Seaside Gifts: a Seaside romance (Hometown Romance) Page 7

  Alana flung out a carefully manicured hand. "My father took care of her completely. Without him, she hasn't the vaguest idea how to run her life."

  "Alana, that's not true."

  "It is. She wanders around in a daze day after day. She cries all the time."

  "Of course she cries! Her life has been irrevocably changed. But she doesn't cry all the time, and there is no daze all the time. I love it when she drops in to see me. She's full of energy and enthusiasm. We had a great time with her this evening. After dinner, she took us to the Buc for a Ferris wheel ride."

  "The Buc." The scorn in Alana's voice was scathing. "Awful place."

  "I'm not surprised you think so."

  Alana drew herself up. "I must remind you of one thing, Nan. She is my mother, and I will make choices about her that I feel are for her best." She spun and disappeared into the night.

  Feeling distressed for Aunt Bunny, Nan walked to the register to close it out. She had a hard time getting her mind around someone like Alana. Even when her own mother was driving her crazy, she would never disrespect her by presuming to make choices for her.

  Sure, there were situations when a power of attorney was necessary, or even when an adjudicated decision of incompetence was required, but certainly not in the case of Aunt Bunny. Nan grinned as she thought of the woman in her Bermuda shorts, white sneakers, and red bag, red hair iridescent in the sun. When she grew up, she wanted to be Aunt Bunny.

  How had someone as wonderful as Aunt Bunny produced a daughter as demanding and critical as Alana?

  She forced those thoughts from her mind as she reconciled receipts and cash. Since the bulk of sales were paid for by plastic these days, the job wasn't as time-consuming as it had been when she was in college, and the cash on hand wasn't nearly the amount Aunt Char dealt with in the past. Today, there was only a little over one hundred dollars above the amount she had opened the register with. She would have expected several hundred.

  Still, it was comforting that there was an indoor staircase to the second floor, so she didn't have to carry the money outside at night. Not that she expected anyone to be lying in wait for her, but then she hadn't expected anyone to leave treasures for her, either.

  When closing came, she waved Tammy and Ingrid goodbye and went upstairs. She collapsed in one of the chairs in front of the big window and looked out at a nearly-empty boardwalk and the blackness of the beach and ocean. She smiled. She was happy, deep down happy. Being in Seaside filled her with peace. She was tired and uncertain and afraid of her own incompetence, stalked by possible failure, but she was happy. Satisfied. Content. After years of doing what others expected of her, she finally felt good about her choices. Her choices.

  She rested her head against the back of the chair. When she felt herself sliding into sleep, she rose and wandered into the bedroom. She pulled back the covers on her bed and knew tonight was one of those times when lying down would be amazing, on a par with sliding into a warm scented bath on a cold winter's night.

  She'd had no idea retail was so physically demanding. And time-consuming. And mentally draining. It hadn't been that way the summers she worked for Aunt Char. Of course, then she hadn't been in charge. Then she wasn't the one who was responsible for preserving the legacy and reputation of Present Perfect. Then all she had to do was put in her hours every day and go to the beach the rest of the time.

  She smiled. Thank you, Aunt Char, and thank You, God!

  A loud meow sounded from the bedroom door. Nan looked over to see Queen Elizabeth sitting there, eyes narrowed, tail twitching unhappily.

  "What?" She indicated the bed. "Your pillow awaits."

  Lizzie snorted—or was that a sneeze?—rose, and stalked out of the room. Nan turned toward the bathroom to brush her teeth when a loud meow and the clang of a metal bowl being pushed around filled the air.

  Rats. She'd forgotten the cat's water. "Coming, Liz."

  In the kitchen, Queen Elizabeth sat beside her empty overturned water bowl. The empty upright food bowl shone dully in the glow from the lights lining the boardwalk and streaming through the picture window. Nan grabbed the bag of dried food and poured a scoopful in the upright dish. She picked up the overturned one, rinsed it out, and filled it with fresh water.

  "There you are, baby." She patted the cat on the head, or tried to. Queen Elizabeth ducked low to avoid her touch and started eating like she hadn't had food in days.

  "I'm sorry I forgot, but it hasn't been that long," Nan told the cat, who paid no attention. "I'm not used to having a pet. Mother never let me have one. Allergies, she said."

  The disinterested queen kept eating.

  Wondering what else she'd forgotten, Nan started for the bedroom again. She just wanted to lie down and sleep.

  Her phone! It would still be sitting on the front steps where she'd left it when she and Rog went to Aunt Bunny's. They'd come in through the store, she'd come up the back stairs, and she hadn't given the phone a thought.

  She rushed to the staircase and flipped on the light. The phone's bright pink case was visible even from the top of the stairs. She had laid the phone upside down, something she never did. Was that a subtle or not-so-subtle way to metaphorically silence her mother?

  What a terrible daughter. It was one thing to ignore Mom during a dinner out—oh, boy, how to explain that without Mom being miffed that she'd go to Aunt Bunny's but not go home. What if she'd called because something was wrong? Maybe it had nothing to do with Brandon or the party. Maybe Dad was sick.

  She grabbed the phone and stared at the screen. Four texts waited. As she climbed the stairs, she checked them. All from Mom, no surprise. She dropped into a swivel chair and started reading.

  Really, Nanette. You need to pick up when I call. Ignoring me will not make my disappointment go away. Call me.

  Are you so busy that you can't find a minute for your mother? Call me.

  Brandon is such a sweet boy. You will love him. Call me.

  See you soon. Call me.

  Nan dropped her phone to her lap. How could she get her mother to understand? She began to type.

  Mom, I cannot come home for the party. She started to write sorry, but she wasn't sorry, so she deleted it. There's nothing to talk about. Fix Brandon up with someone else. Love you.

  As she thought about fielding more calls tomorrow, she stared at the ceiling, looking beyond the white plaster to wherever it was God lived.

  Dear Lord, how do I cut the umbilical cord without doing damage to our relationship?

  She hadn't realized it was still attached until recently. How dumb was that? Most people made sure the cord was cut during their teen years. Was Mom right when she said Nan was rebelling like some very late bloomer?

  "No! This is not rebellion!"

  Queen Elizabeth stared at her with wide, unblinking and beautiful green eyes.

  "Sorry, Lizzie. Didn't mean to disturb you."

  With a sniff, the queen went back to licking her paws and washing her face while Nan mused on the umbilical cord some more.

  During her teen years, she hadn't had a rebellious spirit. Rebelling seemed foolish and illogical to her. She loved her parents. Giving them a hard time would make them sad and home uncomfortable. Who wanted such a home?

  Sure, they had pushed her toward certain colleges, but she'd liked those institutions too. Maybe if they hadn't agreed on her final choice, she'd have felt the pull of the cord as she fought for her choice, but they agreed, and the cord hadn't pulled. They never said a word when she moved to New York, but she now realized that was because they were proud of her job, especially Mom. The old "my daughter's the editor at Pizzazz" thing.

  And now they weren't proud. At least Mom wasn't. Mom who struggled to do and be what she thought was right and proper. Mom who felt she had to prove herself every day. Mom who lived with constant social anxiety. In Mom's eyes, being a sales clerk, which was how she now saw Nan, was a great fall from grace. How could she brag about that to her friend
s as a sign of her worth?

  Which was funny, because Nan had much more authority and responsibility now than she ever had at the magazine.

  With a sigh, Nan stood. "Come on, Liz. We're going to bed."

  As usual, Liz ignored her. Nan bent and gave the cat a quick pat, starting at her head and flowing down her body and up her tail. Liz showed her amazing flexibility as vertebrae by vertebrae, she again ducked away from Nan's hand.

  Nan sighed at the rejection and went to brush her teeth. When she exited the bathroom, the queen was curled on her pillow, her back toward Nan.

  Weary as she was, once in bed and snuggled down, Nan couldn't sleep. The day played itself in her mind from the leavery items to the ride on the Ferris wheel to the confrontation with Alana. Front and center was Roger Eastman.

  In the morning, he'd be here to take pictures, and in the evening, to paint. She felt herself smiling.

  She looked around the bedroom, deeply shadowed with only a knife's edge of light seeping around the window shade. How had Aunt Char's usually-impeccable taste gone off the rails so thoroughly in here? She tried to picture the soft gray-green she'd chosen, but Rog, roller in hand and painter's cap on his dark hair, intruded. Did he even wear a painter's hat?

  She scrunched her eyes and reminded herself of her man-rule. No men, not even adorable handsome ones with dark chocolate eyes and a great smile. She'd promised herself. There wasn't time for a man. There wasn't emotional energy for a man. Just good hard work and sea air.

  Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. Remember Tyler.

  "You're the best, Nan, the very best!" Ty would say as he hugged her. "I am so lucky to have you."

  Five years he'd given her that line, two years in college and three after, and she'd loved it, just as she loved him. They got their jobs in New York to be near each other, spent their free time together, though there hadn't been as much time as she'd wanted. Pizzazz ate her life, and he studied for his MBA at Columbia. She'd been so proud of him.

  "Is it finally time to get married?" she asked as they celebrated his graduation at their favorite restaurant. Since she knew being financially stable was important to him, she said, "With your degree, you'll get that promotion and raise. Between us, we can afford a really nice apartment even at Manhattan prices."

  "Interesting idea," he said with a definite lack of enthusiasm. "Sort of out of the blue, don't you think?"

  After five years? She forced a laugh, because she couldn't deal with the idea that he was going to keep playing Mr. Hesitance.

  One evening shortly after his promotion, they went for a walk in their favorite park.

  "I've got some big news." He fairly glowed with excitement.

  This was it. After his promotion came his proposal. Maybe he'd fall to his knee under that maple they loved because it turned so fiery in the fall and cast such wonderful shade this time of year. It was just around the bend in the path.

  "I've met the girl of my dreams," he announced, "and I'm getting married."

  Okay, she thought. Strange proposal, but at least he was ready to commit. "When do you want to do it?" She was thinking next summer, or maybe a destination wedding in the Caribbean in late spring.

  "Jen says August, after summer school's over and before the new school year starts."

  Nan froze. "Jen?"

  He nodded, now looking vaguely guilty. "I met her through one of the guys in grad school. She teaches first grade."

  Nan looked at him in horror. "You're marrying a girl named Jen." How could this be? He was supposed to be marrying her. For five years they'd talked about getting married. Or—shattering thought—had it been only her?

  "Nan, you're my best friend." He reached for her hand. "Please be happy for me."

  She whipped her hand behind her back. Be happy for him? Her heart was breaking, and he wanted her to be happy?

  She realized she'd stopped walking. The maple tree was close, so close, just around the bend, and oh, so far.

  She forced herself to take a deep breath. She had to leave and fast, or she'd wail her hurt. That would be more humiliation than she could bear.

  She turned and hurried back the way they'd come, away from the maple, away from the man she loved, away from what she'd thought was her future.

  "Wait!" Tyler moved like he meant to follow her. "Wait, Nan. Don't be mad."

  Mad? He thought she was mad like some junior high girl whose boyfriend took someone else to the dance? Was he so insensitive that he didn't get that her life had just imploded? He was an idiot, an insensitive idiot! A touch of anger gave her just enough iron to keep walking without her knees giving way.

  "I want you to meet Jen," he called.

  Nan spun. "What did you say?"

  Tyler looked taken aback at her angry disbelief.

  "You—" For once she wished she swore, so she could call him a name foul enough to match his actions. Instead she ran, almost bowling over a tall, leggy blonde. The woman jumped out of her way as she plowed on, hurt and humiliated to the depths of her soul. The peace and security she'd felt for so long because of Tyler was shattered.

  "Nan," Tyler called.

  She kept moving, but not before she heard the blonde say, "Let her go, Ty. I told you this was a bad idea."

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing Nan did Tuesday morning was walk around Present Perfect looking for any new treasures. If she found anything, it would be breaking and entering, and the stakes would be raised. But how would someone have gotten in a locked store? She breathed a huge sigh of relief when nothing new appeared.

  So when had the leavery items been left, and why hadn't anyone seen? Had breaking and entering already been committed in order to leave things? She didn't think so. There were no signs.

  Were items missing from the store, things she couldn't identify because she didn't know her stock that well yet? Was the perpetrator doing a swap, sort of I leave this and I take that? But the things left were much more valuable than anything that might have been taken.

  She stared at the useless camera in the corner above the register. Job One for the day: call the alarm company and get someone out here immediately.

  She wandered next door to Ed's Eats and grabbed her coffee and sticky bun, then settled at her desk to wait until eight o'clock and an open office at the alarm company. She unlocked her top desk drawer to search for the company rep's card and froze. There, on elegant heavy cream stationery was her invitation to the dedication of a new wing at the local hospital, a formal occasion that began with a dinner at the yacht club over on the bay. With a frown, she ran her finger over the embossed-in-gold hospital logo on the envelope.

  Nan groaned. Going to a formal dinner to honor an occasion that meant nothing to her was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn't know anyone going, she had no idea who she could take as her plus one, and she was too busy.

  But the accompanying note, handwritten by the event chair—someone she'd never heard of—expressed how they hoped she would come in Aunt Char's place. Aunt Char had been on the committee that planned and oversaw the building of the new wing, the Buchanan Children's Place.

  Charlotte Patterson was much loved and is much missed. Please come in her place as our honored guest.

  Two tickets and an RSVP note had been enclosed. In a weak moment of sorrow over Aunt Char, Nan had sent a positive response.

  She glared at the invitation, shoved it back where she found it, and slammed the drawer. She only had two days to figure a polite and believable way to back out.

  She sighed. She wasn't that clever. She was doomed.

  With a bite of sticky bun to give her energy, she studied the catalogues that threatened to eat her office. The sheer number of items available for stocking her shelves was overwhelming, and she hadn't even looked online or gone to a single gift show yet.

  She rubbed her forehead as tension wrapped itself tight. The challenge wasn't only choosing which items to select for next year, though that was scary enough. After all, h
ow did she know what vacationers would want next summer? But even more intimidating was deciding how much she should spend on inventory—and how much she could afford. She could threaten her solvency by purchasing the wrong stock or too much stock. And if people didn't buy what she'd chosen, bankruptcy loomed.

  "How did you know how much you could afford, Aunt Char?"

  When she looked at the amount of money involved if she purchased only the selected items from the catalogues, she swallowed hard. She wasn't used to dealing with figures like that. Sure, Pizzazz dealt in huge numbers in salaries and compensation, advertising revenues, production costs, and a multitude of other categories, but she wasn't responsible for those numbers being accurate forecasts of the magazine's health. That was up to other people. She kept an eye on petty cash for the office and rewrote advertising copy when she wasn't running errands.

  Present Perfect's survival was her sole responsibility, and using her limited funds wisely was critical. There was some relief in knowing the Vero Beach condo was a cushion, but its sale would only provide so much help.

  She rested her elbows on the desk and her forehead in her hands. She desperately wanted to succeed, but the fear of failing pressed down on her, threatening to crush her. She could hear her mother's voice. Nan. Dear. I warned you.

  "Oh, Lord! Help! You said that if we lacked wisdom, You'd give it. I'm asking. I'm pleading! Please give me some wisdom, like You said You would."

  She straightened, determined to create a workable budget for the store. She'd barely pressed pencil to paper when the buzzer on the back door sounded. Distraction had never been so welcome.

  She flicked the lock and opened to Rog.

  I'll be waiting. Her final words as he left last evening streaked through her mind as they had, say, a billion kazillion times since she'd said it, and the same flush warmed her.

  Be cool, girl. There must be no more of that sounding overeager. Still, she grinned at him, happier than she expected to be at the sight of him, and not just because he saved her from the horror of budgeting.