She might not be able to be part of his life or their children’s lives, but she could do one small thing for them. She could freshen up this house a little bit, make it more attractive to prospective buyers.
It was a small gift, but one she wanted desperately to give them.
Chapter Seven
She worked until around noon, until her stomach’s grumbling reminded her that a solitary, half-eaten piece of toast was not enough to sustain her through several hours of hard work. She was going to have to find something else to eat.
She had finished prepping the children’s bedrooms—taping windows and trim, filling in holes in the walls, covering the wood floors with plastic.
While she welcomed having something to do, the process also left her melancholy. She hadn’t been here when Bridger drew on the wall of his bedroom with markers that she could still glimpse traces of. She hadn’t seen what artwork Cassie cared about enough to hang in her bedroom.
She was a stranger to her own children. She had tried to stay connected to them in her own pitiful way, coming for secret visits three or four times a year. She couldn’t really know them, though. Not from those brief glimpses, on the outside looking in.
By the time she took a break for lunch, her muscles ached and her bad leg was tight. She needed a good hard walk to exercise it.
Out the window, the snow had stopped. Everything was white and beautiful. Suddenly, the small house seemed claustrophobic. She wanted to be out in that magical winter wonderland.
Even as she thought it, fear held her back. What if she fell? The results would be disastrous.
She would use her cane, she decided. As none of the food in the kitchen looked appetizing and she needed some fresh air anyway and to work out the cramp in her leg, she would use her cane to carefully make her way to Haven Point’s small downtown area for something to eat.
She thought of some of the restaurants where she used to eat here in Haven Point. Her favorite was Serrano’s. Maybe she would just swing over there and grab a bite. No one would recognize her. She looked nothing like Elizabeth Sinclair Hamilton anymore. For the past seven years, she had been Sonia Petrovich Davis, the wounded, damaged widow of a kind man who had reached out to help her on another snowy day.
With a pang, she thought of John Davis, the stranger she had only known a few hours but who had completely changed the course of her life.
Poor man. She whispered a prayer for him, as she always did when he crossed her mind.
They had been two lost souls that night, both grieving for all they had lost. How could she have guessed that his act of kindness in giving her a ride would have such disastrous consequences for them both?
Thinking of John reminded her of his sister, Alice, who had become one of her biggest supporters and dearest friends. Elizabeth hadn’t spoken with her in a few weeks, but they had plans to meet for lunch during the holidays.
Alice, a therapist in Portland, had been pushing her for months to come back to Idaho. Elizabeth could picture her, small, bespectacled, looking at least a decade younger than her sixty years.
She could almost hear her voice in her head.
You’ll never be able to move on until you face and embrace your past.
Alice knew everything. She was the only one, besides Elizabeth. When Elizabeth’s memory started to come back, when she first started to realize she wasn’t Sonia Petrovich Davis after all, John’s Russian-born wife of only a few months, she had been so afraid to tell Alice, who had stood by her for years and become her dearest friend. She was an impostor. Not by choice but the strangest of chances.
Alice had been understandably shocked, of course, then unfailingly supportive. In therapy sessions and in their personal interactions, she had been urging Elizabeth to come back to town and face her husband, her children, the life she had left behind.
What would Alice think if she knew Elizabeth was here, that she had returned to Haven Point and was currently standing in the house she had shared with Luke?
She would probably tell her she wasn’t done yet. That she had to tell her husband everything, all her ugly secrets.
Elizabeth’s stomach grumbled and she sighed. She could sit here in this warm kitchen eating food she didn’t want, ashamed and meek. Or she could step out into the world she had left.
She knew what Alice would tell her.
She was tired. She had spent seven years hiding away, lost in her guilt and her fear and her shame. She was tired of being a passive observer in her own life. Hadn’t she already made the decision to change the status quo before Luke showed up on her doorstep? She had known it was past time to tell him the truth, to own her mistakes.
She didn’t have to be held hostage to her circumstances. Nor did she need to be a hostage in this house. She wanted to be out in that lovely winter afternoon and she needed something to eat. The only one keeping her here, cowering in her fear, was herself.
She squared her shoulders and went looking for her coat and gloves, then picked up her cane with some reluctance, knowing she would need it for stability on the snowy roads.
Outside the little house she and Luke had bought together, she took a deep breath and closed the door behind her. She did indeed feel as if she had walked out of prison.
The December day was beautiful, crisp, the air heavy with the mingled wintry scents of snow and pine and the river, so familiar to her from her childhood.
It snowed occasionally on the Oregon Coast but nothing substantial that stuck for long. They did have winter storms in Cannon Beach, with cold wind blowing off the Pacific and icy rain that soaked through everything.
The previous year, they’d had a terrible storm that had caused extensive flooding and wind damage. She hated those storms. If at all possible, she would hide away in her second-floor apartment of Brambleberry House, tucked under her blankets with a cup of tea and a book and possibly her friend Rosa’s dog, Fiona, for extra support.
The changes to Haven Point were obvious as she made her way downtown. When she left, the little hamlet beside the lake had been struggling financially, especially after Ben Kilpatrick closed his family’s boatworks. Many of the downtown businesses had been shuttered and empty for years, their facades in dire need of paint and the planter boxes and flower baskets filled with weeds.
Now the town looked prosperous, bustling, with new construction going in and most of the existing storefronts showing signs of recent remodeling. Everything was fresh and new. Charming.
During the past few years of covert visits to town, she had learned what was behind the town’s revitalization. She knew Aidan Caine, the famous tech genius, had purchased half the town from Ben Kilpatrick years ago. After relocating a division of Caine Tech to the community, Aidan and his wife, Eliza, were now working on rehabbing the storefronts and bringing in a mix of residential and business development to the area.
How many of those projects had Luke worked on in his capacity as a contractor? He appeared to have been keeping busy with work over the years. She was glad. He was an excellent contractor. Scrupulously honest, hardworking, creative.
It seemed odd to be walking down the street in plain view of everyone, especially after the complicated routines she usually went through to keep her identity secret whenever she visited.
The truth was, nobody was really paying attention to her anyway. People were going about their business shopping or heading into restaurants. She had probably worried for nothing.
Still, she gripped her cane more tightly as she walked into Serrano’s, the town’s favorite gathering spot.
The restaurant had undergone remodeling as well. The interior seemed brighter, more welcoming than she remembered. The young hostess gave her a polite smile that held no trace of recognition.
“Hi. Welcome to Serrano’s. How many in your party?”
Ah. The dreaded question. “One,” sh
e answered. She should be used to answering that by now.
“Great. Follow me.” The woman led her to a booth in the front window, where she would be on display to everyone in town. She almost told the hostess to move her somewhere quiet in the corner but decided against it. The whole point of being back in town was to tell people she was alive and clear Luke’s name. It made no sense for her to hide away.
“Here you go,” the hostess said, handing her a menu.
Not everything had changed. The menu was still similar and she recognized her favorite soup. She ordered a bowl as well as a half sandwich, then proceeded to people-watch out the window while she ate.
She used to hate eating alone, but the past seven years had changed her perspective. She had learned to take advantage of the time to catch up on her reading, write in her journal, or observe the world around her for patterns and connections.
Now, for instance, she watched a steady stream of women heading into the darling store on the corner, Point Made Flowers and Gifts.
What were they all doing?
She knew the shop was owned by McKenzie Shaw, who had been a friend of hers in high school. For years, she’d been dying to go in whenever she returned to town but had feared McKenzie might recognize her. She had no excuse now.
After finishing her meal and paying the tab, she walked outside. With the typical fickle weather on Lake Haven, the charming afternoon had turned cold and blustery.
Funny, how the mood of Lake Haven could shift so abruptly. Warm and serene one moment, turning angry the next.
She was glad of her cane and her coat as she made her way across the street to the gift shop, unable to resist her curiosity any longer.
With heart pounding, she pushed open the door and was met by the smell of cinnamon and clove and pine, as if Christmas had been bottled into a scent. She was also greeted by a large red poodle that instantly made her miss Fiona.
“Hello there,” she murmured to the dog, who wagged her puff of a tail and planted her haunches next to Elizabeth.
“Be with you in a minute,” a voice she recognized as belonging to McKenzie called out.
“No hurry,” she answered. From the back room, she heard women’s voices in conversation. Again, she had to wonder what everyone was doing here, but she turned her attention to enjoying the store.
This was her favorite kind of place, filled with flowers and crafts and all the things she loved. At the home and garden center where she worked in Cannon Beach, she had tried to bring this same kind of flair but wasn’t entirely sure she had managed to pull it off.
Hearing women’s laughter made her immediately miss Melissa and Rosa. Rosa, especially, would probably spend hours browsing the handmade unique items that filled the shelves. Rosa ran a gift store in Cannon Beach, one she had taken over from her aunt Anna. Elizabeth knew she loved visiting other stores to see what merchants did to display their wares.
McKenzie was particularly creative, using old milk crates and antique suitcases stacked onto each other. Elizabeth found treasures around every corner.
The adorable dog followed close behind her, making Elizabeth wish she could sit down on the floor and pet that curly reddish-brown fur.
A few moments later, McKenzie Shaw emerged from the back room. Not Shaw anymore, Elizabeth remembered. She had overheard gossip during visits here that her old friend had married Ben Kilpatrick. It was McKenzie, mayor of Haven Point, who had been largely responsible for Caine Tech moving to town, and she had been heavily involved in the dramatic revitalization.
“Hi there. Welcome to Point Made.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, doing her best to keep the nerves out of her voice. “You have a...lovely store.”
McKenzie smiled. “All of our items are crafted by local artisans and make the perfect gift for everyone on your shopping list.”
“I can see that. I especially...love your...floral arrangements. Where did you find the...globe amaranth?”
McKenzie’s attention seemed to sharpen and she gave her a closer look. “I have a supplier in town who grows them and dries them for me. They’re spectacular, aren’t they?”
“Yes. I’ve never seen that particular color.”
She had always loved gardening, working with her hands in the dirt, but had never realized what a knack she had for growing things and for floral arranging until she left town. Discovering that particular skill had been an unexpected gift, one she had come to cherish.
“You know your flowers. Are you a florist?”
“I work in a...nursery on the Oregon Coast,” she said.
“Oh, that’s a beautiful area with spectacular flowers. I’m always jealous of your growing season.”
She had come to cherish that, too, the wild Pacific coastline with its deep, mysterious forests, steep cliffs, gorgeous lighthouses.
Since leaving the rehab center in Portland, she had come to call Cannon Beach home. She had friends there, people who cared about her, yet she had never truly felt she belonged anywhere but here.
“You might like to see this, then.”
McKenzie gestured toward a corner of the store that Elizabeth hadn’t yet explored. There, growing in pride of place, was a large blue Phalaenopsis orchid.
“Oh my,” she breathed, struck by the luxurious blossoms and the deep, rich color. “It’s stunning.”
“Thanks. I’ve been growing it for years. People who don’t know flowers do not appreciate how much work goes into orchids.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you...for sharing it with me.”
McKenzie’s smile was genuine. “You’re welcome. Any fellow flower lover is an instant friend.”
They were old friends, not instant friends. Elizabeth wanted to say something about the slumber parties they used to have together and the prank they had played on some football players their senior year. She still wasn’t sure how to handle this whole reveal, so she opted to remain silent for now while she figured it out.
“I’m McKenzie Kilpatrick. This is my store and I see you’ve met my best friend, Paprika.”
She waited, obviously expecting Elizabeth to offer her name in return.
“Hello,” she said, not sure how else to answer.
“Are you staying in town or just passing through?”
Elizabeth had no idea how to answer that. “I’m in town...for only a few days.”
“You picked a gorgeous time to be here. Lake Haven is especially beautiful at Christmastime. Too bad you weren’t here last weekend when we had our Lights on the Lake Festival.”
She remembered those festivals, when boat owners would decorate their watercraft with lights and holiday scenes and float between Haven Point and Shelter Springs. It used to be one of the highlights of the year for her.
“I’m sure it was...lovely.”
“It’s always a good time, but to be honest, I’m always kind of glad when it’s over and we can focus on the holidays.”
“Hey, Kenz. We’re running out of wire. Do you have more?” a woman called from the back room.
McKenzie rolled her eyes at Elizabeth. “Sorry about that. We’ve got a project going on in the other room. We’re making wreaths to auction off to benefit a good cause.”
“Oh. What a...nice thing to do.”
McKenzie had always reached out to help those in need. It was part of her nature, one of the things that drew people to her. She was always thinking about others.
“They’ve actually turned out really well. Would you like to come see?”
Elizabeth hesitated, not certain if she ought to barge into what seemed a private party. All her instincts were telling her she should make her way back to the little house on Riverbend Road.
McKenzie was hard to resist, though. She smiled, gesturing toward the back room, and after a moment, Elizabeth followed.
T
he luscious aroma of evergreen cuttings came from the large pile on the table in front of a dozen women who were talking and laughing and sharing stories.
Elizabeth recognized several of the women. McKenzie’s sister Devin was sitting in a corner talking to a couple of older women, sisters and best friends Eppie and Hazel Brewer.
She saw Wynona Bailey, who had been another friend of hers in school and who was also Elliot Bailey’s younger sister. Wyn, and her younger sister, Katrina, along with Kat’s friend Samantha Fremont, appeared to be struggling to twist the evergreen around the frames.
Elizabeth wanted to wave and slip back out the door but couldn’t resist offering a little advice. “If you...use one continuous wire, you don’t have to make as many wire cuts. The greenery will...hide it.”
McKenzie looked impressed. “You are so right. That would be much easier. Everybody, listen to our new expert. I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
What would these women say if she calmly announced she was Elizabeth Sinclair Hamilton, back from the dead? She tried to imagine their shocked reaction and couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Yes, she needed to go public with her identity but wasn’t quite sure this was the proper venue.
“My friends call me...Sonia,” she murmured.
“Sonia, I don’t suppose you might have a few minutes to help us out, do you? The wreaths are being auctioned at a party this weekend.”
What was waiting for her at that empty little house? Memories, sadness and paint cans.
“Sure,” she said on impulse. “I...would be happy to...help.”
She would only stay awhile, she told herself, then would return to the house.
A woman she didn’t know moved her chair to make room for Elizabeth, offering a bright smile as she did. Another handed her some gloves and an empty wreath form and she went to work.
This was her comfort zone, where she felt most at ease. She quickly covered the form with wired evergreens, then added picks from the selection in the middle of the table.
Coming Home for Christmas Page 9