The Perfect Summer (Hubbard's Point, Band 4) - Softcover

Buch 4 von 7: Hubbard's Point/Black Hall

Rice, Luanne

 
9780553584042: The Perfect Summer (Hubbard's Point, Band 4)

Inhaltsangabe

Old friendships--and love--make all things new again.

The acclaimed author of Safe Harbor and other New York Times bestsellers returns to the seaside, delving into the heart of a once happy family facing troubled waters.

Bay McCabe relishes life’s simple pleasures, her children, her home by the sea. She has never forgotten the values of her Irish granny--the everyday happiness of family, good friends, and hard work. Bay and her husband, Sean, have weathered rough spells and moved on. Now a perfect summer, filled with the scent of beach roses, lies before them.

Charming and ambitious, Sean splits his energy between the town bank, his old fishing boat, and the family he seems to adore--until he leaves his young daughter stranded after school. As troubling memories resurface, a phone call confirms that Sean is missing. So begins a season that will change everything. As the door to all Bay cherishes seems to close forever, another opens, and an old love steps through. Embraced by enduring friendships, Bay will discover the truth of who she is--what love is--and how life’s deepest mysteries are often those closest to home.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Luanne Rice is the author of twenty-one novels, including Sandcastles, Summer of Roses, Summer’s Child, Silver Bells, Beach Girls, and Dance With Me. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

Old friendships--and love--make all things new again.
The acclaimed author of Safe Harbor and other "New York Times bestsellers returns to the seaside, delving into the heart of a once happy family facing troubled waters.
Bay McCabe relishes life's simple pleasures, her children, her home by the sea. She has never forgotten the values of her Irish granny--the everyday happiness of family, good friends, and hard work. Bay and her husband, Sean, have weathered rough spells and moved on. Now a perfect summer, filled with the scent of beach roses, lies before them.
Charming and ambitious, Sean splits his energy between the town bank, his old fishing boat, and the family he seems to adore--until he leaves his young daughter stranded after school. As troubling memories resurface, a phone call confirms that Sean is missing. So begins a season that will change everything. As the door to all Bay cherishes seems to close forever, another opens, and an old love steps through. Embraced by enduring friendships, Bay will discover the truth of who she is--what love is--and how life's deepest mysteries are often those closest to home.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1



It was a perfect summer day.

That was Bay McCabe's thought as she stood in her backyard, a basket of just-washed clothes at her feet, a late-afternoon sea breeze blowing off the Sound. The garden was spectacular this year: Old roses, hollyhocks, delphinium, day lilies, and Rosa rugosa were in bloom. Birds dipped into the water pooled in a rock cleft, and thick green stonecrop softened the contours of granite ledge.

Bay felt almost shocked with the beauty of it all, and she forced herself to put down the clothespins and pay attention. Life is made up of golden moments: She had learned that at her grandmother's knee.

Annie and Billy were at the beach with friends, and Peg was at Little League practice. It was a rare thing for Bay to have the house and yard to herself during the summer, and she intended to take advantage of every minute. She had called Sean at the bank, to remind him of his promise to pick up Peg from practice. Bay had met her best friend, Tara O'Toole, at the beach for a swim, and now she was going to hang the wash on the line and wait for everyone to come home for dinner.

Sunlight streamed down on her red hair and freckled arms. She wore shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, and she worked quickly, from years of watching her grandmother. Mary O'Neill had shown her how it was done: one wooden clothespin in her mouth, the other clipping sheets to the line. Sean teased that the neighbors would judge them, think he wasn't making enough money if his wife had to hang laundry out to dry.

He even wanted to hire a gardener. Never mind that digging in the dirt was one of her favorite things, that trying to outdo Tara in the competition--the only real one between them: to grow the tallest sunflowers and hollyhocks and most beautiful roses and prettiest pots of lemon-drop marigolds--gave her reason to get up at dawn every morning.

Every morning, she went out to water the garden during the quiet hour before anyone else woke up, waving at Tara doing the same thing in her garden across the creek, then returning inside to make breakfast. All through the day, while her kids were out and about, she would return to the garden to nurture her plants--pruning, watering, feeding the roots. How could Sean not understand how important that was to her? How could he really think that Mary O'Neill's granddaughter would ever let her garden be cared for by a stranger?

Bay just laughed and kissed Sean, said he was too good to worry about what people thought about a little dirt under her fingernails or a few sheets flapping on the line. Her granny was from the old country, and Bay was a banker's wife, but she had learned the simple pleasures as a child and never forgotten them. When she had finished hanging the laundry, the bright clothes looked sharp against the blue sky: signal flags in a painting.

"Mom," Billy called, tearing around the corner of the white-shingled house. He had wet hair, sandy feet, and a wild look in his blue eyes that revealed his worry that something in life might happen without him. "What are we doing tonight? Are we going miniature golfing after dinner, like Dad said? Because if we are, can I ask Russell to come with us?"

"Sure, honey," Bay said, smiling at her eleven-year-old son. He had his father's golden coloring; even with sunblock, his skin turned honey brown and, to his sisters' chagrin, didn't freckle. "Where's Annie?"

"Right behind me," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "I think she's going to ask if she can invite someone, too. It's okay with me if she does."

"It is, is it?" Bay asked, suppressing a smile. She had noticed her son growing up this summer. He had grown two inches since last year. He would be tall, blond, and handsome, just like his dad. And his attitude toward his sister's friends had taken a radical shift from the teasing and tormenting of summers past.

Just then the phone rang inside the house, a high trill. Bay turned toward the door, but Billy was faster. "I'll get it," he called, again making her smile. Just last week Tara had said, "This is the summer your son gets socially activated. He's got an 'on' button that's going to be the bane of your existence. He's got his mother's eyes, and his father's personality . . . the girls had better watch out."

Annie must have entered the house through the front door, and answered the phone before her brother. She stood on the back steps in her blue tank suit--for once not covered by a towel or an oversized T-shirt, straight hair wet and drying reddish-gold in the sun, holding the portable phone out to her mother.

Bay gazed at her twelve-year-old daughter, knowing she felt awkward and stocky, feeling a flood of love in the same instant her attention was captured by the gutter overhead: just over the back porch, dangling by one bracket, damaged in an early spring nor'easter. Tonight, again, Bay would remind Sean to fix it or--of course--hire someone to do it. The thoughts passed in an instant. Bay blinked, and Annie was still there, holding the phone.

"Who's calling?" Bay asked.

"It's Peg," Annie said, frowning. "She's still at the field. Daddy didn't pick her up."

Bay took the phone. "Peg?" she said.

"Mommy, I thought you said Daddy was coming. I waited and waited, but he's not here. Did I do the wrong thing? Was I supposed to get a ride from Mrs. Jensen?"

"No, Peggy," Bay said, feeling a wave of frustration at Sean--how could he have forgotten their nine-year-old? "You didn't do anything wrong. Is someone with you? You're not alone at the park, are you?"

"Mr. Brown is here. He let me use his phone," Peg said, her voice starting to quiver. "He said he'd give me a ride, but I didn't want to leave in case Daddy came."

"Stay there, honey," Bay said, already reaching for her bag. "I'll come get you right now."



The drive to the little league field, along shore Road and past the golf course, took nearly fifteen minutes. With late June came summer people, vacationing from all over, and the beach traffic was heavy. Bay looked at her watch and tried not to worry--although she didn't know Peg's coach very well, Sean seemed to like him. Wylie Brown owned a bait-and-tackle shop on the inlet, and Sean often stopped in to provision his boat for the fishing trips he took to Block Island and the canyon.

But where was Sean? How could he have forgotten? Bay had spoken with him herself; she had called the bank just three hours ago to remind him. He had had a loan committee meeting that afternoon, and he'd told her he would be finished in time to head down to the ball field to pick up their youngest. Bay had asked him to try to make time to pitch to her . . . Sean had sounded busy, distracted, but Bay knew how happy Peg would be, just as Bay used to be thrilled to play ball with her father.

Pulling into the dirt parking lot, Bay saw Peg and a sandy-haired man playing catch under a maple tree. At the sight of her mother's Volvo, Peg threw the ball to him and ran to the parking lot. She was small for her age, and streaked with dirt as if she'd slid into the plate.

"He's still not here," Peg said, green eyes glittering with disappointment. "He said he would be."

"Something must have come up at work," Bay said, feeling a pinch in her heart, the first in a long time. Was it starting again? Back during the troubles last winter, Tara had told her to quit making excuses for him. Bay hadn't taken the advice; she didn't want her kids to see their dad in a bad light.

"He said he'd pitch to me," Peg said, worry lines between her eyebrows as Bay motioned...

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