Flattery didn’t work. Sabrina scowled at her hamburger.
She did help clean up after dinner without grumbling, though. That was something. But after that, just as Aunt Edie was proposing a game of cards, she asked Jenna, “Mom, can I talk to you?” and tugged on Jenna’s sweater sleeve.
Oh, boy. Jenna wished she could say, “No, you can’t,” but she followed her daughter out into the living room. “Okay,” she said once they were out of earshot. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to be here.”
Hot news flash. “Sabrina, we’ve only been here a couple of days.”
“I hate it. I miss Daddy.”
“You’ve been texting him, right?”
Sabrina scowled. “He sucks at texting.”
In other words, he was ignoring her.
“I want to go home. I want to live with Daddy for the summer.”
This again. They were caught in some kind of time loop, doomed to have the same conversation over and over and over. “You know that’s not how things have been set up.” And you can thank your shithead dad and his new woman for that. “You’re just going to have to try and be happy here. Look for the rainbow in the storm.”
“That’s such a stupid saying,” Sabrina spat.
“But it’s true. There’s always something good you can focus on, something to be happy about,” Jenna said as much to herself as her daughter, and reached to pull Sabrina into a hug.
She jerked away. “Not here. There’s nothing good and I’m not happy and you don’t care!”
“Of course I care. Good grief, Sabrina. Do you think I get up every morning thinking of ways to make your life miserable? I’m doing the best I can and I’d appreciate it if you’d make some small effort to be happy.”
“I would be if you’d let me go live with Daddy. But you won’t and I hate you!” Having sliced her mother’s heart in two, Sabrina ran from the room and up the stairs.
Jenna shook off the shock and marched to the bottom of the stairs and hollered up, “Well, I love you!”
No response other than a slamming bedroom door.
“Even though right now you’re not very lovable,” she muttered. She sat down on the bottom stair and bit back the good cry she wanted to indulge in, wiped away the stinging tears. Darn it all. Why didn’t anyone ever tell you how hard it was being a parent?
Simple answer there. No one would sign up for the job and the whole race would die out.
She had to force herself to go back into the kitchen, where Aunt Edie was scrubbing down the counter. Again. “Is everything all right?” she asked, not turning to look at Jenna.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Jenna lied.
Aunt Edie turned to face her. “I really meant this to be a blessing for you,” she said in a small voice.
And no good deed ever went unpunished. Her poor aunt. Poor her. Poor all of them.
She hurried over and gave the old woman a hug. “It is a blessing.” A very well-disguised one. “And everything’s going to work out.” Who was she kidding?
“At least we have one reservation,” Aunt Edie said. “He’s arriving this week. That will get some money coming in.”
Until he saw his room.
Hopefully, he was blind.
“Come on, let’s forget our trouble and play cards,” Aunt Edie said.
Her daughter didn’t want to do anything with her, so Jenna settled at the kitchen table with her aunt for a game of Hands and Buns, Aunt Edie’s all-time favorite.
Once upon a time Jenna used to love to play cards, but at the moment it was hard to focus on the game when she felt like she’d landed in a sick version of a fairy tale. Cinderella arrives at the prince’s castle only to discover she’s gotten stuck with a ruin, and she’s still expected to do the cleaning. Jenna’s aunt was expecting her to somehow turn into a superhero and save the day, and her daughter thought she was a superloser and hated her. Who cared how many red canastas she got? Never mind canastas. She needed money.
By the time she finally went to join the dolls in her bedroom she was mentally exhausted and discouraged. She shed her clothes and slipped into her sleep tee, then went to the window. The wind had blown away the clouds and it was a clear night. You could see a million stars in the sky and a half-moon was shining over the water. She opened her window and the smell of clean air and kelp drifted in. She let the soft sounds of waves rolling onto the beach slip in to soothe her.
It was beautiful down here. Perfect. Timeless. She’d always loved the beach. She still did. She leaned against the window and thought about something Damien said once said to her when they were first together: “I’m your ticket to greatness.”
He’d said it jokingly, but he’d meant it. Without him, he was sure Jenna and her little massage business and what he called her cute little crafts would never make much of contribution to the world. Okay, so maybe rehabbing a motel wouldn’t make her famous. But it would make her and everyone who came to stay there happy.
This was where she belonged. This was home.
Chapter Six
To Do:
Go through the Driftwood’s books and
assess financial situation
Organize office
Try to find the bright side so I can look on it
Monday morning dawned sunny and perfect. The sky was blue and the water was sparkling and Jenna could hear the gulls playing. Ah, life was good at the beach.
She showered and dressed and read a little of Muriel Sterling’s book on starting over for inspiration, then went to check on her daughter.
Sabrina was awake, sitting on her bed in her pj’s and drawing in her sketchbook. She seemed to have set aside her hatred of the day before and was ready to fly her kite until Jenna reminded her that they needed wind.
“There’s wind,” Sabrina said, pointing out her bedroom window to where the grass on the dunes was barely moving.
“That won’t take your kite very far.”
Sabrina’s mouth pinched tightly in irritation.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get some good kite flying weather,” Jenna assured her.
“Yeah, when I’m three hundred years old,” Sabrina grumbled. “What are we going to do today?”
“Well, one of ‘we’ has to go over to the motel and do some paperwork. But don’t worry, we’ll do something later,” Jenna hurried on before her daughter could protest. “The wind usually picks up in the afternoon. So, while you’re waiting for me to finish, maybe you can clean the upstairs bathroom for Aunt Edie.” Knowing her daughter, that would take her at least an hour.
“I guess,” Sabrina said with a sigh and a shrug.
At least there’d been no more talk of going home to Daddy. Jenna took that as a good sign. She was smiling when she went down to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee.
Aunt Edie had beaten her there and was pulling a coffee cake out of the oven. Ah, the aroma.
Eat, eat, eat! cried Jenna’s taste buds. Give us a break, begged her hips.
“You’re just in time,” Aunt Edie told her. “I’ve made blackberry coffee cake, your favorite.”
“Everything you make is my favorite,” Jenna said. “But just a cup of coffee for now. I want to get over to the office and start sorting through things.”
Aunt Edie didn’t look all that thrilled to have things sorted through. Jenna might as well have said, “I’m going to take you to the dentist and the gynecologist today. And when we’re done I’ll run over your foot with my car.”
“We need to know where we stand,” she reminded her aunt gently.
“I know,” said Aunt Edie. “But remember, I have that money in savings.”
“No worries,” Jenna lied. She grabbed a mug of coffee, then took her laptop over to the motel office to work.
A calico cat sat outside th
e office, licking a paw. It stopped at the sight of Jenna and regarded her curiously. It had no collar but it looked well fed. Hardly surprising, considering that the Seafood Shack was right next door.
“Hey there, kitty,” she said, and bent to pet it.
The cat pushed its head against her hand and mewed, then slid along her leg.
“Wouldn’t my daughter love you? But I don’t think Roger would.”
Okay, Jenna, you’re stalling. She gave the animal a final pat and went inside.
Her first order of business was to try and sort through the piles of paperwork that lay on her aunt’s desk. Aunt Edie may have had an iPod and iPad and smart TV, but her record-keeping methods were stuck in the dark ages, with receipt pads from decades ago and records kept in notebooks and folders in an ancient metal filing cabinet. A phone as old as Jenna sat on the office desk along with an answering machine that belonged in an antique shop. Jenna found loan papers stuffed in the desk drawer and, after looking at the figures made her bilious, she shoved them back in and shut the drawer. Catalogs for everything from linens to home decor cluttered the desk, and Jenna set those aside and opened the reservation book. It was sparsely populated.
Actually, it hadn’t been populated since the previous August. Hardly surprising considering the state of the place. She turned on her computer and checked the online reviews. They didn’t exactly lure people in.
What a dump. I thought I was staying at the Bates Motel...
After one look at our room we decided not to stay. The crazy old woman running the place offered us a discount. She should have offered to pay us to stay...
I wouldn’t put up my dog there let alone a person.
With such glowing recommendations, it was a wonder they even had one guest lined up for summer. Seth Waters. Was he clueless? Desperate? Broke? Aunt Edie had dutifully written down his contact information in her reservation book and Jenna decided to call him.
A deep voice that made Jenna think of Vikings or pirates answered on the second ring.
She cleared her throat. “Is this Seth Waters?”
“Yes,” the voice answered suspiciously.
“Oh.” Duh, of course it was. “Hi. I’m Jenna Jones and I’m calling from the Driftwood Inn.”
“Is there a problem?” asked the voice.
“No, not at all. I’m just calling to confirm your reservation.”
“I’ll be there,” said Voice, making Jenna’s nerve endings thrum.
“I felt I should tell you that we’re undergoing some renovations here.” That was putting it mildly. Jenna’s right eye began to twitch.
“That won’t bother me.”
“Your room is a little...” Subpar, pathetic, disgusting. “That is, well, it needs some work.”
“That’s not a problem. I’m not particular, and the price is right.”
Okay, good news. The nervous tic settled down.
“I told whoever I talked to earlier that I don’t know how long I’ll need it, probably for a few weeks. I’m starting a new business in town and I’ve got to get that going before I look for someplace to rent.”
“Not a problem,” Jenna said. “We can make room for you.” We have nothing but room.
“Good,” said Voice. “Thanks for calling.”
“Thanks for choosing the Driftwood Inn,” Jenna said, and ended the call. At least they’d have one paying customer. Maybe they could pay the electric bill. She decided to go to the local consignment store and see if she could pick up some cute bargain bedding for their guest’s bed. At least the bed would look good. She sure hoped he’d meant what he said when he told her he wasn’t particular about his lodging.
She sorted through more papers, looked at a pile of bills and decided it was time to meet with Aunt Edie’s accountant. She wasn’t sure what he’d be able to tell her that she hadn’t already figured out, but she called for an appointment, anyway. Whitley Gruber could fit her in at eleven. Should she be happy or terrified?
She set aside the pile of papers and went back into the house in search of more coffee. Sabrina had come down now and Aunt Edie was plying her with hot chocolate and blackberry coffee cake. Pete was present, too, enjoying a generous slice of the treat.
“Are you ready for some of this now, dear?” Aunt Edie asked Jenna.
“No, but I’ll take more coffee if there’s some left,” Jenna said, moving to the vintage coffeemaker. “I have a few more things I want to do in the office before I go see the accountant.”
“You’re going to see Whit?” Now Aunt Edie looked as if Jenna had changed her mind about running over her foot and was upgrading to vehicular homicide.
“It will give me a clearer picture of where we stand.” The picture was already ugly, but what the heck.
Aunt Edie scowled. “I hate talking with Whit. He’s always nothing but doom and gloom.”
“Yeah, but he saved you money on taxes last year,” Pete said to her. “When you run a business, you got to have an accountant, Edie, old girl.”
Pete, the fount of all wisdom. “So, Pete, what does Aunt Edie have on the agenda for you today?” Jenna asked.
He scratched the back of his head. “Well.”
“How about fixing that broken sign out front,” Jenna suggested.
“Oh, yes. Pete’s been meaning to get to that,” Aunt Edie said in the old loafer’s defense. “Haven’t you, Pete?”
“I have,” he said.
“And then maybe you can fix the broken front porch step,” Jenna added.
Pete glared at her. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”
They should be so lucky. “I think you can handle doing two things in an eight-hour period,” Jenna said.
“More coffee cake, Pete?” Aunt Edie put in quickly.
Jenna shook her head and left. They’d be lucky if the sign even got fixed.
The office of Gruber Accounting was located in a small building pretentiously called the Moonlight Harbor Business Complex on Sand Dune Drive. It shared the building with other businesses such as Williams and Weaver, Attorneys at Law; Drew Anderson, Architect; and Beach Dreams Realty. The landscaping was typical of the beach—pampas grass, river rock, shells.
Whitley Gruber was as plain as his office, a man somewhere in his sixties, with a high-tide hairline, glasses, a rail-thin body and an even thinner mouth that drooped at the corners, wearing black slacks and a white shirt complete with pocket protector.
He managed a smile for Jenna and shook hands with her, welcoming her to Moonlight Harbor. “I’m glad your aunt’s finally got some help,” he said as they settled at his desk.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” Jenna said. “It looks like we’ve got a cash flow problem.”
“You do. That’s nothing new. I’m afraid Edie’s had trouble managing since Ralph died.” He shook his head. “I’ve advised her more than once to sell the place before it comes down around her ears. The land’s valuable and if she sold it and invested the money she could live quite comfortably for the rest of her life.”
“She doesn’t want to sell,” Jenna said.
Whit removed his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “I know she doesn’t. Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
This wasn’t how Jenna had wanted their meeting to go. Although, really, what had she come in expecting to hear?
“The good news is, right now she’s got a tax write-off,” he said.
“You can’t live on a tax write-off.”
“Talk to her. The Driftwood Inn has seen its day. She should move on.”
Seen its day. How sad. It seemed that, eventually, everything unraveled. But if they pulled the plug on the Driftwood Inn it would be the same as pulling the plug on Aunt Edie. The old place had potential. Surely there were still memories to be made there.
Jenna sigh
ed, thanked Whit for his time and left, discouraged but determined.
Not watching where she was going, she found herself colliding with a tall man with a broad chest tucked inside an expensive shirt. The slacks and shoes didn’t look cheap, either. Hair bleached blond from the sun, tanned firm skin, baby-blue eyes with only a few crinkles at the edges, probably somewhere in his forties. He smelled like expensive aftershave and success.
“Sorry,” she said.
“My bad. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“I wasn’t, either.”
He nodded at Whitley Gruber’s door. “Meeting with your accountant can do that to you. Are you new in town?”
“I am,” Jenna said, and introduced herself.
“Ah, the amazing niece has arrived,” the man said with a smile. “I’m Brody Green. I own Beach Dreams Realty. We make your dreams a reality,” he added with a grin.
If only he could do that for her and Aunt Edie. “Nice slogan,” she said.
“Thought it up myself. It came to me in a dream.”
“Really?”
He chuckled. “No, but it sounds good. So, how long have you been in town?”
“Just got here on Saturday.”
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Then you probably haven’t had a chance to enjoy any of our fabulous restaurants. How about lunch?”
Newly divorced and going out to lunch with a good-looking man. Was this wise?
Probably not. “I’ve got a lot to do,” she hedged.
“Me, too. But hey, we’ve got to eat, right? How about it?”
She threw caution to the beach breeze. “All right. Why not?”
“Good. How about the Porthole?”
“Sounds great. I haven’t been there in years.”
“Come on,” he said, “we can take my car.”
She’d as soon follow him in case she wanted to make a fast escape, but he was already walking out the door so what the heck. Once she saw him opening the door on a late-model red Mustang convertible she decided she’d made the right decision. A good-looking man who had a great car and probably plenty of money to fill it with gas, as well as money for incidentals like lunches out. Ha! Take that, Damien.
Welcome to Moonlight Harbor Page 8