The Guest Book by Marybeth Whalen Page B

called Time in a Bottle.

ten
    I t was lunchtime before Max joined Macy, their mom, and Emma in the dining area. They had just come in from the beach when he slunk in and sat down at the island. He smiled ruefully when Macy caught his eye and gave him a look, then rubbed his eyes and yawned.
    “Hey, Mom. Got any coffee?” he asked, heading around the island and into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets.
    Macy shook her head and turned her attention to Emma, who was nibbling on a peanut-butter sandwich. She reached over and took a chip off her daughter’s plate, crunching happily despite Emma’s protests.
    “That was my chip!” she said, planting her small hands on her hips.
    Max grabbed more chips from the open bag on the counterand put them on Emma’s plate, kissing his niece’s head as he sat down with his cup of instant coffee. He sipped it and grimaced. “Starbucks it is not,” he said.
    “But it’ll do the trick,” Macy mused aloud, glancing at him with a challenge in her eyes. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, blowing on the coffee and staring into the cup instead. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that Max was nursing a serious hangover.
    “Yeah, it’ll do the trick,” he mumbled. He took another sip as Emma finished her lunch.
    Outside, someone was hammering on the roof of the house next door, the house Macy remembered being Buzz’s house. She wondered if it was still her dad’s friend Buzz’s house, then remembered him saying he planned to die there. The banging had been getting louder as the day progressed. Macy rolled her eyes. She’d been planning to have Emma lie down for a bit after lunch, but all that racket would prevent her from sleeping. Maybe the workers would take a nice long break for lunch. So far they’d been hard at work without a moment of rest. Buzz — if it was still his house — was certainly getting his money’s worth.
    Emma scampered to her room and returned with a drawing pad and markers, setting up next to Max at the island, pushing everything out of her way, already intent on whatever it was she was drawing. Max looked at Emma, then at Macy, before smiling with amusement. He hitched his thumb in Emma’s direction.
    “She sure takes after you,” he said.
    Macy smiled back as she rose from her place at the islandand began cleaning up from lunch. “I’ve heard that more than once.”
    Max reached over and palmed Emma’s head as Macy busied herself with cleaning. Macy knew he was trying to catch her eye, but she didn’t bite. Emma, already distracted by a new idea, raced back to her room, leaving Macy alone with Max, who finished his coffee.
    “I was thinking this morning about that time you told me I wasn’t ever going to be invited to your wedding. Do you remember that?”
    Macy glanced his way. “Of course I do,” she said, raising one eyebrow.
    He chuckled. “I beat you at finding the best shell in that contest Dad had that one time. Remember that?”
    Macy frowned. “You were such a bully.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about that all these years later.” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “We were just kids.”
    Macy mimicked him, crossing her arms over her own chest and glowering at him. “We were not just kids. I was just a kid. You were old enough to know better.”
    “Gee, Mace. Didn’t know you still held on to this resentment. Might need to see a counselor about that.” He laughed.
    She thought about how hurt she’d been when Max showed up with the best shell. She remembered her dad’s comforting words, the way he had distracted her with drawing in the guest book with her second-place prize of colored pencils, and howultimately that had changed everything and, in a way, led them here. A smile flickered across her face as she recalled standing by the waves the night before asking God to send her the creator of those pictures.
    In the light of day it all sounded like foolishness.
    Macy resumed her mock