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

your mind someday). I have been in contact with my birth father. I spoke with him over the weekend. We will be getting together sometime soon, and I am beyond happy. Nervous, but happy. I hope you’re happy for me. He told me I have not one, not two, but three younger sisters! Mind blown!

I’m still hopeful that one day things might work out that I could meet you, too. A guy can’t have too many sisters.

“Wait, what?”

Confused, Natalie read the email again. “That’s impossible. Dad’s been gone for two years.”

And then she noticed the PS several lines below Joe’s name.

By the way, the genealogical site has identified several second and third cousins. Do you know a Polly Wakefield Drummond? Or a Claire Lloyd Anderson?

Natalie slumped back against the pillows.

“Holy shit.”

Chapter Fifteen

MAGGIE

“I think I want to move some of the iris over by the garage,” Maggie told Liddy. “I think the purple flowers against the weathered gray wood will be stunning.”

“Okay. Let me get a shovel.” Liddy sat on the bottom step of the deck, looking over the array of garden tools Maggie had laid upon the grass.

“We’ll use the new spade. It’s the one with the blue handle.” Maggie pointed to the tool, and Liddy held it up. “Yes, that one.”

Liddy handed over the spade and Maggie proceeded to dig up the clumps that had sat neglected under the shade of a forsythia that had been permitted to grow wild and unchecked. Earlier that morning, she’d pruned the shrubs to a more manageable size and shape, and it was then she’d discovered the iris.

“These must have been my mom’s,” Maggie said as she dug. “She used to have a patch of them. She loved iris. And I see they’ve done their thing and multiplied. There must be fifty or sixty plants out here.”

“Well, since it appears the previous owners didn’t do much gardening, they probably were your mother’s. I know iris can hang on for a long time even under poor conditions. But they’ll be happier over there in the sun.”

“I’ll have to divide these clumps before I can replant them.” Maggie wiped the sweat from her forehead with her forearm.

“Want me to dig a bed next to the garage so all you have to do is drop in the tubers?”

“That would be great, Lid, but you don’t have to. You can sit and watch.” Maggie knew there was no way in hell Liddy would sit in the shade and watch Maggie work.

“What, and miss an opportunity to tell everyone how you worked me like a dog? Ha. Not a chance.” Liddy picked up a shovel. “I think the iris should go right here.” She pointed to a short stretch of ground along the side of the garage.

“Perfect.” Maggie began to divide the clumps.

“Where’s Grace this afternoon?” Liddy dug in and turned over a shovelful of dirt.

“She went into town to pick up some things from the general store and the wine shop. Natalie and Daisy will be here tomorrow afternoon, so we’re planning a reunion dinner.” Maggie smiled at the thought of seeing her daughter and her granddaughter again.

“How long are they staying?” Liddy bent down and shook dirt from a clump of grass, then resumed digging.

“Natalie wasn’t sure. I told her I’d love to have them, but if she wanted to leave and then come back, she was welcome to do so. Whatever fits her schedule.”

Liddy knelt to remove some weeds, and Maggie stood watching her.

“What?” Liddy asked without turning around.

“What what?”

“What is it you’re not saying?” Liddy stood and leaned on the shovel. “I can feel your eyes on my back, and it’s spooky. Out with it.”

Maggie sighed. “It could just be me. But I got this strange feeling from Nat last night on the phone. Like there was something she wasn’t saying.”

“Maybe she has a new boyfriend,” Liddy suggested. “Maybe she’s running off with Chris and wants you to know before the tabloids get their hands on the story.”

Maggie laughed. “That’s not likely to happen. Not that I’d mind.” She knelt and began to pull apart the iris tubers. “It’s probably nothing. I know she’s been busy with the end of classes.”

“It’s a busy time of the year.” Liddy resumed digging. “Did you hear old Mr. Lattimore is retiring?”

“Fred Lattimore, who owns the bookstore?”

“Yep. Word is his son wants him to sell it.”

Maggie paused her work. “I hope that’s just a rumor without substance. We’d have no bookstore in town. Unless someone buys it.” She considered the loss to the community. Grace stopped in at least twice a week for a new book or magazine, and Maggie often accompanied her. “What are the chances someone will buy it?”

“Pretty damned good.”

“What have you heard?” Maggie stretched. She hadn’t realized how out of shape she was. Time to get back to yoga. And maybe running, as she’d talked about doing. She should call Dee Olson, get some tips on training. Run a marathon was still on the list.

“I heard a certain woman with whom you are quite friendly—one might even say a BFF—is looking into the possibility,” Liddy said, her tone a tease.

“What? When would Emma have time to . . . ?” Maggie stopped and stared at Liddy’s back.

“Turn around.”

When she did, Liddy was grinning.

“Liddy? You’re thinking about buying the bookstore?”

“Fred’s son and I had a long chat yesterday afternoon. You know Fred is in his eighties, and he’s showing signs of Alzheimer’s. Carl—that’s Fred’s son, I don’t know if you ever met him, but he runs the hardware store—he said Fred’s becoming increasingly forgetful. Some days he forgets to open the store, so whoever is working that morning has to call Carl to come and unlock it. Other days, he forgets to lock up when he leaves. Or he forgets to leave. Carl said he’s had to run down there some nights at ten or eleven o’clock to pick him up. And a couple of nights, Brett has found him wandering around town late.