An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Mariah Stewart (best classic books to read TXT) 📖

of his collar. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper something. Chris nodded and said, “Tell him I’ll be with him in one minute.”

He turned back to Emma. “I forgot I agreed to do an interview after the show. I don’t mean to kick you out. You’re welcome to hang around, but I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll be on our way,” Emma said. “I know you have other obligations.”

“None more important than you, but yeah, I’d like to get this over with, and then I want to get something to eat. And hey, it’s already after midnight.” He elbowed his mother lightly. “Past your bedtime, Mom.”

“It is, but it was worth it.” Emma hugged her son. “So will we see you before we leave on Sunday morning? No pressure.”

“I have to check with my manager to see what else is on the schedule, but if I can hook up with you guys before you leave, I will.” He walked them toward the door. “Tomorrow’s a big milestone for you guys, right? First tats?” He walked them to the door.

“It is. For each of us.” Emma tucked a hand through his arm, and he squeezed it.

“Pick something awesome,” he said as the guard opened the door and stood aside for them. “Pick something that shows who you guys are to each other.”

And that, Maggie thought as they walked through the crowded corridor to their ride, is the whole point of the tattoo. She still wasn’t sure what it would be, but it would, in fact, be awesome.

Chapter Seven

GRACE

The Christmas lights adorning the well-kept houses on Linden Circle cast a cheery glow over every porch and driveway, from the corner all the way to the end of the block where Grace’s pretty Cape Cod sat in bleak and total darkness. There’d been a time not so long ago when the sight of the neighborhood all sparkly with holiday joy had lifted her spirits, but this year every beautifully lit house seemed to mock her. She stopped at the mailbox to gather the few catalogs of last-minute gift ideas tucked among the bills and a few Christmas cards before heading to the end of the driveway, where a motion-sensor light came on to illuminate the area between the garage and the back deck. With her house keys and the mail in one hand and her handbag and her briefcase in the other, she slammed the car door with her shoulder. Up the four steps to the deck, her heels tapping across the boards, and then she unlocked the back door and went inside the silent house.

Grace had not entered the house she’d shared with Zach without feeling like a failure since the night he had packed his belongings. She’d married him believing in their happy-ever-after and had bought this house with an unquestioned assurance of undying domestic bliss. After closing that first day, he’d carried her over the front door threshold, and they’d begun their life together under this roof. Grace had never—not even for an instant—suspected there’d ever be an end to the fairy tale of their marriage. She still didn’t understand what had happened, what had caused Zach to fall out of love with her and into love with someone else. She must have done something to make him not love her anymore. Not that it mattered now, but still, she’d like to know what it was that had made her suddenly so unlovable.

She flicked on the light, dumped her bag and the mail on the kitchen counter, set her briefcase on the floor next to the table, and draped her coat over a nearby chair. The thought of the impending holiday exhausted her. She went into the living room and plugged in the Christmas tree, pausing to watch the blinking lights. She hadn’t planned on having a tree this year—really, she hadn’t wanted one—but her mother and sister had insisted it would cheer her up. She hadn’t been able to explain how the tree had the opposite effect on her. Every time she looked at it, with its graceful arms laden with cheery ornaments and the beautiful angel that sat on the uppermost branch, she wanted to cry because of all the memories the tree evoked. Their first Christmas, she and Zach had walked on the frozen ground of the tree farm as snow had fallen lightly. They’d examined every tree of a certain height until they’d found the perfect one. They’d fought to get the tree into the stand, laughing as the trunk wobbled and crashed not once but twice before they’d managed to secure it. Zach had carefully draped the lights while Grace sorted through the boxes of ornaments, some bought new together, some gifted by her mother or his. There’d been angels she’d made in kindergarten from pipe cleaners and crepe paper, and a print of his small hand impressed inside a plaster heart he’d made in nursery school and hung by a red satin ribbon. Even last year—well after he’d left her—she’d hung that heart on the tree, still hoping against hope that he’d get over whatever it was that had made him leave her and he’d come home. Having spent the last twelve months watching Amber lead him around by his nose—if not by another portion of his anatomy—Grace’d given up any notion of a reconciliation.

A week ago, Zach had had the nerve to ask her if she’d give him that little plaster heart for the tree he and Amber were going to put up that weekend in her apartment. Grace had promised to look for it when she got home, which she’d done. When she’d found it, she’d smashed it into dust with a meat tenderizer.

“Sorry,” she’d told him on Monday when he’d again asked about his treasured ornament. “I guess it got lost or something.” It gave her perverse pleasure to know that he knew she was lying, but he