The Weekenders (3 page)

“Good for you,” W.R. said, nodding his head. “But I still don't see why you shouldn't have a little fun on your own time. Wendell Griggs is a nice guy. A real go-getter. Your mother likes him, too.”

“What is this?” Riley asked, half-amused and half-annoyed. “You and Mom are now taking votes on who I should date?”

W.R. tipped his glass and emptied it. “And why not? Who knows you better than your own parents?”

“Forget it,” Riley said flatly. “Sorry, Daddy, but I am not currently in the market for a boyfriend. And when I am in the market, I doubt I'd choose a guy like Wendell Griggs.”

W.R. had sighed and shook his head, then signaled the waiter for the lunch ticket, which he'd signed with a flourish. “That's what your mother said you'd say. But I had to try.”

The next time Wendell Griggs called, for reasons she still couldn't remember, Riley had finally said yes.

He took her to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Raleigh, insisted on ordering champagne, and afterward, as he walked her to the door of her garage apartment, he'd given her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Which had come as a surprise to Riley, considering how hotly he'd pursued her.

She'd been intrigued, enough to say yes when he'd called the next night to ask her out for the coming weekend.

Things were not nearly as innocent that night. And the following week, he'd insisted she move out of what he referred to as her “roach motel” and in with him. Two month later, he'd surprised her with the most magnificent diamond she'd ever seen. A diamond so big it took Riley's breath away.

Wendell Griggs, Riley quickly learned, was all about the grand gesture.

It took several years before she realized that her husband wasn't quite as attentive when it came to the nagging little details of daily life.

 

3

“So, what's happening between you two now?” Parrish asked as they walked toward the dock.

She'd known for months and months that things weren't good between her best friend and husband, and Wendell's conspicuous absence during their traditional spring break trip to the Florida panhandle had only confirmed her suspicions that the marriage was doomed. But up until now Riley had been typically tight-lipped about her marital status, saying only that they'd been going to couples therapy.

She'd known something was off the minute she'd set eyes on her. Riley had lost weight—at least twenty pounds. Riley was still beautiful—she had the kind of effortless good looks that money couldn't buy—but today her jaw was set in a rigid line, and fine new worry lines radiated from her eyes and chin.

“Separation. And a divorce, I guess,” Riley said, keeping her voice low as they approached the throng of people gathered near the departure ramp. The ferry was tied alongside the dock now, its big diesel engines thrumming.

“Oh, God,” Parrish moaned. “I had a feeling, but still. Things are really that bad, huh?”

Riley nodded, then glanced down at her watch and frowned. Ten minutes until boarding time.

She looked around to be sure they wouldn't be overheard.

“I put the house on the market two weeks ago. And it's under contract.”

Parrish's eyes widened. “Riles! You always loved that house! What does Wendell have to say about that?”

“What can he say? He's been trying to keep up this crazy façade, but despite what he says, I know things aren't going well with the business. I think he's overextended but, of course, he denies that. Anyway, it's ridiculous for us to live in an eight-thousand-square-foot house, even if we aren't splitting up.”

“That's a pretty drastic change. How is Maggy handling everything?”

“She's sad about it, naturally. She grew up in that house. I've told her we're moving to be closer to her new school, which is true, partly. I've found a new place, with a yard for the puppy.”

“And the puppy was a consolation prize, for having to give up her house—and her dad?”

Riley's smile was tight. “Yes, that's about the size of it.”

“And Maggy has no idea—about the divorce?”

“If she knows, she's keeping up a good front. Wendell's clothes and things are still at the house, but he's almost never there. Typical of him, he doesn't want to be the bad guy, doesn't want to break his daughter's heart by just admitting that the marriage is over. The plan was that we'd tell Maggy
together
—this weekend. And you see how that's working out. No sign of him. He just assumes I'll do all the dirty work by myself.”

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but he's such a selfish douche-canoe,” Parrish said. “I know how hard you tried to make it work, but sometimes, it's just time to admit you're licked. Have you talked to a lawyer?”

Riley sighed. “Not yet, and that's another thing I'm dreading. The property settlement process is going to be brutal. Belle Isle Enterprises is
my
family's business, of course, but Dad himself anointed Wendell as CEO.…”

“And, knowing you, there's no prenup, right?”

Riley gave a rueful smile. “Right.”

“You're right. It will be a nightmare. But Ed will know who you should call. There's a woman who does divorce law whom I like a lot … Susan, something. I can't remember her name. She's got the face of an angel and the soul of a pit bull–piranha hybrid.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“That's the general idea, dear. You want a divorce lawyer who'll make the other side's testicles shrink just at the mention of her name. I just remembered her last name. Simpson. Sue Simpson.”

“Speaking of Ed, he's coming this weekend, right?”

“Yoo-hoo! Parrish!” Andrea Payne had spotted the two women and was waving her arms frantically to draw their attention.

“Oh God,” Parrish said under her breath. “Belle Isle Barbie. Hide me.”

“Too late. Houdini couldn't hide from that woman.”

“What's she want? Besides my soul, I mean?”

“She wants to invite you over for drinks before the full moon party tonight. And to see her new kitchen. Now, what about Ed? Don't tell me he's a no-show, too.”

“He took the first ferry over yesterday so he could start opening up the house for the season.”

“Ed's such a love,” Riley said. “We've been summering on Belle Isle for nearly twenty years together, but do you think it ever occurred to Wendell Griggs to help me get the house opened up? Never! He's just like my dad that way. He thinks magic elves show up to take down the storm shutters, sweep up all the dead bugs, air out the house, drag the lawn chairs out of storage, and get the golf cart batteries charged up.”

“Ed's just feeling guilty. He didn't help close the house down at all in November and, except for spring break when we were with you at Grayton Beach, he's been mostly AWOL for the past six months.

“Lots of trials?”

Parrish nodded. “That big plane crash in the Alps, plus there was a corporate jet that went down in the Maldives last year that got hardly any press. People die in a plane, Ed Godchaux is the man to call.”

Riley gave Parrish a sideways glance. There was a bitter undertone to her best friend's glib patter that hadn't been there before.

Parrish spied her next-door neighbor across the deck. “I'll be right back,” she said, and hustled off in that direction.

The ferry's horn sounded—loud and low. It was the five-minute warning. The metal gangplank clanged against the concrete dock, and arriving passengers began trickling off the boat while the crowd of departures edged closer. Memorial Day was about to start.

“Mom!” Maggy appeared at her side, her face reddened and tearstained.

Riley looked backward over her shoulder. No black Jeep. No Wendell. Another broken promise.

Before Riley could find words to comfort her daughter, Maggy was suddenly lifted into the air by a pair of hairy, tanned arms encircling her waist.

“Saggy, baggy, Maggy, why you lookin' kinda draggy?” he sang—in perfect pitch.

The girl's tears were instantly forgotten.

“Bebo!” She thumped her uncle's chest.

“Magpie! Why the tears?”

Banks sat on his haunches and gave a bark of happiness at the sight of the newcomer.

Billy Nolan had that effect on people. He'd been an irresistible imp as a child, and had grown into an adorable adult. He was irresponsible, drank too much, and played too hard. He was a wildly talented and totally unmotivated jazz pianist who worked only when it suited him, which was rarely.

And Riley Nolan Griggs doted on her baby brother, her only brother.

She hugged Billy now and whispered in his ear. “Wendell's a no-show, and Maggy's heartbroken.”

“I'll kill the bastard if you want me to,” Billy whispered back.

“Deal,” Riley agreed.

“How shall I do it?”

Riley watched while the ferry's motors churned the surface of the river as it backed away from the dock. There was still no sign of the black Jeep. “I don't care, as long as it's slow and painful.”

*   *   *

They stood against the railing on the lower deck, watching as the mainland retreated. Billy had one arm loosely draped around his sister's shoulder and the other around his niece.

“What are you now, fifteen, sixteen?” he asked, tapping the top of Maggy's head. “All of a sudden, you're three inches taller than me.”

“I'm almost thirteen, as if you didn't know it. And, no offense, but everybody's taller than you, Bebo,” Maggy retorted.

“True that,” Billy agreed. “I'm that tragic cliché—a short, sassy, gay man. Doomed to spend my life shopping in the boys' department at J. Crew.”

“How come you're so tan?” Riley asked, studying her brother's face. His dark hair was close-cropped, and his hazel eyes looked almost green against his deeply bronzed skin. He wore a blue-and-white-striped boat-necked T-shirt tucked into white jeans with rolled-up cuffs and immaculate white espadrilles. “Has it been that nice in New York?”

“I wouldn't know,” Billy said. “I got summoned down here by Mama two weeks ago and I've been at her beck and call ever since.”

“You two are speaking again?” Riley lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

“Oh, sure. She sent out all the living room furniture to get recovered and refinished back in the fall, and she needed a stooge to pick it up and haul it back over to the island and rearrange it at Shutters. So all is forgiven. Until next time. I take it she's not currently on speaking terms with you?”

“Nope,” Riley said. She cut her eyes meaningfully in Maggy's direction, a clear sister signal that she did not want to discuss family drama in front of her daughter.

“Count your blessings,” Billy said. “Hey, Saggy Maggy. Does your forehand still suck, or did you get some coaching since I played you last?”

Maggy shrugged. “I'm not so into tennis. It's boring.”

“Tennis is boring? Since when?”

“I've started running. I want to try out for the cross-country team, but Mom doesn't want me to.” Maggy stuck her tongue out at her mother.

“I'm worried that her blood sugar could get low on one of those long runs and something … could happen,” Riley said.

Billy ruffled Maggy's hair. “Boring or not, you'll still be my mixed-doubles partner this summer, right? Remember how we killed 'em in the round-robin last Memorial Day weekend?”

“I left my racquet at home,” Maggy said, her face still sullen.

“I packed both our racquets,” Riley said.

*   *   *

Riley and Billy made their way up to the ferry's observation deck, stopping to greet and chat with island neighbors they hadn't seen in months. Finally they reached their destination.

Riley leaned against the railing and inhaled deeply—this, she thought, might be her favorite summer perfume—diesel fumes mixed with salt spray with top notes of sunscreen and popcorn. Seagulls wheeled and cried overhead in the dusk and, on the horizon, a line of pelicans flying in V-formation raced westward.

As the ferry dock and the mainland slipped away, she felt the anxiety and frustrations of the past few months doing the same. Her shoulders loosened, her face relaxed, her heart rate slowed. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the dying sunshine wash over her face, the way she'd always done since she was a little girl.

One way or another, this weekend, she would have to find a way to tell Maggy about the impending divorce. If she had to do it solo, so be it. Things were about to get really, really ugly. But for right now, she promised herself, she would live in this moment.

Besides, being on the island, her island, her special place, would make things better. She and Maggy would burrow in here for the summer, weather the storm of divorce, and when the season ended, they would be healed.

Riley found herself crossing and uncrossing her fingers, praying it would be so.

“Where's Scott?” Riley asked finally, opening her eyes after she was sure the last speck of land had disappeared.

“Who knows? Atlanta? Vegas? One of those television chefs is opening three new restaurants this summer, and he's been driving Scott crazy. One day he hates the dining room chandeliers in Atlanta, the next day he wants Scott to rip up the brand-new carpet in the Vegas dining room. The money's fabulous, but the travel is killing him.”

Riley nodded sympathetically. Billy's partner, Scott Moriatakis, was a much-in-demand restaurant designer whose work took him around the world. They'd met years earlier, when Scott was called in to redecorate the dining room of an Art Deco hotel in South Beach, Miami, where Billy was the lounge act.

Billy loved to tell people, “Scott pitched out everything in the joint. But he kept me.”

“But he's coming this weekend, right?”