Meet Me at the Beach (Seashell Bay) (18 page)

“Uh-huh,” Lily murmured. Best to remain polite and noncommittal when Supermom was on the job.

“Don’t forget that I saw how your world revolved around that boy for years. And I certainly noticed how you were looking at him Sunday night at the dance. I know you’re now a mature woman and not a love-struck teenager, but the expression in your eyes when you’re with Aiden hasn’t changed a bit. You need to be careful, Lily.”

Well, that was stating the obvious. “You don’t have to worry, Mom. Aiden will leave as soon as he makes a decision about selling his land. And he won’t be coming back. There’s absolutely no need to talk about us as if we were a couple or something.”

Her mother’s gaze narrowed. “Nonsense. You’ve been comparing every man to Aiden ever since he left the island. You know it, and so do I. And nobody can ever match up, can they?”

When Lily started to protest, her mother waved a hand. “Don’t even try to deny it. I know as sure as I’m sitting here that what you two are doing now is only going to make it worse.”

“What we’re doing is lobster fishing. Hauling and setting heavy, stinking traps. It’s hardly the setting for torrid romance, Mom.”

“You’re just dodging the question.”

Lily wanted to pull her hair out with frustration. “Look, Aiden won’t stay, and I won’t go. That’s the bottom line for us, same as it was fourteen years ago.”

Obviously reacting to her tone, her mom pushed back in her chair. “If you say so, Lily. I should get going now.”

Crap.

She didn’t move as her mother went to the door and crouched to tie her sneakers.

“I just want you to be happy,” her mother said, straightening.

And there it was, the final mom arrow to the heart.

Sighing, Lily got up. “I know you do. And I know you think I’ve been… wasting opportunities to meet someone.”

“It’s just that—”

“I get it, Mom, I do. But do you really think I want to keep living alone in a little cottage at the back of my father’s trap lot? Spending more time with my parents than with friends, much less a boyfriend? Of course I want to get married and have a family. But I can’t just snap my fingers and have a genie pop out of her bottle and make it happen. I’m not going to settle just because my biological clock is ticking. You don’t want me to either, and you know it.”

Her mother wrinkled her nose, looking rueful. “All I was trying to say was that you need to be careful. You and Aiden are worlds apart and always have been. Don’t expose yourself to that heartache again.”

“Aye, aye, Mom. Message received,” Lily said in a firm voice, escorting her onto the little porch.

This time it was her mother rolling her eyes before she gave Lily a quick peck on the cheek and headed up the drive, eventually disappearing into the mist.

Her mom, bless her heart, was just being her protective self. But Lily was all too aware of the danger, despite her denials. That night on the beach after the dance, she would have gone anywhere with Aiden and done anything with him, regardless of the consequences.

And, scarily enough, she knew she still might.

S
aint Anne’s-by-the-Sea hadn’t changed much since Aiden’s mom had been buried in its small, oak-shaded cemetery, although he’d been too wrung out on that shitty day to take much notice of the white clapboard church where Flynns had been ushered through the various milestones of life since the 1880s. He’d spent a hell of a lot time here as a kid, when his mother had dragged him and Bram to Mass every Sunday and religious holiday without fail. The gray shingle roof tiles had been swapped out for red, but other than that everything looked the same—the steeple topped by a plain bronze cross that rose over the church, the stained-glass windows of biblical figures that graced the sides, the one-story church hall that parishioners had built themselves several decades ago.

Aiden had spent hours in Saint Anne’s when he was young, desperately praying for his dad to change and for his mom to be happy. Now he had to shake his head at how naïve he’d been.

As he skirted the church on the flagstone path overgrown with grass, heading to his mother’s grave, he could
see that the church cemetery had greatly expanded. The island’s live population might not be growing, but the dead contingent sure was.

Leaving the path, he strolled between the headstones. The fog had long ago dispersed, and the early evening gave Aiden a perfect view of the vibrant sunset over the bay, blurred bands of red and orange fading into a dusky pink swath that cut across the sky. He stopped for a moment and gazed back over Island Road toward the channel, glimpsing a couple of Lily’s neon-bright orange buoys. They’d hauled and reset that particular trap line twice this week, with damn good results too.

But they’d stayed off the water today, which didn’t mean Aiden hadn’t been obsessing about Lily pretty much all day. Instead of feeling relieved that he could head back to bed after she’d called him, he’d tossed and turned for nearly an hour before going for a punishing run through the fog. When he’d passed Tommy Doyle’s property, just barely able to glimpse Lily’s red Jeep behind stacks of old traps and other lobstering gear, it had taken a considerable amount of willpower not to knock on her cottage door and… well, who knew what might have happened if he had?

But fantasies of early morning sex with a naked, sleep-mussed Lily aside, Aiden still couldn’t figure out what to do about her. With every hour they spent together, he wanted her more and more. Hell, his body literally ached for her—certain parts of it, anyway. But he still couldn’t get his head around what would happen if they gave in to what they clearly both mutually desired. He’d had sex for the sake of sex, and he knew exactly how that felt before and after. And also he knew that sex with Lily could never
just be that kind of emotionless physical gratification. It would leave a mark on him, one he wasn’t likely to forget.

Knowing Lily, he seriously doubted she’d be able to treat it as just a quick hop in the sack to scratch an itch either.

Damned if he didn’t go to bed every night looking forward to morning, just so he could be with her again—even though that meant long, punishing hours on a lobster boat, his least favorite place in the world.

Which simply reinforced the idea that Lily was driving him batshit crazy.

Aiden gave his head a shake and turned back to the cemetery, focusing on why he was here in the first place—to pay his respects to his mother. Tomorrow would have been her sixty-seventh birthday, had her heart not failed her. He’d taken the ferry into Portland this afternoon and gone to the best florist to track down long-stemmed white roses. His mom had loved white roses, and he now carried eighteen of them, his age when he left to pursue his baseball career with his mother’s full blessing.

He knew exactly how much he owed her—everything, really, because she’d always encouraged him to follow his dream and had done all she could to support it. If not for her, Aiden would probably still be stuck in Seashell Bay, following in his father’s footsteps in more ways than one.

Treading carefully around the old gravestones, he made his way to the family plot, a slightly sloped area of about a hundred square feet enclosed with a low fence of misshapen rocks and mortar. His mother was buried in the southwest corner, with places both on the granite headstone and in the grass-covered earth for his father to
join her. Sean Flynn’s reserved space was the last unused piece of ground inside the low walls. Aiden presumed that would be it for the long line of Flynns of Seashell Bay, unless Bram were to suddenly get his act together and start a family.

His mom’s grave looked surprisingly well tended, with the grass around the stone carefully trimmed. Such was not the case with the other graves in the plot, where long grass and weeds crept up the sides of the markers. The church took care of cutting the grass in the whole cemetery, but clipping around the headstones was left up to family members.

Frowning, he stopped abruptly just outside the three-foot gap in the wall. Someone had left a spray of wildflowers in front of his mother’s marker—the kind that grew in the fields at the south end of the island. And on top of the headstone itself were a couple of small items glinting in the waning light.

Pieces of sea glass?

Slipping through the gap, Aiden crouched down and carefully set the roses beside the wildflowers and read the inscription on the polished gray and black memorial he was seeing for the first time.

Rebecca Flynn had certainly been a beloved mother, but a beloved wife? The inscription was probably standard, but if that sentiment reflected his father’s true feelings, he’d certainly managed to keep them under wraps.
From Aiden’s perspective, he’d seen very little affection and regard between his parents, at least from his dad’s end.

He reached out to pluck the two smooth pieces of sea glass from the top of the headstone. One was almost circular and in a green so sea-washed it was almost colorless. The other piece, sort of rectangular, was a translucent white. His mother had loved sea glass, and she used to spend hours on the beach with him and Bram looking for prime specimens. Gazing down at the small, delicate pieces, he wondered who could have left such a tribute.

His brother? He doubted it, especially when Bram had made it plain he didn’t much like visiting the cemetery. It was probably Miss Annie. She and Mom had been thick as thieves, despite the difference in their ages. Then again, the old gal was friendly with every soul on the island other than Sean Flynn.

“Hullo, Aiden,” said a familiar voice. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Aiden stood and turned. “Hello, Father.”

Father Michael Malone was making his way through the grass to the Flynn plot, stopping just outside the low wall. He wore his Roman collar and a black long-sleeved priest’s shirt with a pair of faded blue jeans. His hair was mostly white now, and he’d developed a bit of a gut, but he still looked healthy and surprisingly young for a man who’d been ministering to Seashell Bay folks for years.

“Your mother would be so happy you came here for her birthday,” Father Michael said.

“I’m early. It’s tomorrow, actually.” Aiden stepped out of the enclosure and extended his hand.

The priest smiled as he returned Aiden’s handshake. “Yes, I know. God bless her soul.”

Aiden wasn’t surprised. His mother had always relied on Father Michael for advice and solace. She faithfully attended Mass every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening, and she volunteered for everything from arranging food for weddings and funerals to repainting and redecorating the rectory.

“You were a good friend,” Aiden said. “I know how much that meant to her.”

“It was easy to be her friend.” Father Michael pointed to the roses. “I assume those are yours, Aiden. They’re lovely. Rebecca’s favorite, as you obviously remembered.”

Aiden nodded. “I see someone brought wildflowers. And the sea glass. I’m guessing Miss Annie left them. I know she and Mom both collected and exchanged good pieces.”

The priest smiled. “That’s a very good guess because Miss Annie does visit here quite often. But no, she didn’t leave those flowers. Nor the glass.”

Aiden frowned. It couldn’t be Bram, and who else on the island besides Miss Annie would make a special trip to visit her grave? “Huh, I wonder who it is.”

“The same person who comes here every week, without fail—even in the worst weather—to make sure there’s not a stray blade of grass or a weed marring your mother’s grave. Your father, Aiden.”

What the hell?
His father had treated his mom like crap, so that didn’t make any sense. “Really? That’s hard to believe.”

“This isn’t a once-a-year thing, Aiden. Sean brings wildflowers every week when they’re in bloom, and on occasion he brings a bouquet from Portland too. He couldn’t be more faithful and devoted.”

Aiden could practically feel his eyes bugging out in disbelief.

The priest gave a rueful chuckle. “Well, at least in that regard. We certainly don’t see him in the pews as often as we’d like.”

“Yeah, or ever,” Aiden scoffed.

Father Michael’s eyebrows pulled up. “And are you a regular at Mass then in one of those lovely Philadelphia churches?”

Aiden had to repress a wince at the innocent reminder that his life in Philly was essentially over. “I’m on the road a lot, and we play every Sunday during the season,” he said.

I used to play every Sunday, that is.

“Well, perhaps you will join us here this Sunday? I’m sure you’ll be staying on the island at least that long, won’t you?”

A beat-up old minivan motored noisily by on Island Road, the driver honking as a woman in the passenger seat waved at them. Father Michael waved back and, automatically, so did Aiden. Everybody in Seashell Bay waved to each other when they passed by, whether in a car or a golf cart, on a bike or on foot. If you didn’t wave back, you were definitely a Come-From-Away or, as everyone abbreviated it, a CFA.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” Aiden hedged. “I’d originally thought only a few days, but then I got roped into helping out Lily, so…” He shrugged. In truth, he had no idea anymore.

“Yes, I heard about the consequences of losing the bet you two made on Darts Night,” the priest said with a glint of mischief in his eye.

“No secrets on this island,” Aiden said dryly.

“Well, I believe it’s still a secret what you intend to do about selling your land to Bay Island Properties. When do you think you might reveal your plans in that regard, Aiden?” Father Michael adopted a beatific, innocent smile, but Aiden wasn’t fooled.

“Yes, my son, I know,” Father Michael added, taking in Aiden’s expression. “But you know priests—we can get away with sticking our noses into just about anything, can’t we?”

More than once since he’d come back to the island, Aiden had contemplated hanging a sign around his neck saying,
I DON’T KNOW, SO DON’T BOTHER ASKING
.

Then again, he guessed he should count himself lucky that people weren’t beating down his door to lobby him. If he’d been most anywhere other than Seashell Bay, that was probably what would have happened. The locals might be nosy, but they also had an old-fashioned sense of courtesy. Funny how he’d forgotten that.

“I know people are anxious to hear, Father, but the honest answer is I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on my mind these days.” He shifted restlessly, starting to feel the old urge to escape.

“I’m sure. You feel a great obligation to your brother.” He paused a moment. “And perhaps to your father, as well.”

Aiden glanced down at his mother’s headstone. “Mom would have wanted me to do whatever I can to help them.”

“She would be distressed about Bram, of course. Rebecca was a wonderful, loving mother. But I’m not at all sure she would have approved of what Sean is trying to do. She decided to split her inherited land the way she did for a reason, you know.”

Aiden shot him a puzzled look. “She wanted Bram and me to have our own parcels, ones with plenty of space and great views. She’d always hoped we’d both build homes there and raise families.”

“But that wasn’t the only reason, Aiden.”

Great. Now good old Father Michael was wading into the toxic family stew. “Just spell it out, Father,” Aiden said with a sigh.

The priest gave him a patient smile. “Shall we take a little stroll?”

As they walked back together to the flagstone path, Father Michael took up the discussion. “Your mother was a very private person, as you know, but she did need someone she could trust. Someone who would respect that privacy and not gossip.” He cut Aiden an assessing glance. “But I truly think she’d want me to tell you this now, given the urgency of the situation.”

Aiden repressed his impatience—both with the topic and Father Michael’s meandering pace. “I know you think the car ferry and Dad’s land sale are going to spell the end of life as we all know it on Seashell Bay Island,” he said, exaggerating for effect. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

“Aiden, you know your mother was never a proponent of that type of development here,” Father said earnestly. “But I’m telling you that her aversion to her land being used that way ran far deeper than people know. When she told me what she intended to do in her will, I understood for the first time how strongly she felt.”

Now Aiden was listening hard.

“Your father was livid about her intentions,” the priest went on. “He simply wouldn’t let up on her. She was quite desperate to talk to an objective third party.”

“I can understand why she’d choose you, Father,” Aiden said.

“Your mother regarded the land she’d inherited from her family as a sacred trust that had been handed down through many generations. Rebecca saw herself as a steward of that land, one charged with loving and protecting it for future generations. Your father, of course, believed that to be the height of foolishness. And a betrayal of him and his sons.” He grimaced, glancing at Aiden. “Your parents’ marriage had been troubled for a long time, but that was rock bottom for Rebecca. At one point, she even thought about cutting Sean out of the will completely. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it. Despite everything, she still carried a good measure of love for the man, and she understood all that he’d gone through.”