Shelter in Place (Page 34)

She let out one of her big, beautiful laughs, squeezed them both. “Let’s drink ourselves a shit ton of champagne.”

“Mother.”

“Uh-oh.” Snickering, CiCi drew back. “Busted.” She shifted, hooked arms around her granddaughters’ waists, and grinned at her daughter. “Look who’s here, Tule.”

“So I see. Simone.” Lovely in silk shantung the color of crushed rose petals, Tulip leaned in to kiss Simone’s cheek. “We didn’t know you were back.”

“I just got back.”

“That explains it.” With her company smile seamless, her eyes sparking annoyance, Tulip turned to Natalie. “Sweetheart, why don’t you take your sister upstairs so she can freshen up? I’m sure you have something you can lend her to wear.”

“Don’t be such a buzzkill, Tulip.”

Tulip simply turned those sparking eyes on her mother. “This is Natalie’s day. I won’t have it spoiled.”

“I won’t spoil it. I won’t stay.” Simone handed her flute to Natalie. “Tell Harry I wasn’t feeling well.”

“I’ll come with you,” CiCi began.

“No. It’s Natalie’s day, and you should be here. I’ll see you later.”

“That was a dick move, Tulip,” CiCi said when Simone walked away. “And from the look on your face, Nat? Apple, tree. I’m ashamed of both of you.”

Simone had to hunt down the valet who’d parked her car, then wait while he retrieved her keys.

While she waited, her father strode briskly down the walkway.

Oh well, she thought, what was one more elbow in the gut?

Instead, he put his arms around her, drew her close. “Welcome home.”

The snipes and jabs hadn’t filled her throat with tears, but his gesture did.

“Thanks.”

“I only just heard you’d gotten back, then that you’d left. You need to come back out, honey. It’s a big day for Natalie.”

“That’s why I’m leaving. She doesn’t want me here.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“She made it clear. My unexpected arrival, in attire inappropriate for the occasion, embarrassed your wife and daughter.”

“You could have come home a bit earlier, worn the appropriate.”

“I would have if I’d known.”

“Natalie contacted you two weeks ago,” he began, then saw her face. Sighed. “I see. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, she indicated she had, otherwise, I’d have contacted you myself. Come back with me. I’ll have a word with her.”

“No, don’t, please. She doesn’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here.”

Sorrow clouded Ward’s eyes. “It hurts me to hear you say that.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to come by, see you and Mom, to try to … turn some of it around. Some of it. I had a good summer. Productive, satisfying, illuminating. I wanted to tell you about it. And maybe you’d see I did the right thing, for me. Maybe you’d see that.”

“I have seen it,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen I was wrong. I clung to wanting to be right, and lost you. And losing you, it was easier to blame you than myself. Now my younger daughter’s going to be married. She’ll be a wife, and not just my little girl. It struck me that, with you, I wanted to be right more than I wanted you to be happy. It shames me to look that square in the face, but I have. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Daddy.” She went into his arms, wept a little. “It’s my fault, too. It was easier to pull back, to stay away.”

“Let’s agree. I accept I’m not always right, and you don’t pull away from me.”

She nodded, rested her cheek on his chest. “It’s a good homecoming after all.”

“Come on back to the party. Be my date.”

“I can’t. Honestly, Nat bugs the crap out of me, but I don’t want to spoil her party. Maybe you could come out to the island sometime, and I’ll tell you about the trip, and show you some things I’m working on.”

“All right.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I.”

Glad to be back, she thought, especially when she stood at the rail of the ferry and watched the island come closer.

CHAPTER TEN

CiCi’s house offered views of the bay, the ocean beyond, and the tumbled coastline of Tranquility Island, including the jut of rocky land on the far eastern point where the lighthouse perched.

When CiCi first settled on the island, the lighthouse had been a stark, uninspired white.

She’d fixed that.

Lobbying with the artists community, she’d convinced the island council, as well as the business and property owners, to kick things up. There had been doubters, of course, at the idea of a group of artists on ladders and scaffolds painting the slender lighthouse with sea flowers, shells, mermaids, sea fans, and coral.

But she’d been right.

Since its completion—and even during the work—tourists came to snap pictures, and other artists featured the now unique lighthouse in their seascapes. It was a rare visitor who left the island without one or more of the Light of Tranquility souvenirs sold in any number of village and beachside shops.

Every few years, the community refreshed the paint—and often added another flourish or two.

CiCi enjoyed looking down the coast, admiring that spear of color and creativity.

Her home stood west of the light, on a rise above another jut of the uneven coast. Big windows, stone terraces, graced its two stories—plus the converted attic with its little balcony, which made three. A generous patio skirted the water side, her favorite side, where in season she had dramatic pots of flowers and herbs soaking in the sun along with oversize chairs with brightly colored cushions and some painted tables.

More flowers and comfortable seating ranged along the wide terrace on the second floor. It also held a hot tub, which she used year-round, under a pergola where she often lounged—happily naked—with a glass of wine while watching the water and the boats that plied it.

She could enter her studio with its bay-facing wall of glass—designed and added after she’d bought the house—from the great room or the patio. She loved painting there when the water gleamed blue as a jewel, or when it went icy gray and thrashing in the grip of a winter storm.

She’d converted the attic—or Jasper Mink (who’d warmed her bed a time or two between his marriages) and his crew had converted it when Simone had gone to Italy.

It offered lovely light, plenty of space, and now had a charming little powder room.

As she liked to say, CiCi was a little bit psychic. She’d imagined Simone working in that space, staying in the rambling house until she found her place.

CiCi, a little bit psychic, had no doubt where that place was, but the girl had to find it for herself.

Meanwhile, whenever Simone came back to Maine, she always came back to CiCi.

Despite two artistic temperaments, they lived together easily. Each had their own work and their own habits, and they might go for days barely seeing each other. Or they might spend hours sitting together on the patio, biking into the village, walking the narrow strip of sand by the water, or just sitting on the coastline rocks in comfortable silence.

After Simone returned from the west, they spent hours with CiCi looking through Simone’s photos and sketches. CiCi borrowed a couple of the photos—a street fair in Santa Fe, a stark shot of buttes in Canyon de Chelly—to use in her own work.