Page 14 of The House on Firefly Beach
“So Nate,” Jacqueline said with an uneasy smile, “how’s the songwriting business?” She passed him a plate and a handful of silverware.
“Busy,” he said. “But in my business, busy is good.” He took a roll from the platter and passed the plate to Lewis. “I thought coming home would give me a break from the madness, and it has, but I can’t stop writing songs here. I’ve written three new ones in the last two days.” He glanced over at Sydney.
Sydney remembered how he’d get stuck sometimes when writing. He was always in motion, telling her how movement helped him think, so she’d tacked little stories about their lives—memories—to the trees around the property to inspire him. As they walked together, talking and reminiscing, he’d stop and jot down a few lines. Before she knew it, he had notebooks full of them. “You’re my muse,” he said once, before pulling her in for a kiss and wrapping his arms around her. He’d always insisted she was a more talented writer than he was—now, judging by his success, it was clear he’d been so wrong.
“That’s wonderful,” Jacqueline said, dragging her from her thoughts. “Sometimes we just need to have a new perspective for the ideas to come. Would you share one of your songs with us?”
Nate buttered his roll, his mind clearly heavy with something. “Okay,” he said, and his gaze landed on Sydney. “I’ve got one in particular that I’m writing and I haven’t gotten the beginning yet, but I have the chorus. Here it goes…” He started to sing.
“If only I had that moment back
That day, that hour, that minute
Would life have carved out something more—
A life with you in it?”
Sydney dropped her fork, the utensil clanging to the ground, stopping Nate. The lyrics were too close to her own heart to bear, but that was what he was great at, right? He used to take her feelings and turn them into songs, but this was too much. He was a master at storytelling. He could spin fiction until it was difficult to know what was real and what wasn’t. Sydney stood up to get the fork, bumping the table and jostling everyone’s glasses. Nate’s juice sloshed over the rim of his glass, spilling onto the table. “Sorry,” she said, picking up her fork. She sat down and handed Nate her napkin.
“It’s okay,” he replied with a look of questioning interest.
“That sounds like the start of another hit,” Uncle Hank said, once everyone had settled again.
“I truly think my creativity has spiked because I’m getting back to my roots. It feels good to be home.”
“Too bad Ben’s not here,” Uncle Hank said. “We could all go fishing like old times. Have you been since you’ve been back in Firefly Beach?”
“I haven’t.” Nate took a drink of his iced tea and swallowed. “I don’t have a fishing pole anymore.”
“Good grief, son! What kind of life are you livin’ out there in that big city?” Uncle Hank teased, making Nate laugh.
“I’d love to go fishing,” Nate replied.
“Just say the word.” Uncle Hank leaned over to Robby and whispered, “You could come too,” he said. “We can show him how it’s done.”
Robby grinned up at Uncle Hank, but all Sydney could think about was the fact that she didn’t want Nate at dinner or fishing with Robby… She just wanted him to leave.
“I’m free all evening,” Nate said, his expression serious and intentional.
Uncle Hank’s face lit up. “I’ve got bait and rods out back if you’re looking to shore fish tonight.”
Nooooo. Sydney did not need Nate hanging around Starlight Cottage any longer than he was already. Why was Uncle Hank being so accommodating when he knew how she felt? Her uncle had been there the day Nate had left her. He’d seen her moping around for weeks, for months, unable to get her head around the fact that the future she’d been building in her head for years had come shattering down around her. Uncle Hank knew how much Nate had hurt her. What was he doing?
“I’d love to.”
Robby sat up on his knees. “May I fish with you, Uncle Hank?”
“Of course you can!”
Was Sydney on some kind of hidden camera show? Didn’t anyone realize that Nate hadn’t bothered to contact a single one of them in years, but now they couldn’t seem to get rid of him—wasn’t that a little too weird?
“Uncle Hank, after dinner, can I speak with you?” Sydney asked to the hush of the table.
“Of course you can.” Uncle Hank seemed unfazed by her request. “But you’ll have to make it fast, unless you’d like to fish with us…”
“I think we need to show him how great life is here at Firefly Beach,” Uncle Hank explained when Sydney had pulled him aside to find out why in the world he’d asked Nate to dinner and then to stay this evening.
“Why, when he’s moved on from us and from here?”
