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SIOBHAN
My first appointment on Monday was with our local sheriff, Sam Dillon, at ten in the morning. The booking last week had confused me—and I took the call! He’d been so mysterious on the phone, stating he wanted to speak to me about a photo shoot, but I had to keep it confidential. All other details would be revealed when he saw me. What details? Sam had no kids, wasn’t even married, though he and Paige Wainwright were the town’s hottest couple.
When he slipped in the front door, minus his usual jaunty swagger, he wore a black leather jacket over faded jeans instead of his uniform. Dark sunglasses shielded his expressive blue eyes. I half-expected him to mumble some cryptic code statement like, “The wolf bays at the moon on Sundays.” Instead, he opened with the more banal, “Hey, Siobhan. Is it...umm...” He stole a glance out the front window then returned his attention to me. “Is it okay if we go in the back to talk?”
All the subterfuge got me thinking he and I starred in some spy movie, and I whispered through one side of my lips, “Sure. If you think it’s necessary...”
Apparently, he did. He sped past me, past my front desk, past the wall where I displayed my favorite photographs, and straight into the studio. I followed, my curiosity piqued. What could he possibly want that required so much secrecy? Did he plan to hire me to photograph crime scenes? Please, no. My stomach could barely tolerate holding down food on a good day. No way could I get up close and personal with a corpse. I shook my head. Ridiculous. You’re watching too many television crime shows. Snug Harbor wasn’t exactly a hotbed of murder and mayhem. Besides, Suffolk County had its own independent crime lab, complete with photographers, so I doubted whatever Sam Dillon wanted had anything to do with his job.
Maybe he wanted boudoir pictures for Paige for Christmas? God, I didn’t think my eyes could handle posing a bare-chested sheriff on a mock bearskin rug through some sultry, steamy filters. A heated blush warmed my cheeks, and I fanned my face with rapid hand waves. Business, Siobhan. Focus on your business. Whatever the job, you need the money. Take it and run with it. I sucked in a deep breath, let the air out slowly, and repeated the procedure until my blood pressure and thoughts were under control again.
Once inside my studio, Sam perched one hip on the red-velvet-draped pallet in front of my Christmas backdrop, the platform used for little ones. He removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket.
I waited for him to provide the details he’d promised, my nerves skittering up and down my spine in a dance of electricity. When he didn’t speak, I broke the silence by flipping on the overhead lights and trying for humor. “So, what’s up? If it’s about those parking tickets...” Ha-ha. I glanced at Sam. Nothing. Not a smirk, not a chuckle. Okay, so I never claimed to be a comedian.
“What-are-you-doing-Christmas-Eve?”
The question came out as one word, and I blinked a few times while my brain caught up to my ears. Was he asking me out? On Christmas Eve? I shook my head. “Huh? I’m sorry. Did I miss something?”
He stood straighter, his hands at his sides. “I’m going to ask Paige to marry me on Christmas Eve.”
Apparently, my brain reboot required more prompting since I still had no idea why any of this mattered to me.
“I was hoping you’d be able to catch the moment for us on film.” He picked up a round green ornament from a basket of props and flipped the small glass orb from hand to hand. “I mean, I know we could come in later for posed photos, but if you managed to be there to capture the expression on her face at the exact time...”
Wow. When it came to confidence, this guy had too much. I took a step closer, my tone darkening to concern. “Are you sure you want to take that risk? What if she says no?”
He grinned and replaced the ornament atop assorted plastic toys, dolls, and Styrofoam snow people. “She won’t.”
“You sound awfully sure of her answer.”
“I’ve waited fifteen years for Paige to realize I was the guy for her.” My doubt must have shown on my face because he laughed. “Believe me. We know how we feel about each other. Getting married is a foregone conclusion we’ve already discussed. When and where I propose is the surprise she’s waiting for.”
O...kay. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure this was a great idea, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt for now. He was the sheriff. Surely a man didn’t get that position by reacting in an impulsive manner to any curve balls thrown his way.
“I guess Christmas Eve is the ‘when’ then?”
He nodded. “The ‘where’ is the Piping Plover Winery. Aidan’s hosting a party there with dinner, dancing, wine pairings, and the usual revelries. Paige won’t find it the least bit odd there’s a photographer at the event. She’ll just assume you’re doing publicity for the vineyard.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Christmas Eve at a vineyard sounded wonderful. And expensive. “How much is the dinner?”
He waved a hand. “Your ticket’s on Aidan. Maybe you can take a picture or two for the vineyard while you’re there. He’s helping me plan this—without letting Nia in on it. I think not telling her is killing him.”
Understandable. Nia was Paige’s twin, and while two more dissimilar twins you’d never come across, they shared everything. No way Nia would be able to keep the secret from her sister. Aidan was Aidan Coffield, owner of Piping Plover Winery, currently dating Nia. Apparently, he and Sam were as close as the sisters they dated.
I sighed. It must be nice to have that kind of relationship with a sister.
Sam must have misinterpreted my reaction because he added, “This doesn’t have to be a work event for you. Bring a date, if you want. Or a friend. The rest of the evening is up to you, as long as you’ve got your camera ready when I pop the question.”
My pride wouldn’t allow me to correct his assumption. I stayed on-topic. “How will I know when that is?”
“I’m not sure yet, but Aidan and I will come up with a signal, and I’ll text you to give you the details before the event.”
I shook my head. “No. That won’t work. Have Aidan call me here at the studio when you’ve got it figured out. If either of you were to text me and Nia or Paige saw it on your phone, your surprise is totally blown.”
He shot his index finger at me. “Good point. If Aidan calls you here, it still looks like he’s setting everything up for you to be the official photographer for the Christmas party. I assume that means we have a deal?”
We spent the next few minutes ironing out the details. The hopeless romantic in me lowballed him on the price, but Sam insisted on paying twice my number. The logical part of me leaped at his offer. I wrote up a contract, and we were in business—so to speak.
Once Sam left and I sat alone at the front desk with my empty appointment book, my thoughts turned back to Deirdre. Why couldn’t we be close like the Wainwright sisters? Especially now that we were all that was left of our family. Just the two of us and Nana. No cousins. No aunts or uncles. We shared so many sorrows. Why couldn’t we grieve together and heal together?
Feeling nostalgic, I picked up my cell and called hers.
She answered after two rings. “Hey, Bon, what’s up?”
Noise in the background, some kind of wild rustling, made her greeting difficult to hear. “Hi, Dee. Are you outside? Sounds windy over there.”
“Oh. Hang on.” A beat later, the noise faded away. “Better?”
“Yeah.”
“I had my car windows open. What’s up?”
I got the sense she didn’t want to talk. Her tone held an edge I recognized from our teenage years when I’d swiped a lip gloss or borrowed her favorite sweater. “Is this a bad time?”
“No worse than usual,” she replied, her voice too tight for my peace of mind. “I’m on my way to the consignment shop.”
Uh-oh. Here we go. “Consignment shop?” I stiffened in my chair and braced myself against the desk, gripping my phone tight enough to crumble it.
“Yes.” My sister’s words pelted like sleet. “I told you I needed the proceeds from the sale of the house, but you don’t care that I’m in trouble. So now, I’m reduced to selling some of my clothes to put food on the table for me and your niece.”
The empty appointment boxes on my desk mocked me, and my temper had entertained enough of my sister’s self-pity. “Oh, come off it, Dee! You’re hardly destitute. Davis makes a very good salary. I’m sure if you just cut back a little—”
“He left me!” she blurted.
My grip faltered, and I fumbled the phone, but recovered fast. My brain didn’t quite catch up with the same speed. “What did you say?”
She took a deep breath, and in a softer volume repeated, “Davis left me. About a month-and-a-half ago. Back in September, we applied for a loan to do some renovations, and the credit report came back bad because of the balances I owe, and he said he was tired of mortgaging our future to pay for my indulgences.”
I stifled a groan. Crap. How many times had I cringed when she’d talk about the latest five-hundred-dollar purse or pair of designer shoes she’d bought and stowed in the back of the closet so Davis wouldn’t know about the purchase? On the few times I’d advised her to stop, she’d verbally waved me off with a lighthearted “We can afford it. Davis is a cheapskate.”
I admit a teeny bit of pettiness itched to castigate her for her short-sightedness, but the bigger, more forgiving part of me couldn’t belittle her now. What good would it do? Besides, Pot, meet Kettle. Apparently, we Bendlows not only shared sorrows, we shared addictions, too. Mine was food; Dee’s was shopping. Both were not only self-destructive, but wrought havoc on those we loved.
“Steffie doesn’t know yet. She thinks he’s away on business.” She sniffed. “I keep hoping he’s going to change his mind and come back. In the meantime, he’s locked me out of all the bank accounts and cancelled my credit cards. Honestly, I don’t care about me, but how am I going to make Christmas special for Steffie if I can’t buy her anything?”
“You can come home,” I said, “to Snug Harbor. Spend Christmas with me and Nana Thea.”
“Nana Thea? That old bat’s coming up from Florida?”
Oh. Right. I hadn’t talked to her since I’d picked up Nana at the airport.
“What am I saying?” Dee said before I could answer her. “Of course she is. God forbid her favorite granddaughter might be alone the first Christmas after Mom and Dad died.”
I ignored the bitterness, chalking it up to her misery at her current circumstances. “Actually, Nana Thea sold her house and moved up here with me.”
“She did what?!” Dee screeched. “Why?”
My shoulders rose to shrug until I remembered she couldn’t see me. “She says she missed New York. That she only stayed in Florida because Gramps wanted to be there. With him gone, she had no reason to stay.” I didn’t give my sister a chance to make any other disparaging remarks, opting to offer a solution for her problems instead. “Come home, Dee. You and Steffie. We can make Christmas special for her here. Remember how much fun we used to have as kids? We can take her to the houses on Schooner Court. The theme this year is Candy Land. I didn’t get to see the whole exhibit, but what I did see was amazing. We can bake cookies and drink peppermint hot cocoa and go caroling. If we get enough snow, we can take her sledding at the golf course. And you can use the time to figure out what you’re gonna do next. No rush. Stay as long as you need to. The house is as much yours as it is mine. I think, after all the tragedies we’ve suffered, Mom and Dad would want us to spend the holidays together this year.”
Silence met my babbled plea. I waited, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. She had to come home. What else could she do? And the more I thought about it, the more I believed Mom and Dad pulled some strings from the other side to ensure the last remaining members of the Bendlow clan would unite and grieve as a family. Maybe we could all find a way to heal our wounds.
When I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, I added, “I’ll pay for your tickets. My gift to you both.” It would put a serious dent in my own credit card balance, but I’d deal with the aftermath in January.
On the other end of the line, Dee emitted another loud sniff. “No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. The last thing I need now is to wind up back in Snug Harbor with all the other local losers. Why can’t you just sell the house—or buy me out of my share? I could really use the cash right now. For me and for Steffie.”
Steffie. My poor niece. What was this upheaval going to do to her? My gaze drifted to the business card still tacked on my bulletin board, the card from the Manhattan representative for the reality show star who wanted to open a boutique here. I glanced around my office with a critical eye. What was so important about this space anyway? Family meant more. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can come up with another way to help.”
♥♥♥♥
ALTHEA
I had every intention of telling Siobhan about my lunch with Justin, but she came home from work all revved up from the news about Deirdre’s marriage imploding. Please. A blind fortune teller could’ve foreseen that outcome. Dee had always been a selfish girl. Though my heart broke for my great-granddaughter, there was nothing I could really do for them. I wouldn’t send her money; I’d promised my daughter-in-law I’d never do that.
When Archie was diagnosed with mesothelioma, he contacted one of those attorneys on television to join a class action lawsuit against the asbestos manufacturers. After all, he’d spent decades working with brake linings and pads full of the stuff. As a let’s-see-what-happens kinda thing, he included Tim in the paperwork since, as a child and even into his teen years, Tim had loved helping out in the garage. Lo and behold, two decades later, our son wound up with a lung condition called benign asbestos pleural effusion. The condition didn’t kill him—a massive cardiac arrest did the deed—but Archie and I both believed the illness added to the strain on his heart. After Archie passed away, I received a sizeable sum in his name. As if a ton of dollars could erase every struggle for breath my husband fought in those last few years. My daughter-in-law, Erica, received a pittance for Tim. I offered her half of my settlement to be put in a trust for Dee and Bon-bon, but she insisted I hold onto it for myself.
“They need to stand on their own two feet,” she said. “Tim and I coddled them both too much. That’s why Siobhan has her issue. And Dee, I worry about Dee. She’s flighty and vindictive. I’m afraid she’ll do something stupid one day and rather than own up to it, she’ll lash out at the wrong person.”
At the time, I remember pooh-poohing her prediction, but now, I had to admit she knew her kids better than I’d realized. Not to be morbid, but I believe Erica somehow knew she’d die within weeks of our conversation. She never came right out and said anything specific. Life isn’t a made-for-television drama where the tragic heroine makes her mother-in-law vow to take care of her adult children should something dire happen to her. And yet, Erica had pretty much done that very thing. She provided me with details about their flaws and fears and her hopes for their futures. As the matriarch of the family, it was my responsibility to steer the younger generations toward love and happiness. Siobhan seemed well on her way to that ending with Justin. I genuinely liked the young man, and I knew from our lunch, he cared about her. But I worried about Dee.
“Leave her alone,” Lou grumbled when I mentioned my concerns to him. “Leave them both alone.”
I sank into the kitchen chair across the table from him. “I want my granddaughters to be happy. What’s wrong with that?”
He glared at me over the ceramic mug of coffee. Steam curled around his nose, lending him a Salvador Dali look, which made it impossible to see his outrage as a serious threat. A smile twitched at my lips, but I maintained my stubborn composure. Somehow, I had to figure out a way to help Dee straighten out the mess she was making of her life.
“Take my word for it,” he said. “You have to let your offspring make mistakes, learn lessons, and steer their own fates. You can’t keep popping into their lives to fix things for them whenever they’ve screwed up.”
Dali or not, my good humor dissipated. Since when did he become Ward Cleaver, the perfect parent? I quirked a brow at him. “You think Kristen’s doing okay on her own?”
Yikes. My razor tongue cut deep. Lou’s face went beet red, and he lowered the mug to the table. Kristen was his younger daughter, a woman in a troubled marriage. He’d confided his concerns to me last night, and first opportunity I got, I flung that information back at him. Not my finest moment, and I regretted my rejoinder seconds after it left my lips. Fat lot of good that did, though. I’d have to do some serious mea culpas.
I stretched my arm across the table to touch his hand. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
He got to his feet, his face still mottled with color. “I’m gonna head to the marina.” Each syllable came out hot and hard, flying cinders from a dry fire.
“Look, I’m sorry.” I shot up from my seat and whipped around the table to stop him from leaving. “My mouth sometimes jumps ahead of my brain. Don’t go.” I placed my hand against his chest, finding comfort in the strong, steady beat. “At least, don’t go away mad. Please.”
Frowning, he shrugged away from our simple contact. “That makes a difference to you? My going away mad?”
“Of course it does.”
“Why?”
“Whaddya mean why?”
He folded his arms over his brawny chest. “Why does it matter to you?”
I had no idea what answer he expected me to give. Buying time, I trailed a fingertip along the oaken table edge and murmured, “It just does.”
He snorted. “Bull.”
“No bull. I don’t like disharmony—especially disharmony I caused. And especially in you.”
“Really?” Curiosity laced his tone, but confidence bloomed in his expression. “Why, ‘especially,’ in me?”
I stared past him through the window where a flock of sparrows feasted from the suet ball I’d placed in the bird feeder yesterday. So many birds flitted around the yard. I’d have to make doubly sure my kitties didn’t escape the house or I’d find carnage on the lawn. I’d been considering building them a screened-in play area where they could enjoy the fresh air without getting into trouble. I bet Justin could build something like that for me. And this time, he wouldn’t stiff me on the job—
“Thea.” Lou’s prompt shook me out of my plan for the cats.
For the life of me, I couldn’t recall the question. Whoops. “Huh?”
“Why...do...you...” He enunciated each syllable. “...hate the disharmony you’ve caused, especially in me?”
Was that all? “Because I care about you. I care about your feelings.”
The confidence I’d noted in his face turned to smugness. “Because...?” He rolled his hands and took a step closer to me.
“Because I...” I hesitated as the enormity of what he expected me to say became obvious. Was he right? Could it possibly be true? We’d only been together such a short time. Still, we’d known each other for decades.
A broad grin spread across his face, and he laid a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Don’t strain yourself, sweetheart. You’ll get it soon. And when you do, you won’t struggle to say it. In the meantime, I suggest we leave discussions about the right and wrong way to raise our kids out of our disagreements. Fair enough?”
I nodded, swallowing the words stuck in my throat, the words he wanted to hear. “Fair enough,” I said instead.
“Good. Now, I’m going to the marina. Not because I’m mad but because I have work to do.”
“You’re not mad at me anymore?”
“I doubt I could ever stay mad at you.” He skimmed a finger down the slope of my nose. “You know, when you look at me like that, you’re the spitting image of Faye Dunaway. God, I love Faye Dunaway.”
His chuckles echoed in my head long after he’d left the house.