by Dana Mentink
Nerves fluttering, she escorted Pike to the door. He hung his painter’s cap, now smeared with mossy linen streaks, on a peg by the door. Cool ocean air whispered across the threshold. A perfect moon hung low in the sky, a sweetheart’s moon, her mother used to say.
There will be no thoughts of moons or sweethearts or any other such odd notions, she scolded herself. “Well, good night then,” Rosa said. “Thanks for the help.”
Pike tucked his fingers behind the straps of his overalls, moonlight washing his clothes in pearly silver. “Anything for a friend,” he said. The lighting cast a wistful shadow on his mouth, those full, sweet lips that had turned her heart upside down only hours before. She snapped herself back. He’s a lawyer, a professional peer of Foster’s. What more proof do you need that he’s poison?
Did you do anything interesting today, Rosa? her inner voice teased.
Interesting didn’t even come close.
She pushed the door closed behind Pike and hauled Baggy up to bed.
* * *
DREAMS OF FABRIC PANELS and woven sea-grass carpet awakened Rosa well before sunrise. She tossed and rolled for a while, trying to rid herself of the vision of overall-clad Pike. For a moment, just one tiny second, she allowed herself to remember that amazing kiss. It did nothing to calm her nerves so she tried to push the memory aside by considering slipcover options.
Her feet were icy since she’d forgotten how chilly California’s central coast could get at night. Not wanting to wake Cy, she quietly grabbed the warmest things she could find in her suitcase—an old hooded sweatshirt and a pair of green flannel pants embellished with flying pigs, Cy’s present to her from a long-ago Christmas. She also helped herself to a pair of the sweat socks that lay in a neat pile on a chair. Swaddled against the cold, she crept back into bed and concentrated on relaxing, without success.
Finally, when the clock staggered into the neighborhood of 4:00 a.m., she gave up and went downstairs. She found her father in the kitchen, a cup of instant cocoa in his hands. She hesitated in the doorway, thinking about turning around and departing, but Baggy wobbled down the stairs and joined her. Manny turned, bolted halfway from his seat and knocked over his cup of cocoa, a smile of unadulterated joy on his face that abruptly faltered into uncertainty.
“Dad,” she said, grabbing some paper towels, but not before the stream of cocoa poured onto the floor. Baggy set about trying to lap up the small pool before she sopped it up. She scooted him away before he got more than a mouthful. “Sorry I startled you.”
“You didn’t...” He paused, picking up the mug and wiping the wet bottom on his shirt. “I just didn’t see you clearly.” His eyes were damp.
“What are you doing up so early?”
He shrugged. “Don’t sleep so well sometimes. You?”
“Too many things on the to-do list.”
They settled into an uncomfortable silence.
“So, how’s your helper getting along?”
“Who?” she asked, heart thumping.
“Mr. Overalls.”
“Pike? Oh, he’s great. A good worker.”
He slouched back in his chair. “His family sank that boat, and he knows it. He probably even helped.”
“Dad, stop saying that. You don’t understand. Pike loved that boat.”
“Facts are facts,” he said. “Only thing I couldn’t find was an eyewitness.”
She did not want her father to start up the whole conversation again. “I’ll make some proper cocoa,” she said. “Instant is terrible. That’s one thing Bitsy taught me. There’s always time to make proper cocoa.”
She was babbling.
“No, wait,” he touched her arm and she sat. They didn’t speak. She heard the soft tick of the mantel clock, the creaking of the old house and the faraway drip of the bathroom faucet. Baggy sank down at her father’s feet. “Maybe we can just stay here for a while.”
“Dad, this is weird for me,” she finally managed. “Having you here, working with us.”
His smile was sad. “Yeah, I haven’t been a presence in your life, as the magazines say. Or is it an absentee father? Your brother rolls with it, all right, but I can see it’s not easy for you.”
“You could say that.”
“You took it hard when I left.”
Anger flared hot and bright inside. “Wouldn’t you? If your mother died and your father deserted you? I had the right to take it hard, Dad. You left when we needed you most, when I needed you. Cy tried to be father and brother at the same time, and that wasn’t fair to him, either. You took away his childhood.” Tears threatened. She wanted to wound, to cut his heart like he had hers, and it shamed her, this terrible need to hurt an old man. What had happened to Rosa Franco? To the joy and laughter that used to ring through the Franco family in spite of everything?
He stared into the empty cup. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.
The two words kept her prisoner in the chair, though her body wanted so badly to sprint away. She craved the why, the explanation that would make the pain subside into the comfortable haze of memory. Some fact or phrase that would transform his long-ago departure into something understandable, forgivable. She waited, breath held.
He offered nothing but silence until she could not stand it anymore.
“Going to make that cocoa now,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m sure Cy will want some, too, when he gets up.”
Manny watched her with such grief on his face that her question emerged, pulled out by the heavy emotion that echoed inside her own breast.
“Dad, why did you spill your cocoa when I came in? What startled you so badly?”
He hitched in a breath and forced it out, his voice quivering. “I don’t see so well anymore, I guess. I was sitting here, thinking things over, and then you sort of appeared there in the doorway. Caught me by surprise.”
There was more. She waited.
“You looked so much like your mother.” He smiled then, tears gleaming in his eyes like diamonds. “For a moment, I thought you were her.”
She could not breathe. She could not move until, at last, he got up, looking as though he meant to hug her. “I’m not Mom,” she whispered.
“No, I know that,” he said, throttling the mug in his fingers. “I loved your mother more than anyone on the planet. You’d think her drinking would have changed that, but it didn’t. I guess my heart is a foolish old thing—weak, you see. Worst thing I ever did was to follow it away from you and your brother. I don’t deserve forgiveness for it and I won’t ask.” He looked at her for another long moment and then left, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about making cocoa. I had enough.”
Rosa wandered into the sitting room and collapsed into a wing chair that desperately needed reupholstering. Baggy scrambled onto her lap, turning in three precise circles before easing down onto her thighs. She stroked his black fur, satin soft, feeling the delicate bones underneath that somehow kept the oddball animal together.
“I wish you could understand, Bags,” she whispered. But perhaps the dog knew more about abandonment than she’d realized. Left in a paper bag, dumped like a load of garbage on the back step of a pet store. Had Baggy thought his owners had loved him? Cherished him in spite of his ugliness? Was he surprised to be discarded, left cold, hungry and homeless?
“Were you confused when they threw you away, Bags?” she asked, tears streaming down her face and mingling with his fur. “Did you think maybe it was because there was something wrong with you?” The old pain tugged at her insides as Baggy reached up to lick the tears from her cheeks.
Was there something wrong with you? How many nights had she lain in bed, wishing she was just a little bit better so her mother would stop drinking. Surely a nicer Rosa, a smarter Rosa, a more thoughtful Rosa would be worthy of her mother’s s
obriety.
And some years later, grief would pour out on that pillow again, along with more wishes. If Rosa was just a little bit more loveable, her father would come home. Perhaps a child with a sweeter temper might be enough reason for a father to stay close, a daughter who was better at tending house, one who did not talk back to her teachers. But her father had not returned because, the cruel truth was, Rosa was not enough. Not for her mother, her father, or Foster.
Her adult mind knew she had not been abandoned because of anything she did or did not do. But still, in the quiet moments when Rosa was once again an awkward teenage girl, her heart stubbornly returned to the same question. Is there something wrong with you?
Baggy settled down once again on her lap, allowing her to massage his misshapen head. He did not seem to hold it against the world that he had been thrown away in a paper sack. He took love as it was offered, without filtering it through the lens of past disappointment.
“You’re a good dog, Baggy,” she whispered. “And just in case you’re wondering, I won’t leave you. Ever. We might be sleeping in the car pretty soon, without a kibble bowl to call our own, but I won’t abandon you.”
Baggy sighed, pressed his nose to her thigh and settled into sleep. Rosa pulled the old crocheted afghan around her shoulders and did the same.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“MISS?” A QUIET VOICE called out in her dreams.
Rosa pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders and willed away the interruption.
“Miss?” the voice came again. Rosa opened one eye and a slender woman with a neat bob haircut swam into view.
The dream woman held up a cardboard tube. Strange dream.
“I just wanted to say, Miss, that we’ve used the last of the toilet paper.”
Even stranger. Rosa’s other eye snapped open and she observed a younger version of the woman staring at Rosa’s flying-pig pants.
“Pardon?” was the best Rosa could manage. “Did you say something about toilet paper?”
The woman broke into a shy smile. “Yes. We’ve used the last of it. I just thought you’d want to know. Thank you.”
And with that, she handed the empty roll to Rosa and exited via the front door. Rosa tried blinking hard and shoving the hair out of her face, which did nothing for her mental clarity. Thinking perhaps she was still dreaming, she tossed aside the afghan, noting that Baggy had headed for parts unknown. The clock chimed 7:00 a.m.
“So much for getting an early start,” she grumbled. She’d padded halfway across the floor when the front door eased open and a red-cheeked man holding the fists of two little boys pushed through.
“Hello?” Rosa said. “Can I help you?”
“No, thanks,” he said. “We’re self-sufficient. Bradley, stop yanking Christopher’s hair or you’re going to have a time out.” He hustled them off down the hall.
“Um, sir?” she called after him, but he did not turn around.
Bitsy warbled a cheerful good morning from the kitchen. Rosa hastened in. “I’m glad you’re here. There is a guy with two kids roaming the house.” Rosa gestured toward the hall with the empty cardboard tube. “They went that way.”
“And we’re probably out of toilet paper.” Bitsy grabbed a six pack from the closet and hastened after the man and his sons. “Can you stir the cocoa?” she asked, before disappearing.
“What is going on here?” It was a rhetorical question, as Bitsy was long gone. Rosa did as she was told, finding an enormous kettle of cocoa simmering on the stove.
A set of knuckles rapped on the kitchen door. Rosa yanked it open to find Julio and what appeared to be three miniature versions of him milling around. They immediately thrust out their hands.
“Morning,” Julio boomed. “I hope you’ll stop by and see the historical society exhibit at the town hall. Mrs. Mendez and I are really proud of it. Mr. Herzberg’s letters are going to be a big draw. The power of the written word.” He grinned.
“Er, yes, I’m really excited about that, Julio, but, uh, what are you doing here now? I mean, so early in the morning.” She stared down. “With children.”
He blinked. “We’ve come for the cocoa, of course, and unless you want my three nephews doing a self-service, you’d better get cracking, young lady.”
The sight of the nephews threatening to breach the barricade of the kitchen doorway spurred Rosa into action. She grabbed a stack of disposable cups and began ladling up the sweet beverage until six little grasping hands—plus one meatier adult fist—were all clutching cups of cocoa. The contingent looked from their cups to Rosa.
“What? Too hot?”
“Where, my good woman,” Julio said, “are the marshmallows?”
He had to be joking.
Bitsy sailed in at that moment, swept up a bag of marshmallows from the cupboard and doled out two per cup. “And don’t you all look handsome today. Particularly you, Julio. Is that a new shirt I see?”
He blushed. “Mrs. Mendez said I’ve outgrown the last batch. It’s avocado, she tells me. Do you like it?”
“Very flattering,” Bitsy affirmed. “It brings out your lovely coloring.”
He beamed. Rosa had not noticed before that her aunt was such a flirt.
There was a chorus of thank-yous and the gang headed back down the garden path.
“Have fun at the festival,” Bitsy called. “We’ll see you down there later.” She set about sponging the countertop and putting a second pot on the stove, measuring cocoa and sugar along with a pinch of salt before she slowly added a gallon of milk and whisked with vigor.
Rosa drilled her with a look. “Was there anything you might have forgotten to tell me about this weekend?
“Umm,” Bitsy said, eyes rolling in thought. “I did mention it was going to be busy. I distinctly remember saying that.”
“And what exactly is our role in this boat festival?”
Bitsy stirred. “Well, we’ve always opened our doors, you see, allowing folks to park here, use the bathroom, have some cocoa. The Pelican is somewhat of a focal point for the town. Some families picnic in the garden and look at the chickens if their children are well-behaved. We’ve had a few incidents with Esmerelda, but most everyone knows to give her a wide berth.”
Rosa’s mind began to whirl in helpless circles. “And this hysteria goes on all weekend?”
“We only offer cocoa in the morning hours. That way we can go enjoy the festival, too.”
“I don’t have time to enjoy a festival, Bitsy,” Rosa said, striving to keep her voice calm. “I’ve got an inn to redecorate.”
“I’m afraid you won’t get much decorating done this weekend, sweetie, so you might as well enjoy the fun. We have a presence to maintain.”
Rosa was about to snap off a reply when the squeal of the front door announced the arrival of another visitor.
“I’ll go welcome them. Can you handle the cocoa for a minute?”
Rosa was left to fume. Cocoa? Bathrooms? Chicken tours? How was she supposed to accomplish her mega decorating contest goals with the whole of Tumbledown stopping in for hot chocolate and picnics all weekend? Another rap sounded on the kitchen door.
She wrenched it open.
Pike stood on the porch in his glorious white overalls, looking like an angel poised to deliver good tidings. His hair was brushed, and he was neatly shaved and smelling of some manly soap product. “Good morning,” he said. “I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by for a hot cocoa.”
“Wise guy,” she sniped, splashing cocoa into a cup and thrusting it into his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me the Pelican turns into a full service station for this boat festival thing?”
“I believe,” he said, blowing on his cocoa, “that we tried, but you didn’t want to hear it—which is one of your character flaws.�
� His eyes wandered to her neon green pants. “Is flying pig flannel like a family tartan or something?”
She longed to sink down and disappear into the floor. It had temporarily slipped her mind that she was wearing pants with airborne pigs on them and a hoodie. Her hair was no doubt standing up in clumps and there were hideous sweat socks on her feet. “They were a gift,” she managed. “From Cy.”
“I’m not surprised.” His eyes sparkled and she found herself smiling back.
“Anyway, if you can keep people supplied with cocoa for a few minutes, I was just going upstairs to change.”
“Sure,” he said, flashing her a little-boy look. “But don’t I get a marshmallow?”
He got several. Shoved down the front of his overalls.
* * *
IN SPITE OF THE NOISE and hubbub building in the parking lot and downstairs, Cy was still asleep as Rosa scurried to the bathroom, dressed and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail. When she returned, she gently shook him by the shoulder.
“Up and at ’em, Cy. The invasion has begun.”
He stumbled to the window. “People everywhere. Has Bitsy got the cocoa supply chain running? She told me about it last night.”
“Yes, complete with marshmallows.”
“Sweet. I’ll go help.” He rummaged for a sweatshirt and jeans to exchange for his raggedy blue sweatpants.
“We have to get some work done somehow, Cy.”
“I’ve got a plan for that, no worries. When are we going to the boat festival?”
“Going? I wasn’t planning on going at all. I figured when things slowed down around here, I could get the flooring started.” She was itching to lay down the rich golden carpet squares in the sitting room to form an area rug that would both accentuate the decorative wall stripes and add punch to the old pine flooring. It would add an unpretentious luxury to the room. Rescued from the “discontinued” bin at a flooring outlet, the carpet tiles had set her back only a few hundred dollars. Truly caviar decorating on a bologna and cheese budget.