As she parked her car, she suddenly remembered how she had begun to cry as she imagined her father’s horrifying experience on the battlefield, watching his buddies dying right in front of him. That was why Steve reached across the table to put his hand over hers. It must’ve been at that moment that Victor, Ben, and Donna had spotted them. Of course, they had been sitting right by the front window, right in plain sight of everyone! Poor Victor.
It was starting to rain as Janie hurried toward the hospital with her head down to avoid the raindrops. She nearly ran smack into Caroline, who was coming out. “Oh!” Janie stopped herself.
“Oh, Janie!” Caroline burst into tears and fell into Janie’s arms.
“What’s wrong?” Janie asked as she led Caroline back inside the shelter of the hospital foyer.
“She … she’s dead!”
Janie walked Caroline over to some chairs by the doors, easing her down. “What happened?”
Caroline pulled a tissue out of her jacket pocket and blotted her eyes. “She just died. Just like that.”
“No one stopped the machines?” Janie felt worried. She knew how frustrated and desperate Caroline had been feeling about this artificial means of keeping her mother alive, but surely Caroline wouldn’t have unplugged anything.
Caroline blew her nose, then looked evenly at Janie. “The machines were still running, but my mom.… Well, her heart just finally stopped beating.”
Janie sighed. “I know it’s hard, Caroline. But you do know it’s for the best, don’t you?”
Caroline nodded, but tears continued to pour. “I … I … know that. But it’s still hard, Janie. It was still hard to see her there, completely gone … gone, gone … gone.” She began to cry again.
Janie put an arm around her shoulders. “Go ahead and cry, Caroline, as much as you need to. It’s okay.”
As Caroline continued to cry, Janie sat next to her. With an arm around Caroline’s shoulders, she waited for her friend’s grief to ebb. Really, isn’t that what friends were meant to do? Janie remembered how hard it had been on her when Phil died. Like Caroline, she was expecting it, but still it had been hard. His cancer had taken him down quickly, but she’d been well aware when the end was near. It was inevitable, and yet she was crushed when it actually happened. She still hurt just thinking about his death. It would’ve been a bit easier to endure if she’d had her friends—the Lindas—around to comfort her. Well, at least she could do that for Caroline now.
Chapter 14
ABBY
Plain, hard work had always been like a tonic to Abby. Whether she was cooking, gardening, cleaning, redecorating, sewing, or whatever, she had always thrived on doing an ordinary task and doing it well. For some reason, though—and she hated to think it might possibly be her age—work was starting to feel more like just that: plain, hard work.
She sat down on the edge of the bed she had just made up and took in a slow, deep breath. Was it possible that the effort of simply making a bed had winded her? To be fair, she’d started by removing the king-sized pillow-top mattress, which was no small chore, so that she could put on a dust ruffle. When she replaced the mattress, she noticed the dust ruffle was badly wrinkled. That meant removing the mattress for a second time, pulling off the dust ruffle, and running down to the laundry room for the iron. Instead of simply ironing the dust ruffle, though, she had decided to drag the ironing board and iron up the stairs, because the other new bed linens, thanks to tight packaging, would be in need of pressing too.
On it went, putting on the mattress pad, pressing the edges of the top sheet and pillow cases, pressing the entire duvet cover, inserting the fluffy down comforter into the freshly ironed duvet without messing it up, then pressing the pillow shams, and finally completing the bed with some decorative pillows and a neatly folded chenille throw. She was exhausted.
Worse than that, she was worried. How was she possibly going to run an inn if the process of making one bed exhausted her? The simple answer was to hire a housekeeper, but she knew from her conversations with fellow innkeeper Jackie Day that until Abby’s business got up and running, it might be foolhardy to hire extra help.
“Just pace yourself,” Paul had told Abby that morning. She’d been complaining to him over breakfast that in one week’s time she’d managed to paint only one bedroom and one bath. Of course, she’d also done a fair amount of shopping, which was both time consuming and tiring, not to mention more costly than she’d originally budgeted for. The main reason she’d been complaining to Paul was because she hoped he would offer to help or to send over one of his workers. He didn’t. When it came to the bed-and-breakfast, it seemed quite clear that Abby was on her own.
“I am Little Red Hen,” she told herself as she huffed to her feet, then turned around to fluff the wrinkled duvet cover back into shape, the same one she’d worked so hard to get wrinkle-free. Of course, the upside of the Little Red Hen story was that she would eventually get to enjoy the fruits of her labors. At least that’s what Abby was hoping for. As far as what those fruits would be exactly, Abby wasn’t completely sure.
She bent down to gather up the packaging from the bedding materials and stuffed it all into a trash bag, then turned to look at the master suite and smiled. It actually looked nice, especially considering how little time she’d had to make the transformation. In fact, thanks to the removal of the old floral wallpaper, followed by two coats of pale aqua-blue paint, it looked far better than when she and Paul had occupied this space. In some ways she liked this room better than her luxurious master suite at home. Well, except that it was missing the ocean view.
Because this was the master suite, which would be the deluxe room of the inn, and because she had what she hoped would be her first official guest, Abby had splurged a bit on the furnishings. The Shaker-style headboard and matching bedside tables were painted in a creamy antique white, a nice combination with the pale-blue-and-white-striped duvet cover and shams. Crisp, clean, and coastal. She’d also found a nice pine bench for the end of the bed, a pair of white canvas slip-covered easy chairs and ottoman, and an oversized knotty-pine TV armoire. The walls were decorated with seaside prints of lighthouses and sun-bleached beach scenes. Freshly pressed white muslin curtains, hand-sewn by Abby, graced the bay window, and on the hardwood floor rested a large braided carpet in aquatic shades of blue. All in all, the room was perfect. Abby would happily live here herself. In fact she entertained the idea of sneaking over here on those occasional nights when she and Paul were embroiled in a fight—though not, of course, while the room was occupied. Abby hoped that Donna would appreciate her efforts.
The master bath was done in a similar theme with pale blue walls, white fixtures, white linens, a pretty collection of seashells, and blue and green glass floats along the windowsill. Everything looked fresh and clean, and in Abby’s opinion, inviting. All that was left to make this space livable would be to add a few hospitality items, like French-milled guest soaps, luxurious shampoos, and such. Until Abby’s own online order arrived, Jackie Day had promised to let Abby purchase some of these items from her.
“Hello in the house,” called what sounded like Janie’s voice. She’d been in and out quite a bit these last few days. From what Abby could tell, Janie’s law office was nearly ready for occupancy.
“Up here,” Abby called. “In the master suite.”
“Wow.” Janie nodded with approval as she came into the room. “This looks lovely, Abby.”
“Thanks.” Abby reached up to wipe her brow. “I’m beat.”
“You look a little tired.” Janie put a hand on her shoulder. “I have kind of bad news—good and bad.”
Abby took in a quick breath. “What? What is it?”
“Mrs. McCann passed away.”
Abby felt guilty for feeling relieved. “Oh. How is Caroline doing?”
“She kind of fell
apart,” Janie explained.
“Oh dear. Poor thing. She’s sure been through the wringer.”
“She’s at my house now, resting.”
“Good for her.” Abby let out a tired sigh. “Well, I guess that means I should start attacking her room now.”
“So this room is for Donna then?”
Abby nodded. “Since she’s actually going to pay rent, I thought I should give her the best room.”
“Right.” Janie walked over to the window and looked out. “You know for sure that she’s taking this room?”
Abby went over to stand by her. “Not absolutely, positively sure.” She frowned at Janie. “Why? Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, not at all.”
“I’d hate to think I went to all this trouble for nothing.”
“You could always let Caroline have this room.”
Abby considered this. As much as she loved Caroline, she didn’t care for the idea of Caroline and her dog living in this room. Of course, she would not admit that to anyone. “I thought Caroline would like to use my old room.” She chuckled. “Or what was more recently Jessie’s old room. Sometimes I can’t believe how long this house has been in my family. Anyway, the room faces southwest, and it gets such lovely afternoon light in the winter months.”
Janie nodded. “Yes, I’m sure she’d like that.”
“Of course, I’d planned to paint it first.” Abby shook her head. “I just can’t work as fast as I used to. I think I’m getting old.”
Janie chuckled. “Aren’t we all?”
“Do you want to see the other room?” Abby asked hopefully. What she really wanted was for Janie to approve of this plan. She felt greedy for denying poor Caroline what she knew was the best room.
“Sure, show me.”
Abby led her down the hallway, then opened the door to the room, which actually looked pretty bad. “Of course that hot-pink paint has to go. Jessie thought it was so wonderful in high school. It makes my head hurt.”
Janie chuckled. “I remember when my Lisa decided to redecorate her bedroom in our Manhattan apartment.”
“What did she do?”
Janie wrinkled her nose. “She painted all the walls black.”
“Black?” Abby grimaced. “That’s a bit morbid.”
“And then she painted the furniture blood red.” Janie shook her head. “It was really ghastly. I should’ve known then the girl was going to have some problems.”
“How is she doing these days?”
“According to her brother she’s doing better, but she’s still not speaking to me.”
“She’s in her early twenties?” Abby asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“Well, remember how I told you how Laurie went through her I-hate-my-mom phase?”
“I do remember.”
“She seems to be coming out of it. Paul’s heart attack had something to do with it. But I also think age helped. Laurie will be twenty-eight in December.”
“So maybe there’s hope for Lisa.”
Abby patted Janie on the shoulder. “Yes, there’s always hope.”
“Thanks.” Janie walked around the smaller room, checking out the closet, which wasn’t too large, and the view from the window. “What color do you plan to paint in here?”
“I picked out a yummy buttery yellow. I know how much Caroline likes yellow.”
“That will be nice.”
“The paint store guy assured me that it will cover this horrid pink in two coats. I told him that if it didn’t I was going to make him put on the third coat.”
“Is that the new furniture?” Janie pointed to some wooden pieces that had been stacked in the center of the room and covered with a plastic drop cloth.
“Yes, I asked the movers to put it there so I could paint without having to keep moving everything around.”
“I have an idea,” Janie said.
“What?”
“How about if I help you paint this room? We could put it all together and surprise Caroline.”
“Really? You’d do that?” Abby felt like crying, she was so grateful.
“Sure. I think it’d be fun. I got quite good at painting during the renovation at my house. In fact I’ve just been itching to get my hands on a roller again.”
“When do you want to get started?”
“No time like the present.”
Abby frowned at Janie’s nice pants and jacket. “You can’t work in that.”
Janie grinned. “Not a problem. I have a set of old clothes down in the basement. I keep them here so I can work whenever I want.”
“I noticed your painting is all done down there. Did you do that, too?”
“No, my drywall guys gave me a bid for the whole thing, and I just let them go for it. But I did feel a bit left out for not getting to help.”
“Well, you don’t need to feel left out anymore.”
Having Janie’s offer of help was like wind in Abby’s sails. She immediately went to work masking off the windows and baseboard and floors. In no time she and Janie got right down to work. It was nice having the company, and Abby had to admit that Janie was pretty good at painting, probably even better than Abby. After a while Janie had gotten far enough along with the walls that Abby was able to focus painting the trim a clean milky white. Covering up the splotches where Jessie slopped hot-pink paint drips so many years ago was itself a huge improvement.
“I assume you don’t want to paint the closet,” Janie said as she closed the door.
“No, it’s best to leave that cedar alone,” Abby told her, “although at some point I might hire someone to come give it a good sanding to bring out the aroma again.”
It was a little past five when they finished, and Abby was so happy she hugged Janie. “Thank you so much! I never could’ve done this without you!”
“You’re welcome.” Janie smiled as she looked around the sunny room. “You’re right, Abby, this is really a sweet room. The light coming in just now is lovely. I’m sure Caroline will love it.” Janie set her roller down. “Speaking of Caroline, I should probably go and check on her.”
“Yes,” Abby said eagerly. “Please go see how she’s doing, and I’ll finish cleaning up in here. I’m so grateful for your help.” She placed her forefinger over her lips. “Don’t tell Caroline yet. It would be fun to surprise her. Okay?”
“Mum’s the word.”
After Janie left, Abby called Paul. When he didn’t answer the home phone, she grew concerned, so she tried his cell. “Where are you?” she demanded as soon as he answered.
“On my way home,” he said in a slightly gruff tone. “Where are you?”
She explained she was running late. “Can you just warm up some of that soup from yesterday for dinner?”
“Leftover soup?” The grouch in his voice was unmistakable.
“Leftover homemade soup,” she reminded him. “And with some of that whole-grain bread and some fresh fruit, you’ll be—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “I better hang up before I get a ticket.”
“I’ll be home in a couple of hours.” It sounded like he’d already hung up. He was right, though. He shouldn’t be talking on his cell phone and driving. Oprah had been saying as much for years now, and the local law enforcement had really been cracking down on it lately.
As she puttered around, cleaning up the painting things, then moving the furnishings into place, Abby started to obsess over her husband. His attitude about her “little business venture,” as he liked to call it, had been negative from the get-go, but she had hoped his heart attack would soften him up some. The more he recovered, however, the more he acted like his old grumpy self. It was getting on her nerves!
Thanks to some t
hings their counselor had pointed out, Abby knew that Paul’s bad behavior was partially her fault. Not that he didn’t need to take responsibility for his own actions; he most certainly did. In a way, though, Abby had started training Paul to mistreat her right from the beginning. Back in the seventies when they’d married (too young), Abby had rejected the whole idea of women’s lib. She thought it was silly to want a career. She had no need to get a degree, and she figured the reason her other friends were going to school was simply to find a husband. Abby already had found hers.
Really, none of that independent-woman nonsense had ever appealed to her in the least. She was the little girl who grew up playing with dolls. One of her favorite toys was her Easy-Bake Oven. All she ever wanted to do was to play the happy little housewife. She was so devoted to her man that she literally brought him his slippers—early on. She had wanted to have children, lots of them (well, until she had three). She wanted to cook and clean and garden and make her home a haven. And hadn’t she done a knock-up job of it? But really, who had ever cared much? Her girls always wanted to go their own way. Even now they rarely came to visit. And her husband, well, he figured Abby had what she wanted, didn’t he?
It seemed her sole reward for all her hard work was a man used to being waited on. King of his castle (or so he thought), Paul liked coming home to a hot meal. He expected his bed to be neatly made with fresh-smelling linens. If his socks weren’t neatly folded in his sock drawer (with no static cling), he was quick to complain. If she didn’t pick up after him, toss out his messy newspapers, or put his smelly tennis shoes away (complete with Odor-Eaters), he would most definitely mention it. Abby had conditioned her husband to expect a certain kind of lifestyle. He wanted perfection, on his terms. In other words Abby had created a monster. This seemed especially true now—now that Abby had other interests, now that she had things to do besides catering to him.
As Abby set her toolbox on the floor, she wondered if it was unfair to pursue her own dreams. After all, the children were grown and their oceanside home was fairly low maintenance on the inside. Plus it was time Paul learned to do a few things for himself. He could clean his own whiskers out of the bathroom sink and replace the roll of toilet paper when it was empty. Was that too much to ask?
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