No Strings Attached (38 page)

Sophie considered her Grandmother Juli. The woman was stylish and refined. She had reserved parking places around town and she’d donated a pew to her church so family members could sit together. But her expression was stiff, her manner disengaged, and her smile never reached her eyes. As a young girl, Sophie had been as afraid of her grandmother as she’d been of the boogeyman.

Maya paced the length of the front windows and back. Her sigh was self-deprecating, more of a shudder. “I can recall Juliana inviting me to a boat show at Saunders Harbor. She wanted Brandt to see how poorly I fit in with their elite crowd. We had to cross ramps between the yachts, not easy for me to do carrying a peach mimosa in a long-stemmed glass. I nearly died when the sole of my pump scuffed the rubber walkway and I tripped. Brandt grabbed my elbow, but I jerked forward and lost my balance.” Maya stopped, her eyes widening as she remembered the embarrassing moment. “The mimosa drink flew straight into Juli’s face.”

“Oh, Mom,” Sophie exclaimed, her voice sympathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

“So was I.” Maya sighed heavily. “Juliana upped her campaign against me and continued to point out my faults. Like the time I wore a white dress to a house party after Labor Day, a major fashion faux pas in her eyes. Nobody else noticed, but she did. She criticized my choice of dress to anyone who would listen to her. That included everyone who wanted to be invited to her next afternoon tea.”

Maya walked to the window and looked out, staring at the passersby on the boardwalk. “Juliana threatened to disinherit Brandt if he married me. Imagine how I felt when I discovered Brandt was more materialistic than I’d realized. He caved in to her demands.”

Maya glanced back at Sophie. Her brow wrinkled ever so slightly and the hollows in her cheeks deepened as she drew in a long breath.

Her lips twisted together when she said, “I loved him and refused to let him go. How could I? He’d been the only man to pursue me and, as I saw it, my only hope for marriage.”

She clutched her evening bag so tight her hands shook. Sophie had never seen her mother so anxious. “Trace is not aware of what I’m about to tell you, Sophie,” her mother said. “I must ask you to keep my confidence.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Mother.”

“Throughout our relationship, Brandt was never shy about wanting . . . sex.” She said the word as if it were distasteful. “To keep him, I did what I had to do.” She paused. “I got pregnant.”

Sophie’s jaw dropped. Her beautiful, sophisticated mother had carried a baby to keep her man. “Did Grandma accept you once Trace was born?” she asked.

“We came to an understanding,” she confessed. “I gave her an heir in exchange for the Saunders name. Sadly, I discovered I wasn’t the maternal type. I hired a nanny to care for my baby. Juli held that against me, too.”

“Trace turned out just fine,” Sophie was quick to say.

“Your father doted on him. Brandt saw Trace as the perfect son, and he was. Interestingly, my life took on a drastic change after that. To my surprise, Brandt stood up for me and his mother backed off. Even more surprising, as the years went by, Juliana took me on as her pet project. She delighted in molding me to the Saunders image. In the end, she won.” Maya lifted her chin. “Here I stand today, well dressed, well mannered, and well off.”

“Trace was meant to be an only child,” Sophie assumed.

“That was our plan until your father and I spent a long holiday in Costa Rica,” Maya said. Her eyes shone and her cheeks pinkened. “That’s where we renewed our wedding vows. On our flight home, Brandt got amorous. Private jet, too much champagne, high altitude . . .”

Sophie’s eyes went wide. “I was conceived at thirty thousand feet?”

Her mother actually smiled. “We almost named you Skye.”

Sophie was so stunned she couldn’t speak.

“You were a beautiful baby with a sweet disposition,” Maya said with warmth in her voice that Sophie had never heard before. “I tried to be a good mother, but as you grew older, I saw myself in you. There you were, tripping over your own feet and with a nervous stomach, just like me when I was a kid. I was always afraid you’d vomit in public. I’d take you shopping and you’d hide in the dressing room away from people. I was so embarrassed for you. When you began seeking solace in books, I left you to your reading. I was happy you’d found a place where you felt comfortable, but I admit, Sophie, it also gave me an excuse to avoid my responsibility as a parent. That I regret more than you’ll ever know, but I’ve always loved you.”

Sophie nodded, taking it all in. “I’m no longer that awkward little girl with her nose in a book, Mother. I’ve grown up. This was my summer of adventure,” she said with conviction. “I’ve outgrown my shyness and I don’t have so many fears. I think I’ve found my niche here in the museum. This could be the start of a promising career.”

“Ah, yes, the museum,” Maya said, a different light coming into her eyes. She was holding something back, but what? “That was the original purpose of my visit.” She unfastened the clasp on her evening bag and fingered through the contents before drawing out two tattered leather journals.

“I gather those are not your diaries,” Sophie said, smiling, trying to put her mother at ease.

“These are a lot more interesting and I assure you, they’re authentic.” She handed them to Sophie. “Evan Saunders was a cutthroat capitalist, but there was a side to the man few people ever knew. Read his final account of what happened between William and him. Your opinion of Evan may change.”

Sophie stared at the journals, afraid to breathe. The leather looked ancient and she had no reason to doubt her mother’s word. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to come to the shop and admit her mistakes. And to give her daughter the daybooks.

Sophie turned to the first page; the paper was creased and crackly and yellowed with age. The ink had smeared over several words, but the majority of sentences were legible. Her heart gave a squeeze when she saw Evan Saunders’s name scrawled at the top of the first page. She was holding a man’s private thoughts in the palms of her hands.

What would she find? Secrets? Memories? She’d read the earlier chronicles of Evan’s life written through nineteen forty-five. From what she could see at first glance, these pages spanned his later years.

“Why are you giving me the journals now?” She wondered at her mother’s motive.

“Despite appearances, I never minded the feud,” Maya admitted. “The Cateses always seemed beneath us. There was no reason for them to cross Center Street. Then Trace married Shaye and you became interested in the beach boy. Times changed, so here I am.”

Beach boy. Sophie let that pass. For now. She looked at her mother, not knowing what to say. “Thank you,” she managed, holding the journals tight to her chest. “I’ll take good care of them.”

“I know you will, Sophie. I trust you,” Maya said. She walked to the door, then turned around before she left. She had something else on her mind. “Trace mentioned that Dune Cates was out of town. I thought we could have breakfast together this week.”

“I’d like that,” Sophie said. “I have a new cookbook. I’ll make you French toast.”

Maya made an attempt to dissuade her daughter from cooking. “We could eat at the Sandcastle,” Maya offered as an alternative. “The hotel serves a sumptuous brunch.”

Sophie was firm. “I’d rather cook.”

Maya had one hand on the door handle when she glanced back at Sophie. A corner of her mouth lifted. “Yes, you do have my stubbornness.” She seemed pleased by that fact as she slipped out the door.

By the time the limo driver came for Sophie, she had everything locked up. With the journals tucked safely in her purse, she headed home. Roger dropped her off at her front door.

Once inside, she checked on her hamsters. She took Glinda and Scarlett out of their cage and put them in their plastic ball, then gave them the run of her house.

She changed into her favorite silk lounging pajamas. A bowl of popcorn and glass of chai iced tea accompanied her to the library. There she curled up on the couch and opened the journals.

She read the entries slowly. Evan had documented his business dealings, commented on his family, and written scathing passages on the Florida heat. He was not a warm-weather person.

Sophie felt little affinity toward Evan until the final pages of the second journal. The ink was faint, smudged, and difficult to read. His posts were sporadic, yet his words touched her heart . . .

August 15, 1950

William Cates called me a swindler. He swears I stole a parcel of land out from under him. The acre sits south of Barefoot William. He’s wrong, but he won’t admit it. He’s got more pride than I do. There are no county records of ownership. I bought it fair and square.

March 3, 1951

The fish were running tonight and I caught two snook off the shoreline. The water was rough. William baited a hook right before twilight and we both waited. We stood fifty feet apart. Someone on the beach took our photograph with a Kodak Brownie.

September 9, 1951

Hurricane Abigail destroyed both the Barefoot William and Saunders piers. William and I came together to discuss building a central pier, one that would benefit us both. An argument ensued. William wanted the pier for fishing and amusement. My vision was for a yacht harbor. Nothing was finalized. A second discussion is scheduled for next week.

November 21, 1951

William and I continue to argue over the pier. We have agreed on a central courthouse for both cities. That will give us access to land documentation and recorded deeds. No more finagling over who owns what.

We’ve decided not to approach our families with the joint venture until after the first of the year. We don’t want the holidays disrupted. We plan to start construction on the public facility as early as next March.

December 15, 1951

I’ve been told William has fallen ill. I have not yet heard his diagnosis. I hope it is not serious.

January 5, 1952

One of my business associates informed me that William’s health is failing. I went to his home, but was told he couldn’t have visitors. I left him a fishing lure. He will understand my message.

January 26, 1952

William’s family buried him today. His heart failed him. I stood within the shelter of a pine tree and watched as his casket was lowered into the ground. His widow was inconsolable. Death seems so final. I’ve lost an adversary, yet also a formidable friend. We had come to an understanding by the end of his life. We’d planned several projects together that would have ended the feud between our families. With William’s death, I fear those ventures will no longer be realized. William’s legacy will be one of beloved father and fine fisherman.

I will miss him.

Evan’s last words touched Sophie deeply. Tears escaped her. She ran her fingertips over the final post at the back of the journal. The script was in a different handwriting.

It said:
Evan Saunders. Deceased. May 31, 1954.

He’d passed away within two years of William Cates.

Sophie closed the journals and cried. She went through a box of Kleenex. Life was unpredictable. It held promises and secrets and was far too short.

She thought about William and Evan. The two men were from different backgrounds. They were business rivals. They bickered and fought their entire lives, yet in the silence of twilight, with fishing poles in hand, they shared moments of peace. And of friendship.

An olive branch had been extended late in their lives.

In truth, the peace offering was still there, stretching through time, waiting to be recognized.

Sophie would find a way to acknowledge their alliance.

It had been kept a secret for too long.

She needed to speak to Frank Cates.

Sixteen

S
ophie arrived at the museum at eight a.m. sharp. Mac James dropped off Frank Cates at five minutes after eight. Frank entered the shop in a huff.

“The boy made me late.” Frank pointed a finger at Mac. “I was ready to leave when he decided to change clothes. Again. He was as fussy as a girl this morning.”

Heat reddened Mac’s neck.

Sophie noticed he’d cleaned up his act. No T-shirt or board shorts today. Instead, he wore a white polo shirt, khaki Dockers, and loafers without socks. His hair was still damp from his morning shower. He’d taken the time to shave. He looked good.

“What’s the occasion?” Sophie asked him, curious.

Mac shifted his weight. He seemed unable to stand still. “Jenna agreed to have breakfast with me before I leave,” he said. “My flight’s scheduled for eleven. This will be my last chance to see her until after the tournament.”