The Guest Book (7 page)

I
t was lunchtime before Max joined Macy, their mom, and Emma in the dining area. They had just come in from the beach when he slunk in and sat down at the island. He smiled ruefully when Macy caught his eye and gave him a look, then rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Hey, Mom. Got any coffee?” he asked, heading around the island and into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets.

Macy shook her head and turned her attention to Emma, who was nibbling on a peanut-butter sandwich. She reached over and took a chip off her daughter’s plate, crunching happily despite Emma’s protests.

“That was my chip!” she said, planting her small hands on her hips.

Max grabbed more chips from the open bag on the counter
and put them on Emma’s plate, kissing his niece’s head as he sat down with his cup of instant coffee. He sipped it and grimaced. “Starbucks it is not,” he said.

“But it’ll do the trick,” Macy mused aloud, glancing at him with a challenge in her eyes. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, blowing on the coffee and staring into the cup instead. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that Max was nursing a serious hangover.

“Yeah, it’ll do the trick,” he mumbled. He took another sip as Emma finished her lunch.

Outside, someone was hammering on the roof of the house next door, the house Macy remembered being Buzz’s house. She wondered if it was still her dad’s friend Buzz’s house, then remembered him saying he planned to die there. The banging had been getting louder as the day progressed. Macy rolled her eyes. She’d been planning to have Emma lie down for a bit after lunch, but all that racket would prevent her from sleeping. Maybe the workers would take a nice long break for lunch. So far they’d been hard at work without a moment of rest. Buzz — if it was still his house — was certainly getting his money’s worth.

Emma scampered to her room and returned with a drawing pad and markers, setting up next to Max at the island, pushing everything out of her way, already intent on whatever it was she was drawing. Max looked at Emma, then at Macy, before smiling with amusement. He hitched his thumb in Emma’s direction.

“She sure takes after you,” he said.

Macy smiled back as she rose from her place at the island
and began cleaning up from lunch. “I’ve heard that more than once.”

Max reached over and palmed Emma’s head as Macy busied herself with cleaning. Macy knew he was trying to catch her eye, but she didn’t bite. Emma, already distracted by a new idea, raced back to her room, leaving Macy alone with Max, who finished his coffee.

“I was thinking this morning about that time you told me I wasn’t ever going to be invited to your wedding. Do you remember that?”

Macy glanced his way. “Of course I do,” she said, raising one eyebrow.

He chuckled. “I beat you at finding the best shell in that contest Dad had that one time. Remember that?”

Macy frowned. “You were such a bully.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about that all these years later.” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “We were just kids.”

Macy mimicked him, crossing her arms over her own chest and glowering at him. “We were not just kids. I was just a kid. You were old enough to know better.”

“Gee, Mace. Didn’t know you still held on to this resentment. Might need to see a counselor about that.” He laughed.

She thought about how hurt she’d been when Max showed up with the best shell. She remembered her dad’s comforting words, the way he had distracted her with drawing in the guest book with her second-place prize of colored pencils, and how
ultimately that had changed everything and, in a way, led them here. A smile flickered across her face as she recalled standing by the waves the night before asking God to send her the creator of those pictures.

In the light of day it all sounded like foolishness.

Macy resumed her mock angry stance and narrowed her eyes at Max. “I had every right to be angry,” she countered. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. She wasn’t angry at Max anymore. But pretending to be was fun.

Max looked at her oddly for a moment. There was a hint of amusement but also something else, something deeper. Macy recognized it as regret.

“I’m sorry I was so mean to you when we were kids. You were a good little kid. And I made your life pretty miserable every chance I got.” He smiled at her. “I was pretty jealous of you. Jealous of the attention Mom and Dad gave you. I wanted to be their little princess.” He caught himself. “I mean, not actually their princess but — “

She couldn’t contain her smile any longer. “Ooohhhh, Princess Max. Princess Maxine.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You know what I meant.”

Macy grinned at him and nodded. “But you know I couldn’t just let that one go.”

He ignored her. “I remember that after you told me you weren’t going to invite me to your wedding, I felt really sad about what I’d done. ‘Course, I couldn’t let on to you or Mom
or Dad that I felt bad. Once I decided to do something I had to see it through.” He looked around the room. “Something about being here is bringing back all these memories. Ya know?”

Macy looked away, out at the back porch where the swing stood, swaying slightly in the breeze. She could almost see two people sitting there.

“Yeah,” she agreed, a wistful tone in her voice. “I sure do.”

Macy looked up from the book she was reading to find Emma standing in front of her. “I can’t rest,” she said. “That banging is too loud. It’s right by my window.”

Macy sighed and laid the book down, having read a record five pages in a row. She knew requiring Emma to have rest time in the afternoons was probably wishful thinking, but she so wanted some downtime built into the day. She’d hoped that breaking up the day with some rest would prepare them both for a fun afternoon spent on the beach. But no rest was happening, thanks to the construction crew doing who-knows-what to the house next door.

Exasperated, she hopped up from the couch and headed out the front door, her hand shading her eyes from the stark brightness of the midday sun. She trekked over to the house, picturing Buzz tossing a beer can into the yard, wearing his trademark bright yellow swim trunks and a wide grin. She stopped short and watched the crew of men working, hammers pounding so loudly none of them noticed her approach.

After a few minutes, one of the workmen leaned over the edge of the roof and drawled, “Can I help you, ma’am?” He had a hard hat pulled down low on his head and was covered in sawdust and sweat, but she still noticed how handsome he was. As if he knew what she was thinking, he smiled at her. Maybe her reaction was one he always got from women.

“I hope you can,” Macy said. “I’m staying in the house next door, and we’re … well … we’re on vacation.”

He smirked at her again. “And I guess all this working going on here is disturbing your vacation?”

She mustered a smile for his benefit. It was best to appear pleasant. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and all that. “I guess you could put it that way.”

She glanced over at Time in a Bottle and saw Emma standing on the front porch, watching her.

“Actually, it’s not so much about our vacation, per se. It’s really more about getting my daughter” — she pointed in Emma’s direction — “to lie down for a bit. She’s having a hard time getting settled with all the noise.” She looked back at him and smiled again for punctuation.

The man looked over at Emma, waved at her, then looked back at Macy. “Ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying this, isn’t your daughter a bit old for naps? I mean, after all, it’s a vacation for her too. She’d probably like to spend her afternoon out at the beach.” He looked at Macy meaningfully.

The other men, she noticed, had stopped hammering and were watching the exchange with amused smiles on their faces.

Macy’s own smile disappeared. “Well, I hope
you
don’t
mind me saying
this
, but what I do with
my
daughter is none of
your
business.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared up at him. “All I’m asking is that you guys maybe ease up for an hour or so.” She dropped her arms and opted for kindness again as her flare of anger died out. “Please,” she added politely. She forced herself to smile at the obnoxious man.

He pulled off his hard hat and crouched down to squint at her. His hair was wet from sweat, and his face was streaked with sawdust. He looked like he belonged in a calendar of hunky construction men. “Well, it just so happens you’re in luck,” he said. “We were just about to break for lunch. Think your daughter can finish her nap by the time we get back up here?”

Macy’s smile turned from forced to genuine. “Sure.” She exhaled loudly. “Sorry about asking you guys to stop doing your job.” She paused, glancing over at Emma, who had climbed down the porch stairs and was crossing the yard to join her. “And sorry I got mad.” Emma reached her and wrapped her arms around her.

“You’re protective of your daughter,” he said. “You gotta admire a mom like that.”

The front door of the house opened, and a man walked out onto the porch, peering at Macy as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. “What’s going on up there, Wyatt?” he asked, keeping his eye on Macy as he did.

“Nothing, Dad,” the man said.

Dad? Macy looked closer at the man on the porch. The hair was grayer and thinner, the pace a little slower, but as she
studied him, she could see the Buzz she knew standing in his place, minus the bright-yellow swim trunks.

“Buzz?” she asked.

He looked at her, confused. “Yes?”

“It’s me, Macy. Darren and Brenda Dillon’s daughter?” In her mind’s eye, she could see Buzz and her dad laughing together, joking about who’d caught the bigger fish, shot the lowest golf score, worked the hardest. It was always a competition between those two, but neither of them really wanted to win. The best competition was seeing who could make the other laugh the hardest.

His eyes widened as her words hit home. He looked from her to Emma and back again. “Is this … is she —”

Macy gave Emma’s shoulders a little squeeze. “Yes, this is my daughter, Emma. Emma this is Buzz … I mean, Mr. Wells.”

“You can still call me Buzz,” he said. He walked over to Macy and threw his arms around her. “It’s so good to see you. I have to say, after all these years I never thought I’d see you back here at Sunset.”

She heard footsteps and looked up from Buzz’s enveloping hug to see the construction guy walking toward them.

“I guess this is your son?” she asked. She recalled Buzz telling her he had a son who lived with his ex, teasing her about how much his son would like her if he ever met her. But that had been a long time ago.

Buzz smiled and motioned for his son to join them, pride evident on his face. “This is Wyatt, my knucklehead son,
who — from the sound of things — was giving you a hard time just now.” Buzz turned and gave his son a glare.

Wyatt held his hands up. “Me?” Wyatt fixed Macy with his intense gaze and raised his eyebrows.

Macy knew she should confess. “Actually, Buzz, I started it by giving Wyatt a hard time. I was asking him to not be so loud for about an hour so Emma here could have some rest.”

“And I merely told her that this is the beach. Kids aren’t supposed to rest at the beach. They’re supposed to play!” He reached over and gave Emma an enthusiastic high five.

Macy shook her head. “Remind me to pay you back for that one later,” she said to Wyatt.

“By all means,” he responded quickly, and gave her a look that made her breath catch in her throat.

Buzz seemed not to notice this exchange and invited Macy and Emma in. “I was just about to make this hungry crew some lunch. Wyatt has his own construction business, and these kind gentlemen used their day off to come over here to do some repair work from the storm we had this spring. Isn’t that nice?”

Wyatt looked at her as if to say,
See? I’m nice.

Macy ignored him. “Yes, very nice,” she said to Buzz. “But actually, I’m going to let the guys have their lunch and take Emma home to finish her nap. Buzz, so nice to see you again. We’ll have to catch up sometime soon. I’m sure Mom and Max would love to see you. They’re both here with me.”

“And your husband?” Wyatt asked, the cocky smile back on his face.

“Nope. He’s not here,” she retorted over her shoulder as she walked away. She didn’t see the point in explaining that there was no husband. Let Wyatt wonder. From the looks of things, he was a man who could use some uncertainty in his life. She crossed the yard and entered the house, feeling Wyatt’s eyes on her, yet too stubborn to turn and see if he was really watching.

As Macy listened to the sounds of Brenda in the kitchen, water running over dishes, and Sunset Beach coming through the open windows, it took her back in time. She was ten years old and looking forward to a bike ride with her dad after dinner. She was hoping he would surprise her with ice cream at the pier. She closed her eyes and pictured it all, her mouth curling up at one corner with the vivid memory.

Max’s deep voice penetrated her trip down memory lane, and she opened her eyes to find him and Emma looking at her.

“What do you say, Mom?” the little girl asked. “Can I go with Uncle Max?”

Macy’s eyes filled with sharp tears that she blinked away while pretending to be engrossed with a crumb on the table. How she wished her dad was there to take Emma on a bike ride like he used to take Macy. But how grateful she was that Max — in spite of his issues — was there to take her in Dad’s stead.

“Sure,” she said.

Max winked at her and caught Emma as she flung herself
at him. Then she ran into the kitchen to tell her grandmother they were leaving.

Macy smiled after her and turned to Max. “You might be unwittingly starting a tradition.”

He shrugged. “We’re not here long. I can handle it.”

Macy looked at her brother, took in his threadbare khaki shorts and worn T-shirt, which may have borne a logo long ago but didn’t anymore. He looked like an overgrown boy.

“It’s too bad you never settled down,” she ventured. “You’d make a great dad.”