by Lyn Gardner
Robin relaxed back in the tub again. She closed her eyes, welcoming the warmth of the water covering her shoulders as much as she welcomed her own convictions. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was meant to be, and it only hinged on one thing, and it was that one thing that caused Robin’s eyes to pop open. What if Judy said no?
“That is not going to happen!” Robin said, and scrambling out of the tub, she grabbed a towel and dried off in record time.
Neglecting her nightly routine of moisturizer and body lotion, she tugged on a pair of sweatpants, pulled a hoodie over her head, yanked on a pair of socks and darted from the room. She ran into the kitchen and snagged her phone from the counter, intending to run a search on the average salary of a bed-and-breakfast manager, but before she could type in one letter, Robin stopped. Could she actually stoop that low? Could she actually try to buy off Judy Dunnigan by waving a hefty salary in front of her face? Is that what her once innocent infatuation had become? An obsession whereby she would do anything, say anything, pay anything just to have the woman in her life?
Robin hung her head, and feeling like she needed another bath, she tossed her phone on the counter. She knew what it was like to be manipulated, and the memory of it caused bile to rise in her throat. For over a year, Robin had been on the receiving end of a master, and through deception, verbal abuse, and unscrupulous tactics, she had been unknowingly molded like wet clay. Turned and smoothed, shaped and grooved, helped along by a smattering of cursory charm, the occasional guilt trip, and several violent outbursts, toward the end of that relationship, Robin didn’t even know who she was. Her interests fell by the wayside. Her needs were inconsequential, and she had become an expert on how to walk on eggshells.
A chill ran down Robin’s spine, and rubbing her arms, she tried to calm the goosebumps prickling at her skin. This was not who she was, and with a sneer, she shoved the phone farther away. Robin could not deny what she felt for Judy Dunnigan. She could not rebuff the dreams or the fantasies she had had over the years, but none had ever been based on control because love isn’t about control. It’s not about deceit or holier-than-thou attitudes or pushing buttons just because you know you can. Love is about caring. It’s about sharing and trust and honesty, and it’s about putting others’ needs before your own.
Robin didn’t know if it had been a stroke of luck, a twist of fate, or God just playing God that had brought Judy back into her life, but Robin did know one thing. She had never been in control of the circumstances surrounding it, and she wasn’t about to start now. Snatching up the bottle of wine, Robin poured what was left into a glass and went back to the parlor, leaving her phone on the counter, where it would remain all night.
***
The Wilsons had already gone to Florida, preferring to spend the winter in their RV near sun and surf rather than being snowed in on Mackinac for months, so when Judy stepped out of the bathroom, a plume of steam followed her. The Wilson’s four children had moved off the island years before, but during the spring and summer, they and their horde of kids would visit Larry and Kay, and the water heater never kept up with the demand. Unless Judy got up at four in the morning or waited until midnight for a shower, the best she could hope for when she stepped into the tiny corner stall was water just warm enough so her teeth wouldn’t chatter. Winter provided few luxuries, but ample hot water was more than enough to make up for the solitude of an island abandoned by most from November to April.
Dressed in flannel pajamas and bulky gray socks, Judy scrubbed a towel over her head, ridding her hair of most of the water before hanging the terrycloth back on the rod. Making her way to the bed, she slid beneath the covers and sheets, flicked off the light and stared into the darkness.
Robin Novak’s proposal had popped in and out of her head since leaving Safe Harbor Inn a few hours before, but it had never stayed there for long. She had told Robin she would reconsider her decision, and Judy had done just that while pedaling back to her apartment, but what was there to rethink?
Bed-and-breakfasts were almost a twenty-four-seven job. Guests came and went daily, leaving behind messes that would have shamed their parents, yet complaining if one speck of dust was present when they checked in. Breakfasts had to offer a selection for varying palates, and if requested when reservations were made, special dietary needs would have to be met. There would be guests who would plunder the breakfast buffet, filling their coolers and backpacks with what they believed they were due, while others didn’t know the meaning of the word guest. Intruding into areas they weren’t allowed, they’d try to investigate every closet, nook, and cranny and Judy would be the one who would have to paint on a false smile and politely explain why a cabinet or perhaps a door was locked. She would face the ire of some unable to fathom why they couldn’t borrow the bikes or Burley belonging to the Inn and others who’d turn indignant when they were told they couldn’t use the kitchen to cook a meal. Guests would call at all hours of the day and night, and late check-ins would show up much later than they had promised, and when the weather turned foul, so would the guests. Grumpy that their plans had changed, they would grumble and growl and ask for snacks as if the Inn had suddenly turned into a hotel.
Judy let out a long sigh. She knew she was concentrating on the bad instead of the good. She knew when it came to running a bed-and-breakfast, especially one on Mackinac Island, the pros still outweighed the cons, but she couldn’t risk thinking about the benefits. If she did, she’d change her mind, so as Judy drifted off to sleep, she just kept telling herself she was too old to start again.
Chapter Ten
Judy stood up as her best friend, Rita Hutchinson approached the booth, and wrapping her arms around the big-boned woman, she said, “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Rita said, returning the hug. “Another year older and still no wiser.”
“I know what you mean,” Judy said with a laugh, and pulling out of the hug, she gestured for Rita to sit down.
“So, any exciting plans for you today?” Judy said, sliding a menu toward Rita. “Is Hank doing anything special?”
“No, just the usual,” Rita said, picking up a menu. “He’ll take me over to the Village Inn for dinner, and I’ll come home to a lopsided cake he spent all morning trying to make.”
“You love his lopsided cakes.”
“I know, damn it. If the son-of-a-bitch weren’t so good in bed, I’d find myself a new cake maker,” Rita said, and as she looked up from her menu, she saw a young waitress approaching. “And speaking of cake makers,” she said, turning back to Judy. “Anybody tasting your frosting lately?”
Judy didn’t have to turn her head to know the waitress was standing next to the table, and no doubt had heard what Rita had said. With a sigh, Judy raised her eyes and saw the buxom brunette smiling down at her, the young woman’s cheeks nearly as red as Judy’s. Without looking in Rita’s direction, Judy placed her order, and Rita followed suit. Once the waitress walked away, Judy glared at Rita. “Why do you always do that to me?”
Rita’s boisterous guffaw echoed through the restaurant. “Because it’s fun, and these youngsters need to know that they aren’t the only ones getting any. Just because we have some gray in our hair, doesn’t mean we have it in our beds.”
The smile Judy wore had appeared in her heart long before it reached her face. She first met Rita a few years before moving to Mackinac when Scott brought her to the island on spring break. It was a friendship born in an instant, and when Judy moved to the island, Rita was there to greet her with open arms. Over the years, some friends had come and gone, leaving when retirements were reached, or new opportunities presented themselves, but Rita wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was Judy.
A third-generation islander, Rita’s family had opened one of the first candy stores on Mackinac. In a little inconspicuous store on Main Street in the late eighteen hundreds, they began producing peanut brittle and fudge based on old family recipes, their only marketing technique bein
g the fans they placed by the front door to push the aroma of confectionery heaven onto the street. It wasn’t long before those stepping off ferries came in search of fudge, and by the time Rita became the CEO of the company, Schockling’s Sweets had opened additional stores in St. Ignace, Mackinack City, and Cheboygan.
At five-foot-ten and solidly built, Rita was quite an imposing figure. She could have easily used her appearance and her lineage to her advantage, like some on Mackinac who allowed their genealogy to fuel their level of self-importance, but Rita owned not one ounce of pretension. She loved her job. She loved her family. She loved her church, and she loved Mackinac Island, and it showed in everything she did. From the bounce in her step to the enduring laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, Rita went through her life enjoying every minute of it. She had an earthiness about her and one of the most charming smiles a person could ever hope to see, and while her voice was strapping and throaty, she was just a playful pussycat at heart, and as always, Judy was on the receiving end of Rita’s innuendo-filled humor.
Judy leaned across the table and whispered, “You are incorrigible!”
“Yes, I am,” Rita said, reaching for a glass of water. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way. Without me, your life would be boring.”
“All right, you’ve got me there,” Judy said, slumping back into her seat.
“And speaking of boring, how’s the gallery doing? Still as active as ever?”
“It’s a thrill a minute,” Judy said, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t you dare tell me ‘I told you so.’”
“Would I do that?” Rita said, pointing to herself.
“In a heartbeat.”
Rita glanced at her watch. “Time’s up. I told you so.”
“See!”
Rita laughed, and more than a few patrons turned their heads toward the sound of her hearty chortle. “Hey, don’t get mad at me because you took a job I told you that you’d hate. After all those years working at The Wheelhouse, plus at the candy stores, there’s no way in hell you could handle the slower pace of the galleries. Granted, they can get busy, but not like the rest of us do.”
“I know,” Judy said, letting out a sigh.
“You could come back to Schockling’s. There’ll always be a place for you there.”
“Thanks, hon, but I think I’m burned out when it comes to selling fudge. At least for a little while.”
“So, what next then? Scrimshaw? T-shirts? Carriage tours?”
“Actually, I was offered a job earlier this week,” Judy said as she played with the corner of her folded napkin.
Rita sat up in the booth, her backbone stretched to its limits as her eyes opened wide. “What are you talking about? You’re not leaving the island, are you?”
“No,” Judy said, flinching back her head. “Of course not.”
“Then who in the hell is offering you a job at the end of the season?”
“Did you hear that Adele’s niece inherited Safe Harbor?”
“Please,” Rita said, rolling her eyes. “I swear, one of these days I’m going to look up into the sky and see a plane dragging a banner with Mackinac’s gossip printed on it. Of course, I’ve heard about it. Her name’s Robin Novak. She’s tall, blonde, and a writer, but I already knew the last part because Adele used to talk about her every once in a while. Why?”
“She’s the one who offered me the job.”
“What job?”
“To manage Safe Harbor.”
“What?” Rita said, her voice rising above the chatter in the restaurant. “That’s great!”
“You think?”
“You don’t?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why the hell not? Adele never had an empty room through the season. If you want to keep busy, that’s the place to be. And it’s not like you don’t have the experience.”
“I’ve just filled in—”
“Oh, bullshit,” Rita said, waving her hand. “Whenever you worked at any of the B&Bs, you practically took over, and the owners loved it. They didn’t have to worry about one goddamned thing when you were there.”
“I suppose,” Judy said as she returned her attention to the corner of her napkin.
Rita frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Judy muttered.
“At the risk of repeating myself—bullshit.”
Judy took a moment and got her thoughts together before she looked at Rita. “I just think I’m a little too old to start a new career.”
“Where in the hell did that come from?” Rita said, sitting straight in her seat. “Since when is fifty-five old, and when exactly did your age start bothering you? In all the years we’ve known each other, I can’t remember one time when you ever let it get in the way of anything. It’s just a fucking number, and using it as an excuse so you can throw away this opportunity is crap.”
“It’s just a job.”
“It is not just a job,” Rita said, and leaning forward, she tapped her finger on the table. “It’s a fantastic opportunity, and you and I both know it.”
“We do, do we?”
“Yes, we do,” Rita said, and resting back in the booth, she crossed her arms. “So, stop trying to kid a kidder and tell me the real reason why you don’t want to take this job?”
Judy returned to picking at her napkin. “Robin went to Heritage High when I was there, and I think it would be kind of weird to work for a student. That’s all.”
The lines on Rita’s forehead deepened as seconds ticked by. “She was...she was one of your students?”
“No. I was her homeroom teacher in her senior year. At least, that’s what she says.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t remember her?”
“No,” Judy said, looking up. “No, I don’t.”
Before Rita could speak, the waitress appeared with their meals. Thankful for not only the food but the time it gave her to get her thoughts together, Rita didn’t say another word until the brunette sashayed away from the table. “Then what’s the problem?” she said, reaching for the ketchup. “She was just a kid in your homeroom.”
“That’s exactly my point. She was a kid.”
“Well, she’s not one anymore. I mean, unless her name’s Dorian Gray, she has to be in her forties by now—right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Judy said, picking up the salt shaker. “I just keep thinking it would be weird.”
“You want to know what I think?”
Judy stopped salting her fries long enough to look up. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.”
“How’d I know that?” Judy said, putting the condiment aside. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I think you should take the job,” Rita said as she wrapped her hands around her burger. “You know I’m not one to play the age card, Judy, but you’re right. You and I aren’t getting any younger, and something like this doesn’t come along very often. Do you really want to pass up it up only to look back in a few years and regret never taking the chance to…to be happy?”
“You don’t think I’m happy?”
“I think you’re content. I think you settled into the monotony of your life years ago, and I think you’ve brainwashed yourself into believing you’re okay with it, but as far as being happy? No, I don’t think you’ve been happy for a long time. So go for it, Jude. Life’s too fucking short not to.”
***
As Judy stood on the front porch of the Inn late on Friday night, she chuckled to herself. Five days before she had been at the same door, ringing the same bell, and doing the same thing...debating on whether to stay or to leave.
Until she had talked to Rita earlier that afternoon, Judy’s mind had been made up, but as she stood with her shoulders hunched against the cold wind, she let out a sigh. She knew she could do this, but the question was…should she?
Her thoughts broken by the sound of rain beginning to fall, Judy rushed out to her bike. Quickly covering the seat with the plastic
bag she always kept tucked under it, she grabbed her backpack from the basket between the handlebars and ran back to the porch.
At times, the weather on Mackinac could be unpredictable, and since there were no cars parked in driveways or stationed at curbs, the islanders knew to be prepared. Most never left their homes without backpacks slung over their shoulders, and neatly folded inside the zippered compartments would be rain suits to protect them against storms and extra sweaters just in case the temperature dropped unexpectedly.
The next blast of wind answered the question on Judy’s mind, and cringing as a spray of rain found its way to her face, she yanked the canary yellow rain suit out of her backpack. After stepping into the vinyl pants, she slipped on the jacket, flipped up the hood, and tugged the drawstring until it was tight around her face.
Less than five minutes had passed since Judy had run back to the porch, but in that short amount of time the clouds had let loose, and the sound of the storm was becoming deafening. The rain was slamming against the roof, and as puddles formed on the street and sidewalk, their surfaces began to jump and ripple, taking on lives of their own courtesy of Mother Nature.
Resigned to remaining under cover until at least the worst of the storm had passed, Judy leaned against the wall and watched the rain come down. Even at its worst, Judy always enjoyed a good rainstorm. She loved listening to the sound of it, the cadence created by water drumming against roofs and porches and windows, and how the scent of pine, earth, and grass would suddenly become enhanced, momentarily drowning out the aroma of manure, a constant on the island.