The Innkeeper's House

by Elizabeth Bromke

  “Hi.” He smiled at her, blood pounding in his ears.

  She grinned back, but something felt off. Was she disappointed? If so, about what? He was in no position to nag her about the intricacies of her emotions and expressions and her leather satchel and her leather shoes and whether they were high heels or sandals or whatever the heck.

  “Hi.” Greta raised a tote bag in her other hand, gesturing indirectly toward her little silver car. “I’m just over there.” He wondered if he should volunteer to give her a ride instead of her following him, but then she added, “I know where it is, so don’t worry about losing me.”

  Luke chuckled. “You think I could lose you in Hickory Grove traffic?”

  Greta shrugged. “Since I was here last, I can see a notable change in the population.” She lifted an eyebrow at him then expertly slid a pair of jet-black sunglasses from her tote and pushed them up her nose. A shadow fell over her face, hiding her faint freckles and playing foil to her bright blonde hair. She was like a California transplant, more foreign than him, somehow. Like someone who left so long ago that coming back could only ever be a vacation.

  He mirrored her eyebrow wiggle, his lips curling into a smile. “Has your hometown changed that much?”

  Her smile slipped from her face, but he couldn’t tell what was going on in her eyes. “Yes and no.” She pulled the glasses off and used them to point south. “You know, the place where I grew up is that way.”

  He turned to follow her gesture. “What happened to it?”

  “The house?” She continued to stare off.

  “Yes.”

  A sigh lifted her chest, and for the first time, Luke saw more than a bubbly personality and positive spirit. He saw something else entirely. Something deeper. She smiled at him. “My parents sold it when I left for college. They left, too. Moved out east, where my mom was from. She was never as tied to this place as my dad was. Even though she came here for high school, it was just...” Greta frowned.

  “Just what?”

  “Just where they met. And, I guess, where they raised us.”

  Luke knew a little about Greta’s mother. Liesel filled in a few blanks for him. Tidbits she’d culled from the Ladies Auxiliary or knew herself.

  “What do you mean ‘just met?’ ‘Just raised you?’” He wasn’t sure why, but he needed her to love Hickory Grove. He needed her to see it for more than just whatever.

  “I guess I see people like Maggie and her family and even my brother Rhett, and they are so tied to this place. Like it’s more than a place to live.” She flashed a smile at him and put her sunglasses back on. “My mom wasn’t very sentimental. It made things easier, in some ways. Nothing to get too attached to.” Greta spoke in a way that indicated that she knew that he knew about her mother. Maybe that was the small town in her. The assumption that her business wasn’t her own. He wasn’t sure what to say. It didn’t matter. Greta continued for the both of them. “When she was sick, we had to sell some land down past the old schoolhouse. My dad’s family’s property. Rhett tried to get it back, but I guess someone bought it and started building on it. I’m not sure who. I wish I knew. I’d give him a piece of my mind. You don’t do that to your community. To your friends, you know? You make it so they can keep what’s theirs.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m unloading all this on you. I guess you probably want to get going.”

  Luke swallowed. He wasn’t the crying type, but Greta, there in the middle of the H.G.M.S. parking lot in broad daylight, was about to coax tears from him. All he could do was shake his head. If he said anything, the floodgates would unleash. He’d humiliate himself. He’d spill his guts about how much he loved feeling at home in Hickory Grove. That of course it was more than just a place to live. Maybe they were more different than he’d figured.

  “Anyway,” she shook her head, her smile hanging across her mouth, wobbly like she too felt the pull of emotion, “I just meant that I can understand why you’re trying to hang on to the bed-and-breakfast and your mamaw’s house. I would do the same thing.”

  He smiled back and choked down his feelings. He could hug her. Maybe he should hug her? No. Not yet. “I appreciate that. Maybe one day Liesel or I will live there. I could see that happening. For now, though, we just need an innkeeper. Someone to keep the sofa warm and the fridge full of sweet tea. You know?”

  “I sure do.” She sniffled and drew the back of her hand across her forehead. “Well, then. Should we go?”

  “Yep.” Before jumping into his truck, he winked at Greta. “In case you do get lost, it’s a left then your second right after the stop sign. A stone’s throw up the old dirt road, and you’ve made it to Hickory Grove’s premier bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Hickory Grove’s only bed-and-breakfast,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Depends on your definition!” he hollered back, chuckling again to himself. After all, in their little corner of Kentuckiana, southern hospitality ran rampant. Anyone with a bed could offer breakfast, too.

  Luke just hoped that Greta was looking for something more than that.

  Chapter 17—Greta

  “Wow,” she breathed as they stepped inside of the Inn. Luke wanted to start there, so she could see what she might be getting herself into.

  In all her years growing up in Hickory Grove, Greta had never once stepped a foot inside the place. It was a weird thing to think about now. Logical, sure. But still bizarre to know absolutely nothing about one of your town’s fixtures.

  One time, when Greta was in elementary school, her parents had a bad fight. Her mother left the house, and—being that cell phones didn’t exist yet, at least not in Hickory Grove—Greta and Rhett didn’t know where she’d left to. Her family was out in Philly. Greta had initially suspected the poor woman, angry and wayward, had retreated there, to the little Inn at the top of Overlook Lane. When her mother returned just hours later, it was clear by the blanket of silt on her station wagon that she’d just driven around the area, rolling between green hills, kicking up pebbles and dust and cursing out their dad in privacy.

  The whole ordeal had struck Greta as traumatizing and dramatic. In her mind, The Hickory Grove Inn was this scary, towering place that offered refuge to peeved-off mothers who needed to get away from their families.

  But then, Greta’s mother wasn’t actually like that. Probably, she was just a little burnt out. Raising kids and stuck at home all the time had made her a little batty. That, plus, she’d always been more interested in anywhere other than Hickory Grove. Greta never knew why. Until she got sick. That’s when the advice and pearls of wisdom flooded out. The woman had used her remaining days to teach Greta everything she could think of about life, but none of it stuck save for one reminder: Find what makes you happy, and do it, Greta.

  The implication was painfully obvious. Whatever would have made her mother happy, well, she never got to do it. Was it the right job? Was it more children? Less? A different town? She hadn’t said, which only left Greta to search and search and search until the search turned into a hunt for some truth about who she was and what made her, Greta, happy.

  Forever, Greta figured that teaching was that thing. After all, for most of her adulthood she was only marginally happy, and certainly never satisfied. Then she started dating. Fervently searching for someone—anyone—good enough to pull off a shotgun wedding. The hunt became especially desperate once her mother fell sick. If Greta found someone passable and married him, then maybe her mother would die happy. Maybe her mother could see that Greta had found happiness, too. Nothing to worry about, Mom! I’ve got a rich husband and a great condo! We’re going to build a perfect house and have two perfect kids, just like you did! We’ll be so happy.

  “Greta, meet Stella, our day clerk.”

  Luke’s voice snapped her out of the reverie. She pushed a finger to the corner of her eye and smiled at the woman who appeared from the eating area off to the right.

  “Hi, great to meet you.” Greta stuck
out her hand, and Stella shook it before rambling on various details about her personal life and notes about the Inn.

  Greta listened politely, but her mind wandered. It struck her that the place was nothing like the vision she’d conjured in her mind’s eye. Dated, yes. Towering and imposing, hardly. And certainly not a place to escape from reality, if that’s what young Greta ever thought her mother was doing.

  Frankly, it was no wonder the Inn barely squeaked by (if that was true; Gretchen claimed she’d overheard Liesel bemoaning the financial situation at Mally’s one day). The outside was charming and quaint enough to draw curiosity. But the inside swept you back in time. It looked like Maggie’s farmhouse probably did before she started renovating. Lots of wood. Little else. Where were the lace doilies and homey touches?

  Once they made their way over to the house behind the Inn, Mamaw Hart’s old house, she found them. The lace doilies and homey touches. The poor old woman probably snuck out every last blanket and tablecloth and linen and found a place for each one in her home.

  “You and Liesel... you left all of this? For... for a tenant to use?” Greta didn’t mean to pass judgment, but she was confused. Sure, she was glad to see the place fully furnished on the one hand. On the other, she was alarmed that Liesel and Luke had left so much of June Hart’s possessions behind, to be used by some... stranger.

  Luke shook his head. “Liesel’s basement and mine are filled to the brim with Mamaw’s things. And we have a storage unit, too.”

  Greta frowned. Delicately, she asked, “Was she a... a... a hoarder?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he replied. “I mean, looking at it now, all you see are her personal effects. But all of this is just the bare minimum of what Mamaw collected and carefully organized. She had afghans folded and shelved in one closet. Drapes and linens in another. Lots of clothes. Lots of them. Liesel couldn’t stand to go through her hope chest, but that’s in her basement, waiting to be unpacked, still. We just left what we thought would look nice in here. I guess it’s sort of a living memorial.” He glanced away and fiddled with a crystal bowl that sat on the table by the front door. “Anyway, feel free to look around. Take your time.”

  She nodded and started through the place. It wasn’t as cluttered as she initially thought. The living room, or parlor as it might have been years back, was small; an old tube TV complete with rabbit ears sat on a short table across from a red velvet sofa. Across the back of a sofa draped a yellow afghan and between the sofa and television set sprawled an oval black-and-red braided rug. But no doodads or knickknacks cluttered the space.

  Beyond the parlor, more braided rugs carried her across sturdy hardwood floors and into the kitchen, which took her further back in time. A farmhouse sink, white porcelain, acted like the centerpiece along a Formica counter. The butcher block island crowded the space, but the only appliances in sight were an old Frigidaire, a rusty little toaster, and a potbellied stove.

  “When was this place built?” Greta wondered aloud.

  “My great grandfolks built it around the turn of the century, I think.” Luke ran his hand along the round wooden kitchen table. “This was all here when I was a kid. This is where Mamaw put out the food for Christmas or Easter brunch. We ate wherever we could find a seat.”

  “Is it hard to let someone else move in?” she asked, fearful she might come across as prying.

  Luke’s eyes flashed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Yes,” he said, sniffing. “Especially for my aunt.”

  Greta studied him for a beat after he looked away. His good looks and fit build belied a tenderness. The P.E. teachers and football coaches Greta had known in her life came across as spud-chewing, leather-necked good-old-boys with one thing on their minds: winning a game.

  Luke was softer. Quieter. More anxious, though still assured. Deep in thought. Kind.

  “How is your season shaping up?” the question fell out of her mouth, in it an accusation, as if she wanted to test him. See if his gentle way was effective in his career of choice.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, um. Good. We’re looking good.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to see upstairs?”

  She nodded, and they climbed the narrow wooden case together, Greta behind. She forced herself to keep a little distance. Being too close to Luke might just suffocate her. Once he reached the landing, he offered his hand. It was an unnecessary gesture. There was no danger, but still she took it, her breath growing shallow.

  Upstairs, the three bedrooms were small but neatly appointed. Two of them offered double beds. Heavy quilts spread across the foot of each. In the third bedroom, an antique roll top desk ran the length of a windowless wall.

  “We decided to leave it. It was my grandad’s,” Luke said from behind her. She nodded then turned. “I love it here. I can’t believe you haven’t found someone... or that Liesel or you haven’t moved in yourselves.”

  “We have our own houses,” Luke answered. “I like being close to the school. Liesel is near Little Flock. But maybe one day we will. When it gets easier.”

  She nodded. She understood. After all, wasn’t it Greta who agreed to sell off the Houston family acreage? She could have found money elsewhere. But she went to the land, first. As if to shake herself free of that attachment. Rid her life of the history of Hickory Grove. It made far less sense that Greta was so keen to move on. She had a happy upbringing. No tragedy existed for either her or her brother in that town. And still, she suggested they dump what they had. Guilt crawled along beneath her skin. She slid a finger along her hairline and fanned her face.

  “We have window AC units,” Luke said, pointing behind her to a little white box that sat on the corner of the floor. “Sorry about the heat.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem.”

  Smiling, Luke waved behind them toward the open door. “There’s not much else to see, but it’s pretty simple. One year. Or month-to-month. Whatever works for you. The rate is pretty set, but I might be able to get some wiggle room from Liesel if you need.”

  “No, no. The price is great. The terms are great. I think I could do the on-call thing at night, too.”

  “That’s mostly just for peace of mind, you know. It’s really not a big deal. We give the guests Liesel’s number and mine, too. Just so you know.”

  Greta’s brows furrowed over her head. There was no real catch. Just a family of mourners trying to make ends meet while they preserved a piece of their past.

  “I love it, actually. Really, I do, Luke.” Was that the first time she’d called him by name? The first time she’d said Luke, the syllables lolling from her tongue in lazy, sweet sounds. Their eyes met. She looked away. “Coach,” she corrected herself, a small smiling curving her mouth up.

  “Call me Luke,” he replied, his voice low. “I’m glad you love it. I do, too.” Tension buzzed between them. Over the house or their words or the school year ahead or whatever was going on... she felt it like pulsing electricity.

  She inhaled sharply. “I haven’t gotten my contract from school yet.” Her smile slipped away, and worry took shape on her face. “Is that the norm?”

  He licked his lips and his eyebrows raised. “Oh? Oh, well. I’m not sure. I mean, I got mine at the end of last year.” He laughed nervously. “I’m sure you’ll get it soon. Did you talk to Miss Barb?”

  She nodded. “And we went upstairs to the D.O. No one was around, though.”

  He shrugged. “Hickory Grove is a slow place. But don’t worry,” he rushed to add, “I’m sure it’s just sitting on someone’s desk waiting for your signature.” Again, a nervous chuckle followed.

  “Yeah,” Greta replied. Though she didn’t know Luke, and she didn’t even know Miss Barb or Mrs. Cook or anyone else at the school she had attended years before, she could choose to trust them, as uneasy as it made her. That quiet voice inside called to her again. A bird in the hand. So, too, did Greta hear her mother’s words. Find what makes you happy. Contract or not, it occ
urred to Greta she’d never been quite so happy. She and Rhett were closer than ever, even if he was so aloof or dense that he sent her the photo of The Hickory Grove Inn, knowing full well that Maggie and Greta already agreed it was a bad idea for her.

  Then again, was her brother being aloof?

  Or was he being... intentional?

  Regardless, their new bond was the only thing to reinvigorate Greta’s spirits. Her newfound friendship with Maggie and forging a mentorship with sweet Gretchen. Little Briar, and Ky and Dakota. The farm and the barn and the fresh air and country backroads... all of it made her happy. Unquantifiably so, even.

  And then there was Luke, this newcomer in her life. Someone with ties to the town but with the Louisville upbringing. The worldliness a person could possess just by virtue of the fact that they were born in a high-rise hospital rather than by the local midwife. Greta had often longed for that worldliness—to feel inside of her what it was like to live near a mall or cross the street at a stoplight with rush hour traffic whirring parallel to her. It was almost like that in Luke, God was bringing the big city to the country, as if that was even possible.

  Greta hoped it was. Maybe then, she could stop searching.

  Now, they stood together at the base of the staircase, Luke at the very bottom, Greta on the first step, her face level with his. The door stood closed just feet away, shutting the world out and keeping them in this tenuous privacy. From beneath her eyelashes, she looked up at Luke. He cleared his throat. Greta bit down on her bottom lip.

  Swallowing, she swayed forward. What was she going to do? Tell him she wanted to rent his house? Grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss like some sort of tragic heroine in a black-and-white film?

  He put his hand on the bannister, pulling himself closer to her, too, and ridiculously, thoughts of Kadan stirred to life in her brain. She tried to push them out, but dizziness took over anyway, blurring her vision momentarily.

  “Are you okay?” Luke asked.