The Seacroft: a love story (Paines Creek Beach Book 2) (28 page)

Mirella didn’t turn to greet Vivian, but instead gestured toward the ocean beyond her wide window with one delicate hand. “The waves are beautiful today. Look at all the whitecaps.”

Vivian parked the stroller near the window and stood beside her mother’s wheelchair. “You’re right. It’s lovely today.”

Mirella turned to her, a quizzical look in her eyes. “I know you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Vivian said. “You do.” She took out a white paper bag of rock candy she’d tucked into her pocket. “And I brought your favorite today.”

“Rock candy,” Mirella whispered, as if it were the prize jewels. She held a string up in the air and watched the sunlight sparkle from the sugary crystals. “Almost too pretty to eat, isn’t it?”

Vivian laughed. “You’re right. Do you remember you always gave Martin and me this when we were little?”

A confused smile crossed Mirella’s face. “Did I?”

“Yes. And your mother gave it to you when you and Katrina were little.” Vivian touched her mother’s arm. She didn’t pull away.

“I miss Katrina,” she said suddenly, her eyes filling with tears.

Vivian patted her mother’s shoulder. “Me, too.”

The child stirred and opened his eyes. Vivian knelt down to lift him from the stroller, cuddling him to her. “Shh. It’s okay, honey.”

Mirella’s eyes widened. “Oh! A little one. I love children, did you know that?”

“Yes, I know,” Viv said. “And this little guy is your grandson.”

Her mother’s mouth trembled. “I have a grandson?”

“Yes. I’m your daughter, Vivian. And this is your grandson.” She sighed inwardly. They’d had this conversation several times a week since she’d given birth.

With a small frown, Mirella sat forward, reaching a hand toward the baby. “I think I had a baby boy once. A long time ago.” She reached over to touch the boy’s arm and stroke his skin with shaking fingertips. “And a little girl, too. I remember pink dresses.”

Vivian brought the baby closer to her mother. “Yes. You did. Your boy was Martin. Do you remember that? I named my son after him. This is my little Martin. Martin Jax McGraw.  We call him Marty.”

Her mother leaned over to kiss his curls. The baby chortled and grinned up at her.

“Look. He has the same blue eyes as my boy.”

“Yes, he does. And Mom? They’re your eyes, too. You and he have the same eyes.” She opened her purse and took out an old fashioned compact. She never used it except for the mirror. She flipped open the circular mirror and handed it to her mother. “See?”

“Really?” Mirella’s face bloomed with happiness. She glanced back and forth between her reflection in the mirror and the child. “Oh, my. How special.”

Vivian wondered if the next child—the one she carried now—would have her dark brown eyes that she’d inherited from her father. Or would she get Cody’s hazel eyes? If the baby was a girl, she planned to name her Mirella.

With a sweet smile, her mother took her hand and locked eyes with her, something that she hadn’t done since she’d become ill. “I want you to know, even though I’m so muddled all the time, you have to know—”

“What, Mom?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sure I would have been very proud of you.”

Vivian’s heart broke. Here was her mother, trying to make her feel good even though she couldn’t remember one person from the next, one hour from the next. “Thank you. That means the world to me.” She held back her tears. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Oh, may I?”

Vivian placed the little boy on her mother’s lap, standing close and holding one arm to be sure he didn’t wiggle off.

The door opened, and Cody appeared in the doorway with tousled hair and a tentative smile. “Is it okay to come in?”

Mirella turned her head toward him, smiling down at the boy on her lap. “Come on in, young man. Meet my grandson.”

“I had to park all the way down at the end,” he explained, entering the room slowly.

Working the farm had been good for him, and becoming a father had propelled him into the man Viv always knew he would be. He was kind, patient, and fiercely protective of his son. Her heart melted at the sight of his rugged face and kind eyes.

She gave him an encouraging smile, urging him to join them. “We’re having a good day, honey. Mom’s holding Martin.”

Mirella stroked the little boy’s hair and cooed to him. He collapsed against her, comfortable in her lap. They’d done this many times in the past year, and the baby seemed to have a calming influence on her.

Cody stood beside them, smiling down at his son. “He likes you, Mirella.”

She smiled up at him. “Yes, he does. And he loves the sea.”

They were quiet for a long time, each watching the waves darting across the sea in white foamy swirls.

After a while Martin started to wiggle and reached for his mother. “Mama.”

Mirella nodded to Vivian. “It’s okay. You can take him now.”

Vivian lifted the boy and handed him to his father. “Here you go. Daddy’s got you now.”

Cody held the child comfortably in his arms, turning him toward the ocean. “See the boats?”

The little boy’s ocean blue eyes flickered toward the horizon. He smiled up at his Cody. “Dada,” he said. “Boat.”  

Cody lifted him higher, kissing his belly. The child giggled and squirmed.

“That’s right, buddy. It’s a boat. Good job.”

Mirella took Vivian’s hand, pulling her closer. She pointed to father and son. “The boy looks like him,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Viv gave her a gentle hug. “He should. Cody is his father.”

“I see,” Mirella said, but her eyes glazed over with confusion.

Vivian squeezed her mother’s hand. If this were as good as it would get, she’d take it, be grateful for it. At least Mirella didn’t panic now when she saw her daughter, and she never pulled away screaming any more. Things were better now. Her mother might not recognize her, but she accepted that little Martin was her grandson today, in this precious moment. That, in itself, was a gift, even though she’d have to tell her all over again next time.

“Excuse me, Miss.” Mirella turned to Vivian. “I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I’m Vivian.”

“Yes, of course. Vivian, when you come again, would you bring me some of your blueberries? I loved them last time.”

Viv’s smile spread to her eyes. She rubbed the back of her hand on her mother’s cheek. “Oh, Mom. You remembered. That’s wonderful! Of course I’ll bring you more. It’s picking season and we have so many berries.”

“Thank you, dear. I love your berries. And rock candy.”

“I’ll bring you both. I promise.” Vivian gestured to Cody. “Mom loves our berries, honey. She wants us to bring some next time.”

“They’re the best in the county, Mirella. Speaking of berries, we’ve got work to do, honey. People will be queuing up at the gates for picking in another half hour. We’d better head back.”

“Of course.” She took the baby from Cody and settled him in his stroller. “We’ll stop by again in a few days, okay?”

“With my berries?”

“Yes. With your berries.”

“And the boy?”

“And the boy,” Vivian said. “Martin.”

“Yes. Bring Martin back to me. I will miss him until then.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Mom.” She brushed a tear from her cheek and turned to go. “See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Princess Vivian.”

Mirella turned back to her window, watching the morning sun dance on the deep green sea.

- The End -

What’s Next?

If you enjoyed this story, you might like
The Seacrest
, set in the same locale with many of the same characters. And if you enjoy the style of these books, check out the Bittersweet Hollow romantic suspense series or the author’s family-centered mysteries at
http://www.lazarbooks.com
.

Please consider hopping over to Amazon to leave a short review if you enjoyed the book! If you hated it, never mind. (chuckle)

-
      
Aaron Paul Lazar

Excerpt from
The Seacrest: a love story
.

Chapter 1

July 2
^nd
, 2013

L
ife can change in the blink of an eye. This blink came when a cop car cruised up The Seacrest’s white shell driveway on a hot Saturday in July.

I’ll never forget the moment. You know how folks remember where they were when John Lennon died? Or when President Kennedy was assassinated? It was like that, every detail stamped into my brain, forever.

A fresh breeze laden with the scent of the sea rustled blue flowers in a nearby hydrangea hedge. Hot and sweaty, I stood in the blazing sun feeling like a fool. I’d just finished weed wacking around the paddock fence posts. Unfortunately, said weed wacker had spooked Libby Vanderhorn’s favorite mare, Serendipity, who I secretly called Dippy, because she was such a loose cannon. She’d bucked and twisted like a bronco in a Wild West show, knocking down several fence boards and unseating Libby, the boss’s daughter.

Libby ran The Seacrest’s dressage school and was an experienced rider, but this time she’d been caught by surprise and landed in a sprawling heap on the soft dirt, swearing at me.

At thirty-two years old, she stood tall and willowy, and quite lovely if you didn’t count the personality. When she came at me, she didn’t mince words. We were about the same age, but I worked for her family, and she never let me forget it. The sting of her accusations still sounded in my head.
How stupid can you be, Finn? What’s wrong with you?

Libby’s father held great power on Cape Cod. Rudolph Vanderhorn sat on so many boards, I’d lost count. His father’s fish canning company made a fortune back in the eighties, and he and his daughter had enjoyed the spoils ever since.

I stooped to pick up a hammer from my toolbox, planning to reattach the fence boards before any of the horses got hurt on the protruding nails. Curious now, I watched the Brewster Police car circle the long drive, heading toward the mansion. The local authorities stopped by every few days to discuss town matters with my boss. But today the blue light was flashing, which didn’t look like a casual visit.

A shudder went through me, and I turned cold. Something bad had happened. I sensed it.

The front door opened, and Rudy watched them approach, one hand shading the sun from his eyes. Like a majestic lion, he stood broad-shouldered and strong, his longish white hair lifting in the sea breeze.

Libby stopped hosing down her big white mare, who thankfully hadn’t hurt herself in the fit she’d thrown earlier. The horse snorted and rubbed her big head against her owner’s arm as if to scratch an itch. Long, dark hair blew around Libby’s face, and she stared with open curiosity at the cruiser, rhythmically combing her fingers through the mare’s curly mane.

Time froze.

I stood still, gripping the hammer, studying the patrol car as it drove past the front porch with its impressive columns and portico. It didn’t stop for Rudy, but passed the six-car garage, followed the driveway to the barn, and rolled to a stop ten feet from me, lights still flashing.

Police Chief Kramer and Deputy Lowell stepped out and ambled toward me, their eyes somber.

I dropped the hammer; it thudded to the grass near my feet.

“Finn?” Kramer said, approaching slowly. “I’m afraid we have bad news.”

There is nothing worse than hearing that bad news is about to be delivered. My brain went wild, imagining the worst scenarios. But somehow I didn’t quite picture what he was about to tell me.

“There’s been an accident,” Kramer said.

Lowell, a high school football star in his day, kicked the dirt at the edge of the path. “Car went over the cliffs,” he said, avoiding my eyes.

“For God’s sake, guys.” I looked from Kramer to Lowell. “
Who
was in the car?”

Kramer pulled out a piece of paper. “I regret to inform you that your wife, Cora Mae McGraw, and your brother, Jaxson Robert McGraw, have been killed in a vehicular accident.”

Deputy Lowell touched my sleeve, then awkwardly stepped back. “We’re real sorry, Finn.”

“Car went into the ocean,” Kramer said. “We believe they were dead on impact.”

I stared at them, numbness creeping up my spine. “What the hell?”

“Er, look, if there’s anything we can do...” Lowell seemed remorseful, and he offered a hand when I lost my balance and grabbed for the fence.

Libby and her father appeared at my side in seconds, but in the dreamlike state of denial and shock, I caught only brief snatches of their words, as if the wind had grabbed them, teasing me with the bits and pieces.

“What happened?”

“Bad accident.”

“She died?”

“
Who
was with her?”

And so on.

Libby guided me across the lawn and around back to the mansion’s cavernous kitchen. I leaned woodenly against the refrigerator while the family’s beloved cook, Fritzi, bustled her big, ample self about the kitchen making coffee and pushing fresh corn muffins at the officers.

Someone helped me into a chair. I sat, dazed and unmoving. The voices warbled around me and now my brain began to pick through the new knowledge, still not comprehending.

Cora’s dead?

It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.

Jax is dead?

I hadn’t seen my brother in ten years.

Ten years since I’d even
talked
to him. I sometimes almost drove past the blueberry farm, thinking of my old life. But I never actually stopped there.

Ten years since my parents died in that fire. Since I lost my little sister, Eva. Ten years since my family burned because of that cigarette smoldering in the couch.

Ten freaking years.

I didn’t even know what Jax looked like anymore. Had he lost hair? Gained weight? Turned prematurely gray like our father did in his thirties?