by Diana Currie
Notes On His Pillow
By Diana Currie
Text copyright © 2017 Diana B. Currie
All Rights Reserved
Other books by this author:
Cupcake Love… available on Amazon
Letter From the Heartland… coming soon!
For Michael, Nathan, and Adam
Contents
Chapter One: How It Began
Chapter Two: Seeing Him Again
Chapter Three: A New Friend
Chapter Four: House Hunters
Chapter Five: Fireside Chats
Chapter Six: A Friendly Invite
Chapter Seven: Savannah
Chapter Eight: Dinner Plans
Chapter Nine: Turning Point
Chapter Ten: Avoidance
Chapter Eleven: Doctor’s Office
Chapter Twelve: Just a Friend
Chapter Thirteen: Amanda’s Jealous
Chapter Fourteen: Jump, Amanda
Chapter Fifteen: Morning Rush
Chapter Sixteen: A Night Out
Chapter Seventeen: The Brickmans
Chapter Eighteen: Surprise Visitors
Chapter Nineteen: Nervous Speculation
Chapter Twenty: Statesboro
Chapter Twenty One: Talking It Out
Chapter Twenty Two: Distractions
Chapter Twenty Three: Alexander and Paige
Chapter Twenty Four: A Day with Nadine
Chapter Twenty Five: Visitor
Chapter Twenty Six: Bump in the Road
Chapter Twenty Seven: The Truth
Chapter Twenty Eight: Adam’s Baggage
Chapter Twenty Nine: The Lawyer Says
Chapter Thirty: Celebration
Chapter Thirty One: Adam’s House
Chapter Thirty Two: Winter Gala
Chapter One: How It Began
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Coleman, I didn’t realize you’d requested hypoallergenic pillows. Yes, I believe I was the one who made your reservation but I don’t recollect…”
I hold the phone away from my ear as the irate guest in the Green Room upstairs blows her nose into the receiver to illustrate her point.
“You’re right. I apologize. I can give you a ten percent credit on your stay for the inconvenience. Okay. Yes. Dinner will be ready at six o’clock. Is there anything else I can bring you? Maybe some tea? Of course, Mrs. Coleman, one cranberry juice coming up.”
I put down the handset to the old rotary phone that sits atop the front desk of the Thatcher Bed and Breakfast and let out a long frustrated sigh. I love my job most of the time. It isn’t even close to what I had once envisioned for my life but it’s a steady paycheck that keeps a roof over my family’s head. Providing for my children is priority number one and working for Rebecca’s father allows me to do that. I just never expected to spend my life in the same town where I was born.
Most of the guests who stay here are vacationers wanting to take advantage of our plentiful hunting grounds, fishing spots, and the slow pace, small town lifestyle. People also come from out of town to visit family which often times means they are returning to the place they were raised. Mrs. Coleman is one such person. I used to cut through her yard every morning on the way to school when I was running late; never turning back to acknowledge her when she’d come out onto the porch and scold me for stomping on her flower beds. She and her husband moved to an upscale fifty five and older community in Augusta a few years ago. They lived there just six months before Mr. Coleman died of a sudden heart attack. Now Mrs. Coleman resents having moved so far away and comes back to visit her family every chance she gets, always staying here at the Bed and Breakfast.
The B&B is a charming old house built in the roaring twenties that once belonged to Rebecca’s grandmother. She passed away when Becca and I were in high school, leaving the quaint old home to her son. The house is a local treasure, situated on the main road just before you get to the shops and other commercial ventures that make up downtown. The historic architecture and large wraparound porch cannot be overlooked as travelers and lifelong residents drive past. Mr. Thatcher owns and manages the only bookstore in this small town of Swainsboro, Georgia. He got it into his head to restore his childhood home and turn it into something that made the town proud. The Thatcher B&B was thus born and I’ve been managing it for two years. I am the sole employee. Rebecca helps out now and then and both her parents have a hand in the maintenance and finances, but I basically run the show.
I peer over at the coo coo clock in the foyer and realize if dinner is going to be ready by six then I need to hustle. I take a moment to add hypoallergenic pillows to the list of household items Mr. Thatcher needs to purchase and begin rooting through the refrigerator for ingredients. The kids will be here soon and that will surely slow down my dinner making capabilities. My husband, Tommy, is due to drop them off any minute. No, excuse me, ex husband. I really need to start thinking of him as my ex. It’s almost official but for a few more signatures.
I cross my fingers that Tommy fed the kids already because Mrs. Coleman requested I make a spinach quiche for dinner and I can just imagine my daughter’s face when I place that dish under her little nose. Luckily, Mrs. Coleman is our only guest right now. We’re expecting a man to check in later this evening; but that will be sometime after dinner is served.
“Shit! The cranberry juice!” I scold myself remembering my promise to the already peeved elderly woman upstairs. I quickly pour a tall glass and rush it up to her. Mrs. Coleman answers her bedroom door and takes the juice with just a nod of her head before closing it in my face. Nice. She must remember how I used to stomp on her flowerbeds.
“Stay cool. She’s Nikki’s aunt,” I remind myself as I turn and head back down to the kitchen.
I’ve just about got the eggs, cheese, spinach, and other ingredients mixed when the front door whooshes open and two little bundles of energy come barreling through.
“Mommy!” they shout in unison. I turn around just in time to catch them in a great big bear hug. It’s only been since this morning that I last saw them but for Tyler and Gabby that’s a long time. My separation from Tommy has been hardest on our children; the resulting guilt being something I wrestle with on a daily basis.
“Did you guys have a good day?” I ask crouching down to be eye level with them. They both nod and Tyler holds up a drawing he made in daycare. “Wow, this is beautiful,” I say taking the picture from him to admire. It looks a little like a duck but I think it’s supposed to be a dinosaur. I hang his masterpiece on the refrigerator door and Tyler grins with pride.
“How long do you have to stay tonight?” Tommy asks poking his head cautiously into the kitchen. I’m grateful that Tommy and I have both remained mature adults throughout the divorce process but it doesn’t make meetings like this any less awkward.
“Just until after dinner. I need to clean up the kitchen and sign in a new guest. Then I’ll take them home,” I say kindly. My hand idly strokes Gabby’s hair as she clings to my leg.
“Okay, well ah, they ate chicken fingers and fries at the apartment and Tyler did his homework. I told them they could watch TV when they got here.”
I smile warmly at him and say thank you. Looks like Mrs. Coleman will get the spinach quiche all to herself after all. Tommy bends down to kiss our kids goodbye and promises to pick them up Saturday morning at nine. Gabby’s eyes start to well up with tears just like every time one of us leaves her. It breaks my heart and I feel like the most selfish woman in the world to have broken up her family. Tommy bends down on one knee and straightens out two of her little fingers to explain how many days she has to wait to see her daddy again. I turn back to making dinner in order to hide my own emotions.
Tommy
Miller was never a bad husband and certainly not a bad father, but I’m just not in love with him anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly was. We were high school sweethearts; Tommy was the only man I’d ever even kissed before we married. When we graduated his father offered to hire him as assistant manager of the grocery store he owns in town leaving Tommy with a big decision to make. He knew he would be groomed to one day take over the family business and that idea suited him just fine. I was planning for the two of us to go to Georgia State University together in the fall so I was less excited about his father’s offer. I was going to study journalism and art at the university but Tommy didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life.
We faced the threat of being separated by a three hour driving distance if I chose to leave for college and he stayed behind to work in our hometown. What eighteen year old kids would be capable of making the right decision when the threat of separation seemed like the worst possible scenario? So we made the wrong one instead and not only did I give up my partial scholarship at GSU to stay in town with my boyfriend, I also accepted his proposal to become his wife.
In my warped sense of reality at that time, it somehow made giving up my chance at higher education easier to swallow if I got to become Mrs. Tommy Miller. We were the talk of the town the summer after graduation. Some people thought our young love and devotion to one another was romantic. Others took every opportunity to express how foolish they thought we were being. Those people only made me more resolved to follow through on my promise to Tommy and we married that August.
Inevitably, I conceived our first baby a few months after the wedding and Tyler was born shortly before my twentieth birthday. Gabby followed a year and a half later and for a while we were honestly happy. Or perhaps two babies in two years made us just too busy to think about whether or not we were happy.
Then one day I woke up at the tender age of twenty three with two kids, married to the only man I’d ever dated, and forever stuck in the same town in which I was born. It wasn’t Tommy’s fault that I fell out of love with him. We simply grew up and drifted apart. Sometimes that happens with teenage love, though I hadn’t believed it was possible whenever my mother or father tried to tell me I was making a huge mistake. And that is how I’ve found myself about to be divorced at twenty four with two kids to support who don’t understand why mommy and daddy don’t want to live together anymore.
I keep my back turned until after Tommy has left so he doesn’t see the tears in my eyes and then walk Tyler and Gabby into the living room to turn on the television set. I pull out some crayons and paper from Gabby’s Dora the Explorer book bag and ask her to make me a picture to hang next to Tyler’s. They are arguing over what program to watch as I go back into the kitchen.
There’s peace long enough to get the quiche in the oven and I set the timer for forty minutes. It’s a quarter after five and I’ll just make my six o’clock deadline for serving dinner. In the living room I watch my children play and eventually sit down at the coffee table to help Gabby with her coloring.
Mrs. Coleman comes down the steps at five after six and takes a seat at the dining room table. The quiche is already there cooling in the center of the table and I take her glass into the kitchen for a refill. She’s staring at my kids when I return.
“They both yours?” she asks in her cranky old lady voice.
“Yes,” I reply proudly giving her a warm smile.
“Nikki didn’t mention you had children.”
“Well, we aren’t as close as we used to be,” I say.
I bite my tongue before mentioning that her precious niece attempted to steal my boyfriend away from me in high school multiple times. Nikki also got trashed at our wedding and tried to convince the other guests Tommy was only marrying me because I was knocked up. And to think I begged my father not to call the sheriff that night for her underage drinking! People stared at my stomach for a month afterwards waiting for the baby bump to appear.
In hindsight I often wonder if Nikki would have been a better match for Tommy. Her bubbly personality and chatterbox mouth would have kept him better company these past few years. Tommy has always complained that I prefer to stick my nose in a book when I have downtime as opposed to us doing something together. Tommy and Nikki are both outgoing and fun to be around whereas no one has ever described me with either of those adjectives. Responsible and intelligent maybe, but not fun loving or life of the party. No, certainly not me.
It’s too late to worry about all that now; it’s water under the bridge as they say. I can’t imagine how things might have turned out differently because it would mean that I wouldn’t have Tyler and Gabby. And I will never regret having my children; they are the best gift Tommy ever gave me.
My mind is wandering down memory lane when the little bell chimes alerting me someone has entered the house. I stand to greet the stranger in the foyer assuming it must be the new guest arriving a little early. I know he is a first time guest, someone who planned his trip a mere week ago. The log book has just a little question mark for date of check out. Mr. Thatcher made the reservation; I would have never left such an important scheduling detail open ended. I recognize the last name so while I know he has family in town, I’m fairly certain I’ve never met this man before.
What I see when I round the corner to the hallway is no mere man, but what might possibly be the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid eyes on. Since my marriage I’ve not been in the habit of noticing whether a man happens to be attractive or not, but in this particular case it’s undeniable. His eyes blaze an emerald green like I’ve never seen before. There is about a day’s worth of stubble on his square, masculine jaw and the disheveled dirty blonde hair atop his head sets my heart racing at once. He is carrying two suitcases in each hand with another large duffle bag slung over his shoulder. It looks like he packed everything he’s ever owned. I hear what must be a taxi pulling out of the driveway as he clears his throat to speak.
“Good evening, Miss. I’m Adam Brickman. I called about a room last week.”
His voice is like a choir of angels. It fits perfectly with his heavenly features and I’ve never been so attracted to a man’s voice before. His genuine smile and faint traces of cologne are equally intoxicating. He stares at me a few moments before I remember he’s just introduced himself and this is the part where I’m supposed to speak in response.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “I’m Amanda Sommerer, manager of the B&B. Welcome. Come put your bags down; you must have had a long trip.”
He sets his bags down where he stands and nods his head towards Mrs. Coleman who’s staring at him in fascination. He smoothes two large hands over his wrinkled clothes and then gloriously through the tangles atop his head. He’s wearing a collared ivory colored shirt with the top two buttons open and brown dress pants.
“Yes, I’ve just flown in from Chicago,” he explains.
I shuffle my feet over to the welcome desk and find Mr. Brickman’s name in the check-in book. I signal for him to sign by offering a pen. He takes it, looking briefly into my eyes and then at the book, before scribbling his signature. I notice he’s left handed like me and smile courteously as he hands the pen back.
“You’ll be in the Red Room. It’s just up the stairs and to your right. The bathroom is the next door down and there are fresh towels and all kinds of bath products in there. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen as well. Are you hungry? I’ve made dinner but I can fix you anything you like,” I ramble embarrassingly through my usual welcome spiel.
“That’s very kind of you but I wasn’t sure what time I’d arrive so I ate on the way,” he replies, his features turning up into a knowing grin as my flustered state becomes glaringly apparent. My cheeks flush and it occurs to me that women must react this way to him all the time. Way to go Amanda, very professional. I look down at the check-in book.
“It doesn’t say here how long you’ll be staying, Mr. Brickman. If there is anything special you
need during your stay or something I can help you with please let me know.
“Thank you, Miss Sommerer. I appreciate that. When I booked the room with Mr. Thatcher he said it would be alright to keep the reservation for as long as I need. I’m moving to town and don’t yet have a place to live.”
“You’re the doctor’s son, aren’t you?” I blurt out. I had my suspicions based on his last name alone but I don’t know Gregory Brickman all that well. Just that he and his wife have three sons and he’s the town doctor. I only ever see him when Tyler or Gabby is sick. I wonder why my mysterious and beautiful new guest didn’t opt to stay with his parents until he found a house.
He smiles, embarrassed to have been recognized, and rubs one hand over his face. “Yes, how did you know?”
“There’s only one Brickman family in town. It’s a small town,” I shrug.
“Of course. Well, I came to join my father’s practice. I just graduated medical school and specialized in pediatrics,” he explains humbly.
“Oh, I hadn’t heard that. I suppose I should call you Dr. Brickman then.”
“No, please. Call me Adam,” he smiles and holds out his hand for me to shake.
“It’s nice to meet you, Adam,” I respond in a low voice, too enamored by his soft warm hand in mine to speak in a proper register.
His eyes shift down briefly, taking in my appearance. I silently curse my choice of attire today. The simple short sleeved tee and jeans is typical mom-wear but makes me feel terribly ordinary standing next to Adam Brickman’s stunning poise and beauty. Even despite his currently wrinkled clothes he looks like a runway model. He smiles openly having been caught giving me the once over, before bending down to pick up all his bags in two hands. I suppose I deserve the same scrutiny after all the ogling I’ve done since he walked through the door. I continue to watch as the muscles in his forearms strain against the fabric of his shirt from lifting the heavy load. I shake my head in hopes it will jog some sense back into my brain. This is very unusual behavior for me.