Page 5 of The House on Firefly Beach
When the two of them had sprawled under the oak trees together with their pencils and notebooks, their aspirations floating around them like untouchable butterflies, she’d never considered that their lives would turn out so differently.
Now, he was a famous songwriter, and she’d ended up leaving Nashville unemployed and moving back to Firefly Beach for good, having quit her job as a paralegal on the advice of her Aunt Clara, who had told Sydney in the inheritance letter that the one regret she never wanted Sydney to have was to look back on her life and know that she hadn’t used her talents.
Sydney took in a deep breath and tried get her emotions under control, the music from the dance floor filtering into her mind again as she returned to the present.
“I heard Justin Timberlake is here somewhere,” Uncle Hank said, walking up to Sydney.
Uncle Hank had really come a long way this past year. They hadn’t been able to get him to see a counselor for his grief over the loss of Aunt Clara, but he’d made strides, and restoring the house back to its original condition had seemed to help.
“And did you see that woman Nate was with? She’s famous too, you know.” His bushy gray eyebrows danced animatedly. “She’s a swimsuit model in that magazine.” He waggled his finger in the air, clearly trying to remember the name of it.
“Yes,” Sydney replied, his excitement making her feel a little better.
“And there are so many country music stars here that I can’t keep track of them all,” he carried on. “I’ve had my eye on the guestbook to make sure no one runs off with it. With all the signatures in it, someone could retire if they sold it on eBay.”
Sydney laughed. “Uncle Hank, I’m so happy you came up just now. I needed that.” She wrapped him in a warm hug, the tight squeeze of his arms around her taking her back to her childhood. He was in good spirits, and it was so wonderful to see.
For the last year, Sydney and her son Robby had lived at Starlight Cottage along with her mother and Hallie when they came for long stints as their work schedule allowed. They’d thrown themselves into restoring the cottage and helping Uncle Hank get back on his feet after the death of her beloved Aunt Clara. But now she was at one of those turning points in life where she knew change was about to take place; she just hadn’t actually figured out how to make it happen.
Uncle Hank was doing incredibly well, and he’d even asked his brother Lewis who lived alone in his own cottage down the road to stay with him some of the time so her uncle needed her less and less. Sydney had been looking at jobs over the last year and none of them had hit the mark yet, but she had found a few new ones to look into. On a bet with Hallie, she’d sent her résumé and a significant writing sample to a major New York magazine calledNY Pulsethat was offering a remote content editor position in the world and humanities section, but with no formal writing experience, she knew nothing would come of it. The one thing she was certain about, however, was that Firefly Beach was where she wanted to be, and the right opportunity would come along.
Uncle Hank’s expression sobered. “I saw Nate walking away,” he said, his disappointment in Nate’s choices made evident by his frown. Nate hadn’t just lefther; he’d left them all. Uncle Hank had checked the oil in Nate’s truck and topped it off whenever it was low; he and Nate had gone fishing all the time together; and any evening that Nate was at Starlight Cottage after five o’clock, he was certain to get an invite to dinner, many nights staying over on the sofa. “I never liked that boy anyway,” Uncle Hank said, but his smirk and the fondness in his eyes gave away his lie. “And he was aterriblefootball player.”
Sydney burst into laughter then. Uncle Hank had managed to get away with the first fib, but that whopper was too difficult to let go. Nate’s team had won the championship his senior year, and he’d been offered college football scholarships to a few small universities, but he’d turned them down to pursue songwriting and attend Belmont University in Nashville. She’d loved visiting him there. In the winters, he’d been right down the road from her mother’s home in Nashville, and then, when the universities would let out for the summer, they’d travel to Firefly Beach together. She would stay at Starlight Cottage with Uncle Hank and Aunt Clara, and he’d stay with his parents down the road.
“You plan to talk to him?” Uncle Hank asked.
A server came by with a tray of champagne and Sydney grabbed one, tipping it up against her lips and swallowing a sip before answering, “Probably not.”
“You gonna spend the night with that champagne instead? I know Nate’s a headache for you, but I can guarantee the champagne packs a stronger punch.”
She offered a half grin.
“You know he’s moved back, right?”
“What?” She nearly spilled her champagne, her hand going limp and the glass tilting precariously to the side.
“He couldn’t wait to get out of Firefly Beach all those years ago. Why would he want to come back here?” she said, nearly spitting the words at her uncle.
“You could ask him.” Uncle Hank nodded toward a group of tables where Nate now sat, fiddling with the stem of a wine glass while he talked to a family member from Ben’s side. The woman was getting up as they finished whatever it was they were chatting about, leaving him alone at the table.
“I’d rather not,” she said, finishing her champagne and switching out the empty glass for a new one when the server came back by. But then, her fears subsided just a little when she remembered an article she’d read on him, highlighting all the homes he owned and noting how he’d barely lived in any of them. Every time, he spent a few months in a new place, immersed himself in renovations, and then he’d get bored, leaving it to sit vacant while he moved on to the next place.
Robby skipped across the grass, coming to a stop beside them. “They’re almost ready to cut the cake, Mama! Ben told me!” he said, swiveling toward Uncle Hank at the same time. “Hi, Uncle Hank.” He beamed up at him. “Are you gonna have cake?”
“Absolutely!” Uncle Hank nodded with vigor.
“I knowIam,” Sydney’s mother said, joining in on the conversation. She straightened her white rose and baby’s breath wrist corsage, the smile she’d had all day still plastered across her face.
“Hallie just has to throw her flowers at people first—that’s what she said.” Robby added. “What’s that all about?”
Sydney laughed. “Not throw thematpeople; she probably said she was going to throw themtopeople. It’s the bouquet toss—an old tradition.”
“All the single guys are gathering for the garter now,” Jacqueline said, pointing to the group of men huddling around Ben as he pulled out a chair for his bride. Hallie sat down, to the whoops of the crowd, her wedding dress puffing out around her. Sydney noticed Nate’s seat at the table where he’d been sitting was now empty. She tried to locate him in the crowd but was unsuccessful. Maybe he’d gone. She could only hope.
Ben walked around the chair and kneeled down in front of Hallie, a playfully suggestive look on his face as his hands disappeared beneath her gown to a drum roll, not emerging again until he’d pulled the garter over her foot. He twirled the little slip of lacy elastic on his finger and the single men roared again. Ben turned his back to the group, waving it in the air. Then he tossed it behind him, the garter sailing over the heads of some of the men as they jumped to get it. An arm shot up from the center of them all, and Sydney recognized the suit sleeve immediately, her disappointment surfacing. It was definitely Nate’s. The garter disappeared in his fist and the crowd parted.
Sydney’s attention went straight to her sister. Hallie was already looking back at her, and Sydney subtly shook her head. Her sister nodded, telling her with that silent gesture that she wouldn’t throw the bouquet in Sydney’s direction. The last thing Sydney wanted was to allow Nate to push that garter up her leg. She wasn’t superstitious, but she couldn’t be too careful. She didn’t need anything pointing toward her marrying Nate. No way.
