your father wouldn’t have died while he was supposed to be recovering from a routine surgery. I just want them to admit it. Is that so much to ask? I don’t care about a settlement. All I want is for them to stop lying about what happened.”

He fought to keep his feelings off his face. “We don’t know that they lied—”

“We don’t know that they told the truth either. At least this way we’ll know for sure.”

Ian wasn’t sure you ever really knew what happened when a loved one died suddenly and for no apparent reason. He didn’t think he would ever really understand. But he was reasonably certain that his mother’s fixation on the malpractice suit was just a way of avoiding her grief. She was trying to make sense of what had happened, but also refusing to accept the simple fact that it had happened. She couldn’t let go of the idea that the hospital had somehow lied about who was to blame for his father’s death. As if that would make it any better.

“This isn’t healthy, Mom. Dragging it out like this.”

“We aren’t dragging it out. This is how these things go. And we’re actually getting close to the finish line. We’re meeting with the arbitration committee in two weeks.” She met his gaze steadily. “I’d love for you to be there.”

He groaned. “Mom—”

She held up a hand when he would have refused. “Just think about it. The Thursday after next in Seattle. I’d appreciate your support.” She set her tea mug on the railing, closing the subject with the gesture. “Would you mind taking that in for me? I’d like to go play with my granddaughter.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, but she had already assumed his assent and started down the stairs to the beach.

He picked up her empty mug, but didn’t immediately head inside, watching as Sadie and Edgar ran over to greet his mother.

He understood why she’d been so fixated on the idea of the lawsuit at first. He’d needed someone to blame too. The back surgery had been supposed to be routine. There were risks, of course, as with any surgery, but everything had seemed to go so well. When his father had been transferred to his second recovery room, the nurses had assured his mother that everything was fine so she’d gone home to shower—and she hadn’t been there when it happened. His roommate said he’d complained of shortness of breath, and then he’d just been gone. Blood clots, they said. Treatable if they’d caught it in time, but no one had. His father should still be here. He should be watching his wife and granddaughter play on the beach right now.

But that didn’t make his mother’s insistence on holding the hospital accountable any more reasonable. It wasn’t going to change anything. No one had wanted it to happen. The internal investigation had caused the hospital to update certain policies in an effort to prevent something similar from happening again. What more could they do at this point? Pay his mother for her suffering? She already had more money than she could ever spend. What good would any of it do?

Sadie threw a stick for Edgar and Ian turned away from the picture-perfect scene on the beach, heading inside to rinse out the mugs. The last few days, everything felt like it was just a little bit off. Ever since Maggie had arrived—though maybe it had been happening before she was there and it was only her presence that made him notice it.

The gig last night had been a dud. There’d been almost no one at the Gull, even though the weather had been nice lately and that usually brought more of the locals out. He’d headed home after only two sets, rather than his usual three, with barely enough tips in his pocket to pay for the gas to and from the Gull.

It was lucky he’d gone home when he did—who knew if Maggie might have managed to burn down her house, or burn herself—if he hadn’t. After the fire was out, his short conversation with her had only unsettled him more. Uneasiness shifted beneath his skin, some sixth sense stirring with the awareness that something in his life wasn’t quite right. Not that he knew what it was that was wrong. That would have been too easy.

The doorbell rang, jolting him out of the pointless navel gazing. He crossed to the entry, expecting a delivery since that was about the only reason their doorbell ever rang, but when he opened the door the great Maggie Tate was standing on his front step.

“Hi,” he said, startled out of clever greetings by her presence.

She’d traded the Austin Powers dress for a pair of white capri pants and a soft, faded NPR t-shirt he recognized as one of Lolly’s, but the oversized grey hoodie stayed the same, hanging loose and unzipped from her shoulders.

“Hey. I wanted to thank you. For saving the day last night. Or saving the night, I guess.” She glanced to the side, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “I wanted to bring something, but I figured you wouldn’t want to risk my attempts at baking and I couldn’t find any place that would deliver cupcakes to Long Shores.”

His eyebrows popped up. “Is cupcake delivery a hot industry in LA?”

“I think so?” she said, the words more question than answer. “I tend to just ask for things and they magically appear. But I, um, I brought this.” She gestured to a laundry hamper on the porch beside her which was overflowing with colorful fabric. “I don’t know what age little girls grow out of playing dress up, but I thought Sadie might like to have some of Lolly’s more random stuff. Just, you know, for fun?”

“I’m sure she’d love that.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s down on the beach with my mom if you want to tell her in person.”

Her glaze flicked to lock on his. “You don’t mind?”

“Did I forget to apologize for being an overprotective ass? I thought I had.”

“Um, I think you apologized for being a dick, but not an overprotective ass.”

“Right. Sorry.” He took a step back. “Come on in, I’ll issue a blanket apology and then we can go tell Sadie about her windfall.”

Maggie picked up the hamper and he stepped forward quickly to relieve her of it. “I’ll get that.”

“Thanks.” She released it and he would have almost thought she was blushing as she came into the house, if not for the fact that she was Maggie Tate and he somehow doubted movie stars blushed at the drop of a hat.

He set the hamper in the living room area and turned around to find Maggie trailing behind, her gaze taking in every detail of the house.

When she caught him looking, she flushed again, smiling. “It hasn’t changed.”

“No. Things pretty much stay the same around here.”

The entryway was separated from the rest of the house by a wood-paneled wall, but past that barrier the main floor had a vast open concept design focused on maximizing access to the beach view, with high ceilings and giant windows. The living area with overstuffed couches circling around a massive wood-burning fireplace flowed into the dining room with its rustic eight-person table, which led right into the chef’s kitchen with the granite breakfast bar looking out toward the beach. Past the kitchen was the powder room and the door to the first floor master—which Ian still felt strange sleeping in, even though his parents had insisted he move into it six years ago when it became apparent his residence at the beach house with Sadie was going to be permanent.

Sadie’s room and the other guest rooms, including the one where his mother now slept when she visited, were upstairs, along with another two bathrooms.

Maggie wandered the main floor, taking it all in—and other than the updated appliances in the kitchen, it probably looked exactly as it had when they were growing up—from the exposed beams overhead to the hardwood beneath their feet. She paused at a display of framed photos along one wall—mostly of Sadie—and glanced at him where he was still hanging back by the couches. “You don’t have any photos of Sadie’s mom?”

His chin rocked back with the unexpected question and his reply was sharp. “No.”

“You don’t want to help Sadie remember her? After my mom died, I used to look at the pictures I had of her over and over again, trying to see myself in her, and I actually had memories of her. For Sadie’s mom to die when she was so little—”

“Sadie’s mom isn’t dead.”

“Oh. I—” Maggie shook her head, moving away from the photos. “I must have misunderstood. I thought Sadie said—it doesn’t matter. Sorry. None of my business.”

Feeling like an ogre for his tone—something that seemed to happen all too often around Maggie lately, Ian forced himself to explain. “She left. When Sadie was two. She said she didn’t want to do this anymore, that this wasn’t the life she wanted, and she was going to move back to Nashville to chase her dreams.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” But he didn’t like talking about this shit. When in doubt, deflect. “Did you ever read that letter? The one you found?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I read it last night. Turns out it was to me, but from years ago, back when I had my first movie premiere. I don’t know why she didn’t mail it. I guess she changed her mind. Don’t suppose she mentioned it to you?”

Ian shook his head. “I wasn’t living here then.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Good letter?” he asked.

“Yeah. I mean, she apologized for not coming to the premiere and explained why she hadn’t been able to make it. She’d never told me that before, so I guess that was nice.”

“You invited her to the premiere?” For years, he’d had this image in his head of a Maggie who had gone off to Hollywood and left her old life behind without a backward glance. A movie star who didn’t talk to her aunt because she was too famous and important. Someone who would never invite her off-color, outspoken aunt to a glamorous premiere.

“Of course. I invited everyone. My grandparents. Lolly. A couple friends from back home. No one could make it, but it was okay. I was so busy I barely noticed.”

He frowned, suddenly feeling like an ass for all the times he’d written her off. It seemed to be his constant state lately. “I’m sorry you were alone.”

“I wasn’t,” she insisted, smiling brightly. “I haven’t been alone in years. I was dating a guy from the cast and my agent was there.” She met his eyes, her famous turquoise eyes sparkling. “I’m never lonely.”

For such a good actress, Maggie Tate was a terrible liar. Or maybe he could only see the lie so plainly because he had once known her so well. But he couldn’t call her on it. For some reason it was important to let her hide behind the illusion of it.

“Would you like to head down?” he asked after a beat, nodding toward the beach.

“I should go get Cecil. He hates being left out. You should hear the way he barks when I leave him behind.” She shook her head, as if anticipating his words. “I know, I know, I spoil him, but how can you say no to that face?” She was already moving toward the door. “I’d be the worst mom, right? I’d never be able to discipline anyone. See you down there?”

“Yeah. See you down there,” he said, but she was already disappearing into the entryway and out the door, escaping the moment, and he couldn’t blame her. Their conversations had an uncomfortable tendency to get entirely too real.