The Guest Book (15 page)

“Then maybe there’s something you’re supposed to learn from each of them?”

She thought about that. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad He sent Nate. You know I’ve got my money on him.”

She laughed. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Emma marched over, interrupting them before Macy could tell Max any more. “Okay, you guys,” she said, assuming her Little Dictator pose. “I need your help.”

They both stood up, groaning, reluctant to give up their relaxation or their conversation. As they walked over to Emma’s sand castle, she felt Max’s hand go around her wrist, stopping her. “Hey, Mace. Whatever happens, just know I’m here for you, okay?”

She smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Max.” She wished she’d had the chance to tell him the rest of the story, the part that was her fault. Max would understand running away better than anyone. But instead, she knelt down in the sand to build a castle, the stuff of fairy tales, something she was trying her best to believe in.

E
mma had a death grip on her hand as she pulled Macy to the room where her class met each morning. Macy wondered for the hundredth time why in the world she’d agreed to this. But as she saw the excitement on her daughter’s face, she knew exactly why. “Come on, Mommy!” Emma said, her eyes dancing. “We’ve gotta hurry!”

It was true that they were a few minutes late. Macy had changed from denim shorts (too casual) to a sundress (trying too hard) to a miniskirt (too risqué) and back to the denim shorts before she’d given up and headed to the car with Emma hollering at her for being late. Max had been up to enjoy the show, sipping coffee with a relaxed, amused look on his face. She shook her head at him, wondering why he was awake at
that hour. Something was going on with Max, and as soon as she had a chance, she was going to ask him about it.

But for now she had a task to accomplish, a morning to get through. She would teach small children how to draw sea creatures in the ocean without thinking about how attractive Dockery was or how mysterious he was or how jealous she’d inexplicably been when she saw him with Rebecca. She would also not think about the seascapes she grew up drawing in the guest book and wonder if he was thinking about them too. She wouldn’t think about anything but her daughter—the one thing that made sense in her life.

Emma always brought Macy back to what was important. She thought of the fear she’d felt when she found out she was pregnant, mixed with that inexplicable thrill. She’d had no idea what lay ahead, and yet she’d had a feeling that it was going to be great. And for the most part, it had been.

They entered the classroom. Macy had expected to find Dockery waiting for her, but instead she found LaRae Forrester, the group leader, smiling at her.

“Dock had an emergency this morning and doesn’t think he’ll get here,” the older woman explained. “But he said to thank you for being here and helping the kids.” LaRae smiled, waved, and walked out the door as Macy turned to face the class alone. She glanced back at the door LaRae had gone through, hoping to see Dockery walk in. And the whooping, clamoring children weren’t the only reason she hoped to see him there.

Macy tacked the last of the seascapes up on the classroom wall with a satisfied, but exhausted, grin, stepping back to admire the class’s efforts. After much whining on the children’s part and much cajoling on hers, they’d gotten into the project. They’d painted ships and sharks, stingrays and seashells. She’d already decided to frame Emma’s when they got home, a little piece of the trip —and this day —preserved. She eyed her daughter’s picture with motherly pride, wondering if her artistic bent had been passed down or if Emma had just gotten into the project because Macy was there to urge her on.

Halfway through the morning, she’d finally quit watching the door for Dockery, finally stopped waiting for him to walk in. She’d been hoping for a continuation of their short conversation from Saturday, one that wouldn’t leave her feeling like there was more to be said. She looked down at the outfit she’d so painstakingly chosen that morning and laughed at herself. There were two green handprints on the front of her denim shorts and paint drips down her shirt. Thankfully, they’d used washable paint.

She knew she looked disheveled and tired and was almost glad Dockery had bailed. And yet, she still couldn’t shake her feeling of rejection. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. One afternoon on the beach and one surprise appearance at her house did not make a significant relationship. She’d helped out in her daughter’s class, been her daughter’s hero for a day. And that was all it was ever supposed to be. She grabbed her bag and went to find Emma, who’d disappeared
with another little girl the minute class was over. That girl could make friends with a doorknob.

She strode purposefully toward the community-center office in hopes of finding her daughter quickly. She wondered if she should still stop by the church now that she was covered in paint. Nate had left her a voicemail saying he’d be available. But she looked terrible. She was so lost in her internal debate that she didn’t hear her name being called until she heard feet running toward her. She turned and came face to face with Dockery. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“I was hoping I’d find you before you left. I’d hoped to get up here much sooner than this but” —he held up his hands — “complications.”

Macy wanted to shake him. “Are you always this vague?” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and looked in the direction of the office.

“Just with the pretty girls,” he said, his smile both disarming and confusing her.

“I doubt Rebecca would like you saying that,” she chided, then regretted it. She sounded jealous.

He shrugged. “You’re probably right about that. And again, let me say I’m sorry for handling things wrong the other day.”

Macy gripped the thumbtacks still in her palm, feeling the sharp ends dig into her flesh. “Does Rebecca know you took Emma and me on a picnic?” She didn’t know what was wrong with her —her mouth had a mind of its own. She needed to collect Emma and get out of here.

“No.”

They both looked at each other, blinking, as seconds passed. She wondered if they struggled with conversations because they had too little to say to each other, or too much.

Macy broke the silence. “Well, the seascapes are all tacked up. I accomplished my purpose for today.”

She dropped the thumbtacks into his hand, breaking the tension. She could actually feel the heat from his skin, he was standing so close to her. A line from the old Police song, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me,” ran through her mind. She stopped just short of humming it.

“Thanks.” His eyes held hers. “For coming. I’m really sorry I wasn’t here.”

Now it was her turn to shrug. “It’s probably for the best,” she said. She hoped he knew what she meant, wondered if his mind was flashing back to the moment they saw each other at the golf course. She turned to go but felt his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“I just need to say something,” he said. “I really appreciate what you did with the kids today. I looked at some of the pictures. You’re really talented with art, just like Emma said. I hope you’ll believe in yourself and do something with it.”

She looked at him, her feelings waffling between embarrassment and insult. “You hardly know me,” she managed.

“I know enough,” he said.

She shifted uncomfortably, frustrated with his continual ability to disarm her — to take light and fun off the table with a look. “Guess I better be going,” she mumbled, and gave a little wave before walking away. She wasn’t leaving, she was fleeing. And she suspected Dockery knew it.

N
ate pointed at her clothes with a smile. “Someone had a busy morning.” He wrapped his arm around her in a way that felt … comfortable. She noticed that she didn’t tense when he touched her, didn’t sense an ulterior motive beyond a friendly greeting. She felt herself relax under the weight of his arm, a welcome relief after the unspoken tension that seemed to exist between her and Dockery.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I was yesterday?” They hadn’t made it to church and she’d been bracing herself for a lecture. She’d woken up prepared to go to church on Sunday morning, but after she rolled over, she’d accidentally fallen asleep again.

His face registered his amusement. “Macy, I’m not your judge. You do what you need to do, and I’m here if you need me.”

The truth was, she really liked this guy. “Wow … that’s refreshing.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth.” He looked around. “Where’s the munchkin?”

“Funny thing. We ran into Max outside in the parking lot, and he offered to take her.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Would you know anything about that?”

He grinned at her and touched her nose lightly with the tip of his index finger. “You sure are cute. And yes, I would know something about Max being here at church. But I’m not at liberty to say.”

She shook her head. These men and their mysteries. “Will you ever be at liberty to say?”

He gave her a little half smile. “No. I will not. But Max will. He’ll talk to you about it when he’s ready.”

“Is this about his court date?” she pressed. Even if Max seemed unfazed by his run-in with the law, Macy was concerned for him.

The expression on Nate’s face was one of amusement. “Don’t worry about Max, Macy.”

“I’m just not sure I like my brother having secret conversations with you. What if he’s telling you everything he knows about me?”

Nate patted her shoulder and removed his arm in one smooth movement. “Don’t worry. We don’t talk about you.” He eyed her seriously. “You should be happy about this. Max is … well, let’s just say it’s a good thing.”

She thought about Max being awake this morning when
she left, and she couldn’t remember hearing him leave the house late at night in the last few nights. She’d wondered about the change in him but hadn’t had much mental space to devote to it, she was so caught up in her own drama. Perhaps that’s what Nate meant when he said Max had to be ready to talk. Maybe Max needed her to be ready to listen first.

She needed to stop thinking so much about the men that had come into her life and start thinking about the people she loved: her mom and Emma and Max. She had gotten off-kilter in the last few days, focused too much on determining whether God had really sent the person she’d always wanted to find. And in the process, she’d lost sight of what mattered most. She’d spent much of her life chasing after something she didn’t have and ignored what was right in front of her. She’d even done it with her dad the last summer they’d had together. Hadn’t she learned anything?

“So are you ready for lunch?” Nate asked, interrupting her runaway thoughts.

“Very ready. I’m starving.”

“Great. I’ve got just the thing in mind. Do you like fried green tomatoes?”

She looked at him with a funny expression on her face. “Umm, sure?”

“Then Nate’s kitchen it is,” he said with a laugh. “I make a mean fried green tomato with pimento cheese sandwich. You’ll love it.” She felt his arm go around her again and leaned into the comfort of it.

They walked down a hallway filled with Nate’s murals. “Did you really paint these?” she asked.

He grinned. “I did.” He looked at her.

A shiver ran down her spine, but she ignored it, deciding instead to think about what she knew, not what she didn’t. She knew she was going to have a fried green tomato and pimento cheese sandwich for lunch, cooked by a handsome pastor who was a bona fide nice guy. For today, that was enough.

Macy looked down at her empty plate and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I am stuffed,” she announced, and smiled at Nate. “Thank you for a great lunch.”

“No problem. Happy to do it.”

“Well, it’s your fault I feel sick because I ate too much.”

He grinned, taking her complaint as a compliment. “So I take it that won’t be your last fried green tomato and pimento cheese sandwich?”

“Not if I can help it. Weird combination but … it works.” She thought, but did not add out loud,
Maybe that’s what people will say about us.

Nate stood up and took her plate to the sink, washing away the crumbs from the toasted bread and the potato chips—salt and vinegar, her favorite.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He shook his head and told her to relax, encouraging her to pour herself more sweet tea. Earlier he’d taken her out to his small garden to select a green tomato from the vine. He’d shown her how to dredge it in cornmeal and fry it in bacon grease.

“I never said it was nutritious,” he’d quipped. He’d apologized that he was using store-bought pimento cheese, but Macy assured him she’d never have known the difference if he hadn’t told her. She’d savored every bite, but most of all, she savored being waited on like this. Chase had never been so attentive. She hadn’t known it was possible.

Nate took his seat across from her at his small table. “You look like you’re lost in thought.”

How could she explain to a good guy that she hadn’t realized his kind of guy existed? It was like discovering a unicorn or a leprechaun. “Just trying to figure out how many miles I’ll need to run to make up for the calories from the lunch you just fed me,” she lied.

He looked at her appreciatively. “You don’t need to do any such thing. Trust me.”

“I do. Trust you, I mean.”

He smiled as something passed between them. “Good.”

“I guess you need to get back to the church?”

He nodded, his gaze drifting from her to the window. “Yeah. Got an appointment with a bride and groom this afternoon. I’m performing the ceremony in a few weeks.”

“Do you do many weddings?” She pressed the pad of her index finger down on some stray salt granules scattered across the table, feeling the crystals press into her flesh.

“Fair amount. Beach weddings are popular, and our church is a nice place to have a ceremony.”

“Ever have a bridezilla on your hands?” She’d gotten good at steering conversations away from dangerous territory.

He nodded. “Oh, boy. The stories I could tell you. People do some crazy things, and I get a ringside seat during weddings.”

“Maybe sometime you could tell me some of your stories. I mean, leave names out, of course, to protect the innocent.”

He laughed. “So what about you? Tell me one crazy thing you’ve done in your life.”

She brushed her hands together, knocking the salt back onto the table. “Eating that crazy concoction you invited me here for.”

“That doesn’t count. Nice try. Come on. Give me something good, something you’ve never told anyone.” His smile was like a schoolboy’s, earnest and mischievous.

The first thing that came to her mind was the time Chase had brought her to Sunset. It had been her first trip back since she was sixteen, and she’d been determined to get back into Time in a Bottle to find the guest book. But she hadn’t wanted to explain to Chase what she was doing, and she had no way to get into the house since they weren’t staying there. So she’d waited for Chase to pass out after a long day of drinking beer in the sun and crept out of their rented room, walking the few blocks to the beach house, looking back over her shoulder as if someone was following her.

There’d been no one at Time in a Bottle, and—just as she’d hoped —the backdoor was left unlocked. She’d slipped into the coolness of the house, the sweat on her skin chilling in the air conditioning, and walked through the den, trying not to let the memories assault her as she made her way to the room she’d always thought of as hers, the second one on the left.
The door was closed. But just as she’d been about to put her hand on the knob, she’d heard music coming from behind the door. Then she’d heard a voice ask, “Is someone there?” and the music had gone quiet. Her heart in her throat, Macy had run from the house, not stopping until she got back to the hotel and Chase, still asleep. As she lay awake that night, watching shadows dance on the ceiling, she’d let the tears fall, fearing she’d never know if the mystery artist had left her a final picture, her heart racing at the thought of how close she’d come to getting caught. Crazy indeed.

But she couldn’t tell Nate that story.

Instead she told him about the day she found out she was pregnant with Emma. How she’d eaten an entire box of Krispy Kreme donuts by herself, figuring it didn’t matter — she was going to get fat anyway. Nate seemed satisfied with that story, and she told herself it was okay that she hadn’t told him the story that had come to mind first. She’d never told anyone about eating all those donuts either. And it
was
a pretty crazy thing to do. When she knew who Nate was, then she would tell him the other story. She would tell him that story, and so many more.