“Maybe we need to call an evening meeting and feel her out a bit more. You know she wouldn’t want to bother us with her worries, and I want to be there to help her if she needs it.” Jane’s kind words pulled Maxi away from her selfish thoughts.
“Good idea. But I don’t think we should make too much of the bread store. Let’s just pretend we want to get together after a stressful day or something. If we build the store up too much, that might worry her even more.”
“It won’t be hard for Claire to believe I need a break after a stressful day. I’ve had plenty of those lately,” Jane said.
Maxi’s heart melted with sympathy. She knew Jane was conflicted about what to do with Addie. She’d been trying to give her gentle guidance, but the truth was Maxi had no idea what she would do in Jane’s situation. At the age of eighty-one, her mom was as sharp as ever. “I’m sorry you’re going through all this. I wish I could do more.”
“Thanks, I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do. I just have to do the best I can. Besides, we all have our troubles.”
Maxi looked away from Jane’s probing eyes. She wasn’t surprised her friend had noticed that something was off. They’d been close for too long for her not to see it, but Maxi wasn’t ready to voice her troubles yet. In fact, she wasn’t even really sure that she and James had troubles. Maybe they simply needed to adjust to life being the two of them again.
They stopped at the beach, and Jane slipped her sandals off. “Okay, I’ll send a text later today.”
“Perfect. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
They said goodbye, and Maxi headed off toward the path.
Chapter Two
Claire tried to focus on baking, but one name kept creeping into her thoughts. Bradford Breads. Huffing out an exasperated breath, Claire shoved the latest batch of snickerdoodles into the oven, dug her smart phone out of her pocket, and opened the browser.
Twelve store locations. The new, yet-to-be-announced location would be the “baker’s dozen” joked the website. Her jaw tightening painfully. Claire clicked to view the menu.
Breads, breads, and more breads: artisanal breads, multi-grain breads, dinner rolls, sandwich rolls, banana bread, chocolate zucchini bread, vegan and gluten free bread, cheese breads, breadsticks. None of it, not a word as she scrolled through the admittedly delicious-looking professional pictures, made any mention of pastries.
That made her feel better. She looked through the doorway of the kitchen to the café at her bakery cases filled with frosted delicacies. Her eyes came to rest on what she was famous for—her sandcastle cakes. The one-of-a-kind cakes looked like edible sandcastles. Never mind that it took three times as long to make than any other cake. Claire loved hand-cutting the turrets and battlements and pressing the colored sugar crystals to the fondant—a painstaking process. The cakes were popular and set her bakery apart. It was worth the effort. She bet Bradford Breads didn’t have anything special like that.
She was making too much of it, just like her friends had said. She just had so much tied up in Sandcastles. Any threat was blown out of proportion. She didn’t just sink all her money into it. She’d sunk herself into it too.
The clang of metal followed by a muffled curse came from somewhere near the back of the shop. That would be Sally Littlefield, the town handywoman, who was looking into the cause of the water stain that had appeared on the ceiling corner near the coffee station.
Claire’s phone chimed in her pocket. She pulled it free, staring uncomprehendingly at the garble of numbers on the screen. Who would be calling me from…? She squinted at the screen. What’s that country code?
Tammi! Her daughter was on a last-fling-before-settling-into-a-real-job overseas trip and had picked up a prepaid phone to use while in Europe. Claire punched the button to answer the call before she missed her chance. Breathless, she held the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom. Are you busy?”
“No,” Claire answered at once, even though she should relieve Hailey soon for the end of her shift. Guiltily, she twisted to glance through the opening leading to the front of the store. Hailey’s dark hair, which was twisted up into a messy bun at the top of her head, bobbed in and out of view as she smoothly cleaned the front counter and handled the occasional customer. “How’s… France?”
“Germany, now. And it’s great. We’re having the best time!”
Claire listened with only half an ear, positioning herself for more privacy as her daughter recounted the adventures she’d had over the past week with her friends. Although Claire had worried about her daughter in a foreign country, she had to remind herself that Tammi was an adult now, and she had a good head on her shoulders. Plus, she’d convinced her two best friends to accompany her. Safety in numbers. Between them, they knew enough words in local languages to get by.
“That’s great.” Claire put the mixing bowl and spatulas into the sink.
“Mom?” Tammi asked, almost tentatively. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” Claire answered, forcing a smile as if a table separated her from her daughter rather than the thousands of miles and ocean between them.
“You know I can tell when you’re worried about something, right? What’s going on?”
Claire sighed. As much as she didn’t want Tammi to worry about her, she couldn’t lie. Tammi would know if she did, and she was working on not treating her like a child. “Honestly, it’s nothing. There’s another bakery moving into Lobster Bay, that’s all. I’m a little worried about how much competition it will be, which is silly. They only bake bread.”
On the other end of the line, tinny with distance, Tammi laughed. “Why are you worried? If someone else is moving in, out-market them. You’ve already got a dedicated client base. This other place won’t last.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is, Mom. I was a marketing major in college, remember? I know what I’m talking about. Take a few ads out in the local paper and online. Arrange for a special sale or discount day for seniors or students. Make a few flyers to promote it or maybe some coupons. Everyone will be flocking to your store and ignoring this new place. Trust me.”
The idea of people flocking to Sandcastles was appealing. Maybe she should take Tammi’s advice and show this Bradford Breads person who the better baker was. But Claire knew nothing about marketing. Then again, she had Tammi for backup.
“I’ve never really done much to advertise. What do I do?” Claire asked.
“That’s a testament to how awesome your place is. But it won’t hurt to get more people in. Like I said, it’s easy. I would start with some coupons or maybe a special sale. Just take out an ad in the local paper. Maybe put a banner up outside the store.”
Claire glanced through the front window. A banner right under the awning certainly would attract a lot of people. Business was good, but more customers were always welcome. And how much could ads cost? She could use some of her savings because surely the leak Sally was working on wouldn’t cost that much.
“Look, if you want, I can sit down with you after I’m back from my trip. We can hammer this out together.”
“Oh, I can figure it out,” Claire said, her voice falsely bright. “Easy peasy.” The last thing Claire wanted was for Tammi to think she was floundering, because she wasn’t. She also didn’t want her to think that she was a ditz who couldn’t figure out how to run a few ads on her own. Claire might not have done everything right in her life, but the one thing she wanted to show her daughter was that she could be successful on her own merits. If Claire was following her dream and running a successful business, she hoped her daughter would be inspired to do the same.
“Great!” Tammi said. “Okay. Well, I have to go, Mom. Love you!”
“Love you.” Claire’s answer was automatic and heartfelt.
Marketing. It was such a foreign word, and despite what Tammi had suggested, Claire didn’t know where to start or with wh
at money. She had seven thousand dollars in her savings account. Hopefully that would be enough for a few ads with some left for the repairs.
The rattle and muttering from the back had stopped. Claire frowned, wondering if it was safe to approach Sally yet. Cautiously, she moved toward the source of the noise.
“Sally?”
The seventy-year-old woman stepped out of the back. There was a smudge of grease along one of her cheekbones and a few more on her overalls. The handywoman with her snowy-white hair braided tightly down her back and her shrewd blue eyes cleaned her hands on a rag. “Ayuh?”
“Have you…?” Claire cringed to ask. “Have you found the source of the leak? Was it an easy fix?”
“Not this time, honey. I’m afraid it’s those pipes of yours. Won’t last much longer.” The creases in Sally’s face deepened in sympathy even as she delivered the news in her matter-of-fact way.
Pipes? Claire didn’t know anything about plumbing. Faintly, she asked, “How much will it cost for you to fix?”
“Fix?” Sally shook her head. “It’s more’n I can do. These pipes are original. You’ll need Ralph Marchand to tear out those pipes and put in new ones, if you ask me. He’ll know better about cost. But you’d better call him quick. If those pipes go, you’re going to have a big mess on your hands.”
Chapter Three
Jane Miller watched a wave rush up the white sand beach to fill the footprint she’d left behind. The ocean breeze ruffled her hair, and she pushed a strand out of her face. The shorter style still felt foreign, but with all her duties at Tides, it was easier than messing with the shoulder-length cut she had most of her adult life.
A sandpiper darted along the foamy edge of the water on long sticklike legs, running forward as the surf went out then retreating just in time to avoid getting its feet wet. Sometimes Jane felt like she was doing the same thing at Tides, rushing forward then back and never making much progress.
Speaking of which, she’d best get back there and make sure things were running smoothly. Reluctantly, she turned and headed up the beach, leaving the soothing sounds of the crashing waves behind.
The wide back porch of Tides, with its row of rocking chairs, was a comforting sight. She’d grown up there, and some of her earliest and fondest memories centered around that house and the expansive beach beyond it. But now, as she stared at the French doors leading inside, the feeling of comfort gave way to anxiety. All the familiar and comfortable feelings tied to the house seemed to be fading away along with her mother’s memories.
Even though her mother was still physically in good health, Jane was losing her, but then, Jane knew about loss. First her infant son, then her husband. She had weathered those storms. She would weather this one too.
She laid her hand on the porch railing. The wood needed a fresh coat of paint to survive the summer without being replaced. One more thing for her to worry about. It seemed the hundred-year-old house always needed some kind of maintenance.
The bakery bag crinkled as her hand tightened around it. She used to love walking into Tides and seeing her mother bustling around, tending to guests, but not so much now. Now she was never sure if her mother would be the mother she’d always known or a stranger. She never knew if she would be the mother and Addie the child.
The French doors led to a gathering room with faded, overstuffed armchairs, a television mounted on the wall, and magazines scattered across the table. Jane stopped to straighten them, putting everything in its place, avoiding the kitchen, but she couldn’t busy herself forever. Steeling herself, she lifted the paper bag full of muffins and continued on. The smell of bacon and eggs filled her nose as she stepped into the warm atmosphere. The kitchen had always been a refuge from the rest of the house, a place where Jane and her sister could sneak treats from the cook, where her grandmother—and in recent years her mother—seemed to spend most of her time. A place for family.
Brenda, about fifteen years Jane’s senior, leaned over a pan of sizzling bacon. She had her white-threaded brown hair pulled back into a bun and an apron wrapped along the ample curve of her waist. Every time Jane walked into that room and saw Brenda, she couldn’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. If Brenda was there cooking, then Mom wouldn’t be. Brenda had become far more than a cook over the past few years. She no longer went home after the cooking was done. Now she stayed to help care for Addie. And for her part, Jane’s mom seemed to recognize Brenda more than she did her own daughter.
Hip to hip with Brenda, Jane’s mom—a tall, frail woman nearing eighty who strongly resembled Jane—stood over a large pan of scrambled eggs, mixing them with the spatula. She hummed under her breath, a small smile on her lips, and Jane knew she must still be feeling good. Her mother loved cooking so much that Jane did not want to rob her of that simple joy, but every time Addie stepped close to the stove, Jane feared she would put on a pan or pot and walk away or touch a burner that was hot because she didn’t remember it was on.
Smiling, Jane crossed toward her mother. She kissed her on the cheek and held up the bag. “I brought you some chocolate chip muffins.”
Her mother’s eyes brightened. As she turned away from the stove, Brenda took up the spatula Addie had left in the pan with the ease of long practice. Jane tried not to worry at how seamlessly Brenda took over her mother’s post, as if she had done so countless times as Addie’s attention waned. Instead, Jane opened the bag and rooted inside until she pulled out one of the chocolate chip muffins Claire had put inside.
With a wide smile, Addie took the muffin and started gleefully peeling off the wrapper. “Did you stop at Sam’s?”
Addie wasn’t as lucid as she looked. Jane tried to hide her disappointment as she guided her mother to the long pine table that had been in the kitchen since before Jane was born. Maybe even before Addie was born. The table was so old that most of the turquoise paint had been rubbed off. Still, some remained in the cracks and crevices and the turns of the legs. She sat in a chair across from her mom and watched Addie free the muffin from its paper.
Gently, she corrected her mother. “Not from Sam’s. Sam’s has been closed down for years, Mom. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Despite Addie’s words, the look in her eye was uncertain. She hadn’t remembered, and Jane knew how she beat herself up over forgetting simple little things like that.
In a small voice, she whispered, “I guess I forgot. I’m so stupid, and you’re such an angel for putting up with me.”
Jane’s heart twisted. She reached out and clasped her mother’s bony hand. “Not stupid. We all forget things like this now and again.” Even if her mother forgot more often than not now.
Jane added, “Claire baked those muffins. You remember Claire, don’t you?”
Growing up, Claire had been as much of a constant in the house as Jane and her sister, Andie. Her mom always remembered the past more clearly than the present, even on her lucid days.
“Oh, Claire. Yes, of course I do. Such a sweet girl. How is she?”
Although her mother said all the right words, Jane knew that they were empty. The glassy look on her face and the way that she didn’t quite meet Jane’s eyes gave it away. She had no idea who Claire was, and that was almost as worrisome as the days when she forgot Jane.
She didn’t want to make her mother feel worse, so instead of correcting her further, Jane just told her, “Claire is doing very well. She told me to say hello.” Jane stood. She had work to do. “I’m going to take stock of the fridge, if there’s nothing else you need?”
Addie’s mouth firmed in a stubborn expression. “Of course not. I’m a grown woman. I can do things for myself.”
Jane left her mother and the muffins on the table and stepped into the walk-in fridge, leaving the door wide open and basking in the cool air as she checked the shelves. With Brenda staying longer at the inn, they had taken to cooking not only breakfast for the guests but also lunch during weekends. They also
baked snacks or left out trays of vegetables or crackers and cheese for the guests to munch on in the gathering room in the afternoon. In Jane’s opinion, it had helped them get a higher rating on Yelp, which helped search algorithms. Anything to bring in more customers, something the inn seemed to be lacking as of late.
She supposed it was her own fault. She’d never paid much attention to the running of the inn. Had she really thought that her mother would be able to keep up with it forever? Maybe she’d expected her sister to rush in and take over. Andie had left after high school and barely come back since. Jane should have realized that running the inn would have fallen to her, but instead she had buried her head in the sand and continued down the safe road of her accounting career.
She pulled up a spreadsheet on her smartphone where she kept a running count of everything in the refrigerator. She modified that count and added a few items to the next grocery list. She scanned the shelves one last time, her mind drifting to Claire.
Jane knew Claire, knew her inside and out, just as Claire knew Jane. She’d known ever since Claire had opened the bakery—a sign that she was moving on with her life after an admittedly terrible marriage—that her friend’s self-worth was tied up in its success.
Claire led her life with her heart on her sleeve. She didn’t respond to logic the way Jane did. Telling Claire that her business would survive because of all its merits didn’t help to ease her friend’s worry. Claire was stubborn. She would have to see that for herself.
Saving Sandcastles Page 2