The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel (15 page)

“Trust me,” was all he said.

Eighteen years ago . . .

I
t was a close call. Evie almost wasn’t allowed to go to the clambake, and if that happened, she knew she would completely drop dead in a hysterical, spastic mess. Though she could hardly believe it, it was Amanda who saved her.

“Oh, Mom, you should let her go. He’s super nice.” As usual, her little sister inserted herself into a conversation that didn’t involve her, but this time, Evie appreciated what a complete nudge she was. “We met him at the beach the other day and he hung out with us at the parade. He’s very polite and intelligent and he and Evie get along great. You know, he reminds me a lot of Ross.”

Wow. Amanda was good at this. Ross was a cousin on their father’s side, a valedictorian who had been accepted to West Point, and their mom and dad believed he could do no wrong.

“That’s wonderful, but you’re too young to date, Evelyn.” Her father look worried. “I don’t want you out at night by yourself.”

“It’s not a date, Dad!” Uh-oh, he now had that stern “don’t argue with me” look on his face. She needed to be more mature. “What I’m saying is that I agree
completely—I am too young to date. But this isn’t a boy-girl kind of date, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Evie knew her whole life hung in the balance. If this conversation didn’t go well, she might never see Clancy Flynn again, and she couldn’t accept a world without him in it. Besides, she’d promised she’d be there!

He didn’t look impressed. “If it isn’t a date to a beach party, then what is it?”

That was Amanda’s cue to pour on the crap. “It’s a Bayberry Island tradition, a beach clambake with music and dancing. They’ve been having one at Haven Beach since the late 1800s—isn’t that amazing? And Dad, there’ll be a lot of locals with their kids. We might even be asked to do some babysitting. Tickets are expensive and hard to come by, but Evie’s friend can get her in.”

Their mother and father exchanged knowing looks.

“You know the consequences for drinking.”

Evie gasped. “Mom! I don’t drink!” She was already freaking out with joy.
She was almost there! They were going to say yes!
“Alcohol will never touch my lips. Drinking rots your brain and I have big plans for my future. I just want to go and enjoy the music. And the clams.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I just don’t know.”

“I’ll go with her!” Amanda smiled innocently at their parents. “That way you won’t have to worry. Evie and I will stick together the whole night and we’ll both be home by ten.”

Okay. Now she wanted to totally kill Amanda. She’d planned to stay out way later than ten, and besides, she had absolutely no intention of hanging out with her twelve-year-old sister when the cutest guy on Earth was holding her hand. But, if her choice was between taking her along or not going at all, she’d figure out a way to get around it.

“All right,” their father said. “Ten o’clock and not a minute after.”

“Please, please can you make it eleven?” Evie knew
that begging was unattractive, but Clancy Flynn’s kisses were worth begging for.

Her mother shook her head, annoyed. “Ten thirty. That’s it. No discussion.”

So, with their freedom granted for exactly four hours, Evie and Amanda hustled from the Sand Dollar up to Haven Beach. It turned out they were part of a line of people heading up the hill from town, and Evie noticed that many of them were dressed in summer whites.

“Do we look okay in jeans?”

Amanda made a face. “Derrr. This is the nineties. We’re teenagers. Jeans are acceptable anywhere. We could even wear them to a wedding if we wanted.”

“Uh, not. First off, you’re twelve. And jeans at a wedding? I don’t think so, unless somebody’s getting married in a barn.”

“Uh, thirteen, remember?” Amanda imitated Evie’s tone of voice and then rolled her eyes. “Jeans are fine. Besides, we’ve got our bikini tops on under our shirts.”

“Stop a second.” Evie tugged on Amanda’s arm, leading them into the beach grass along Shore Road. “Once we get there, you are on your own. You understand that, right? I don’t want you to talk to me even one single time until a quarter after ten. Then we’ll run back to the motel. Got it?”

“Chill out, would ya? I don’t want to hang with you and your little Baldwin boy. I have my own plans tonight.”

Evie laughed. “Oh yeah? Let me guess. Brad Pitt, maybe? Johnny Depp?”

“Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know.”

They walked past a huge mansion on the way to the beach, and Evie couldn’t stop staring at it. It was stone and cedar, with a huge front porch, a roof that rose to a point in several places and then leveled off in others, all of it topped off with at least a dozen chimneys. She decided it was beautiful and interesting to see in the evening light, but it would probably creep her out after dark.

“We should take off our shirts before we get close to the beach.”

“Why?” Evie looked at her sister like she was insane.

“So we can arrive at the party already in our bikini tops. That’s cooler than taking them off in front of everybody and basically announcing to the world that our parents wanted us covered up like nuns.”

“Oh.” Evie removed her shirt. “Now what? Do we just throw them in the grass or something?”

“God.” Amanda grabbed her shirt and balled it up with her own, then shoved them into a mailbox by the road. She flipped up the red flag. “That’s so we don’t forget them on the way home.”

Eventually, they made it to the public access stairs to Haven Beach. Clancy was waiting at the top of the steps, leaning against the railing with his hands in his pockets.

Evie’s heart skipped at least two beats at the sight of him. He was so totally cute. He wore jeans, too, thank God, and an old and faded Red Sox baseball jersey. His face busted out into a happy grin as soon as he saw her, but when he noticed Amanda, he couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“I know. I’m sorry. The only way I could come tonight is if I brought Amanda.”

Clancy shrugged. “Hey. No problem. I’ll make it work.” The girls followed him down to the beach, and Evie already knew deep down in her soul that this would be a night she would remember for the rest of her life.

Clancy walked up to a woman in a mermaid costume sitting at a table. “These are my guests, Ma. Evie and Amanda.”

“Welcome, girls.” She snapped a neon green wristband on each of them and gave them a friendly smile. Evie thought his mom was pretty. “The bracelet lets you into the buffet and drink station.” Then she stamped the top of their hands with big red letters:
UNDER
AGE
. Gee. Embarrassing enough?

“Thank you so much,” Evie said.

True to her word, Amanda was off like a shot, already heading up the beach. “I wonder where she’s going.”

“There’s a party up there. A bonfire.”

“How did she know about it, though?”

Clancy shrugged. “We can go check on her later if you want, make sure she’s safe. It’s not too wild of a party, but you never know what young kids will get into.”

Evie glanced around the crowded beach. Once she knew no one was looking at them, she kissed Clancy softly right on his lips and gently touched his chin. She felt a little stubble, which made her strangely warm all over. “You’re so sweet to me.”

Clancy shrugged again. “Of course I am. You’re sweet to me.”

Oh, how her spirit twirled, her legs danced, and her heart sang that night. She barely talked to another soul for the entire four hours. It was all Clancy Flynn, everywhere she went. They ate together at a little folding table. He devoured three ears of corn and refilled her lemonade without even being asked. They walked at least a mile down the beach, holding hands and talking, and turned around and headed to the bonfire to check on Amanda. She was dancing but not drinking, thank goodness, and Evie reminded her what time she needed to be ready to go.

On their way back to the clambake, the moon appeared over the ocean, sprinkling silvery light across the water. In that perfectly romantic moment, Clancy turned Evie to him, put his hands on her waist, and kissed her. It was the bomb of all kisses that had happened anywhere, anytime. Evie couldn’t imagine that a girl had ever been kissed like this in the history of the earth—sweet and tender, full of emotion, full of hunger. It dawned on her that this is what girls meant when they warned of
going too far to stop.
She’d never understood the concept before. She always figured that if a person wanted to stop, they just said, “Hey. I think we should stop.” But right at that moment, if Clancy had pressed the issue, Evie might have said yes.

The kiss was
that
good.

Fortunately, he didn’t push. He was too much of a gentleman. And that made her love him even more.

“You are special, Evie. I’m so glad you came here this summer and that I had a chance to meet you.” He played with her hair and let his eyes take her in, all the way from her hands and fingers to her bikini top, belly, jeans, and bare feet. She felt a little shy and it must have shown. “Don’t ever be embarrassed about how gorgeous you are. I can’t stop looking at you, you’re so beautiful.”

Evie ran her fingers through his curls and slipped her fingers inside the neckline of his shirt, just to feel more of his bare skin. “You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, Clancy. I love kissing you, touching you, laughing with you—just being with you makes me happy.”

They dropped into the sand. They rolled, kissed, and stroked each other, right there in the sand on the dark beach. At one point, he rolled with her so that she was on top of him, with her legs spread. She started breathing fast. And then she let him put his hand on her jeans, right on her butt! And a few minutes later, when they’d reversed positions, she did the same to him! Evie couldn’t believe she had the nerve to do something like that! To think—a few days ago she didn’t even know how to kiss, and now look at her, touching a guy’s butt!

When they returned to the clambake, the DJ was rockin’ the crowd. He picked some truly lame music for the old people, like the Rolling Stones and even the Eagles. Evie and Clancy sat those out. But when he got around to the real stuff, like Hootie and the Blowfish, LL Cool J, Mariah Carey, and the Goo Goo Dolls, they danced nonstop.

A slow song came on. After just the first few lines, it became clear to Evie that it was their story, their song, drifting down on them as they danced on the sand under the fairy lights. Clancy slipped both his arms around her waist and Evie wrapped hers around his neck. They gazed into each other’s eyes as the music said it all—in a
moment in time, a boy and girl became one, and time or distance would never erase that.

Clancy put his lips to her ear and sang along, telling Evie the words she was hoping and praying he would say to her. “Our love will never end.”

At ten minutes after ten, Amanda showed up. Clancy offered to walk them to the Sand Dollar, to make sure they got back safely. Unfortunately, they lost track of time and had to break into an all-out run for the last block.

Amanda straggled behind, which gave Clancy enough time to pull Evie into the motel courtyard to steal one last kiss.

“Tomorrow?”

“Of course. Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time.”

“Meet you in front of Frankie’s at noon.”

“Okay.”

“Evie?”

She turned back. He blew her a kiss before he slipped into the shadows and ran off.

Amanda arrived breathless at the motel room door just as Evie slipped into place at her side. They counted to three and Evie opened the door. Their mom and dad were waiting for them.

“You’re thirty seconds early,” their father said. “But where the hell are your shirts?”

J
ust as Richard suspected, Charlie was in the barn. It was a particularly warm morning for Maine, well into the eighties. When Charlie heard him approach and glanced up in surprise, Richard could see his frayed work shirt was soaked with sweat.

“Good morning, Mr. McGuinness. I was wondering if you’d have a minute to talk.”

Charlie blinked, turned away, and continued what he was doing—tossing fresh hay into a barn stall. It was as if no one had spoken to him.

Richard never spent much time in the country until he was forced to campaign in the rural reaches of his adopted state. He grew up in Hartford and then transitioned immediately to Manhattan, getting his undergraduate at Columbia. Then it was on to Boston, law school, and Tamara. So as he looked around this quaint Maine barn, he couldn’t even guess what kind of farming, if any, might be done on a property like this, or what kind of animals might be roaming about. Charlie disappeared into the stall without a word.

“So, do you have horses? Do you ride?” Richard made this inquiry as he stepped into the shade of the two-hundred-year-old barn, aware that he hadn’t been invited to do so. He hoped casual conversation might
loosen up the farmer, since Charlie McGuinness was about as stoic and cantankerous as any New Englander he’d ever run across. Richard heard Charlie clanging around with water and a bucket but he didn’t answer his question. He decided to try again. “Perhaps you have cows. I think I hear chickens, too, is that right?”

Nothing.

Well, this was awkward. Suddenly, Richard realized he must look out of place standing on a dirt floor in six-hundred-dollar Italian leather shoes and his custom-tailored, triple-pleated pants. But he’d come straight from the station in Boston. Changing his clothes hadn’t even occurred to him.

He had come to Maine to have a chat with Charlie. So far, he’d made no progress. Richard decided to step outside the barn and wait until the old guy felt like talking, because he didn’t want to piss him off any more than he already had.

As he turned to leave, Charlie exited the stall. “Why are you asking about this farm, Congressman?”

Richard was about to respond when Charlie’s laughter cut him off—apparently that had been a rhetorical question.

“Have you come to steal poor old Tussy now? Has ‘the child’ not been enough and now you want all our critters? How many chickens are you planning to take? We got four goats, too, and a cranky old mare. Do you want to ride her out of here? Should I tack her up for ya, Congressman?”

Richard had never heard Charlie McGuinness speak so many words at one time. And every one of them was dripping with sarcasm and disgust. He tried to soften the tone of the conversation. “Now, Charlie—”

“You want it all, you say?” McGuinness laughed again, resting his dirty hands on the hips of his cotton work pants. “You’ve come to grab the whole place out from under us? The house, the barn, the hay crop, the tractor?”

“I believe we should move on from the sarcasm,” Richard said. “I’ve simply come to talk. Can I take you into town and maybe we could have a cold beer? You look like you could use a break.”

“It isn’t even noon yet and I don’t drink, but if I did, you’d be the last soul on Earth I’d want to imbibe with.”

Richard nearly laughed. Could this have started off any worse? He sincerely doubted it. “Iced tea, then? Lemonade?”

Charlie peered around Richard toward the open barn door and the yard beyond. He craned his neck. “Where are your minions? I only see one car out there, though I know my FBI friends are where they always are, parked at the end of my lane.”

“I came alone.”

“What, no driver? No lawyers and aides and press people? Tell me you didn’t leave the house without your royal ass-wiper!”

Richard shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his shoes. This little get-together was going nowhere, and if he couldn’t find a way to defuse the old guy’s rage, then the trip would have been a waste of time. It might even make things worse.

Richard raised his gaze to Charlie’s reddened face. “I chose Christina over my career and reputation. Her safety was so important to me that I went public with my paternity, though it might very well cost me my political future and my marriage.”

Charlie tipped his chin, frowning. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me how inconvenient it’s been for you since you stole my granddaughter?”

“I was alluding to the fact that the media exposure has been tremendous already, and I am optimistic we’re close to finding her.”

“Ayuh, I have a TV, Wahlman. I saw how they’re tracking down Evelyn like some kind of terrorist, and I caught your little dog and pony show, too.”

“Please, Mr. McGuinness.” Richard made his voice as
soothing and understanding as he could. “I only came to check on you.”

“Check on me?”

“Yes, I was concerned about how you’re holding up. I know you must be worried sick about her. I know I am. I can barely sleep.”

It happened fast—Charlie planted a left to his gut and right cross to his cheekbone. Richard hit the hard-packed dirt with a thud. He lay there stunned, mute, trying to get his lungs to work again.

“I’ve had the idea of doing that since the day we got served with your paternity claim, you slimy bastard!”

Richard opened one eye to see the old farmer staring down, nostrils flaring. He looked as if he were about to kick him just for the hell of it.

“You come up here from away, pushin’ your case through like you did, runnin’ us over before we knew what hit us, with your high-priced lawyers and your demands, just like you were king of the hill! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Richard tried to speak but he couldn’t get enough air.

Charlie pointed down at him. “How am I holding up? Are you joking, man? Look at me!” He waved his arm around the barn. “I have lost every single member of my family! I am by myself in this world and my heart has broken! My neighbors and friends feel so sorry for me that my house is stacked to the rafters with floral arrangements and casseroles!” Charlie’s face twisted with pain and his chin bunched up. The old man began to cry. “All my girls are gone.”

“I—”

“By God, man, shut up and listen for once!” He rubbed his eyes, trying to pull himself together. “Losing Ginny nearly killed me, but I had my two daughters to live for, and we made a happy life. And then four years ago, I was blessed enough to become a grandfather. Do you know Christina looks just like my wife?”

“No. I—”

“Of course you don’t! You don’t know anything about my beautiful family, and that’s the worst part of it all. You are just some stranger who’s walked in and destroyed our lives—first you hurt my dear Amanda, and now you’ve put Evelyn and Christina in a horrible, unfair position. Damn ya!”

Charlie spun on his work boots and marched off, leaving Richard on his back in the dirt. He turned his face enough to watch Charlie disappear down the slope of the hill, and tried to assess the damage. That crusty old lobster had the strength of a man half his age. Richard brushed his fingertips along his cheekbone and pulled back with a gasp. It hurt like hell, and might even be broken. As for the rest of his body, he was most worried about the stitches from his bypass surgery. He was essentially healed, but his doctor hadn’t yet given him clearance to play squash, let alone engage in hand-to-hand combat.

With a loud groan, Richard pushed up to a sitting position, then managed to pull himself up off the dirt floor of the barn. On the opposite wall was an old mirror framed in leather, so he staggered over and pulled up on the hem of his polo shirt. He froze at what he saw.

Who the hell was that? A used-up senior citizen looked back at Richard. The stranger was a geezer with a gut, gray hair, and a swelling red welt under his left eye. The stitches seemed fine, if you didn’t mind having a chest sewn together like leather on a baseball. Honestly, Richard didn’t like what he saw in that reflection. He didn’t like what he’d become.

His salvation was his daughter. Christina would keep his memory alive. Because of her, Richard Wahlman would leave a legacy bigger than Ways and Means, his philanthropy, and his party leadership. He would have a flesh and blood monument to the vital man he once had been.

Richard tucked in his shirt, wiped off his trousers, and was headed across the yard toward the rental car when
he had an epiphany. For the first time in nearly thirty years of corporate law practice and serving Boston in state and national elected offices, he had nowhere in particular to go and no one who was expecting his arrival. He had no meetings. No dinners. No cocktail parties for the sole purpose of sweet-talking donors and flattering lobbyists. In fact, it was possible that he’d never return to that life. Polls conducted after his television appearance had shown an instant decline in voter support, and within hours, Washington had decided he was an embarrassment. Contagious. An unpleasant reminder to his colleagues of just how easily the game could go awry, how close they all were to disgrace. Already, some of his longtime colleagues had turned on him.

And “home” was no longer an option, of course. Tamara had made it clear that she was done. He was on his own.

He would catch a flight to Reagan National this afternoon and hunker down at the Jefferson for a while. He could set up shop and avoid the media. His cardiologist could stop by. He could meet with his broker and his attorney. They would discuss establishing a trust for his daughter, ensuring that she would have everything she would ever need. And, while he was in town, he’d find a discreet real estate agent to help him locate a perfect house. He wanted something with a yard for Christina, and perhaps a pool. Maybe there would be enough land that she could have a pony if she wanted. Where would they live? Massachusetts? Northern Virginia? Connecticut? Of course, the house would need extra rooms for housekeeping staff and the nanny.

“I’m not usually a violent man.”

Richard jumped. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Charlie. But there he sat, about twenty feet away on a front-porch rocking chair, his hands gripping the armrests.

Richard collected himself. “You were upset. I happened to be the sucker standing in front of you. I’ll survive.” He cautiously moved closer to the porch.

Charlie nodded in time with the rocking chair, obviously giving careful consideration to his next words. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Wahlman. You do seem very protective of Christina, worried about her welfare.”

Richard breathed in relief. Charlie had turned the corner. He was finally willing to have the conversation they desperately needed to have.

“Yes, Mr. McGuinness. Of course I’m protective. She’s my daughter. I only want her to be happy and safe and have the best life possible.”

“Ayuh, see what I mean? Now that’s a protective parent speakin’.”

“Absolutely!” Richard propped a foot on the lowest porch step and tried to smile, but his face hurt too much. “I think about whether she’s warm and what she’s eating and if she’s in a place that frightens her. I wish I could see her, just to know she’s all right. Or even hear her voice on the phone. I may not have known her for very long but she has become precious to me.”

Charlie smiled faintly, then leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I think I understand.”

“I so hoped you would.”

“Ayuh, I really do. So here’s what I want you to do. Are you followin’ me?”

Yes.
Charlie McGuinness was ready to give in—thank God this difficulty was over. The old man would ask for a boatload of money, of course—these kinds of things were always about money in the end. Richard was sure they could find a mutually agreeable settlement. And if Charlie wanted to spend time with Christina, or even take her to visit Evelyn in prison, that might be workable as well. Richard was no scrooge. He nodded enthusiastically. “I’m listening, Charlie.”

“Good. So what I want is for you to take all that worry you have for ‘the child,’ all those protective feelings, and the concern for her safety and comfort and happiness, and then multiply it a million times over and add love
and family. Then, you might have a
hint
of how I feel about Christina Ginnifer McGuinness, you ass!”

Richard’s mouth hung open. He took his foot off the step and backed away.

Charlie wasn’t finished. “You know, before Amanda died she made her sister swear that if anything should ever happen to her you were not to come within a hundred miles of Chrissy. My girl was smart. Ayuh, it might look like you have a right to be in her life somehow, some way, because you’re her biological father, but you know what, Wahlman?” Charlie pushed himself to a stand on the porch. “You don’t deserve her. You aren’t a good enough man to be a father to her. Do you realize that you’ve twisted this around to make it all about
you
? Well, by God it’s not! It’s about a little girl who has just lost her mother! How can you be such a selfish bastard that you can’t even see that?”

It took a full ten seconds for Richard to find his voice. In all the years he’d been debating on the House floor, no one—not even the most outrageously wrongheaded and belligerent elected official—had left him speechless the way this farmer just had.

“Now get off my property.”

Richard rebounded. “You’re making a mistake, Charlie. It’s my decision how much time—if any—Christina gets to spend with you. You forgot that.”

McGuinness turned his back to Richard and headed for the door.

“The FBI is going to find them very soon. We’ve got several solid leads. It’s probably only a matter of hours at this point.” No response. Richard loathed this stubborn rube. “You will regret this little display of physical violence.”

“Doubt it.” Charlie reached for the screen-door handle. “That was the most satisfying thing I’ve done in years.”

*   *   *

Clancy’s head was inside the hall linen closet, and he found himself regretting that he wasn’t more
domestically inclined. So far, he’d located one bottom sheet of unknown size, two mismatched pillowcases, and a partially chewed-up dog blanket. He would have to figure something out, fast.