An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) by Mariah Stewart (e novels to read .TXT) 📕

Larry Gleason to act as your lawyer, by the way. There’s no one else Dad would have wanted to represent the firm and you. Of course, if you’d rather have someone else, you’re free to call him or her.”

“No, that’s fine. Larry would have been my first choice, so thank you for sparing me from making that call.” Grace smiled for the first time since she’d arrived at Maggie’s the day before. “I hope she goes to prison. I hope they put her away for a very long time. Him too.” Her smile broadened. “I can’t believe George actually called the FBI. He’s the best. And you’re my hero. On the one hand, I wish I’d been the one to confront her. But on the other . . . you know people would just see the wife who was dumped being a shrew. Like the blog wasn’t enough. Dad would have hated this, but he’d really have hated it if we’d embarrassed the firm even more than it has been.”

“That was one of the things that kept me from hurling heavy objects at the two of them. All we needed this week would have been for me to be arrested for assault. Not that it might not have been worth it, but I didn’t think it would be a good look for the Flynns. Now get into the shower, clean up, and get dressed. I picked up takeout for dinner from your dad’s favorite Italian place in town, and I’m starving.”

Later, after dinner had been eaten and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher, Grace said, “Mom, what do you think Dad would have done?”

“I think Dad would have shot them both.”

“No, seriously. What do you think he would have done?”

Maggie chose her words carefully. “I don’t believe we’d be having this conversation if your father was still alive.”

“Because Zach wouldn’t have left me. We’d still be married.”

“Possibly.”

“But he still wouldn’t have been in love with me.” Grace looked overwhelmingly sad. “Our marriage still would have been a sham, and I’d still have been the last to know.”

It took Maggie several days to work everything out in her head, but once she made up her mind, the path ahead seemed very clear. The decision hadn’t been easy, but all things considered, it was the best option for everyone: she needed to sell the house in Bryn Mawr and move back to Wyndham Beach.

First consideration: it was crystal clear that Grace couldn’t return to her job even if she wanted to. Her reputation had been shattered, and her self-image had been destroyed. She needed to make a new start somewhere else, but she could see no clear path ahead.

Second consideration: since Maggie had toured her old family home, she’d been haunted by memories—faces, voices—and couldn’t stop thinking about how gratifying it would be to repaint every one of those white walls. She imagined where every piece of furniture she owned would go, where she’d hang every photo and every painting. She’d been drawn more and more back to Wyndham Beach, to her beloved friends, and to the chance to move her life forward.

Third: something was missing in her life, even if she wasn’t sure what, but she knew there was only one place to go if she wanted to find it.

Still—there were so many memories in the house she’d shared with Art and their children. There’d been great times, joyful times. Their first days, the rooms empty because they had so little to bring with them. The fun of finding just the right—everything. She remembered where they’d bought every piece of furniture, some banged-up rejects they’d taught themselves to refinish, some precious antiques they’d saved for. They’d brought their babies home from the hospital to that house (Art liked to tell the story of how Natalie’d been so eager to be born they’d barely made it to the hospital). There had been festivities of every kind under that roof: birthday, anniversary, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, graduation, Grace’s engagement party. They’d marked their girls’ growth on the pantry wall—even when the kitchen was renovated, they’d instructed the painters to paint around the chart. Maggie had walked the floors here, holding a sick baby while she prayed for a fever to go down, and, years later, when one or both girls had missed their curfew. Their daughters’ first dates had nervously rung their doorbell and stood in the foyer holding thin bouquets of limp flowers. They’d made their way down the wide staircase in prom gowns, and Grace had descended the wide staircase in a white wedding gown that had made her look like a princess.

And there’d been some not-so-joyful times as well. Maggie knew that, but Art’s sickness and his passing here had blotted out everything else. She still found it painful to walk into the guest room, where his hospital bed had been set up, his choice because, he’d said, he’d wanted to look out into the trees and watch the birds. Maggie suspected the real reason was that he’d wanted her to be able to sleep without waking every time he coughed or moved. He’d said he wanted to pass quietly, watching the sun rise over the rose bower in the backyard, with Maggie holding his hand, and that was exactly what he’d done.

Maggie had walked through the house, room to room, remembering all those little moments that made up a life, savoring some more than others. When she was certain her decision was final and there’d be no change of heart, she called the Realtor in Wyndham Beach. Then she called Natalie and asked her to get a babysitter for Saturday afternoon and come to the house. Grace was still there, having gone home once over the past week and found notes from several reporters from local TV stations taped to her front door.

“Mom”—Grace had called from her house—“would it be okay if I stayed with you for a bit longer? Just until I decide on my next move.”

“Of course.