The earnestness in her face had stopped Ben from saying that none of it could possibly be made right. Brandon was dead. No confessions and apologies could ever change that. And he was just as much to blame—something he’d hoped Ella Jacobs would never have to learn.
* * *
EXCEPT FOR THE sprawl of new housing extending west of the town on the other side of the highway to Portland, Lighthouse Cove hadn’t changed quite as much as she had, Ella decided, parking in front of The Lighthouse Hotel. The idea that the Cove now had a subdivision was ironic enough to bring a half smile. A big reason she and her family spent every summer here had been to escape the Boston suburb where they lived.
She was tired after the two-hour drive but didn’t rush to get out of the car. She’d had to get up early to meet with her publisher, pick up a box of books for tomorrow’s presentation and swing by her office at the Globe to submit an article for the upcoming Saturday edition. Her boss and his boss had agreed to her request for a month’s leave from her job as city reporter as long as she was willing to post an op-ed piece each Saturday.
Initially Ella had been reluctant to shift from a reporting job to a columnist’s, but once she’d started, she’d liked the change. It gave her an opportunity to express her thoughts on any topic, and she found—to her surprise—that she had plenty of opinions. It also freed her up to devote time exclusively to her debut novel’s promotion. The book was the result of almost a year of therapy. You’re still carrying around the baggage of a summer seventeen years ago, her therapist had observed. Perhaps you could write about it in some way.
Ella had resisted the idea for months until one sleepless night, haunted by the recurring flashbacks she’d had off and on since that summer, she’d booted up her laptop and begun to write. Surprisingly, the first draft had been completed within three months, and a contact with a Boston agent had fast-tracked her submission to a publisher. The whole process had taken a bit more than a year. Yet even now, Ella wasn’t at all certain if the work had successfully erased the still-vivid memory of that awful night.
In retrospect, her thrill at finding a note from Ben Winters tucked into the bag of books she’d received from his sister, Grace, that summer had definitely ruled out rational thought. The day before the end-of-summer beach bonfire, he’d told her he’d be packing for his drive to college at the end of the holiday weekend and couldn’t make it to the annual event. Disappointed, she’d told Grace and Cassie Fielding, Grace’s school friend, that she couldn’t make it to the bonfire either. But when she found Ben’s note—Meet me at the path to the lighthouse about 8 tonight. I want to say goodbye—in private!—all that changed. Forever, as it turned out.
So here she was, after all this time, in Lighthouse Cove, Maine—the vacation paradise that was ruined for her when she realized that life could be cruel. Worse, that she could be cruel. Ella unsnapped her seat belt and reached for her handbag. The card that Grace Winters had sent in care of her publisher fell out, and she picked it up, then read the message for the umpteenth time.
Dear Ella,
I was thrilled to learn about your debut novel, which I have just finished reading. It’s a wonderful book and I’ve purchased some copies for the bookstore I’m managing in the Cove. Maybe you remember the town’s only bookstore, Novel Thinking? I came back to the Cove almost a year ago, after my father’s heart surgery. When Henry Jenkins retired, Dad bought the bookstore and I agreed to run it. My brother, Ben, has also moved back home.
Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming for a book signing and talk sometime in the next couple of weeks? I realize that the time frame is short, but I’ve been out of town. It would be lovely to see you again and catch up on the last seventeen years! You can email me at the address below. I’m hoping you’ll be able to come.
Sincerely, Grace Winters
Ella had received the card only three weeks ago, but it had drawn her thoughts every single day since—not for what was written but for what was missing. No reference to the prank. No hint of an apology. Not one word of remorse. She’d been tempted many times to toss it into the recycling bin, but a single sentence held her back. My brother, Ben, has also moved back home. It was almost pathetic that those few words could override common sense, but they had. She impulsively emailed Grace to tell her she would come. Afterward, every instinct warned her she was making a mistake, yet here she was, parked in front of a hotel that had always enchanted her and where she’d booked a superior deluxe room for two nights. While her advance for Always Be Mine was modest, this felt like the perfect chance to splurge a little. Ella took a deep breath and stowed Grace’s card in her purse.
Well, she told herself, you’ve made a commitment, but if it all goes downhill from here—which is a real possibility—you can cancel that second night. She reached into the back seat of her car for her tote bag and small suitcase, left the box of books in the trunk, and headed into the hotel. As soon as she entered the lobby, Ella realized that one’s childhood memories can be deceiving. Sure, the enormous chandelier still dangled from the ceiling, but the luster of the wood paneling had dimmed. The assortment of chairs and love seats scattered in the center of the lobby were a curious mismatch of Victorian and modern—fake leather vying with faded velveteen for attention that neither achieved. She paused for a moment to take it all in, guessing that this would be only the first of her Cove childhood memories to be altered. She walked to reception, noticing a few stains and scuff marks here and there on the marble floor.
It took the young man on the other side of the wood counter several seconds to notice her presence. “Oh sorry. I didn’t see you coming in.”
“I have a reservation for two nights. E. M. Jacobs.”
He scanned the desktop computer in front of him and looked up to say, “Oh yes, here it is. A superior deluxe room.”
“With a waterfront view.”
“Right. A good choice.”
Trying in vain to calm the nervousness she felt already mounting inside, Ella drummed her fingertips on the counter while the man—his name badge read Rohan—checked her in.
When he handed back her credit card, Ella asked, “Does the rate include breakfast?”
“No, sorry. We don’t have a restaurant, but there’s a very nice café, Mabel’s, just down the street. Here you are. Room 410, top floor. The elevator is down there—” he pointed left “—at the far corner of the lobby. Will there be anything else?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Ella slung her handbag over her shoulder, grabbed her tote and wheeled her suitcase toward the elevator. The fourth-floor hallway was deserted, and as Ella walked along, looking for 410, she saw that all of the doors were new—some kind of metal made to look like wood—with locks to accommodate the card key she’d been given. Upgrading of sorts was obviously happening in the hotel. But not yet inside the rooms, Ella amended as she pushed open the door. She stood on the threshold, wondering which superior deluxe room had been pictured on the hotel’s website. Definitely not this one. She sighed, thinking one night might be it, after all, for her stay in the Cove.
Copyright © 2021 by Janice Hess
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ISBN-13: 9781488074387
Bride on the Run
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Bride on the Run--A Clean Romance Page 24