by Donna Alward
A car door slammed and Tom turned his head toward the front of the house. Had someone come in? He checked his burger, slid it onto the warming rack, and turned off the burner before going inside through the patio door. Just as he shut it behind him, there was a knock on his front door.
He opened it to find his cousin Sarah on his doorstep, looking her usual bright and cheerful self in jeans, a baggy T-shirt, and a perky ponytail.
“Sarah. This is a surprise. Are Mark and the kids with you?” He looked over her shoulder, but she appeared to be alone.
“Nope, just me. Can I come in?”
“Of course you can.” He said the words easily but he frowned a little. It wasn’t very common for her to show up on his doorstep. She must want something in particular. He could pretty much guess what.
She stepped inside and he offered her a seat. “I was just going to have some dinner. I can put another burger on the grill if you want.”
She shook her head and sank into one of his chairs. He realized his home was very different from her light and airy house overlooking the harbor. The cottage was all wood paneling and hardwood floors and sturdy furniture. The upholstery was dark and plaid—not a floral print in sight. It was snug and welcoming, and quiet and secluded. Just the way he wanted it.
“What brings you by, Sarah?” He kept his voice deliberately casual. “Everything all right with the family?”
“I’ve come to ask a favor,” she said, smiling brightly. “You do know about Josh, right?”
“I heard.”
“We’re having a picnic on Memorial Day weekend to celebrate his homecoming.”
“I heard that, too. Your mom called me yesterday.”
“Oh.”
It seemed very wrong that he and Josh should work so hard at avoiding each other. They had been the same age, with the same interests and friends. They’d played baseball together all through high school—Josh on the pitcher’s mound, Tom at shortstop. They’d double-dated, spent summer afternoons at the beach, and once put a hole in his father’s aluminum boat and had to swim for Aquteg Island before being rescued.
Now they were reduced to this.
He thought of Josh, all alone in his house in Hartford. Josh had been the one to take retirement from the service and set up their home, waiting for the day Erin would be back for good and they could start the family Josh had always wanted.
And then Erin had been killed three weeks before she was due to return. Tom hadn’t always been a good friend or cousin, but he’d be a cold bastard to begrudge Josh the chance to come home and be with his family.
“I already promised to make an appearance, if that’s what you’re here for.”
“Actually, I was hoping you would make us a dance floor for the party. Something like you did for Julie and Adam’s wedding last summer, remember?”
A dance floor. It wasn’t a bit of trouble. Some plywood and nails. It wasn’t that. It was wanting to reach out to his cousin and make amends and being afraid he’d be slapped back. He turned his back on Sarah and walked to the wide bay window with his hands on his hips, gazing out over the water.
She went to him and put her hand on his arm. “Tom,” she said quietly, “hasn’t this gone on long enough?”
He didn’t look at her as he answered. “What you’re asking for isn’t just a dance floor. It’s not so easy to forget.”
Her reply was clipped. “Well, someone needs to make the first move. Or does family really mean that little to you?”
He turned on her then, a little bit angry himself, because he wasn’t sure why the onus always had to fall on him to make things right. Josh wasn’t a totally innocent party, either.
“Don’t you dare accuse me of that, Sarah. Not when you know better. We both know what I gave up in the name of family and brotherhood. Not that it did a damn bit of good.” Tom had stepped aside when push came to shove and they all knew it. He hadn’t stood in Josh’s way.
“You let her go except for the one way that mattered most. In your heart. You said all the right things but we all knew why you moved out here. You’re practically a hermit. You never date. You spend all your time on the job or in your woodworking shop. Please, Tom. Don’t let this continue to drive a wedge between you and Josh when she’s not even here anymore.”
“It’s not that simple,” he relented, softening his words.
She shook her head, her eyes soft. “Of course it isn’t. All I’m asking is for you to try. A visible gesture that you’re willing to take this first step. I miss the old days, Tom. I want to see us all back together again, like it used to be.”
“We’re older now,” he said, quieter. “We can’t go back. It won’t ever be the same.”
For a few minutes they stood in silence, watching the softening light over the cove. A few ducks bobbed on the surface, their bodies sending ripples over the glasslike water. This was why he’d chosen this particular spot in the first place. The cottage had a way of quieting a busy mind and a hurting heart.
“You always were like a mother duck,” he finally said, a smile in his voice. “If we all argued, you came up with a compromise. We got a scraped knee, you went for the Band-Aid. But you can’t fix this, Sarah, no matter how much you try. That’s up to Josh and me.”
He saw her shoulders slump and he closed his eyes, giving in. Why could he never say no to the females in his family?
“I’ll make your dance floor, and I promised Aunt Meggie I’d show up. The rest is up to Josh.”
A smile spread across her face and she raised her arms and hugged him. “Thank you! I knew I could count on you, Tom!”
He chuckled as he gave her a quick hug and then set her back. “Don’t get too excited. You had to know you’d wear me down. Now get going. Don’t you have a family to look after or something?”
“We’re meeting at Sally’s for ice cream after ball practice. I promised Matthew one of her hot fudge sundaes.”
He chuckled. “Just like we used to do when we were kids.”
“Yeah, only Sally is much older now. You’re welcome to join us,” she added.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve still got dinner on the grill.” Which was probably dried out by now, but it didn’t matter much. The way he was feeling, the last thing he needed was to hang around with yet another big, happy family.
He walked her to the door and kissed her cheek before she left. But as she backed out of the driveway he frowned.
Everyone seemed to think that this big reunion was going to be perfect, but Tom got the feeling they were setting themselves up for disappointment. Even if he were willing to make a new start with his cousin, it was a two-way street. And he wasn’t sure it was one Josh was willing to travel.
CHAPTER 6
Abby’s hands were sweating inside the rubber gloves, but she was doing so much cleaning that she didn’t dare work without them unless she wanted chapped skin. For two days she’d scoured and washed and sometimes it felt like she hadn’t gotten anywhere. So far she’d managed to make the master bedroom clean and fresh, as well as the bathroom with its old fixtures, stand-up shower, and luxurious claw-foot tub. Marian Foster had spent considerable money updating the house to modern standards while still maintaining a vintage feel to everything. Running water and electricity were readily available but to Abby everything still looked like she’d stepped back in time. Somewhat grudgingly, she had to admit she liked it. It gave the house character.
The hall and stairwell had been cleaned, the faded carpet on the steps vacuumed within an inch of its life, and she’d taken a whole day to work on the kitchen, wiping walls and cupboards from top to bottom. Her whole body ached. The next time someone asserted that housecleaning wasn’t work, she’d set them straight in a hurry.
A new washer and dryer had been delivered and installed and a trip to the local department store had yielded small appliances like a new toaster and coffeemaker. It made no sense for her to remain in the motel indefinitely, so she’d made her fi
rst priority getting the house in a semilivable state. The work was long and exhausting, but with each clean wall and polished piece of furniture the place was starting to feel less like a derelict.
If only she could shake the uneasy feeling that washed over her now and again. It was cold and unpleasant and settled heavily on her shoulders. She told herself it was just foolishness and an overactive imagination. That it was because she was alone in the huge place. A couple of times she’d actually thought she’d glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye, only to turn to the movement and see nothing.
She had to get this place cleaned and on the market, because if she stayed here too long she was afraid she’d go all the way crazy.
The afternoon was spent vacuuming every possible corner of the library and polishing the wood with oil soap. As each gleaming surface came into view, Abby realized she couldn’t put off making the call much longer. The house looked better as she cleaned, but it also highlighted flaws she’d missed during her first inspection. There was work to be done, work that she couldn’t do herself. And for that she needed Tom.
She stripped off her gloves, took Tom’s card out of her pocket, and grabbed her cell phone, dialing his number with her thumb. Might as well get it over with.
“Arseneault Contracting.”
The deep voice was clearly his. It shivered along her nerve endings like silk. She swallowed. “Tom,” she said. “It’s Abby Foster.”
“Well, well.”
He sounded so smug she wanted to hang up and say to hell with him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She sniffed and rolled her shoulders, trying to relax. “I was wondering if you were still interested in putting together a quote.”
“Of course I am. Just a sec.”
Abby heard what sounded like his hand going over the phone, and then a muffled shout and a crash. “Sorry,” he said, coming back. “We’re just finishing a job and I came inside to hear you better over the noise.”
She put her fingers over the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t considered how convenient it was that his schedule was open when everyone else’s for miles around was booked solid. “How is it you have all this time to fit me in?” she asked. “Every other contractor I talked to is booked right through the summer. Why not you, Tom? Is there something I should know?”
“Every other contractor? So you shopped around and chose me. I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. Didn’t you hear me? Everyone else was booked. Let’s call it a choice of necessity.”
He laughed, the sound warm in her ear. “I heard you just fine. Actually, I’m glad you asked. We had our latest project go bust due to financing, and before that we were set to do a big kitchen renovation down toward Camden, but the marriage hit the skids and now they’re fighting over the house. Everything was put on hold.”
“Oh.”
“Well, my loss is your gain. Or my gain too, if you’re serious. Did you check my references? I do good work, Abby. You can trust me.”
Ha. Trust. This was the second time he’d asked her to blindly believe him, and Abby didn’t trust anyone these days. She’d learned the hard way that people rarely kept their word. Trusting was just a sure way to get hurt. Even Gram, who’d been the most stable person in her life, had obviously been keeping secrets.
She pressed the phone to her ear. “I’d rather have some facts and figures to go by,” she replied dryly.
“I can drop by tomorrow morning. We’ll be wrapped up here by this afternoon and I can give you all the time you need.”
There was no reason why his words should cause a stupid fluttering in her chest. No reason why the air in the library should suddenly feel close and cloying. But the idea of having a man like Tom Arseneault at her beck and call was enticing and made her feel a little giddy.
“I’ll be here. Cleaning.”
His low laugh rippled along the line. “It’s quite a job, huh.”
“You have no idea. It’s a blessing I’m not an asthmatic.”
He laughed. “It’ll be worth it, Abby. We’ll bring the old girl back to life, you’ll see.”
She didn’t know what was more attractive—the idea of the restored mansion or the image of Tom Arseneault in his work boots and a plaid shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow,” he echoed.
As she hung up, she pressed a hand to her forehead. She needed help. Rugged carpenters weren’t her type. For goodness’ sake, she hadn’t dated in so long she didn’t even have a type. And the idea of restoring the house should make her relieved, not excited.
Still. Maybe tonight she’d paint her toenails. She had a new shade in turquoise she’d been dying to try …
* * *
Abby gave up on the pedicure. After a long day of scrubbing and scouring, she was too tired to cook so she ventured into Breezes again, greeted by the savory scent of pot roast, seafood chowder, and fresh bread. She recognized a few faces already and smiled as they nodded in greeting. Instead of taking a table and sitting alone, she sat up at the counter, perched on a wooden swivel stool with a rung back. The fastest thing to order was the chowder, and within seconds a steaming bowl was placed in front of her along with a plate holding the largest dinner roll she’d ever seen.
“This smells fantastic,” she complimented the woman behind the counter. “Thanks.”
“You need anything else, give a holler.” The woman looked over Abby’s head. “Evening, Art. Sweet tooth acting up again?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Be right back.”
A man sat up to the counter a few stools over and Abby stole a look. Older than Luke Pratt for sure, probably in his sixties or more, with a friendly face and a slight potbelly. She smiled as he looked over, then turned her attention to her bun—really the size of a small loaf. She broke off a piece and spread it with butter. The real stuff—no artificial low-fat anything here, she realized. The sign said home cooking and they meant it.
“You’re Miss Foster, aren’t you?”
Abby supposed this would go on until she’d met everyone in the town, so she reluctantly looked away from her steaming chowder and smiled. “I am.”
“You’ve got your great-aunt’s smile. Art Ellis. May I?” He nodded at the stool beside her, and when she agreed he slid over, taking off his Bruins ball cap. “I used to look after the grounds up at the house before Ms. Marian took sick.”
Her smile came easier. At least Ellis wasn’t just being nosy, he actually had a connection to the house. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Town’s been buzzing with the news that you’re here, but I didn’t want to intrude. Thought you might be sort of a private-type person, like Marian was.”
The waitress put a gigantic piece of apple pie in front of him, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream that was already starting to melt. “Linda, you’re an angel.”
“Our little secret,” Linda replied with a wink. “And if you blame this on me and Margie asks, I’ll deny it.”
He grinned at Abby, then took a bite of his pie and sighed contentedly. “My missus would have a fit if she knew I was eating pie. Worries about my girlish figure. But Linda here makes the best pastry in town.” He grinned, a sideways smile that made him look boyish, and patted his stomach. “Wouldn’t want Margie to know I said that, either.”
The smell of apples and nutmeg was heavenly. Abby sipped her water. “My lips are sealed.”
He ran his hand over the thinning hair at the top of his head. “There’s lots of speculation about you, Miss Foster.”
She met his gaze. “Call me Abby. And I’m just as curious about the town as it is about me.” She was surprised to realize it was true.
“It’s true, then? That you never knew Marian?”
She didn’t know why she was shocked that he should know that. “News travels fast around here. So you were the gardener?”
He nodded. “Of a sort. I cut the grass and kept the trees prune
d, did odd jobs around the house. But the garden, that was all Ms. Marian. She loved her garden, especially the roses. She always had the nicest blooms. I’d hate to see the state of it now.” He shook his head.
“It’s a mess,” Abby confirmed. “I don’t think it has been touched since she stopped living at the house.”
“A shame,” he said, cutting through the flaky crust of his pie. “After all the work she put in. The house probably isn’t much better, is it?”
Abby smiled back. “I got the feeling that Captain Foster built it to withstand any storm, but it needs some attention,” she conceded. “I need to have it assessed, but my initial impression is that it’s sound.”
“You should have Tom Arseneault have a peek at it. That boy knows what he’s doing.”
That “boy” had to be thirty years old and was the size of a barn door. “So I’ve heard,” she replied dryly. Ellis didn’t need to know she’d already asked Tom for a quote. Besides, she was sure the gossip mill would have everyone well informed about it all in no time anyway. “You know the house well, Mr. Ellis. I’d love to learn more about it. It’s on Foster Lane, but more than once I’ve heard it called Blackberry Hill. Do you know why that is?”
Art sat back against the padded seat. “It’s been called that for years. Blackberries grow wild all over that side of the mountain. You take a walk up sometime and check it out. Between them and the blueberries, the odd black bear’s been known to show up now and again.”
“I haven’t gone up yet. Is there anything up there?”
Art nodded. “There’s still one of the old barns from when it was the Prescott farm. That’d be your great-grandmother Edith’s family.” He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret, and damned if she wasn’t drawn in. “When I was younger there was a rumor that the barns and buildings were hiding spots for spies during the war. But that’s just a bunch of romantic talk. The Prescotts moved away after Edith and Elijah married and years later the old house burned in a lightning strike. The barn’s still there, and the gate was put across the road because teenagers used to go up there and get up to no good in the barn.”