Tuesday, June 8
Today her daughter was
returning for the summer. Mary Langford gazed eagerly out at the street in
front of her small bookstore, looking for a glimpse of Autumn’s car and, when
she saw nothing except a large family going into the ice cream parlor at the
end of the block, checked her watch. Three-thirty. Autumn had called at
lunchtime to say that she and the kids were making good time. They probably
wouldn’t be much longer.
“You’ve been quiet
today,” Laurie commented from where she sat behind the counter, straightening
the pens, tape, stapler and bookmarks.
Mary turned from the
large front window she’d recently decorated with posters of the hottest new
releases. “I worry when she’s on the road for so long.”
“She’ll make it, and it’ll
be great to see her and the kids. They haven’t been back since Christmas, have
they?”
“No.” She picked up the
feather duster and began cleaning shelves—a never-ending job at Beach Front
Books, which she and Laurie owned as 50/50 partners. Autumn lived in Tampa,
Florida, far enough away that it wasn’t easy to get together when Taylor and
Caden were in school. “And I doubt they’ll come back for the holidays this
year.” Fortunately, they were more consistent about returning for the
summer—except for last summer, of course, which was understandable. Mary hoped
she’d be able to count on that continuing, but with the kids getting older,
nothing was certain. Taylor had only one more year of high school before
heading off to college. Caden had two. Mary feared this might be the last time,
for a while, they’d all be together in Sable Beach.
“You could go visit
them,” Laurie pointed out.
Autumn had invited her
many times. Remembering the arguments her refusal had sparked over the years
caused Mary’s stomach to churn. She wanted to go to Tampa, wanted to make it so
that her daughter wouldn’t have to do all the traveling. Autumn had
been going through so much lately. But the thought of venturing into unfamiliar
territory filled Mary with dread. Other than to go to Richmond occasionally,
which was the closest big city, she hadn’t left the sleepy Virginia Beach town
she called home in thirty-five years. “Yes, but you know me. This is the only
place I feel safe.”
Laurie rocked back on the
tall stool. “Well, if the fear hasn’t gone away by now, I guess it’s not going
to.”
“No. I don’t talk about
it anymore, but the past is as real to me now as it’s ever been.”
Although the store had
been busy earlier, what with the influx of tourists for the season, foot
traffic had slowed. When that happened, they often talked more than they
worked. Beach Front Books wasn’t Laurie’s sole source of income. Her husband,
Christopher Conklin, was a talented artist. He painted all kinds of seascapes,
and while he wasn’t in any prestigious galleries, he sold his paintings in a
section they reserved for him in the store as well as online.
But Mary, who’d never
been married, had no other support. Beach Front Books didn’t make a large
profit, but no one loved the escape that books provided more than she did, and
the store garnered enough business that she could eke out a living. That was
all that mattered to her.
“Autumn gets so mad that
I won’t go out and see the world. Visit. Travel. That sort of thing,” she
murmured, wishing she didn’t have the scars and limitations that had, at times,
put such a strain on their relationship. “She keeps saying I’m too young to
live like an old lady.”
“She has a point.”
Mary sighed. “I’m not
young anymore.”
“What are you talking
about? You’re nine years younger than me. Fifty-four is not old.”
That was true, but she’d
had to grow up far sooner than most people. “I feel ancient.”
“Next year, you should go
to Tampa, if they ask you.”
She shook her head. “I
can’t.”
“Maybe you’ll prove that
you can.”
Mary couldn’t help
bristling. She didn’t like it when Laurie pushed her. “No.”
“Autumn doesn’t
understand, Mary. That’s what causes almost every fight you have with her.”
“I know. And I feel bad
about that. But there’s nothing I can do.”
Laurie lowered her voice.
“You could tell her the truth…”
“Absolutely not,” Mary
snapped. “Why would I ever do that?”
“There are reasons. And
you know it. We’ve talked about this before,” Laurie said, remaining calm, as
always. That was one of the many things Mary liked about her—she was steady and
patient, and that steadiness somehow helped Mary cope when old feelings and
memories began to resurface.
In this instance, Laurie
might also be right. Mary could feel the past rising up from its deep slumber.
Maybe it was time to tell Autumn.
But there were just as
many reasons not to—compelling reasons. And the thought of revealing
the past, seeing it all through her daughter’s eyes, made Mary feel ill. “I
can’t broach that subject right now, not with what she’s been dealing with the
past year and a half. Besides, it’s been so long it’s almost as if it happened
to someone else,” she said, mentally shoving those dark years into the deepest
recesses of her mind. “I want to stay as far away from that subject as
possible.”
Laurie didn’t call her
out on the contradiction her statement created. And Mary was glad. She couldn’t
have explained how it could be real and frightening and always present and yet
she could feel oddly removed from it at the same time.
“Except that it didn’t happen
to someone else,” Laurie responded sadly. “It happened to you.”
* * *
The scent of the ocean,
more than anything else, told Autumn she was home. She lowered her window as
soon as she rolled into town and breathed deeply, letting the salt air fill her
lungs.
“What are you doing?”
Taylor held her long brown hair in one hand to keep it from whipping across her
face as she looked over from the passenger seat.
Autumn smiled, which was
something she knew her children hadn’t seen her do enough of lately. “Just
getting a little air.”
“You hate it when I roll
down my window,” Caden grumbled from the backseat.
“I’m hoping I won’t be so
irritable anymore.” For the past eighteen months, Autumn had been mired in the
nightmare that had overtaken her life. She almost hadn’t come to Sable Beach
because of it. But when her children had each pleaded with her, separately, to
ask if they could spend the summer with “Mimi” like they used to, she knew they
needed some normalcy in their lives—needed to retain at least one of their parents.
Her grief and preoccupation with her husband’s disappearance had probably made
them feel as though she’d gone missing, too—at least the mother they’d known
before. She hoped by returning to the place that held so many wonderful
memories for them all, they’d be able to heal and reconnect.
It wasn’t as if she could
do anything more for Nick, anyway. That was the ugly reality. She’d exhausted
every viable lead and still had no idea where he was. If he was dead, she had
to figure out a way to go on without him for the sake of their children.
The second she spotted
the bookstore, the nostalgia that welled up—along with memories of a simpler,
easier time—nearly brought her to tears. When she was a little girl, she’d
spent so many hours following her mother through the narrow aisles of that
quaint shop, which looked like something from the crooked, narrow streets of
Victorian London, dusting bookshelves or reading in the nook her mother had
created for her.
She’d spent just as much
time at Beach Front Books when she was a teenager, only then she was stocking
shelves, ordering inventory, working the register—and, again, reading, but this
time sitting on the stool behind the counter while waiting for her next
customer.
God, it was good to be
back. As hard as she could be on her mother for her unreasonable fears and
idiosyncrasies, she couldn’t wait to see her. Until this moment, she hadn’t
realized just how much she missed her mother. So what if Mary was almost
agoraphobic with her unwillingness to leave her little bungalow a block away
from the sea? She was always there, waiting to welcome Autumn home. Maybe
Autumn had never had a father, or the little brother or sister she’d secretly
longed for, but she was lucky enough to have the enduring love of a good
mother.
“There it is.” She
pointed to the bookstore as she slowed to look for a place to park.
“We’re not going to the
beach house?” Caden asked, looking up from whatever he’d been doing on his
phone.
“Not right now. First,
we’re stopping to see Mimi and Aunt Laurie. Then we’ll take our stuff over to
the house.”
A glance in the rearview
mirror showed her his scowl. “I hope it won’t be too late to go to the beach,”
he said.
“I’m sure we can manage
to get there before dark,” she responded as she wedged her white Volvo SUV
between a red convertible and a gray sedan and grabbed her purse.
Taylor spoke, causing her
to pause with her hand on the door latch. “You already seem different.”
“In what way?” Autumn
asked.
“Less uptight. Not so
sad.”
“Coming here makes me
happy,” she admitted.
“Then why were we going
to skip it again?” Caden asked.
Autumn twisted around to
look at him. “You know why.”
A pained expression
claimed her daughter’s face. “Does this mean you’re letting go?”
“Of Dad? Of course she’s
letting go,” Caden answered, the hard edge to his voice suggesting he
considered the question to be a stupid one. “Dad’s dead.”
“Don’t say that!” Taylor
snapped. “We don’t know it’s true. He could be coming back.”
“It’s been eighteen
months, Tay,” Caden responded. “He would’ve come back by now if he could.”
“Stop it, both of you.”
Autumn didn’t want them getting into an argument right before they saw her
mother. They were at each other’s throats so often lately; it drove her crazy
to constantly have to play referee. But she could hardly blame them. They’d
lost their father, and they didn’t know how or why. And she had no explanation.
“Life’s been hard enough lately,” she added. “Let’s not make it any harder.”
“Then you tell
her,” Caden said. “Dad’s dead, and we have to move on. Right? Isn’t that the
truth? Go ahead and say it—you are letting go.”
Was she? Is that what
this trip signified? If not, how much longer should she hold on? And would
holding on be best for them? She couldn’t imagine her kids would want to spend
another eighteen months swallowed up by grief and consumed with seeking answers
they may never find. Taylor was seventeen, going to be a senior and starting to
investigate colleges. Caden was only a year behind her. Surely, they would
prefer to look forward and not back.
Regardless, Autumn wasn’t
sure she could continue to search, not like she had. She was
exhausted—mentally and physically. She’d put everything she had into the past
year and a half, and it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference. That was the most
disheartening part of it.
“I’m continuing to hold
out hope,” she said, even though everyone she’d talked to, including the FBI,
insisted her husband must be dead. It was difficult to see the idyllic,
two-parent upbringing she was trying to give her kids—something she’d never had
herself—fall apart that quickly and easily, and the heartbreak, loneliness and
frustration of looking for Nick, with no results, created such a downward
spiral for her. She knew it had been just as painful for her children. That was
why maybe she should let go—to provide the best quality of life for
them as possible.
“What does that mean?
Are you going to keep looking for him?” Caden pressed. “Is that how you’re
going to spend the summer?”
He could tell something
had changed, that coming here signified a difference, and he wanted to reach
the bottom line. But Autumn wasn’t ready to admit that she’d failed. Not with
as many times as she’d tried to comfort them by promising she’d have answers
eventually.
She opened her mouth to
try to explain what she was thinking in the gentlest possible way when she
spotted her mother. Mary had come out of the store and was waving at them.
“There’s your
grandmother,” she said.
Thankfully, her children
let the conversation lapse and got out of the car.
“Hi, Mimi.” With his long
strides, Caden reached Mary first. Although he wasn’t yet fully grown, he was
already six-one. And Taylor was five foot ten. They were both tall, like their
father.
Mary gave each of the
kids a big hug and exclaimed about how grown-up they both were and how excited
she was to see them before turning to Autumn.
“You’ve lost weight,” she
murmured gently, a hint of worry belying her smile before they embraced.
“I’m okay, Mom.” Autumn
could smell a hint of the bookstore on Mary’s clothes and realized that was
another scent she’d never forget. It represented her childhood and all the
great stories she’d read growing up. She’d once hoped to read every book in the
store. She hadn’t quite made it, thanks to new releases and fluctuating inventory,
but she’d read more books than most people. She still considered books to be a
big part of her life. “It’s good to be home.”
“Laurie’s dying to see
you. Let’s go in and say hello,” Mary said and held the door.
As soon as the bell
sounded, Laurie hurried out from behind the register. “There you are! It’s a
good thing you came when you did. I was afraid it would drive your mother crazy
waiting for you. She’s been so anxious for you to arrive. We both have.”
Taylor allowed her aunt
to give her an exuberant squeeze. “I’m glad we got to come this year. Where’s
Uncle Chris?”
“Probably on the beach
somewhere, painting. You know how he is once the weather warms up—just like a
child, eager to get outdoors.”
They took a few minutes
to visit the small section of the store dedicated to Christopher’s work so they
could admire his latest paintings. Autumn was especially enamored with one he’d
done of the bookstore that portrayed a child out front, hanging on to her
mother with one hand and carrying a stack of books with the other. That child
could’ve been her once upon a time. She almost wondered if his memory of her
had inspired it, which was why she decided, if that painting didn’t sell before
she left, she’d buy it herself and take it back to Tampa.
Fortunately, she had the
money. As a corporate attorney, Nick had always done well financially. After
the first few years of their marriage, which he spent finishing school, they’d
rarely had to scrimp. But it was what he’d inherited when his father passed
away that’d really set them up. After Sergey’s death, Autumn had quit working
as a loan officer for a local bank and, for the past ten years, had focused on
her family, her home, gardening and cooking. Her financial situation was also
one of the reasons she rejected the idea that Nick might’ve left her for
another woman, a possibility that had been suggested to her many, many times.
Why would he leave his children, too, and walk away without a cent? Sure,
they’d had their struggles, especially in recent years, when his work seemed to
take more and more of his time and attention, but neither of them had ever
mentioned separating.
“This is amazing,” she
exclaimed as she continued to study the little girl in the painting. “I love
Chris’s work.”
“The last original he donated
to charity went for six thousand dollars,” Laurie announced proudly.
“Who bought it?” Autumn
asked. If whoever it was lived in Sable Beach, chances were good she’d know him
or her.
“Mike Vanderbilt, over at
The Daily Catch. He was drunk when he got into a bidding war for it, and now
it’s hanging in his restaurant. I think he’s glad to have it, but I imagine he
also sees it as a reminder not to raise his paddle when he’s been drinking.”
They all laughed to think
of the barrel-chested and good-natured Mike letting alcohol bring out his
competitive nature.
“His wife must be doing
well, then,” Autumn said. “She’s still in remission?”
Laurie shot Mary a
surprised glance, and it was Mary who answered. “I’m afraid not. She was when
he bought that painting, but they received word just a couple of months ago
that Beth’s breast cancer has come back.”
“Oh no,” Autumn cried.
Everyone knew the owners of The Daily Catch. They did a lot for the community.
And it was her favorite restaurant. When she was home, she ate there all the
time. “What’s her prognosis?”
“Not good. That’s why
Quinn has moved home from that little town in upstate New York. He helps his
father with the restaurant these days. I’m sure he’s also here to spend time
with his mother before…well, before he has to say goodbye to her for good.”
“Quinn’s home?” Autumn
said. She wasn’t expecting that; the mention of his name knocked her a little
off-kilter. When he was a senior and she was a junior, she’d given him her
virginity in the elaborate tree house that was in his backyard, even though he
hadn’t been nearly as interested in being with her as she was him. And then
he’d broken her heart by getting back together with his girlfriend, the same
woman he married five years later. “So his wife and kids are here now, too?”
“No, he doesn’t have any
kids,” Laurie said, chiming in again. “And he and Sarah—what was her maiden
name?”
“Vizii,” Autumn supplied.
“Yes. Vizii. They
divorced almost two years ago. You didn’t know?”
“How would I?” She’d seen
nothing about it on social media, but then, Quinn had never been on social
media, and she’d never been able to find Sarah, either—not that she’d checked
recently because she hadn’t. “I haven’t seen him since he was working as a
lifeguard at the beach after his first year of college and he had to swim out
and save me from drowning.” She didn’t add that she’d faked the whole episode
just to get his attention. She was mortified about that now and cringed at how
obvious it must’ve been to him.
“I’m surprised the gossip
didn’t reach you all the way down in Tampa,” Laurie said. “For a while, it was
about the only thing anyone around here could talk about.”
But who would tell her?
Her mother wasn’t much for gossip, which was ironic, considering she’d lived in
Sable Beach for so long. The town where Autumn had been raised took talking
about their friends and neighbors to a whole new level.
“Why would his divorce be
such big news?” she asked. Besides being one of the most popular boys in
school, Quinn had been handsome, athletic and at the top of his
class—undoubtedly one of Sable Beach’s finest. But still. Divorce was so
commonplace it was hardly remarkable anymore. And Quinn was thirty-nine. He’d
been gone from this place—except for when he visited his folks—for twenty-one
years. How could what was going on in his life be such a hot topic?
Laurie tilted her head
toward Taylor and Caden in such a way that Autumn understood she was hesitant
to speak in front of them. “There were some…extenuating circumstances. Have
your mother tell you about it later.”
“I want to hear,”
Caden protested.
“Why? We don’t even know
him.” Taylor jumped in before Autumn could respond, then Caden snapped at her
to shut up and they started arguing again.
“Don’t make Mimi regret
inviting us.” Autumn rolled her eyes to show how weary she was of this
behavior.
“Should we go over and
get you settled in?” Mary asked. “Laurie offered to close the store tonight, so
I’m free to start dinner while you unpack.”
“Sure,” Autumn said. Once
Caden and Taylor got to the beach, maybe they’d mellow out and fall into the
same companionable rhythm they usually achieved when they came to Sable Beach.
Her mother’s house seemed
the same, except that its shingle siding was now white instead of green. It had
needed a fresh coat of paint, and the white looked clean and crisp. But as much
as she loved the update, Autumn was relieved to find that nothing else had
changed. Visiting Mary was like going back in time. Not many people could do
that twenty years after they’d left home.
Because it was such a
small cottage, Caden had to sleep on the couch, Taylor took Autumn’s old room
next to Mary’s, and the three of them shared the only bathroom, which was off
the hallway. Autumn slept above the detached garage, where she had her own bed
and bath, thanks to Nick. Because he’d typically had to work when she brought
the kids, he’d never spent more than a few days at a time in Sable Beach. That
had caused more than a few arguments over the years, so she’d readily agreed
when he’d insisted they have their own space for when he did come. She’d
thought it might mean he’d accompany them more often, or stay a little longer
when he did. It made no difference in the end, but he was the one who’d hired
an architect to create the plans to finish off the top of the garage, even
though it had been Autumn who’d picked out the finishes and colors.
A wave of melancholy
washed over her as she left the kids with her mother to get settled in at the
main house, let herself into the garage and climbed the narrow stairs at the
back to the apartment, where she’d be living for the next few months, by
herself. As often as she’d been here over the years, it felt strange to know
that Nick would not be visiting. At times, she was still so lost without him.
“Where are you?” she whispered
as she walked around, touching the things he’d touched. She’d come for
Christmas without him, but she and Taylor had shared her old room in the house.
They could do that for a week or so but not for three months—not without
wanting to turn around and head straight home.
She stopped in front of
the dresser, where her mother had put a picture of her family. She’d known her
husband was getting involved in something secretive, that a friend who was with
the FBI had recruited him for his knowledge of Ukraine. Because his parents had
emigrated from there, he’d known the language, was familiar with the customs
and still had a few relatives in the country. That made him useful in what had
become a very troubled region.
Although he couldn’t tell
her exactly what he was doing for the government, she guessed he was working in
counterterrorism, probably trying to infiltrate various radical groups. She’d
read that the FBI sometimes used civilians who were particularly adept with
computers, or had some specific knowledge or ability, to assist them.
Maybe he’d become a
full-fledged spy, and whoever was on the other side had discovered his
activities. The FBI claimed they hadn’t sent him to Ukraine to begin with, but
she’d discovered that he’d flown into Kyiv before disappearing and had no idea
why he’d go there if not at their request. If he wanted to reacquaint himself
with his uncle and cousins, he would’ve told her. Besides, the family he had
there claimed they hadn’t heard from him. She’d traveled halfway across the
world to speak to them face-to-face—not that the long, tiring trip had
accomplished anything.
She lifted her suitcase
onto the bed and was unpacking her clothes when her mother came up. “The kids
would like to go to the beach before we have dinner, but I told them I’d rather
they not go alone.”
“Mom, they’re sixteen and
seventeen,” she said. “Kids that age go to the beach by themselves all the
time.”
“Still. I don’t mind
walking down with them.”
That was her mother’s
polite way of saying she was afraid they wouldn’t be safe and felt the need to
watch over them. Mary had always been overprotective. But Autumn managed not to
say anything. What would it hurt for their Mimi to walk down to the water with
them? There was no need to transfer the suffocation she’d felt to her children,
especially because they’d had to put up with so much less of it. “Okay.”
“Would you like us to
wait for you?”
“No, I’ll find you in a
few minutes.”
With a nod, her mother
turned to leave but paused before descending the stairs. “It can’t be easy for
you to stay out here, knowing that Nick won’t be coming. Would you rather we
make other arrangements, like we did at Christmas? Have you stay in the house
with us?”
Unless Nick suddenly
showed up, she’d have to brave it at some point, wouldn’t she? It might as well
be now. “No. There’s not enough room. Taylor and I both need our space.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Mom?”
She looked up. “Yes?”
“Before you go, tell me
what Laurie was referring to at the bookshop.”
“About…”
“Quinn and Sarah,” she said.
“Oh. No one really knows
exactly what happened,” her mother said.
“There must’ve been a
story circulating.” And she was eager to focus on something besides her own
troubles for a change. She could see Nick’s rain boots in the corner of the
room and knew there would probably come a time—in the not-too-distant
future—when she would have to make the difficult decision about what to do with
them.
She couldn’t even imagine
that. But she had a whole houseful of his belongings in Tampa, and if he didn’t
come back, she’d have to decide what to do with all of it. Should she box it up
and put it in storage? Stubbornly continue to wait? And if so, for how long?
Her mother seemed as
reluctant as ever to repeat gossip, but she must’ve understood that what’d
happened to Quinn might create a good distraction, because she finally
relented. “Sarah claims he was having an affair, which caused her to fly into a
jealous rage and stab him.”
This was not what Autumn
had expected. “Did you say stab him?”
Her mother frowned. “I’m
afraid so.”
“But…he must be okay.
Laurie said he was here, helping his father run the restaurant.”
“She didn’t hit anything
vital, thank goodness. But I heard he spent a few days in the hospital, so his
wounds weren’t superficial, either.”
Autumn whistled as she
imagined how bad their marriage must’ve been for something like that to happen.
“I thought they’d be happy together. They dated for so long before they got
married. It’s not as if they didn’t know each other well.” She sank onto the
bed next to her suitcase. “Did he admit to cheating?”
“Not that I know of.”
“But you think he
did—cheat, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t be
surprised. Something had to have made her react so violently.”
Mary never gave the
benefit of the doubt to a man. Autumn had noticed this before and assumed her
father was to blame. Although Mary refused to talk about the past—went rigid as
soon as Autumn mentioned her father—there were times, more of them as she got
older, when she found herself wondering who he was and what he was like. Before
Nick went missing, she’d told her mother that she was tempted to try to look
him up, and Mary had been so appalled—that Autumn would have any interest in
him when he was such a “bad person”—that she’d dropped the idea.
It was something she
thought she might like to revisit, though. Times had changed. Nowadays, a
simple DNA test could possibly tell her a great deal. And there were moments
when she felt she should be allowed to fill in those blanks.
But she hated to proceed
without her mother’s blessing. She owed Mary a degree of loyalty for being the
parent who’d stuck with her.
Finished unpacking, she
put her empty suitcase in the closet while trying to ignore Nick’s snorkel
gear, which was also in there, changed into her bathing suit and cover-up,
slipped on her flip-flops and grabbed her beach bag. She was on her way down
the stairs when she heard her phone buzz with an incoming call.
Assuming it would be her
mother or one of her children, wondering what was taking her so long, she dug
it out of her bag so that she could answer. But according to Caller ID, the
person attempting to reach her wasn’t a member of the family. It was Lyaksandro
Olynyk, the Ukrainian private investigator she’d hired to look for Nick.
It was seven hours later
in that part of the world. Why would he be calling her in the middle of the
night?
Excerpted from The
Bookstore on the Beach by Brenda Novak, Copyright © 2021 by Brenda Novak, Inc.
Published by MIRA Books.
About the Author
Brenda Novak, a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, has penned over sixty novels. She is a five-time nominee for the RITA Award and has won the National Reader's Choice, the Bookseller's Best, the Bookbuyer's Best, and many other awards. She also runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity to raise money for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). To date, she’s raised $2.5 million. For more about Brenda, please visit www.brendanovak.com.
