Beach Lane. Sherryl Woods
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“I have a four-day weekend stretching out ahead of me. I have all sorts of plans.”
“Oh, really? To do what?”
“You know, the usual Thanksgiving holiday things. I’ll eat a little turkey, hit all the holiday sales on Friday and Saturday.”
“Let’s say I buy that for a single minute,” Jess said. “With whom are you having that turkey dinner? Your parents have already left for England, and Abby tells me you turned down their invitation to join us.”
“You can’t possibly shove another person around that already overcrowded table,” Laila said. “Besides, I’m getting tired of the pity invitations.”
Jess regarded her indignantly. “Since when has anyone in my family made you feel as if you were being included out of pity? It’s a well-known fact that we invite you for your scintillating personality.”
Laila knew what her friend was trying to do, and on some level she wanted to say yes. Spending Thanksgiving on her own would be more depressing than any of the other meals she’d eaten alone since she’d sworn off dating after the whole online dating fiasco, when she’d wound up being stalked and harassed.
“Look, I appreciate the invitation, but I’ll be okay,” she insisted.
“Okay, then, I’ll back off,” Jess said a little too readily. “On one condition.”
Laila regarded her with suspicion. “What condition?”
“You tell me what your other plans are—and they’d better be good. Frozen turkey and dressing heated in the microwave and eaten all alone doesn’t count.”
Defeated, Laila sighed. “What time is dinner?”
“Three o’clock,” Jess said, obviously happy over her victory. “Will and I will pick you up at two so you can help with the preparations. That’s part of the fun.”
“Says the woman who lets the chef at her inn fix all of her meals.”
Jess grinned. “I don’t want my husband to starve, do I? Or to die from my cooking?”
“Exactly what does your grandmother let you do to help prepare Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Last year I dished up the stuffing and the cranberry relish and put them on the table,” Jess said proudly. “This year I’m pouring the wine that Will picked out from the inn’s wine cellar.”
Laila laughed. “Well, I have no idea how I’ll compete with that, but since the standard’s pretty low, I suppose I won’t fall flat on my face. There’s bound to be some task at which I can excel.”
Jess grinned back, but then her expression sobered. “You do know we all love you like family and that you belong with us, right?”
Unexpected tears stung Laila’s eyes. “Thanks.”
“Don’t you dare cry,” Jess ordered. “Just be ready on time tomorrow.”
“Promptly at two,” Laila promised.
Maybe Thanksgiving wouldn’t turn out to be half as depressing as she’d envisioned after all. Or else, once again, she’d feel like a fifth wheel among all those exuberantly happy O’Brien couples.
Thanksgiving turned out to be one of those perfect fall days in Chesapeake Shores. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air crisp and cool. There were whitecaps on the bay, churning the surface to a froth.
It was, in fact, an ideal day for playing touch football, which almost all of the O’Brien men and the spouses of the women had gathered for on the lawn. Before heading outside, they’d claimed—as usual—that it was the absolute best way to work off the huge meal. The women knew better. It was a way to get out of cleanup. Not that there was room in the kitchen for another person to squeeze in, but it might have been nice if at least one of them had offered, Susie thought as she stood at the kitchen door staring at them.
She had a dish towel in one hand and a Waterford crystal goblet in the other. She’d finished drying the glass long ago, but she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Mack, who was in the thick of the game. Nor could she stop thinking about how well he fit in, as if he were already one of the family. Just the thought created a twinge of longing.
Her grandmother came over to stand beside her. Nell O’Brien was known for her insight and for her good sense. She also spoke her mind.
“He’s a good-looking one, isn’t he?” she said, her eyes alight with mischief.
“Who?” Susie asked.
Nell gave her a disbelieving look. “Don’t play coy with me, young lady. Mack, of course. You haven’t been able to keep your eyes off him all day. For what it’s worth, he seems to have the same problem.”
Susie felt a faint spark of hope. Surely her grandmother wouldn’t say what she knew Susie wanted to hear. Surely Nell, if no one else, would tell Susie the unvarnished truth. “Do you really think so, Gram?” she asked, unable to keep the plaintive note from her voice.
Gram gave her a chiding look. “Come now, girl. You know the answer to that as well as I do. I’ve seen a lot of men fall in love through the years. Mack looks as smitten as any of them. He’s looked that way for a long time now,” she added pointedly.
“I want to believe that,” Susie admitted.
“Then believe it,” Gram said briskly. “I’m glad you finally brought him around to join us for dinner. I was beginning to think you were going to let him get away. That would have been a real pity.”
“Mack’s not really mine to lose.”
“Nonsense!” Gram responded with asperity.
“No, it’s true. We’ve been friends a long time,” Susie said, a wistful note in her voice. “That’s as far as it’s gone.”
“But you want more,” Gram surmised. “You’re certain of it?”
Susie nodded. “I really do.”
“What’s stopping you from reaching for it?”
“Habit,” Susie said at once. “And fear. I’m afraid if we try and don’t make it, I’ll lose my best friend.”
“If Mack’s friendship is that important to you, you’ll find a way to make it work, even if having a more intimate relationship fails,” Gram said confidently. “One thing I know for sure—if you truly love this man and don’t try to have the relationship you really want with him, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. When you’re as old as I am, the one thing you know is that it’s too late to make up for the things you didn’t do.”
Susie hugged her grandmother, felt her frailty that was belied by her strong spirit. “You’re very wise.”
“I should hope so,” Gram said. “After eighty-some years, I hope I’ve learned a thing or two.”
Susie grinned. “Eighty-some? You’re finally admitting to being eighty?”
“At some point it was going to be obvious to anyone looking at this wrinkled old face that I couldn’t pass for sixty or even seventy anymore. Why not own up to the truth?”
“You’re going to be young when you’re a hundred and two,” Susie predicted.
“If I live that long, I hope it’s with my wits about me and the ability to work in my garden. Otherwise, what’s the point?” Nell’s expression turned wistful. “And I’d like to see Ireland one more time. If that doesn’t happen soon, I fear it will be too late.”
Something in her tone worried Susie.