Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series)

by M. Kate Quinn

  He took another long pull of the cold beer and savored the way it cooled his throat.

  He spotted the mixer he’d washed and laid out on a towel to dry. He put down the beer and assembled the pieces into its cradle and clamped them into the plastic storage box. He let his gaze cast about the little kitchen. Yeah, it was old, but it had potential for someone who cared enough to see beyond the disrepair. It had “good bones” as his old man used to say about both houses and women.

  He opened a carton and looked for a spot for the mixer. He rearranged some of the items in the box. Each time he palmed one to examine he wondered what the hell had possessed him to keep such a thing.

  The 1972 Charger model he’d made when he was a teenager because that had been the car he had wanted at the time. The decals were curling from the plastic now, the glue having dried up long ago. He put it back in the box.

  He found his mother’s burlap-covered photo album with the cut-out felt letters that spelled “Memories.” He settled himself onto the sofa to give the album a look-see.

  He immediately recognized his mom’s loopy, neat handwriting where she’d written on the inside cover. “Holidays,” it said. The first quad of photos looked as if it was his parents’ first Christmas.

  The black-and-white snapshots captured their youth, smiling for the camera that was most likely held up to his grandfather’s eye. His childhood living room with the giant-flowered wallpaper and the filmy window curtains were a glimpse into his far-reaching past, one he hadn’t thought of in a long time.

  Who knew what the old place looked like now since the family had sold it?

  The next page was dedicated to brother Sal’s christening event. His young, thin parents stood with the raggedy-looking priest from their old parish, their baby swaddled in a cloud of white. The proud couple beamed at the lens.

  There were photos of the party that followed, relatives who’d been gone a long time now, but who still looked familiar to Benny as if he’d seen them recently. It was like looking into his past through binoculars.

  Several pages in, beyond Easter feasts and sparkly-flamed, candle-lit birthday cakes, was another Christmas. Benny counted the months. He’d been about two-and-a-half when the shot was taken. He remembered the festive bubble lights with their liquid that boiled when they’d gotten hot enough. He’d loved those. Fronds of tinsel feathered each branch like metallic icicles.

  In front of the over-dressed tree stood his young and virile old man, in a white sleeveless T-shirt. His thick, muscular arm cradled a toddler to his hip. Benny recognized himself, a cherub’s grinning fat face, watery mouth ready to drool.

  The old man dangled an object for the baby, mesmerizing a young Benny with the very compass that sat now in his carton of junk. In the photo Benny’s chubby little hand was forever frozen in mid-air as it reached for the burnished brass chain that dangled in front of him. His father’s face was aglow like the tree behind him, proud-looking even, as he watched his small boy’s reaction.

  Benny felt his throat scratch in a swallow. He abandoned the trip down memory lane to fetch another beer. He guzzled half the bottle before returning to the living room. He closed the photo album and put it back in the box.

  He fished for the compass and brought it over to the couch to inspect. He lifted it out of the old wooden case and dangled it in front of his face like his old man had done all those years ago.

  All this time Benny had been sure the bequeathed memento had been another one of his old man’s digs at him, a kind of mockery. Benny tilted his head and gave the chain a gentle swing. That was probably the truth. But, what if it wasn’t? Maybe the old man had given him the compass because he remembered the moment of joy he and Benny had shared over it. Could be.

  Perhaps it hadn’t been a message of Benny’s being lost. After all, he’d been the one to lose his own way in life. Nobody and certainly no compass could remedy that.

  It had been his own steps he’d taken to get to this place, right here and now. Not Sal’s, not his old man’s, not the fact that he’d failed to procreate. Benny owned that, and swallowed that knowledge with the rest of his beer.

  He let the compass rest in his palm. It was heavy in his grasp, cool against his skin. He wrapped his fingers around it and pressed. An antique device to rescue the lost or to guide those who seek. Benny suddenly realized that he was neither.

  He needed to call Sal right now.

  ****

  Hannah was cuddled under a quilt on the living room sofa when her mother returned home. Sarah felt tired, leaden. She lifted Hannah’s feet, sat, and placed them onto her lap. She positioned the quilt over herself, as well.

  “How was your visit with Mrs. Allen?”

  “Good,” Sarah muttered. She leaned her head against the cushion and closed her eyes.

  “Jeremy said to ‘say hi.’”

  Sarah opened her eyes and gave her daughter a long look. Hannah shifted herself, sitting up against a pillow she’d stuffed behind her back. Sarah supposed that to any that didn’t know her circumstances, Hannah would appear to have her act totally together. Her patrician features exuded confidence.

  Sarah’s heart skipped. She knew how tough it had been for Hannah to make choices that had plunged her into a state of the unknown. But Hannah had taken that risk, to avoid making a huge mistake, regardless of the big question mark that now hovered over her. Sarah gave the kid credit.

  Right now, tucked under the brightly patterned quilt, Hannah seemed relaxed, more relaxed than Sarah had seen her in weeks.

  “You look good, Hannah.”

  The girl gave Sarah an easy smile. “Thanks, Mom.” She lifted a tea cup to her lips with both hands and eyed Sarah over the rim. “It would be a shame to waste this tea, Mom. It’s delicious.” She produced a wry smile. “You can change it to the “Non-Wedding Tea.”

  “We can rename it. But, not that.”

  She shook her head. “So, Hannah, tell me. Are we talking about future plans tonight or are we just vegging?”

  Hannah put the cup down and sat up straight. She folded her hands on top of the quilt. “I think we should talk about future plans and I think you should go first.”

  Sarah laughed. “Well, that’s easy. Right now I hurry up and wait.”

  “Wait for your future?”

  “No, wait for the approvals, the repairs, the rigmarole that’ll surely be involved. Just thinking about it makes me dizzy.”

  “Okay, so that’s The Cornelia’s plan. What’s yours?”

  Sarah started to speak, then stopped. She’d almost said that the two were the same thing, but that wasn’t completely true. She was more than an innkeeper. Her life was more than The Cornelia. She’d figured that much out in the last few weeks.

  If she were honest, she’d admit that it had been Benny that had helped her see that. Longing crowded her brain and pinched at her eyes. She missed him.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Maybe we should just relax tonight.”

  “You know what, Hannah? One thing I want for myself is to have the same kind of courage you have. I think you might be my hero.”

  Hannah pulled her lips in on themselves, her lifelong habit saved for warding off tears. “I have my moments when I think I’m less courageous and more just plain crazy.”

  “No, crazy is when you just accept a current situation even though you know it’s not right.” The words rang in Sarah’s own ears.

  She let her eyes focus onto the flames dancing in the fireplace behind Hannah. She saw Benny in those flames, envisioned him packing up and leaving Ronan’s Harbor, his face as sullen as it had been when he’d come by the inn.

  It dawned on her right then and there that Benny was leaving without hearing the truth from her. Whether it mattered to him or not, he needed to know how she felt. She needed it, too, regardless of the outcome. She owed it to him but she owed it to herself more.

  “Is there any more tea?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the pot’s on the counter.”
Hannah gestured toward the kitchen.

  “Let me get it. We need to make a toast with the brew if we’re going to rename it.”

  Sarah retrieved the pot, poured some into a cup, and refreshed Hannah’s measure. She lifted her cup with confidence. “To our futures.”

  As they enjoyed the pungent blend, each with their private thoughts, Sarah mulled her personal definition of courage. When the cups were empty they agreed Sarah’s herbal concoction would bear the moniker of The Hero’s Tea.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In the morning, Sarah found herself in The Cornelia’s parlor idly running a dusting rag over the table surfaces. The old radio on the bookcase was tuned to a station that played big band selections. She immersed herself in the sounds.

  In the foyer she heard Sarah and Jeremy talking. He had come by with his dog, Augustine, named after Florida’s town of St. Augustine. Jeremy had acquired the pooch from a shelter there when he’d gone surfing one winter. Sarah heard soft, easy chuckles coming from them both.

  She made her way over to the spinet piano and ran her rag over the mahogany. From there she could see the couple as Hannah readied herself to join Jeremy and Augustine for their walk. Sarah watched Jeremy help Hannah adjust a fleece headband over her ears.

  There was a familiarity between them, a closeness that time had not erased. Did that mean that destiny would find Hannah and Jeremy together permanently? No one knew, but for now, for today, Hannah was happily joining Jeremy and his dog for a walk.

  After they’d gone, Sarah moved into the foyer and stood in front of the portrait of Cornelia DeGraff. The wooing sounds of “Moonlight Serenade” wafted in from the parlor.

  “Well, Cornelia, our inn’s not going anywhere just yet,” she said aloud to the painting. “I’d say this place has your tenacity.”

  Sarah looked long at the woman’s face, the glint in her eyes. That had been one fearless, determined woman. The clock on the mantel chimed ten times. It was the time she’d decided that she would deliver the truth of her feelings to Benny.

  She left a note for Hannah on the kitchen counter before donning her jacket and going outside into the cloudy, chilly morning. A breeze nipped at her skin.

  She walked down her quiet street hoping she wouldn’t run into Hannah and Jeremy. She didn’t want to talk with anyone right now. She needed to keep her mind on what she planned to say to Benny.

  The thoughts were a tangle in her head at the moment. She couldn’t straighten out the sentences into a precise, cohesive statement. She didn’t want to just blurt out something stupid.

  Could she even define how she felt? Love was so foreign a concept, a feeling, a part of her life that had been long forgotten, stored away like a memento.

  Sure she loved, continued to love. She loved her daughter immeasurably, Gigi, her inn, her town. But a man? This man? An ache formed behind her eyes and in her throat. Dear God, the truth was there, beating inside her, matching her footsteps as she approached Benny’s cottage.

  A soft yellow light glowed over the front door although it was daytime. The gravel driveway was empty and it was more than the chilled air coming in from the ocean that made her shiver. She strode through the gate and went up to the door. She gave a good loud knock once, twice, a third time. It did not open.

  She stepped to the far edge of the stoop and peered into the living room, squinting to see through the slats of the blinds. She strained to make out the interior.

  Was he gone already? she wondered. Really gone? Could he have just taken off already, packed up and left Ronan’s Harbor in his dust? Her heart sank. She’d missed her chance.

  How she felt, now that she had let herself feel it, define it, own it, would stay hers alone, locked in her heart.

  She turned to go, the wind stinging her eyes, conjuring tears. She touched the corners of her eyes with her index fingers. She’d been ready to come clean, open her heart. Maybe that was a win in itself. She’d come to take the chance and hadn’t chickened out. That counted for something.

  As she descended the steps, she paused. She stood silent, breath held. Yes, she heard it. The sound of a Jeep, Benny’s vehicle as it approached. Suddenly, all her resolve melted through her, like ice in the sun. She was drowning in momentary indecision.

  Benny steered his vehicle into the driveway, the gravel groaning under the weight of the tires. The back of his truck was filled to the hilt with storage cartons. So he was making his exit. This was probably just a pit stop of some kind.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. But, he isn’t gone yet. There is still time. She swallowed hard. Did she still have it in her now that she knew he was packed and ready to turn his back on everything here?

  Benny hopped out from the Jeep. His footfalls crunched on the gravel as he came over to her, each step announcing his gaining nearness, as if she needed the stony signal.

  “Sarah…”

  “Hi…” She laughed for no reason. It was an odd sound that did not belong in the air between them. “Did you, uh, forget something?”

  “What?”

  She gestured to his truck. “You’re all packed up. I thought you’d gone.”

  He smiled then. It was a soft gentle grin that brightened his face and lit up his eyes. “I went to see Sal first thing this morning. I was going to call him last night, but I decided what I had to say needed to be said face-to-face.” He took a step closer. “I’ve decided to buy him out of the cottage.”

  “But…”

  “He’s telling the interested buyer that the place is no longer for sale.”

  She pulled air into her lungs.

  “As soon as I got back to town I went to The Cornelia to see you. Hannah and Jeremy were sitting on the front porch and she told me you’d taken a walk.”

  “I came here.”

  “I see that.”

  “So, you didn’t leave. But, all those boxes.” She pointed to the back of his vehicle.

  “They’re empty, Sarah. I was bringing the empty cartons to your place in case Hannah needed them since she’s going to be moving home.”

  “Wait,” she laughed again but this time it didn’t sound like a misplaced noise. “I’m very confused.”

  “Come inside,” he said. “The wind’s kicking up out here.”

  “No, wait, there’s something I came to say and I just might as well say it, Benny. I almost lost my nerve, and when I thought you’d left already, I almost lost my chance. So I just need to say this. Now.”

  “Okay then.” In a near whisper he said, “I’m listening.”

  “I have lived a long time not feeling what I feel for you now. I thought it would be a crime, a shame, a disservice to both of us if I didn’t tell you…I’m pretty sure I love you.”

  “I see.” He stepped closer, so close she could feel his breath warm on her skin. “How sure would you say you are?”

  She looked into his eyes. Her heart raced with assuredness. “Damned sure.”

  Benny reached into his jacket pocket. “I didn’t go to your house just to bring you empty boxes. I went to give this to you, Sarah.” He withdrew his father’s compass and placed it into the palm of her hand.

  “Is this your father’s compass?” She asked staring at it. She looked back up at him. “You want me to have it?”

  “It’s not an opal or anything, but it feels right that you should have it.”

  He paused, swallowing hard. “I’m not lost anymore. I realized that everything, all that I am, all that I want is here in Ronan’s Harbor with you. You, Sarah, are my true north. If I ever feel lost again all I need to do is look to you.”

  Sarah flew into his arms and they embraced there on the short, squat patch of sand that was Benny’s front yard. The compass still in her fist, she held him tight. Benny was home and she was his.

  A word about the author…

  Award-winning author M. Kate Quinn draws on her quirky sense of humor, hopelessly romantic nature, highly developed sense of family and friendship, and h
er love for a good story while writing her novels.

  Her Perennials Series began with SUMMER IRIS (Wild Rose Press, July 2010), a Golden Quill Award finalist for Best First book. The second, MOONLIGHT AND VIOLET (Wild Rose Press, June 2011), won the coveted Golden Leaf Award for Best Contemporary Novel 2011. BROOKSIDE DAISY (Wild Rose Press, February 2012), a Golden Leaf Finalist for Best Contemporary Romance 2012, completes the series.

  M. Kate Quinn, a lifelong native of New Jersey, makes her home in South Jersey with her husband Harvey and their magnificent Siberian cat, Sammy.

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