Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

“I wasn’t aware of that. When did that happen?”

“It’s been gradual, over the past ten years or so. People from all over the country come here for vacation. Much of the inn is booked a year in advance—we have families who come every year for the same week. Most of the B&Bs are booked ahead as well. The restaurants are written up in magazines and newspapers from all over the East Coast, and the inn has been declared the number one spot on the Eastern Shore for destination weddings.”

“Lucy mentioned that.”

“Oh, that’s Lucy’s doing, make no mistake. Our event business has tripled since she brought her business back from California. But I digress.” She paused to take a sip of water. “People plan their vacations around certain events—First Families’ Day is always big, the regatta, the Waterman Festival, the Christmas Tour, always big draws for tourists. Think of what that means to the community, to the merchants, to have all these people coming into town twelve months of the year, booking rooms and shopping on Charles Street and eating at our restaurants. And every week I have a feature, something about the history of the town or an upcoming event, or an interview with one of our residents that might be interesting. For example, I did a lovely feature on Dallas MacGregor when she first moved back here and another when she married Grant. As a follow-up, I did an article on Grant’s veterinary clinic and his efforts to rescue dogs from highkill shelters and to find good, loving homes for them. A few months ago, I interviewed Dallas again about the film studio she’s built here and her plans to make movies right here in St. Dennis.”

He nodded. He got it.

“People like those features, Ford. They look forward every week to see who or what is on the front page. Of course, we cover the elections and the police blotter and new businesses, that sort of thing, but it’s the stories about the people and the events that have made the paper relevant again. And for the first time in its hundred and some-odd years in existence, the Gazette has paid subscriptions from out-of-towners, summer people and people who want to be summer people. Day-trippers. Friends of friends. We’ve never taken in as much advertising revenue as we do now. Every business in town—and some not in town—advertises with us because they know that this paper is read by the people who are or who will be their customers.”

“So in other words, you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.”

She laughed. “Why, I’d be burned at the stake if I tried. The merchants would never forgive me. I’d never be able to show my face in public again.”

“But you could still sell it, if you ever wanted to retire.”

“I won’t be wanting to retire, but I admit that I do worry about what will happen to the paper when I’m gone.”

“Mom …”

“Oh, don’t give me that face. Everyone dies, son. Every single one of us. It’s the only sure thing in this life. If you were born, you will die.”

He’d learned enough about this particular topic to know she spoke the truth. Still, the last thing he wanted to think about was life without his mother.

“I don’t worry about the inn. Danny is the Inn at Sinclair’s Point now, so your father’s family business is secured. It’s my family’s legacy I worry about.” She shook her head. “I thought perhaps your cousin Andrew might be interested—for a time, he seemed to be—but apparently that was just a passing fancy.” She blew out a long breath laden with sad thoughts. “But that’s a problem for another day, right? Today I’m happy because you’re home and you’re happy because the party is behind you, so let’s just finish our breakfast and get on with our day, shall we?”

“I agree.” He leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t aware of how deeply you care about the paper and what it means to you. I’m glad you kept it going all these years, Mom. I’m happy that there’s something in your life that gives you so much satisfaction.”

“Thank you, dear. You know the old recipe for happiness—I’d say I have all the ingredients.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”

“Someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to. I’m such a lucky woman to still have all those things in my life.” She was smiling but her eyes grew wary as she added, “Now tell me, what are you looking forward to?”

“Right now I’m looking forward to finishing this delicious breakfast and taking out a kayak and making it all the way down to Cambridge and back before lunch.”

He returned her smile but knew that the answer he gave wasn’t the one she was hoping to hear, but he couldn’t have answered any other way. Someone to love? The woman he’d once loved was dead. Something to do? At the moment, he had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life—and seriously, what did he have to look forward to now?

It was sobering to think that his mother, who was well into her seventies, had a life that was much more fulfilling and complete than his.

And what, he wondered, did that say about him?

Diary ~

Happy me! I’ve been waiting forever, it seems, to have all three of my children under the same roof. What a joy to see my wandering boy’s face again!

Now truth be told, my boy’s face is thinner than it should be—actually, all of him is too thin. And there are things inside him—dark things—that I cannot read. I’d thought the fog I’d sensed would lift once he was home, but it hasn’t. He’s here physically, but sometimes it’s as if he’s somewhere else. I know that something is hurting him deeply but I can’t read him the way I did when he was a child.

Which is probably a good thing, now that I think about it—after all, he is a grown man, for all I think of him as my boy.

But on to other things—the welcome-home party should have been a happy night for Ford, but he seemed so on edge that it saddened my heart. I could feel his unease from across the room. He did, however, remember his good manners and was cordial if not pleasant to everyone.

I just don’t know what to make of it. Dan says it’s just that Ford’s been away so long that he has to acclimate himself to being home, but somehow, that seems too simple an answer. There is a restlessness in Ford that worries me—it’s as if he might take off at any moment and disappear again. And of course, now that he’s home, I want him to stay—though I doubt the company of his mother and his siblings alone would be enough to keep him in St. Dennis.

My secret dream, of course, is that he’ll want to stay and take over the Gazette for me. I know! I know! A snowball’s chance and all that. We actually chatted about the paper and he gave me no indication that he had any interest in it at all.

But there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen.

Oh, sure, I suppose I could resort to a spell but I hate to interfere in that manner. I mean, what if his fate really lies elsewhere?

So I guess there is something I wouldn’t do after all. But don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me!

In other news, I met with Ellie and her friend Carly Summit—the New York art dealer and gallery owner—on Saturday at Curtis’s place to discuss the proposed art gallery. I must say, Carly has some wonderful ideas for the old carriage house. I’ve already decided to do a series of interviews with her as part of a feature about the gallery. I figure if the town council starts dragging their feet, perhaps public pressure will move them along. I think the whole idea of turning the Enright mansion into a cultural center is a wonderful idea, one that will only further St. Dennis’s reputation as a bright spot on the Eastern Shore. I cannot imagine anyone not seeing this as a good thing, but you never know when you’re dealing with the public. Here’s where I confess that my motives aren’t exactly pure. I’d invited Carly to the party hoping Ford would meet her and take a fancy to her, but he claims not to have met her. There is something about that girl … I sense she will be important in our lives in some way.

Yes, of course I’ve asked, but the spirits haven’t been speaking to me this past week. As a matter of fact, the silence has been deafening. I do hate to whine, but what good are spirit guides if they aren’t there when you need them?

Even Alice—who used to be so reliable at times such as this—seems to have taken the summer off.

~ Grace ~

“FORD,” Dan called from the hallway after having rapped on the door once. “You in there?”

“Yeah.” Ford put down the newspaper he’d been reading and went to the door and opened it. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, really. I was just taking a short break and thought I’d check in with you, see what you were up to.”

“Come on in.” Ford stepped aside and his brother entered the room.

“Everything okay here?” Dan stood halfway between the sofa and the fireplace, and gestured with a nod of the head in the direction of the captain’s portrait. “He giving you any trouble?”

“Haven’t heard a peep out of him. He’s been on his best behavior.”

“Maybe he only likes to toy with the ladies.”

“Sit down.” Ford folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the table.

“Ah, I see Mom’s got you reading her Gazette.” Dan grinned and picked up the paper at the same time that he sat on the arm of the sofa.

“We were talking about it at breakfast the other day and she seemed so proud of it, I thought I’d take a look.”

“It’s actually pretty good, for a small-town newspaper. This week’s cover article about Curtis Enright’s gift to St. Dennis is great.”

“I just read about that. It’s the house down at the end of Old St. Mary’s Church Road, right?”

Dan nodded. “That big place with all the trees on the one side and the carriage house in the back.”

“Imagine owning a place like that and just giving it away.” Ford sat on the chair next to the fireplace. “Did his family have a problem with that?”

“Apparently not. Enrights have been in St. Dennis forever. Curtis has two sons—Craig, who he hasn’t spoken to in years, and Mike, who I know isn’t interested in the house. His wife is really ill and they just moved to Florida. There are a bunch of grandkids, I’m not sure how many, and from what I hear, they’ve all been taken care of in Curtis’s will, but he didn’t want to show favoritism by leaving the property to one and not the others. At the same time, he wanted to ensure that the house would always be kept up and maintained. Mom said he’s put money into a trust for that purpose, so the town couldn’t refuse to accept the property on the grounds it couldn’t afford the upkeep.” Dan stretched his legs and leaned back. “Someone else suggested that he did it so that no one who wasn’t an Enright could ever own it or live there, but I don’t know about that.”

“The article said he wanted them to turn the main house into some sort of community center.”

“That’s old news. They want an art center, and an art gallery, and a place to hold community events. Artsy stuff. Mom met with someone on Saturday who doesn’t think the house is suitable for a gallery, though. She said the old carriage house would be better.” Dan shrugged. “What do I know? Either way, if it’s good for St. Dennis and brings people into town, I’m for it.”