by Ava Miles
Francesca put her arm around Quinn’s waist. “See. Don’t you feel better?”
He pulled her flush against him. “Yes. Perhaps I should start a rabbit petting room at corporate for stress release.”
His face darkened as he remembered. There wouldn’t be a place for that anymore.
She hugged him tightly. “Stay in the moment with me. Or I’ll go back and get Flopsie. She can be our new roommate.”
He buried his face in her neck. “I have a different type of stress relief in mind. Race you back to our room.”
She found it easier to smile again as he shot off, clearly needing to expend more stress. Looking back at the shed, she felt grateful for Flopsie and all of their new rabbit friends, for the laughter of children, and for a man who could set aside his worries for long enough to tell a story to three little girls.
Chapter 28
Clara had known Hargreaves a long time, but she could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard him raise his voice in anger. Only once with an aggressive delivery man who’d almost broken a Ming vase. She rose from her chair in the dining room, where she’d been having a cup of tea after chatting with Michaela and Boyd, who were clearly restless and frustrated in Jackson Hole. They’d been in touch with the team of researchers working tirelessly on research and testing on the flower and working remotely themselves, of course, but there were no new developments; nor would there be for some time. Michaela had vented her frustration. Not her usual.
Everyone had had a moment where they hadn’t quite acted like themselves. Lockdown grated on the mind after a time. Apparently this was Hargreaves’ turn.
She paused in the doorway, observing her dear friend facing off with Alice in the entry hall.
“I’m going with you.” His words were almost a demand.
Clara worried her bracelet, not wanting to intervene. But seeing these two at odds was painful when usually they were so chummy.
Alice put her hands on her hips and gave him her best fighter’s stare. “We’ve gone through this.”
“You’ve taken the last two turns at the store,” Hargreaves accused, his back ramrod straight. “It’s my job as butler to buy the groceries. Today is my turn.”
Oh, Hargreaves.
“I’ve explained to Aileen and Liam that I’m going to be the only one going to the grocery store from now on. I thought we’d had this conversation.”
“You informed me moments ago that I am too elderly to go out to other stores,” Hargreaves said, his hurt obvious.
“Everyone over sixty is high-risk—including Aileen and Liam—so yes, I’m going to make all the runs now. I’m young, and I never get sick.”
Clara gritted her teeth at that kind of talk. There was no denying it was accurate, and she’d agreed to stay at the inn, but who liked to be reminded of such things?
“That is unacceptable,” the man said stiffly, his fists uncharacteristically clenched at his side. “I won’t have you endanger your life for mine.”
“Well, too bad! I’m not letting you outside the inn’s grounds.”
Hargreaves yanked on his black jacket. “I won’t allow you to usurp my duties.”
Alice put her hand to her heart. “I’m not usurping anything. I’m only trying to protect you.”
“Don’t!” His voice had a harsh edge, and Clara felt tears pop into her eyes.
“Clifton,” Alice said, her tone softening. “You’re like a grandfather to me. I’m not losing you. Please let me do this for you, but also for me. I do it out of love, okay?”
Even from the doorway, Clara could see the tears tracking down Alice’s face.
Hargreaves’ mouth bunched. “You have come to mean so much to me as well. But I can’t let you do this. I feel guilty as it is, but if something happened to you…”
“I have my mask.” She pulled it out of her jeans pocket. “I’m in and out of the store, zip, boom, bam. Okay?”
“Hargreaves!” Clara finally called, unable to witness more discord.
He spotted her, and his entire demeanor bristled.
“Alice, dear,” Clara said, crossing the entryway to pull her into a brief hug. “All of us appreciate you going to the store, and I heard Trevor say he wanted to go with you. There are a lot of people to cook for, and there’s no need for you to do the shopping all by yourself. Trevor’s as strong as an ox and never gets sick. Go find him.”
Alice touched Hargreaves’ arm before leaving the hall.
“My friend,” Clara said, “it’s been decided. Anyone high-risk is not to travel outside the inn’s grounds. That includes you, despite your duties to me and this family. You are too dear to us. Would I send Arthur or Shawn or anyone else outside this property right now? No. You stay here with me and have some tea.”
His face seemed to fall all at once, the usually angular features dropping. “But, Madam.”
“It’s Clara, remember?” She put her hand on Hargreaves’ arm. “We’ve been together for too long to quibble over something this small, especially during a pandemic. Don’t make me fire you, Clifton.”
The right side of his mouth tipped up. “Spare me that indignity, Clara.”
She nodded crisply. “Fine then.”
“Perhaps this is an opportune time to tell you that retirement might be in my future,” Hargreaves said.
Clara hugged the man, and although it took him a few moments to respond, he put his arms around her too.
“I’m overjoyed to hear that, Clifton. It’s more than past time.”
They shared a watery look before Hargreaves extended his arm to her like a gentleman of old. “May I escort you to tea then?”
“I’d be honored,” Clara said, quickly dashing at her eyes.
When she let herself back into their room after a quiet tea with Hargreaves, she braced herself. Arthur was on Zoom with Jill, and his granddaughter was crying.
“You don’t need to worry about my investment in Brian’s restaurant one bit, Jillie!” Arthur was gripping the edge of the table on which his tablet was propped. “It’s only money. You just take care of yourself and your family. Getting upset like this isn’t good for you and the little one.”
She bit her trembling lip and nodded. “Grandpa, I don’t know what Brian will do if he loses the restaurant. I have a job at the hotel when it reopens…”
“Hey, now!” Arthur took Clara’s hand, although she remained out of sight. “Brian will figure out something. Takeout seems viable. Plus, there are loans, and people are still going to want to eat out in the future. This damn virus can’t last forever.”
But it felt like it would, Clara thought, and its weight was the ugliest specter she’d faced.
“I just want it to stop.” She lowered her head and sobbed. “Grandpa, I don’t want to have the baby right now. Not like this. I’m trying to be brave with Brian, but I’m scared.”
Usually Jill was so goofy and full of laughter, and it cracked Clara’s heart to see her so upset.
“Women have been having babies since the dawn of time,” Arthur said. “You’re tough and strong, and you’ll have Meredith and any of the Hale cousins you need to help if you decide to have the baby at home and not the hospital.”
“Brian can’t be with me, according to the new rules at Dare Valley General. I can’t do it without him. Grandpa, I don’t want to. He should be there. It’s our baby.”
Clara had to bite her lip to force back her tears. She’d read horrible accounts of mothers being forced to labor by themselves for hours. And she was worried about the virus’ impact on their small town. Although Arthur’s nephew, Andy, had told them there were several cases at the hospital, they only knew one of the patients so far: a regular at Arthur’s bingo night, a lovely man in his eighties who’d once been in city government. She knew it was unlikely to stay that way.
Arthur made a shushing sound, the kind of sound a person might make to comfort a small child. “If that’s still the policy, Andy told me he has a plan. He’s going to train
Moira and Blake in basic home delivery for you and Lucy.”
Right now, they weren’t sure if Andy’s duties would allow him to be with Lucy, regardless of the rules. He was living in his mother’s house alone now, so he wouldn’t risk bringing the virus home to his family from the hospital. His mom had moved into Arthur and Clara’s house for the time being.
“I know, Grandpa, but Lucy shouldn’t be alone either. Andy should be there.”
“Okay, now, sweetheart. I know it’s not fair, but Andy’s a doctor and Lucy understands. He’ll be there on Zoom if not in person. Let’s focus on what a good plan B we have. Wasn’t Blake a great coach for Natalie when she had their baby? Heck, he coaches a football team. One baby will be a piece of cake. And Moira is rock solid. It’s not like you’re having twins again. This baby will be a piece of cake.”
“I hope so.” A jumble of cries sounded in the other room. “That’s the twins waking from their naps. I need to go. Sorry I lost it. I love you, Grandpa. You stay safe.”
“Love you too, Jillie,” he said gruffly.
The call ended and Arthur folded over the tablet, his head down. She leaned over him and wrapped him up. His shoulders shook for a moment, alarming her, but he was overdue some tears. They were all coping with so much right now.
When he raised his head, he rubbed his wet eyes. “That call about did me in.”
She kissed the top of his head. “It’s no wonder. I had my own moment with Hargreaves. He was fighting with Alice about her going for the groceries.”
“He’s not the only one who feels like shit over that,” Arthur said, pushing up from his chair. “I’ve always fought my own battles, and dammit, it chaps my hide to have other people facing down the virus for me while I hole up in this picturesque inn, hiding out because I’m old. Bah! Then I get so mad at myself for not being grateful for Alice and Trevor and this place when so many people are facing hardships. Hell, old people are hanging out in parking lots, hoping some Good Samaritan will buy their groceries. We have it cushy, Clara.”
She ran her hands through his hair, which relaxed him. “Yes, we have it cushy, but it doesn’t diminish how we feel. Dammit, Arthur, people are scared and hurting all over the place. You just cried, for heaven’s sake, and I had to swallow my own tears with Hargreaves. You feel what you feel. Yes, be thankful, but be honest too.”
“Like ‘the whole world is going to hell in a handbasket’ honest?” He made a raspberry sound. “I wanted to help Jill, but what the hell do I know about having a baby at home? All I felt was helpless, and I hate that most of all.”
She opened up his tablet and hit the keys almost hard enough to crack it. “Then let’s do something empowered, dammit, because I feel helpless too, and I hate it as much as you do.”
“Enough of that talk.” He tipped her face and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Does kissing make it better?”
She gave him an answer, and the slow kiss helped ease the constriction in her heart. “Yes, it does. So does giving money to various causes.”
Hence her attack on the tablet.
When she wasn’t knitting, she was finding—and funding—GoFundMe campaigns for medical personnel, restaurant workers, and face mask drives.
“There is so much need,” Arthur said. “Unemployment is… I don’t have words for it.”
“How about we sit here together and find a few organizations that help people with their rent and mortgages? That sounds like a lovely way to pass the time. I’ve reached my breaking point with knitting. Arthur, if I don’t have an intervention soon, I might start to bake banana bread.”
“Good God, no! Not banana bread. Clara, you’ve never baked a damn thing in your life. Plus, Clifton would have a fainting spell.”
She thought of what her dear friend had told her. “He’s going to retire soon, Arthur. He said so.”
“About time,” Arthur said, rubbing her back. “You knew it was coming. Did he say what he was going to do? Curl up on a beach somewhere and write a novel?”
She resumed her typing. “I suspect he and Alice will do something together, but I’m only guessing. They seem to be enjoying their chocolate making.”
In fact, their chocolate making had reached artistic levels. Although food didn’t tempt her much these days, she’d still closed her eyes in ecstasy after trying their most recent creation: a lavender and Earl Grey-infused truffle.
“They do indeed,” Arthur said, “and it’s encouraging to watch anyone create anything right now. Hey! Maybe after this pandemic is finished and Hargreaves has settled into his new life, we can use our matchmaking skills to help him find his soulmate.”
The ropes squeezing her heart loosened, and she experienced a warmth so great she pressed her hand to her chest. Imagine! Helping her dearest friend find love, like she had with Arthur. “How wonderful would that be?”
“Pretty wonderful,” Arthur said, sitting and pulling her onto his lap. “You hold on to that image, my dear. Those kinds of plans fill a person with hope.”
And hope was the most treasured of gifts during the pandemic.
Chapter 29
Quinn sought out his favorite matchmakers for advice.
He and Francesca had been working almost ceaselessly on a phase-out timeline and bankruptcy plan for the company, with help from key family members. News in the oil market continued to be bleak, and he’d grown numb to seeing the price of crude oil. They both needed a break—family dinner and karaoke nights had grown stale, sadly—and he wanted to do something romantic for her. He couldn’t take her out to a candlelit restaurant or fly her to the Costa del Sol for a weekend getaway, but he wanted more good memories for her, for them, in the midst of all this anguish and horror. She’d given him the idea with her rabbit outing.
When he knocked on the door to his aunt and uncle’s suite, he tapped his foot impatiently. Although he’d gotten better about opening up to others, it still didn’t come easily.
“Quinn!” Aunt Clara’s glowing face had a crease on it like she’d been sleeping.
“Were you napping?” God, he knew what that code word meant.
“We’re just up,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside to their small sitting room. “Arthur is getting dressed.”
Something he didn’t need to know about, although he aspired to still be “taking naps” at their age. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I need some ideas for a romantic evening with Francesca.”
He’d thought about asking Alice for help, but she worked for Francesca, not him. It would have felt weird and uncomfortable to ask her for romantic help. Alice would probably laugh at him for that, but that was fine by him.
“Romance,” Aunt Clara said. “What is that again? It’s hard to remember the easy days of going out for dinner or a movie or even taking a long drive in the country.”
The Irish government had decreed citizens couldn’t travel more than twenty kilometers from their home, and while Quinn could understand the measure, it sucked.
Of course, they had more outlets than most people did. The property was large, and they always took long walks before dinner. God knew he’d seen the videos of people holed up in their apartments, trying Zumba and other exercises for the first time in their living rooms. As far as he was concerned, the compulsion to film such a thing and share it indicated people really were at their breaking point.
“Do I need to ask someone else?”
“You came to the right place,” Arthur said, coming out of the bedroom. “We are the masters of romance. We were just taking a romantic break now, weren’t we, Clara? Not that you want to hear about it, but I figure having sex right now is a sign of sanity, if not sheer will.”
“Thank you, Arthur.” Aunt Clara made a rude noise. “It’s nice to know I’m helping you work out your lockdown crisis.”
“I’m helping you too, dear.” He snapped his suspenders and laughed. “We have to find humor wherever we can. If I focus on one hundred thousand people dying from this damn disease,
I’ll want to punch something.”
Quinn understood. The infection rate and death tolls were rising. New York was being crushed, and Caitlyn and Flynn continued to hear about people in their network who’d caught it. So far no one had died, but they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dammit, he didn’t want to keep thinking like this.
“Back to romance.” He put his hands on his hips, ready to get down to business. “What can I do for her?”
“You could write her an ode,” Aunt Clara suggested. “The Irish poets are quite inspiring. I’ve been reading some Yeats myself.”
“I suck at writing poetry.” Hadn’t he tried once, hoping to match Rumi? What a fail. “Moving on.”
“He needs a practical suggestion,” Arthur said, crossing to the electric kettle on the side table and flicking it on. “Next you’ll suggest he paint her nude. For God’s sake, Clara.”
The idea made him smile, at least. But he couldn’t draw for shit. “She loves things like museums and the theater and restaurants. All closed.”
“But she also loves food,” Arthur said, ripping open three tea bags and dropping them into matching blue cups. “Cook for her. Dress up. Did you bring your tux?”
“To plan for bankruptcy? Who am I, James Bond?”
Aunt Clara laughed until tears streamed down her face. “Oh, I must be stretched to my limit to find that so funny. Did you bring any baby blue swim trunks like Daniel Craig wore in his first Bond movie? I imagine Francesca would love to see you in those.”
Arthur guffawed. “I’d love to see him wade into the Irish Sea in nothing but a tiny pair of swim trunks. His other bits would shrink to nothing too.”
They laughed so hard they had to hold each other up, and Quinn wasn’t sure how he felt about them laughing over his bits. He opened the door. “I’ll see if I can borrow Trev’s tux and figure out something to cook. I’ll leave you two to your hilarity.”
“Thanks for the laughter,” his aunt managed to spurt out. “I needed it today.”
“Happy to help.” He closed the door and shook his head, realizing he felt lighter as well. Maybe he should don a swimsuit and face the Irish Sea. Nah.