The Lights of Sugarberry Cove Read online

  For one, my life was on the road. Then there was the guilt and shame that went hand in hand with being home. Then last, but certainly not least, there was Will Lockhart. Thinking of running into him made me want to hop in my car and drive as far as a tank of gas would take me.

  “Ah, yes, and your visits are such a delight, LC!” Mama exclaimed, slightly out of breath. “Your arrival always comes with the air of a death-row prisoner being summoned to her final meal.”

  The climb upstairs had been arduous for Mama, but it was one she’d insisted on, having refused to convalesce in one of the three empty second-floor guest rooms. And when Susannah Scott made a decision, it was near to impossible to change her stubborn mind. I’d learned a long time ago when to pick my battles.

  Mama used my arm for balance, and I could practically feel exhaustion buzzing through her dry skin as she slowly lowered onto the edge of the mattress. A dark bruise marred the underside of her arm, where an IV had been in place for the last two days.

  “But,” Mama went on, “you do bring Tucker with you, the little darlin’, who’s a ray of sunshine amidst the gloom, so we make do, don’t we? Where is he, by the way?”

  “Home,” Leala said. The word was punctuated with pent-up frustration. “With Connor for the weekend.”

  Mama’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so? Three whole nights without Tuck? You’ll have separation anxiety by midnight, you poor thing. I have sleeping pills if you need them. You’re more than welcome to poke around my medicine cabinet.”

  Leala’s jaw tightened but she didn’t snap back, which was a feat of strength if ever I saw one. She might be a bit of an overprotective, overly attached mother, but only because our mother had been the complete opposite and Leala was overcompensating, wanting to break the cycle.

  Above the queen-size wrought iron bed hung a large square canvas drenched in a riot of jewel-toned colors. The painting was of a mandala in an elaborate lotus flower design that Mama had created and framed not long after my accident. If one studied it carefully, the center of the flower, its innermost petal from where all the others unfolded, was made of three distorted hearts, so twisted they were barely discernable. They represented Mama, Leala, and me, and I didn’t have to think too hard as to why Mama had painted them all bent out of shape … or why she had omitted Daddy’s heart from our family core; he’d been gone for so long now.

  Mama heaved a sigh as she leaned back against the pillows. “It’s a damn shame,” she said, reaching up to fluff her hair, “that upon my dying I wasn’t gifted a lovely head of starlight like our Sadie Way received after the one time she died. But then again, I wasn’t saved by the lady of the lake like she was. For shame. It was only Dr. Barnhill after I mentioned a little heartburn at my checkup.”

  I flicked a glance at my sister at the mention of my hair, but she wasn’t paying any attention to me. Leala Clare hated my hair color and had been the first one to try to dye it—only for the dye to slip off the strands like they’d been coated in oil beforehand. Mama, on the other hand, adored the silver color and whenever given the chance, proudly called attention to my head like a carnival barker pitching a new addition to the freak show. Since dyeing hadn’t worked, shaving it had been a lesson in humility, and wigs were too hot and itchy, I had no choice but to accept that my sparkly hair was simply a part of who I was now. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t embarrassed by it occasionally—I was. Especially when people stared.

  Mama yawned loudly, then smiled at us. “Having you both here with me for the weekend was definitely worth dying for.”

  Leala pressed her lips together and her chest puffed up with everything she’d been holding in for a while. Years maybe. Possibly decades. “No. One. Died. Yet.”

  I bit back a smile. It had been a good long while since I’d seen Leala’s fiery side.

  She pulled a notepad from her purse and said between clenched teeth, “You should get some rest, Mother. The cardiologist told us that sleep is of utmost importance for your recovery. I’m going to head over to Lockhart’s General Store to pick up your prescriptions. Is there anything else you need?”

  “I almost died. It counts,” Mama said. “A heart attack is nothing to sneeze at, LC.”

  Leala’s nostrils flared briefly before she bent her head to scribble something on the notepad with the force of a sculptor chiseling rock. The paper tore, but she didn’t seem to notice, and when she looked up again, she’d slipped on a tranquil mask, her features schooled into pleasantness.

  As Mama rattled off an assorted list of sundries to be collected, including a sudoku puzzle book, a box of tissues, a bag of Twizzlers, a bottle of Diet Coke, and a romance novel, I walked over to the velvet-padded bench beneath the sill of a wide dormer window and sat down. A stack of paperback books teetered on the far end of the bench, all the spines broken, the pages dog-eared. As eccentric as Mama was, it was no wonder she had titles ranging from romance to political nonfiction, but most of the books were travel guides. Paris, Spain, Romania, Japan. All places she’d never seen in person.

  The window seat offered a glimpse of the downtown promenade called the Landing, the heart of Sugarberry Cove. Currently the streets were flooded with summer vacationers. I could practically feel its pulse, strong and steady, as people flowed in and out of the shops. My gaze skipped around, from one storefront to another, lingering on Lockhart’s for a moment longer than necessary before flitting away.

  As much as I wanted to venture into town, it was best to stay put. I certainly didn’t want to dredge up old, painful memories by reminiscing with those I hadn’t seen in eight years. Because even though I now had a successful career, I still felt like I’d let down the people of this community and their expectations of me.

  Once upon a time, I’d dreamed of being a writer. A great storyteller. I’d always loved stories. Stories of any kind, as long as I felt them. I told anyone who’d listen that I was going to write a Great American Novel one day. Buoyed by the encouragement from the people in Sugarberry Cove who believed in me, my potential, I’d been ready to learn anything and everything to set that dream in motion, and I couldn’t wait to go off to college as an English major.

  Only to find out I hated college. I felt muted on campus. Alone. My creativity plummeted. On day three I knew it wasn’t for me, but it was Will Lockhart who’d told me to give it time, give it a chance. So I did. But then two weeks after move-in day, I’d gone back home for the water lantern festival, a tradition I wouldn’t have missed for the world, and had fallen into the lake. Immediately townsfolk were convinced I’d been saved because I was destined for greatness. They’d expected me to go back to college and do great things with my writing talent.

  But I hadn’t been destined for greatness. I was just Sadie Way Scott, and I still didn’t know why I’d been saved.

  Outside, a dust-covered sedan drove up the long driveway, past the enormous sugarberry tree that Sugarberry Cottage was named for, its branches dripping with fruit due to ripen soon. The car parked in between my hatchback and Mama’s truck in one of the eight designated spots along a hedge of mountain laurel. Two women emerged from the car, one older and one in her teens.

  I smiled, immediately recognizing Claudette “Teddy” Aldridge, her bottle-blond hair teased sky-high. Seven years older than my mother, sixty-year-old Teddy felt like a favorite old aunt we saw only once a year. I didn’t recognize the young woman, however, and to my knowledge, Teddy had never before brought a guest on her visits.

  I was soon enveloped in a sweet cloud of vanilla-scented perfume as Leala rushed over at the sound of the car door closing.

  She kneeled next to me on the bench. “Why is Teddy here? With luggage?” She squinted. “And a dog?”

  A dog? I looked out. Sure enough, a small fluffy dog pranced around the younger woman’s feet.

  Mama yawned. “Surely you remember Teddy stays here every August. This year she’s bringing along her grandniece, Bree.”

  “But there’s a dog,” Leal
a repeated. “The cottage doesn’t allow pets.”

  “Sure it does,” Mama said. “Don’t be silly!”

  Leala set her hands on her hips. “Since when?”

  If Mama heard the hurt in Leala’s tone, she did a good job of ignoring it. I couldn’t count the times Leala had begged for a pet while we were growing up only to be denied.

  Mama smirked and gave a half shrug. “Why, since Teddy adopted a dog, of course! The cottage now allows small dogs, ones that weigh less than fifteen pounds.”

  As I watched the dog sniff the hedge, the new pet rule suddenly made a lot more sense. Mama and Teddy had become close friends during the twenty-five years she’d been coming to Sugarberry Cottage. I doubted anyone else would’ve prompted such a big amendment to Mama’s no-pet policy.

  I watched Uncle Camp hobble down the front walk, and his high forehead, dotted with perspiration, glinted in the sunlight as he bellowed out a welcome to Teddy that carried easily through the double-paned window.

  When I arrived at the hospital on Wednesday, Uncle Camp had been the one to meet me at the door, and I think I hugged him for a whole five minutes. No one comforted like him, which was quite a feat for a dedicated bachelor who had no children of his own.

  “Why didn’t you have Uncle Camp cancel the reservations?” Leala asked. “There are renovations going on. Plus, you need to rest! Teddy would’ve understood.”

  “Why would I cancel?” Mama blinked slowly as if it was a chore to keep her eyes open. “You know our summer season carries us through the year. The guests have been made aware of the renovations and most chose to keep the reservations in spite of a little hammering. Thank the Lord above. We need all the guests we can get right now, since we have two rooms out of commission. As it is, up until yesterday I had an empty room for this weekend, which is unheard of. Fortunately, Camp was here to take the call.”

  It was unheard of. I’d never known the cottage to have weekend vacancies during the summer months. The lake was a vacation hot spot for water lovers, and by the streams of people on the Landing, it didn’t seem as though a lack of tourists was the issue.

  Mama added over a wide yawn, “LC, you should really go down and greet our guests right and proper. Be a good host and help Camp get Teddy settled.”

  Leala’s gray eyes widened and her jaw fell. Color infused her face, her hands fisted, and without another word, she flew out of the room like she was being chased by the devil himself.

  Not a second later, Mama’s soft snores filled the air. I rose from the window bench, walked over to the bed, and pulled the light blanket up to tuck her in. Stepping back, I watched her sleep for a moment, comforted by the steady rise and fall of her chest. My gaze lifted to the colorful mandala and those twisted hearts.

  So caught up in their battle of iron wills, neither Mama nor Leala seemed to notice that I hadn’t said a single word this whole time. It was almost as if I hadn’t even been here at all. Which was fine by me. If I could just keep this trend going for the next three days, it would make it so much easier to leave again.

  But not any less painful.

  Chapter

  4

  Sadie

  Voices floated up the turned staircase as I headed down, wanting nothing more than to turn around and go straight to the small bedroom on the third floor that I’d shared with Leala while growing up. The one we’d share again this weekend.

  After days of hospital noise and family drama and worry, I longed for peace and quiet. For time to just be. But I couldn’t let Leala do the lion’s share of work when it came to the cottage—it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I had always enjoyed helping Mama run the place. I loved talking with the guests, cooking big breakfasts, and I never even minded the cleaning, though I had to admit some guests would have been better off staying in a barn.

  And then there was Teddy, who was brimming with life and love. She had a way about her that made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. A lifelong waitress, she changed jobs as often as her hair color, searching for the perfect fit but never seemingly finding it. These past few years she’d been waiting tables at a diner near Fort Payne, and I always stopped by to see her when I traveled through the area.

  On the lowest landing, sunlight struggled through the panes of an arched window, the dirty glass nearly opaque. The house had always had a shabby chic feel to it, but now it just felt shabby. Earlier in the entryway, I’d been glad to see a PARDON OUR DUST sign sitting on the secretary desk Mama used for reception purposes, but my joy had been short-lived when I learned the work was limited to two first-floor guest rooms damaged by a burst pipe. The torn wallpaper, scuffed paint, and outdated furniture throughout the rest of the cottage would unfortunately remain long after the construction crew left.

  Thinking back, I tried to remember if the cottage had always been in such sad shape with its general feeling of malaise or if it had happened since I’d been gone. I didn’t remember any disrepair, but at eighteen I might not have noticed. My mind had been elsewhere. On starting college. On Leala’s wedding. On Will Lockhart.

  With that last thought, my cheeks flamed with embarrassed heat, and I angrily banished old memories.

  Through the grimy window I saw Uncle Camp was still outside, standing with Teddy’s grandniece as he loaded a luggage cart. The dog, a small cream and light-brown fluff ball, happily sniffed the bushes.

  According to Mama, it had always been my daddy’s dream to turn his family’s small summer lake cottage into a B and B. So when he inherited this place, he immediately enlisted his uncle Camp, a master carpenter who lived down in Montgomery, to help make that dream a reality. Uncle Camp had planned only to stick around in Sugarberry Cove until construction was finished but ended up staying on as a hired hand, claiming he’d found unexpected happiness here on the lake with the only family he had left, as Daddy’s side of the family, with the exception of a few distant cousins, had all but reached the end of its line.

  After Daddy died, Uncle Camp took over the roles of property manager and primary breakfast-maker here at Sugarberry Cottage, and even though he was now well into his seventies, he scoffed at the idea of retirement. Loyal and steadfast, he was the glue that had held this place together on a daily basis.

  In the wide entryway, Leala and Teddy were chatting about Tucker, and how he was spending the weekend with Connor. “Just the guys,” Leala said, and I wondered if Teddy picked up the tightness in Leala’s voice, something that was quite evident to me.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself down the remaining six steps. The runner was threadbare, the pine treads in need of refinishing. The wallpaper along the inner stairwell peeled at the seams, and there were sections that time had completely worn away, leaving behind bald spots. A strong floral scent hovered in the air from the dozen get-well-soon flower arrangements that had arrived over the last few days and were now scattered throughout the cottage. No doubt about it, Mama was a beloved fixture around these parts.

  Just beyond the foot of the stairs, a hallway branched to the right, off of which were the two guest rooms under construction, Uncle Camp’s suite, Mama’s office, the laundry room, and a small powder room. The open kitchen was straight ahead, big with plenty of storage but dreadfully outdated.

  The wide entryway spilled into the great room, with its high-beamed ceilings, and that opened to my favorite space. We called it the back porch, but it was actually a four-season room with a vaulted ceiling and tall windows that gave a dazzling view of the lake. Light flooded in through those windows, breathing life into the house, keeping it alive and feeling hopeful.

  As I neared the bottom step, the wood creaked under my feet, and Teddy turned at the sound. Joy lit her eyes and her hand flew to cover her mouth as she stifled a squeal. Without missing a beat, she rushed over to me and held out her arms as I stepped off the bottom stair. I willingly went into her hug, old memories stirring at the familiar scent of her, a hint of Chanel N°5, a whisper of lavender bath p
owder, and a trace of cigarette smoke. Memories of us playing checkers or gin rummy on rainy days or flying kites or walking into town to browse the shelves at the Crow’s Nest, the local bookshop. Welcome memories, warm and comforting.

  Bleached blond hair was coiled high atop her head and held in place with a tortoiseshell hairpin. She stood slightly taller than my five foot four and was curvier than I was through her chest and hips. Her peaches-and-cream skin had been sunbaked to a deep brown and her large eyes dominated a small face dotted with a button nose and tiny mouth. She wore a full face of makeup, heavy on the mascara but light on the red lipstick. Wrinkles pulled at the corners of her eyes and lips, especially when she smiled, but the rest of her face remained largely unlined, her skin smooth and glowing, despite her affinity for cigarettes. She’d tried to quit smoking at least twice a year for a good fifteen years now but had never quite been able to kick the habit completely.

  “Oh my gracious! Let me look at you, Sadie Way. It’s been too long.” After releasing me, she held me at arm’s length and studied me, silvery top to toe. “It is so good to see you here at home.”

  I fought the urge to run a hand over my thick hair, to tuck it behind my ear or under a hat, all while my heart tripped at the word home. I swallowed a rush of emotion and the uneasy feeling she could see right through me, past my anxieties and straight to my lonely heart that ached to stay here at the lake forever. “It’s good to see you, Teddy. I’ve missed you.”

  “Same here, sugar.” Teddy sighed dramatically. “You must be fighting off suitors, left and right, you gorgeous, young thing. You must tell me about them. All of them. I don’t mind the details. Don’t be stingy. I need to live vicariously through others.”

  I laughed, thinking she’d be sorely disappointed if she knew the truth. I had a nonexistent love life. I’d tried casual dating and hated it. And life on the road and attempts at long-term commitments had been a disaster. It was easiest just to avoid dating altogether. “Nothing to tell, Teddy.”