The Sea Glass Cottage

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “Stop that right now. Your to-do list can wait until morning, can’t it?”

  Olivia didn’t answer, only looked overwhelmed, which made Juliet feel guilty and worthless. Right now, her own to-do list was ridiculously empty, consisting of only finish a chapter and take your medicine on schedule.

  “Melody needs you more than I do tonight,” she went on. “That girl has had a terrible year, filled with disappointment and betrayal. For once, she’s being kind to herself by letting some of her friends celebrate her birthday with her. A good friend would do everything she could to support that, not look for excuses to wriggle out.”

  Oh, the classic guilt trip. Juliet experienced a qualm at employing it but only for a minute. She felt worse at the idea of Olivia sacrificing the opportunity to lift a friend who needed her because she felt she had to stay here at Sea Glass Cottage with Juliet.

  Even if that meant spending the evening with Henry.

  The doorbell rang through the house before Olivia had a moment to reply and Otis jumped off Juliet’s lap with his surprising agility.

  “That will be Henry,” Olivia said with a sigh. “I suppose it won’t hurt to leave you in his capable hands for one night.”

  The pain medication was sending her imagination into overdrive. That was all. She did not need to think about Henry Cragun’s capable hands right now. Still, the image was in her head now. Her face felt hot suddenly, her breathing shallow.

  “Go celebrate with Melody. We will be fine,” she insisted. “I would be perfectly fine on my own, which I’ve told you again and again, but of course nobody around here listens to me.”

  Olivia ignored her, which didn’t surprise Juliet at all, and opened the door.

  “Hi, Henry.”

  He was carrying two reusable grocery bags and wore a smile that made Juliet’s skin feel prickly and hot.

  “Hi, Olivia. You look lovely tonight. I hope somebody has warned the men of Cape Sanctuary to leave their hearts at home tonight unless they want them broken.”

  “Yes. That was exactly the message I Tweeted a few minutes ago.” Olivia gave a rueful shake of her head but couldn’t quite hide her smile.

  As Henry and Olivia smiled at each other, Juliet was aware of a stupid, wholly unreasonable quiver of jealousy.

  The two of them were only about fifteen years apart, not an unreasonable span when the man was older than the woman. Yes, that was a traditional, patriarchal idea but unavoidable.

  In the eyes of many, that fifteen-year gap was virtually insignificant, as long as Olivia was the younger of them. How unfair that Juliet’s eight years of seniority should loom so largely between them.

  Of course, it seemed to bother her more than anyone else. Was she the misogynist?

  “Thanks for being available tonight,” Olivia said. “I still don’t feel good about Mom being alone right now, in case she falls or needs something she can’t reach. I think another few days and she’ll be fine on her own for brief periods of time.”

  “I’m so glad you called. I would have been sitting at home watching a baseball game anyway. This is much more fun.”

  “You have a strange idea of fun, if you think hanging around babysitting an invalid will be at all entertaining,” Juliet snapped, then felt crusty and cranky, like a sour old lady in need of a nap.

  He ignored her, just like everyone else did, and held up his bags. “I brought things to make dinner. I hope you haven’t eaten. I thought I would make linguine and clams, since I know how much you like it.”

  Juliet’s appetite seemed to have disappeared since her accident, thanks mostly to the painkillers she hated, but her mouth watered suddenly. She really did love his linguine with white clam sauce, which he made with fresh butter and Italian parsley.

  “That sounds delicious,” Olivia said.

  “I would offer to save you some leftovers but we usually don’t have any,” Henry said.

  Still looking reluctant, she picked up a large purse from the entry table. “I shouldn’t be too late.”

  “Take your time. We’ll be fine,” Henry assured her.

  Juliet wasn’t so certain. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be alone with him right now, when she was feeling so weak and vulnerable.

  “Don’t forget to take a jacket,” she said as her daughter was leaving. “Evenings are still cool here.”

  Okay, her daughter was thirty. But Juliet would always be her mother and would always worry about her, whether Olivia liked it or not.

  Her daughter lifted her bag. “Got one in here. Along with an umbrella, pepper spray, a flashlight and an extra phone charger.”

  “Sounds like you’re covered,” Henry said.

  “You can’t be too careful,” Juliet said, feeling even more like an old lady with every passing moment.

  “You two have fun. Thanks again, Henry.”

  The house, her refuge and her sanctuary, seemed to echo with emptiness after Olivia left. Otis stood at the door for a moment, as if making sure his owner wasn’t coming right back. Eventually he wandered back over to Juliet, who ignored the pain and scooped down to lift him into her lap.

  “You could let me do that for you.”

  “He only weighs five or six pounds. I should be good.” She paused. “I know you told Olivia you would stay here the whole time but you really don’t have to.”

  “I’m staying. I’m looking forward to it. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a lovely spring evening in Cape Sanctuary. You’ve got the windows open. I can smell the flowers and the sea and I can hear the sound of the waves. What’s not to love?”

  Juliet sighed. Why did he have to be so blasted cheerful all the time? She hurt and wanted to wallow in her misery. That was extremely hard to manage around Henry Cragun.

  “I’m going to start dinner.”

  “I can help.”

  “Not necessary. You stay right there and let me wait on you for once, unless you’d rather go outside.”

  “I would enjoy that,” she admitted. She felt as if she had been cooped up inside for months. This was a horrible time of year to be down with an injury. Spring was the most glorious season here in Cape Sanctuary and she was missing it because of a single act of stupidity. “I would love to go out to the back terrace but I don’t think we can manage. You could just wheel me out to the porch.”

  “Why can’t we go out back?” he asked, with the air of a man who had just been issued a challenge.

  “Because you built the ramp out front. To use the terrace, you would have to wheel me around on the grass. It will be too hard.”

  It sounded ridiculous when she said it aloud. Why would he have trouble, for heaven’s sake? The man worked outside all day digging holes for plants, carting around hundred-pound bags full of mulch.

  “We should absolutely eat out there. Do you want to go out now or when dinner is ready? The pasta is quick. It should only take me about twenty minutes.”

  “I’m good here for now.” He was right. Why wouldn’t she be good? She had the dog, the breeze, her book and the added advantage of being able to enjoy the guilty pleasure of watching him cook.

  She settled in her recliner while he went to work, grateful for the open floor plan on this level of the cottage that allowed her a clear view into the kitchen.

  Through the windows, she could hear the sound of the sea below, merging in a pleasant symphony with the sound of Otis snoring, the clatter of pans in the kitchen and one of her cats purring from the back of the sofa.

  Eventually she gave up reading her book and just watched him work.

  “That smells so good,” she said sometime later.

  “It’s almost done. While the pasta cooks and the sauce simmers, let’s get you outside. How can I help you transfer?”

  This was the humiliating part, but she would simply have to endure it. “I need the walk
er to help me stand and then the wheelchair.”

  He brought both things over to her and stood at her side while she went through the difficult and onerous task of transferring from the recliner to the wheelchair.

  “I wish you would just let me lift you.”

  She shivered at the thought of being in his arms and had to hope he didn’t notice. “That would be easier right now, but you’re not always here and Olivia can’t lift me. It’s good for me to practice transferring myself.”

  The doctor had told her to expect things to be hard like this for the first month. Then she would gain a little more mobility. After a week, she was already better at it.

  Once she was settled in the chair, with Olivia’s dog on her lap, he pushed her outside into the soft perfection of a coastal evening.

  Years ago, she had landscaped a hard-packed gravel walkway from the front yard to the back garden. The wheelchair’s big wheels still seemed to catch on the gravel, but Henry was able to power through and push her without too much bumping to the wide back flagstone patio overlooking the Pacific.

  “I do love the view you have here.”

  “You have virtually the same view down the hill,” she had to point out.

  “Maybe. But there’s something magical about this particular spot.”

  She couldn’t argue. When Steve had inherited the house from his parents, it had been ramshackle, worn down by years of neglect. They had worked hard to make it shine, inside and out.

  Right now the garden felt ramshackle and overgrown to her. Even on a good year when she was capable of working in it, she didn’t feel like she had things under control until June or July. She was always too busy at the garden center, helping other people create perfection in their outer space, and couldn’t focus here on her own garden until things slowed down.

  This year would be worse. She couldn’t ask Olivia to take care of the flower gardens at the cottage in addition to everything else she was doing, but maybe she could hire a yard service to at least maintain it.

  Even with that wild, slightly unkempt air, it was still undeniably beautiful, colorful and bright against the deep, dark ocean background.

  “Is this good?” Henry asked as he rolled her chair to the wrought iron table.

  “Perfect.”

  “Give me a moment to finish up in the kitchen. Then I’ll bring you out a plate.”

  She wasn’t used to being waited on. It went against every instinct she had. She was usually the one helping others. This past week, she had tried, but it never seemed to get easier.

  A few moments later, Henry walked out the back door and down the steps carrying two plates of pasta.

  “I forgot to ask if I can get you something to drink.”

  “I had better stick to water. Painkillers, remember.”

  “Of course.” After setting down the plates, he returned to the house then brought out a couple of glasses of water and silverware.

  “Wow. This looks terrific.”

  “You’re the one who told me everybody needs one show-off dish. This is mine.”

  She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to show off for her. They were longtime friends, with no need for pretense or grandstanding, but she was too busy enjoying the clams and the lemon butter sauce.

  The evening was beautiful, the scent of the sea mingling with the flowers in her wild mess of a garden. Except for the pain, her constant companion, it was the most perfect evening she’d known in a long time.

  “Tell me what’s going on in your world these days,” Juliet said. She was tired of how self-absorbed she had become because of her accident. Every conversation seemed to revolve around her, much to her chagrin. She hadn’t realized until now how exhausting it all was.

  He expertly twisted pasta onto his fork before answering. “Busy. This time of year is always frenetic.”

  “I get it. Everybody thinks their project is the most important thing on the planet and every single element has to be finished right this minute.”

  “Exactly. I’ve told you about that resort I’m working on down the coast.”

  “Hidden Creek. Do you finally have approval for your plan?”

  “Yeah. This week. I got a call a few days ago saying they love it and want everything done so that they can open June 1.”

  She shook her head in dismay as she scooped a little neck clam from the shell. “That’s hardly a month. Do they think they’re your only client?”

  “Apparently.”

  “I knew you had more urgent things to do than babysit me. You probably have a million things to take care of right now.”

  “Things are progressing,” he said. “But I’ve hit one roadblock on the job and was actually hoping to get your input on it.”

  “Of course!”

  They often discussed his landscaping projects. She was always flattered that he seemed to value her opinion.

  “I’ve got one section that’s giving me problems. It’s south-facing but fairly acidic soil, and the project manager wants a garden that will have visual interest through all four seasons.”

  “Tricky.”

  “Right? I came up with a plan for it, but I’m not sure it’s going to work, given all the site parameters. I’d love you to look it over and offer any suggestions.”

  “Of course! If you want to bring me over the plan and maybe some photographs of the site, I can take a look. If you have drone shots, that would be especially helpful.”

  “I do have all that.” He gave her an appraising look. “It would be better if you could make a quick visit out there with me. Do you think you might be up for that, maybe next week or the week after? I think being able to see the actual site would be helpful.”

  A road trip. Could she do it? Her pain had begun to recede more every day, but how would she do on a road trip for at least an hour or more?

  “I don’t want to push you, though,” Henry said quickly. “I can work on everything else and this section can wait until you’re feeling better.”

  “Next week might work. I would just be riding in the car, right?”

  “Yes. I hate to ask. Normally, I know you would never have time, especially this time of year.”

  “Right now I have nothing but time,” she said, trying not to sound too glum.

  “You would be helping me out so much. But I don’t want to push you, if you don’t think you’d be up for it. The drive to the resort takes about an hour. Then I figured we would spend another half hour to an hour looking around, then another hour home. Is that feasible?”

  Two and a half hours, roughly. She could make it that long, couldn’t she? “I think so. But I should probably wait until next week to be sure. I wouldn’t want to promise something I can’t deliver. I do feel better every day. Maybe toward the end of next week, I’ll be ready for a road trip.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Meanwhile, it would help if I could look over the plans.”

  “Excellent. I’ll drop them off later this week.”

  They talked about other projects he was working on as they finished the meal while the sun began to slowly dip into the ocean.

  A cool wind blew through the trees, making the flowers dance and sway. She shivered a little, which Henry didn’t miss.

  “You’re cold. Let’s get you back. Then I’ll clear these dishes.”

  She only really needed a sweater or a throw, and she was enjoying the garden so much, she didn’t want to go inside. Still, it was nearly dark and she knew it would only get colder.

  He took as much care as before wheeling her back across the packed gravel walkway and into the house.

  “Thank you again for the ramp,” she said as he opened the front door for her. “I really would have been lost without it. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to come home. I suppose I would have tolerated a rehab cente
r. They’re all very nice. But this is much better.”

  “You belong here at Sea Glass Cottage,” he said gruffly, which she found quite the sweetest thing he could possibly have said.

  “Now, I can help you into bed if you’re tired or we can watch the Doctor. Up to you.”

  It wasn’t yet 8:00 p.m. Even if she was exhausted, she wasn’t about to go to bed this early.

  “Doctor,” she answered promptly.

  He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve been dying to find out what happened but didn’t want to cheat and watch ahead without you.”

  “I almost streamed an episode in the hospital, but at the last moment I chose something else instead.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled and she tried not to stare. “Where’s the most comfortable spot for you? I’ll get you settled, then go clear up the dishes.”

  “Not this wheelchair, that’s for sure. How about back into the recliner?”

  “You got it.”

  Before she realized what he intended, and before she could tell him again that she was perfectly capable of transferring, he scooped her out of the wheelchair, taking care with her hip.

  His body was warm, his muscles hard against her, and he smelled delicious. He always did. He must use some secret kind of fabric softener. She wanted to lean into him, throw her arms around his neck and stay right here all evening, nestled against him.

  Too soon, he carefully lowered her to the recliner.

  “How’s that?”

  So good. She fought the urge to ask him if he would mind terribly just holding her again.

  “I’m great, for now. Thank you. You do know I can transfer myself, right? You saw me do it earlier. I’m not completely helpless.”

  “Maybe I just like taking care of you.”

  A lump rose in her throat at his words and she wanted to burrow into him all over again. Since Steve died, she had fought every battle by herself. Losing Natalie, raising Caitlin, running the garden center.