Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

bed, the doll cried out Mama in its mechanical wail. Elinor paused. After all these years, that mournful cry still had the power to elicit a sigh from her. She used to lie in the dark, flipping the doll over and over, listening to the wail and never believing she’d ever hear that word from her daughter.

She could have had more children. She’d had many boyfriends over the years. Lovers. Proposals, even. Yet Elinor had never wanted to marry. She used to tell herself if her parents had really wanted a grandchild, why had they forced her to give away the only child she’d ever have? Was her decision not to marry subconscious punishment for her parents? Time had softened the edges of her pain and Elinor honestly didn’t believe it was. If that painful experience had changed anything about her, it was simply that she preferred making decisions for herself rather than have them made for her.

For there was love between her and her parents, and when they’d given up hope that their only child would ever marry, they were determined to give her a financial leg up in life. On her fortieth birthday, they handed her the deed to the beach house with great ceremony.

And someday, Elinor thought with more pleasure than she felt she deserved, she’d leave the house to her only daughter. That was another of the surprises she’d hoped to share today.

She strolled aimlessly through the house, looking at each room with what she thought might be Kristina’s eyes. It was a charming place with the charm from a time long gone. The rooms were small, but Elinor had an eye for color and design. The walls were refreshed with crisp whites, pale blues, and spots of color. She’d replaced dated Formica counters with marble; added large, potted plants and circulating fans. The house was a far cry from the worn plaids, rattan, and lime greens of her parents’ décor.

She entered the guestroom where Kristina would sleep. Fresh summer flowers from the farmer’s market sat in a vase by the bed, along with Evian water, a dark chocolate bar, a scented candle, and a Charleston Magazine. She knew it was the little things that made one feel welcome. Elinor bent to smooth the blush-colored duvet. A memory flashed, eliciting a crooked smile. This was the room in which Kristina was conceived. It was prom night. She snorted a self-deprecating laugh. Of course it was. In fact, the deed happened in this very bed. Elinor straightened and headed to the door. She didn’t plan on sharing that secret with Kristina.

Her phone pinged and Elinor rushed back into the living room to grab it. It was Kristina. She took a deep breath, praying she didn’t have a change of heart.

Storms hit. I had to pull off the road. I’ll be late. Maybe five?

Elinor slowly lowered the phone. Disappointing, yes . . . but not devastating. She was still on her way. She took a breath of relief. Lord help her, what was she going to do to while away another hour? She already was on pins and needles.

The doorbell rang, startling her. That must be Maeve, she thought and hurried across the living room to answer the door. “Coming!” Opening the door, she saw her friend standing on the freshly painted, covered front porch changed from her Turtle Team T-shirt to a crisply ironed pink blouse. In her arms she carried a wrapped gift and a large pink balloon that said It’s a Girl!

“I heard it was someone’s birthday,” Maeve said cheerily, stepping into the cool of the house. “Lord, it’s hotter than Hades out there. Hurry and shut the door.”

“You sure can be bossy,” Elinor chided. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Every day,” she sang out as she walked toward the dining room. “My, isn’t this festive,” she exclaimed. Then, pointing to the cake she asked, “Caroline’s Cakes?”

“Of course.”

Maeve set her gift on the table. “Yum.”

Elinor walked closer to the large balloon in Maeve’s hand and gave her friend the stink eye. “A balloon? Really? You know we’re trying to outlaw them here on the island. Just sayin’ . . .”

“I know, I know,” Maeve muttered with a wave of her hand. “No one is going to release it. I promise you I will personally deflate it and toss it into the trash after our little party, okay?”

“It’s very nice,” Elinor conceded.

Maeve stood in front of the table with her hands on her hips and surveyed the party décor. “You done good,” she said. Then turning she asked, “When does the birthday girl get here?”

“Not till five. There were storms on the way down.”

Maeve lifted her wrist and looked at her watch. “Well, phooey. I’m ready for a glass of champagne.”

“Will white wine hold you over?”

“Sounds dreamy.”

“You spruced things up a bit,” she said when Elinor returned with the wine. “Very nice.”

Elinor was pleased with the compliment. “Just a coat of fresh paint. The house was looking a little tired. It was overdue.”

“How’d you get it done so fast? I can’t get Ben to change a light bulb.”

“Ever try doing it yourself?”

Maeve cast her a sidelong glance. “No.” Then looking around she added teasingly, “Trying to set a good impression?”

Elinor blushed at the truth of it. “I wanted the cottage to look its best. So she’d like it, and”—she walked over to fluff up a pillow—“maybe return for a visit.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Elinor frowned. “I’ve been warned, thank you very much.”

Maeve took a sip of her wine.

Elinor felt badly she had spoken so sharply. She knew Maeve was only trying to be supportive. “I’m sorry if I’m a bit short,” she said after a beat. “I’m anxious.”

“It’s okay. I figured.”

“I really am glad you’re here.”

“Of course,” Maeve replied. She was sincere. “You’ve always been there for me.”

Elinor didn’t know what to say. When Maeve’s grandchild died from cystic fibrosis, she’d had a hard time. It was one thing for someone older to die. One could rationalize that the person lived