An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) by Mariah Stewart (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📗

course because of Joe, Gracie. He’s my son. And yes, he’s Brett’s son. And I can’t wait till you meet him. I promise you’ll like him. He’s your brother.”

“Half brother,” Grace reminded her.

“I’d like to think this is a family where there are no ‘halves,’” Maggie said softly.

“So we just accept this guy and welcome him with open arms just because—”

“Yes,” Maggie interrupted. “Just because.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I’m not going to pretend I can if I don’t know.”

“Fair enough. Wait until you meet him,” Maggie said. “Please. Just reserve judgment until then.”

“He’s dying to meet you, Grace,” Natalie piped up. “He’s so impressed that you’re a lawyer. He said his son wants to be a lawyer. He’s twelve and he—”

“Hold on. You’ve met him, too?” Grace asked.

“No, but I can’t wait to. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times. He’s smart and he’s funny and he sounds like just the guy you’d want to have as a big brother.” Natalie draped an arm over her sister’s shoulder. “Please keep an open mind until we all get together on the Fourth of July.”

Grace turned to her mother. “By all, does that include Chief Crawford, too?”

“You can call him Brett, and yes, that includes him,” Maggie said.

“Seriously? Will we set up a firepit in the backyard and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories around the fire?”

“Hmm. Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Maggie pretended to think it over. “Thanks for suggesting it, Grace.”

Natalie’s phone pinged to alert her to an incoming message. Grinning, she grabbed it from the counter, swiped the screen, then laughed.

Grace slanted her a look, then turned back to Maggie. “Come on, Mom. This is all moving a little too fast for me.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, sweetheart. But it’s been a long time coming for me. Forty years, to be exact. Try to keep an open mind and an open heart. For my sake.”

Natalie typed something into her phone, smiling broadly.

Grace nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll try. I promise. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I need,” Maggie told her.

Another ping. Another burst of laughter.

“Natalie, what is so freaking funny?” Grace glared.

“FaceTiming.” Natalie held up her phone to show Grace the image.

“What am I looking at?” Grace leaned close, her eyes narrowed. “What—who is that?”

“It’s Mr. Potato Head,” Natalie whispered, pointing to Daisy, who was drawing a picture with an orange crayon.

“Mr. Potato Head?” Maggie grabbed the phone and stared.

Natalie nodded and held a finger in front of her lips.

“Are we supposed to guess who’s wearing it?” Grace whispered.

“Hold up.” Natalie giggled. “Daisy, someone wants to talk to you.”

Seconds later, a male voice came through the phone. “Is Daisy there? Miss Daisy Doodle Dandy?”

Daisy all but flew to the phone, jumping from her stool to her mother’s.

“I’m Daisy Flynn, not . . . who you said.” Daisy looked into the phone.

“Do you know who I am?” the man in the Mr. Potato Head suit asked.

“Uh-huh.” Daisy nodded. “You’re Chris.”

“No.” The man in the suit tried unsuccessfully to hide his laughter. “I’m Mr. Potato Head.”

Daisy pointed a finger at the screen. “No. You are Chris.”

The man removed the head portion of the costume.

“See.” Daisy looked up at her mother. “It’s Chris.”

Natalie suppressed a grin as her mother and sister both gaped.

“I guess I can’t fool you, Daisy,” he said. “I guess next time I’ll have to come up with a better costume if I want to trick you.”

Daisy nodded enthusiastically. “Next time be . . . a dragon.”

“A scary dragon?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. But no fire,” Daisy told him.

“Chris Dean in a Mr. Potato Head costume?” Grace shook her head. “Why?”

“Hi, Gracie!” Chris waved. “Hi, Mrs. Flynn.”

“Chris.” Maggie waved.

“Hi, Chris.” Grace turned to Maggie and said under her voice, “What is happening?”

Maggie shrugged. “No clue.”

Daisy, having lost interest, went back to drawing.

Natalie retreated to the back door and continued her conversation while still listening to her mother and sister. She wasn’t sure who was more amusing, Chris or Maggie and Grace.

“Daisy, how do you know Chris?” Natalie heard Grace ask.

“From when he was at our house. He’s Mommy’s friend. He brought me a book.” Daisy was focused on her drawing. “About a frog girl.”

Natalie whispered into the phone, “My sister is interrogating my daughter.”

Chris laughed. “Can you get close enough for me to hear?”

“I’ll try. Hold on . . .”

“When was that?” Grace asked.

“Can you hear?” Natalie whispered, and an amused Chris replied, “Yeah. Tell Grace I said she has a future with the CIA.”

“That time.” Any time in the past was that time to Daisy. “The first one.”

“The first one?” Grace was wide eyed. “How many times were there?”

“Nat,” Chris said, “you better go bail out the kid before your sister brings out the water board.”

“Talk to you later.” Natalie turned off her phone.

“Sometimes”—Daisy continued to draw—“he comes to have dinner with Mommy and me.”

Natalie placed the phone on the island and casually picked up her glass and took a sip. “That’s a beautiful pumpkin, sweetie.” She pointed to Daisy’s artwork.

“It’s not a pumpkin.” Daisy looked up at her. “It’s Nana’s car.”

Maggie leaned close. “Why, so it is. I always wanted an orange car.” She tapped Natalie on the shoulder. “Is there something you want to tell us? About you and Chris?”

“Is there something you want to tell us, about you and Chief Crawford?” Natalie smirked.

“Don’t change the subject,” Grace said. “Mom and the chief are old news—sorry, Mom—but since when has Chris been visiting you? And does he stay over?”

“My, aren’t we nosy?” Natalie finished her tea and rinsed out the glass.

“Natalie. Fess up,” Grace whispered. “Are you and Chris . . . ?”

“We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. You know that.”

“Well, I consider him a friend of mine, too, but he doesn’t visit me.” Grace turned to Maggie. “Mom, make her talk.”

“I’m sure if Natalie had something she wanted to share with us, she’d do it. Wouldn’t you, Nat?” Maggie said pointedly.

“You two are a riot.” Natalie laughed. “There’s not a lot to tell. Chris was on his way to