by Ava Miles
The tinkling of a fork against a glass had conversations hushing. Quinn was standing at the head table with his bride, champagne flutes in their hands.
Arthur grabbed his quickly. He’d been slow to the draw.
“Usually the best man gives the toast and so on,” Quinn said, “but these are unusual times. Francesca and I wanted to be the ones to give the first toast.”
She lifted her glass toward the crowd. “The past few months have been harder than any of us could have imagined, and we seem to have a ways to go yet. But if one thing has become clear, it’s that love is the most important thing any of us can hold on to and search out. This family has been so loving, so welcoming to me. I’m grateful to be one of you. I love you all so much. We both do. Thank you for being here today. We look forward to celebrating more good times ahead.”
“Hear, hear,” J.T. shouted.
Quinn extended his flute. “All right, my turn. I don’t have to tell you how uncomfortable I used to be talking about love or even expressing it. But even a formerly grouchy, stubborn guy like me can change, I suppose. Like my beautiful bride said, these past months have been tough. Times might still get tougher, but we have each other. I’ve never been more grateful for this family or the woman I love. So… To love and family.”
Everyone repeated, “To love and family,” and then everyone clinked glasses and drank. Arthur’s vision was a little blurry after that speech, to be honest. Who would have imagined Quinn speaking so openly about his feelings? Well, the pandemic was changing people right and left, and Arthur continued to hope for the best.
They danced and supped, and he and Clara took more than one turn on the dance floor. Of course, Michaela and Caitlyn talked him into dancing, as did Alice and Amelia. His budding little reporter was still grieving her grandmother and likely would for some time, but she was getting stronger every day.
She pulled him to the side and tugged some folded papers out of the small purse Caitlyn had let her borrow for the wedding. “I finished my article, Mr. Hale, since you needed more time.”
He almost laughed. That was one way to put it.
“Iris and Eloise helped me, and Iris handwrote it since she has the best penmanship. You read it and tell me if it’s good enough to be published. I’m going to have another piece of chocolate cake before Mom sees.”
She ran off in her purple dress, and he had to shake his head. Yes, she was a little reporter, all right. Even her own tragedy hadn’t stopped her from writing her article, and she’d beaten Arthur to the punch. Whenever he sat down to pen an opinion piece, his prose was angry, accusatory even. He wanted to bash so many heads together. Wasn’t that part of the problem? Everyone was yelling at each other and no one was listening. He hadn’t been ready to say anything constructive yet. But little Amelia had found the words he couldn’t. Wedding or not, he had to read them.
Detouring to the table, he tapped Clara on the shoulder. She finished what she was saying to Alice and turned to him. “Fancy a walk?” she asked.
He smiled—she’d read his mind like usual—and twined his fingers around hers and helped her out of the chair. They often took a moment to have a final matchmaking roundup at parties like this.
The music coming from the wedding was faint as they paused near the cliffs. The sea was a deep gray flecked with white diamonds of foam. The sky was light until near midnight some nights, and Arthur loved it.
“I noticed little Amelia handed you something,” Clara said, proving she was always watching.
“Her sisters helped her write an article.” He pulled the three pages of three-holed paper out and started to read aloud:
My friend, Mr. Hale, used to run this newspaper. He said I could write an article about the coronavirus sometime. I was too scared and sad to do it before. But good reporters stay strong. They report the facts. My sisters helped me. Here’s what we want to talk about.
Some people are saying the coronavirus is made up. Like pretend.
I don’t know how people can believe that. My grandma died of it. One day she was fine. Then she was gone. It’s real. Otherwise, I would still be able to talk to her and tell her about my day.
Other people don’t want to wear masks when they go to shops or other places.
They say it’s wrong to tell them what to do. And that a mask doesn’t stop the virus. I don’t understand that either. If you sneeze or cough, you’re supposed to cover your mouth. I’m five years old and I know that. Because this virus is so bad, we have to wear something stronger to keep our germs in. It makes sense.
I wish everyone could have been wearing masks before my grandma died. Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten the virus.
A lot of people are talking about whether kids should go back to school. I think the virus has to be gone from the area where the school is. Some people say kids can’t get it, but my sisters and I found articles about kids getting sick. They’ve died too. This virus can kill anyone, and that’s really scary.
My sisters don’t want to go back to school if the virus is still hurting people. I’ve waited to go to kindergarten forever. I really looked forward to meeting my new friends, and I don’t want to only see them and my teacher on the computer. I also don’t want to get sick. I could hurt my sisters and my mom and stepdad. I would feel horrible if anything happened to them. I hope every school makes the right choice. For us kids, and for our moms and dads, because they’re scared too.
I’ve heard my mom tell my stepdad that she’s scared my sisters and me aren’t getting to act like kids. Like when it was safe and I could hug anyone I wanted. She’s kinda right. Before this virus came, we used to go into town and eat at a restaurant or see a funny movie. I like Disney ones like “Frozen.” Now we don’t go anywhere. We stay inside a lot. Maybe soon we can go somewhere, but we’ll have to wear a mask. It will be weird. I hope I don’t get scared if I see someone coughing in the store.
I want to tell my mom I’m strong. She wants me and my sisters to be independent. And happy. She put signs like that all over our house to remind us. It’s hard to be happy after losing Grandma, but my sisters told me they got happy again after our dad died. It’s possible. I mean, they cried a lot and were sad for a long time. They still miss him. I don’t remember since I was a baby. But I do remember my grandma. I miss her. I know I’m going to be sad for a long time. But I’m going to be happy too.
My sisters and I made a pact. We’re going to be safe. Stay inside when we have to. Wear a mask when we have to. Follow the guidelines. Like we would at school. All I want is for my family to be safe and not get sick.
I want every person in the whole wide world to be safe and not get sick.
We need this virus to stop hurting us.
He wiped his eyes and tucked the papers back into his jacket. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
“My God,” Clara said, coming over to him and hugging him. “You have to get Meredith and Tanner to publish that, Arthur Hale. It’s beautiful.”
There wouldn’t be a dry eye amongst their readers. “She said it better and with more heart than I could.”
“I’m so glad you’re mentoring her to be a reporter.” Clara took his face between her hands. “Remember how you told me I was doing enough? That little girl and this article is you doing your part. Don’t you forget it.”
He gave a watery laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
She released him and sniffed, but the sound had backbone, like she was putting her emotions behind her. “Now… Let’s do our roundup. I wish I’d brought my champagne so we could toast each other. We’ve managed to help all seven Merriam children find their soulmates. That is some feat, and I’m proud of us.”
He gave a hearty laugh. She was stretching it just a little. “You are, eh?”
She socked him, something she didn’t do as often lately with all this heaviness around. He’d have to tease her more, he realized.
“I am. But I don’t think we’re finished.”
Hadn’t he been
ready for this? For her, he would have crossed a desert. “No?”
“No.” She nodded her regal head firmly, as if she’d decided something absolute. “We must help Clifton, dear. And then there’s sweet Alice. Finding their soulmates during this horrible pandemic is going to be tough, but I know we’re more than up for the challenge.”
He took out a red hot and handed her one. “I didn’t think we’d decided anything about leaving Ireland yet, what with some parts of the States getting hot again and Ireland coming out of lockdown and doing so well.”
But they couldn’t stay here forever, although the Wild Irish Rose Inn was closed to tourists all summer like many bed and breakfasts in Ireland. Becca and Trevor hadn’t seen a safe way to host guests. Everyone had a place for as long as they wanted it. No one knew how long that might be yet. Everyone could work from afar, except for Connor and Louisa, and arrangements for the girls’ schooling were premature in these times.
Still, he wanted to see his new great-grandson, Benjamin, and Lucy and Andy’s baby girl, Mabel. He wanted to hold Jill and the rest of his family. His home was in Dare Valley, and many of the Merriams had returned to it too. But the future they’d anticipated had been upended. Hell, Arthur’s retirement had been nothing as he’d expected.
Instead of quietly reading in his old green chair and savoring his golden years—whatever the hell that meant—he’d been to Ireland, Provence, Kenya, Chicago, San Francisco, and now back to Ireland again. He didn’t have a clue when it would be safe enough to return to work with the Maasai in Kenya, nor did Clara.
“Being flexible seems important right now, doesn’t it?” Clara worried her mouth. “I want everything to be normal again too. It’s only…. I’m not sure when that will be or if the meaning of ‘normal’ has changed forever.”
“Then we stay together here and remain nimble.”
She nudged him, and he waggled his brows in response.
“Nimble? Arthur Hale, all of this yoga you’re doing is making an impression on you.”
Rolling his eyes, he put his hand on her fanny. “If you think yoga is what has me nimble, you’re underestimating yourself, my dear.”
She gave a bright smile and kissed him softly. “For me too. Also… I want to mention—”
Oh, dear Lord, what now?
“In addition to our matchmaking duties—which we agree will continue—I want to add officiating marriage ceremonies to my résumé. I absolutely adore it.”
Next, she’d be onto midwifing with her diamonds on, helping usher in the next generation of Merriams. That had to be next, right? Sure, no one thought these troubled times were ideal for bringing a baby into the world, but life went on.
Always.
Love made bad times more palatable, and on nights like this, it could even bring joy to the heart of an old man like Arthur.
Yes, they would weather this. Everyone would. Somehow the world would come out stronger and learn from it. He would keep believing that. Hope and love were gamechangers. His life was a testament to their power.
“My dear,” he said, kissing her again. “If I had champagne, I would make a toast.”
She mimed a glass in her hand and he did the same. “To the love of my life and to our next adventures. Whatever comes, I’m happy to spend my every day with you.”
“To our next adventures, my love. May they be even bigger and brighter than before.” That was a pretty tall order, but he was down for it.
He only hoped Clifton was prepared.
Epilogue
His resignation letter to Clara Merriam Hale rested on the rosewood table in front of him.
He signed it grandly with his full name, Clifton Timothy Hargreaves, and sat back. His chest felt light, and he anchored himself in the peace surrounding his decision. It was time. They both knew it.
He hoped he had conveyed his gratitude to Clara, as he thought of her now, thoroughly and yet properly. Truthfully, he still wasn’t accustomed to addressing people by their given names, but he was settling into it like the rest of this newness around him.
“Clifton!” Alice’s voice was a hushed whisper behind him. “Are you done yet?”
It never felt strange when she uttered it. The warm tone she used had shattered the years of propriety and reserve he’d been trained to observe.
He was grateful for it. At eighty, it was time for him to live his best life. Clara had shown him the way. She’d flung off a somber old house she’d never liked and an unfulfilled life that had weighed her down like a yoke. After years of seeing her walk around the house like a ghost, he’d watched her bloom before his eyes. With her and Arthur, he’d traveled to distant shores, something he’d always wished to do as a young man.
But there were still other things he wanted to do, things that younger man had dreamed of. His time might be shorter now—June’s death had proved that in heartbreaking fashion—but he was determined to make the most of it.
He wanted a grand love affair.
Alice was fond of saying that he needed to find his soulmate. The reserved part of him, still unused to this new abundance, told himself he’d be content with a great love. But he still hoped for someone who called to the deepest part of his heart, someone with whom he could share everything.
And he wished the same for Alice. Thankfully, he’d learned quite a bit about matchmaking from Clara and Arthur. When the time came, he intended to use that knowledge to help Alice find her true love. The man who earned her deepest affections would be the luckiest man out there, to his mind.
She brimmed with life, kindness, and curiosity. She was the granddaughter he’d never had. Arthur had summed up the difference best. A daughter was one you raised, guided, and celebrated. A granddaughter was someone you merely enjoyed. That had cinched it for Clifton.
Somehow he knew she was the perfect guide to help him realize his deepest dreams, ones he’d long ago buried for duty and service. She would say that’s what friends and neighbors did, and that’s why Alice was Alice. And that’s why he wanted to do the same for her.
“I’m finished with the letter,” he said, turning in his chair to regard her.
She was wearing a blue cotton dress with flour marking the middle, likely a leftover from her chocolate scone making session with Aileen this morning.
“Great!” She rushed forward, her well of enthusiasm always overflowing. “You’re moving forward, and you’re not the only one! I talked to Sarah. She’s game to join our chocolate shop venture—once everything settles down in the world—and she thinks her neighborhood would be the perfect place. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It’s in the Hudson River Valley in upstate New York—nothing like where you used to live in Manhattan with Clara. I love it there. Her neighbors are terrific. You’ll adore them. Plus, it’s got a swoon-worthy Main Street lined with cute shops with colorful awnings and window boxes bursting with flowers. Our place would be a terrific addition.”
He could see himself walking the friendly strip in his mind already. “It sounds lovely, Alice.”
“Of course, I hope those shops are still around after the pandemic is over. So many small businesses have had to close. But let’s not think about that. I was trying to tell you…”
She never talked in a linear fashion, and he liked that she was so unfettered in her speech. She was always encouraging him to loosen up, but in ways that made him happier rather than uncomfortable.
Just the other day, she’d suggested he take off his black suit jacket to help him cool off on another hot Irish day. She’d even talked him into unbuttoning his top shirt button. Then she’d run inside and grabbed the flamenco guitar Beau had brought to play and told him to give her a song. By the time he was halfway through it, the remaining Merriam family had packed the dining room to hear him play. He’d given in to tapping his foot in a percussive rhythm as he strummed the strings with more wildness than ever.
Never had he felt so free.
The applause afterward might h
ave embarrassed him, but it had delighted him too. Alice was already suggesting they have music nights at their chocolate shop, socially distanced if necessary. He found himself planning song lists. He could even smell the rich scent of dark chocolate in the air as he strummed a fast five-stroke tremolo.
“What were you trying to tell me?” he asked, knowing she’d gone somewhere else, something she often did when she was daydreaming.
“I think I have the name of our shop.” She held out her arms, grinning. “Are you ready for it? It’s totally epic, Clifton.”
Oh, how dear she’d become to him. He didn’t question her desire to include him in her vision. They had a shared love for chocolate, food service, and hosting others. The idea seemed perfect to him.
“What is it?” he asked, already smiling.
“The House of Hope & Chocolate,” she announced, her well-lashed big brown eyes filled with light. “Isn’t it perfect for these times?”
He couldn’t think of anything more perfect.
* * *
Find out what kind of deliciousness Hargreaves and Alice get up to in The House of Hope & Chocolate, an uplifting page-turner about hope, the will to start over, and the power of friendship.
The first novel in the new Friends & Neighbors series…
The House of Hope & Chocolate
A Friends & Neighbors Novel
Meet Alice Bailey, a woman determined to realize her dreams and revitalize a beloved neighborhood with two things she believes most in: hope and chocolate.
Beyond yoga, check out the other books Arthur Hale would recommend to keep you and your family in feeling calm, focused, and in tip-top shape.
The Post-Covid Wellness Playbook
Medically reviewed.