Snowfall on Lighthouse Lane

by JoAnn Ross

  It had gotten harder as the weeks went on. She’d often thought that keeping their relationship secret had added both to the romance of their situation, and upped the sexual tension, because, after all, the forbidden was always a siren call.

  “That’s nice,” she said, dragging her mind back to the present. “Not that Don James is causing a problem, but that the department is helping out like that.” She remembered when her family had received a frozen turkey, yams, a can of cranberry sauce, potatoes and dressing in a bag from the pantry for Thanksgiving dinner.

  Gloria had invited the two women who’d delivered the meal into the house, made them tea and gotten out some Oreos she’d arranged on a flowered plate that had belonged to Jolene’s grandmother, who’d inherited it from her mother. It might not have had some fancy hallmark on the bottom, and it had probably originally been bought at the Newberry’s that had long since closed, but to Jolene it had always represented a family of strong women. Her father, she recalled, had spent that weekend in jail for a DUI after driving his pickup off the dock into the harbor.

  He’d survived. The truck, already rusty from years of rain, had been totaled.

  “It was Aiden’s idea.” Gloria placed the bread on that same flowered plate, handed it across the table to Jolene, then dished up the roast. “And he didn’t just assign it to the deputies. He’s been out and about himself delivering boxes all week. I don’t care what people used to say about him, that boy always had a kind heart.”

  And didn’t Jolene know that firsthand? She wondered, as she always had, what would have happened if she hadn’t gotten mad at him for stealing that damn beer and getting arrested the night they’d both decided to go public as boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Even after he’d broken up with her, she hadn’t given up on him because she’d believed he’d only been thinking of her. As was totally his way. Which was why she’d planned to finally tell him the night before he left for basic training that she loved him with her entire heart and soul and wanted to go all the way, because, well, Marines got sent to war and he could be killed before they’d ever made love.

  Then that very afternoon Jennifer Cherry had told her, with a suggestive smirk, that she’d seen Aiden and Madison Drew all cozy together at the Big Dipper ice cream shop, and in a fit of teenage pique, Jolene had made the mistake of her life.

  Shaking off the painful and unsettling memories seeing him again had caused to come flooding back, she took a bite of the bread. “Wow. This is really good.”

  “It’s from Ovenly. The new owner made Kylee and Mai’s double Wonder Woman cake. And those delicious cookies on the buffet dessert table. I’m sure you must’ve met her at the wedding. Desiree Marchand?”

  “I did. She’s stunning.” And having spent so many years making beautiful women stunning for the camera, Jolene didn’t use that word lightly.

  During their brief conversation before the wedding, Jolene had learned that Desiree was the daughter of a famous pastry chef whose name even Jolene recognized, and a Haitian mother who made hats for a living.

  Apparently, after she’d finished culinary school, Desiree’s father had expected her to return to his restaurant, where she’d started rolling dough as soon as she could reach the marble counter by standing on a stool.

  But instead, wanting to escape his star power, after applying for pastry chef positions in both Portland and Seattle, while she was waiting to be offered a job, she’d visited Honeymoon Harbor and felt an inner click. Less than a week later, she’d turned down three offers from prestigious restaurants, and had bought out Fran, who’d owned Fran’s Bakery seemingly forever, and immediately renamed the business.

  “I’ve been stocking her cookies,” Gloria said. “They sell like hotcakes... No,” her mother corrected with a smile that didn’t give any hints that anything might be wrong, “like the best madeleines ever.”

  “Is she another member of the business club?”

  “She’s the one who got me into it. Our lunch yesterday was wonderful. It was catered by Leaf, a wonderful new vegetarian restaurant I’m going to have to take you to.”

  The conversation moved on to other news, who was getting married, who was getting divorced, who’d left town and who’d arrived. Unimportant topics they hadn’t had time for during the hustle and bustle preparing for the wedding. Not only had they done hair and makeup for the wedding party, but they’d also insisted on doing hair and makeup on all the women from Mai’s extended family, which had turned out to be a crowd. Hawaiians, Jolene had discovered, were very big on family.

  “That was fun,” Gloria said. “Making everyone beautiful for the wedding.”

  “It was,” Jolene agreed. “I’ve been doing makeup for so long, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed working with hair.”

  “I have some brides coming in Christmas week. Maybe you’d like to take a couple? Though I warn you, they’re probably going to want upsweeps.”

  “The dreaded prom hair.” She laughed. Then thought took her back to that day her mother had banned Madison Drew, the senior class queen bee, from the salon after she’d said snarky things to Jolene while she’d been washing Zoe Robinson’s hair. Zoe had allowed her shiny black curls to tumble down her back, that, along with the Empire-waist Grecian-style gown she’d just picked up from the shop and put on at Gloria’s request, had made her look like Aphrodite descended from Mount Olympus—and not the one a few miles away, but the one in Greece where the gods and goddesses all lived.

  Jolene sighed, thinking of Zoe’s too-young death. But, fortunately Seth had moved on and last year had fallen in love with Brianna Mannion.

  “Brianna’s wearing her hair loose for her and Seth’s summer wedding,” Gloria said, as if reading Jolene’s mind. “They’re going very casual and comfortable, with just close friends, so I think it’ll suit both her and the occasion perfectly.”

  “What’s her dress like?”

  “She hasn’t decided yet. Doris and Dottie, who own the Dancing Deer dress shop, ordered three different dresses she admired in one of their catalogs. They’ve been doing quite the business with their You Bring the Groom—We’ll Supply the Dress slogan.”

  Jolene laughed. Back in the early 1900s, the town had voted to change its name to Honeymoon Harbor to celebrate a visit from the king and queen of the European principality of Montacroix. They’d been friends with President Teddy Roosevelt, who’d declared what was now Olympic National Park a monument and recommended that the newly married royals add it to their honeymoon tour of America. The name change had created the uptick in tourism the townspeople had hoped for, including a bustling wedding destination business.

  “Well, that’s not very subtle, but it makes a point,” she said. “I suppose they’re also part of the women’s business group?”

  “They are and I can only hope I have half their energy when I reach their age.”

  Jolene had met the elderly twins at the pre-wedding suite in Herons Landing. They’d been bustling around the B and B, ensuring that the two brides would be turned out perfectly for their big day, smoothing skirts, buttoning buttons, zipping zippers, finishing each other’s sentences as she suspected they’d been doing since birth. They’d been a new addition to the town, bringing in clothing women had once had to travel to Seattle to find.

  Although she’d planned to wait until tomorrow to have this discussion, her mother had just given her the perfect opening. Reaching out for the bottle on the table, she topped off both their wineglasses.

  “I can’t imagine you not being equally energetic at their age,” she said mildly, taking a drink, hoping it would soothe her suddenly jumping nerves. It didn’t. “After all, you’re still young with a lot of living left to do.”

  “Knock on wood.” Her mother rapped her knuckles on the table. Then, eyeing Jolene over the rim of her own glass, asked, “Who told?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT<
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  THERE WAS NO need for Jolene to ask what they were talking about. “I can’t say.”

  “I had to be Sarah. Or Caroline Harper, she was in the salon, too, when I got the call, but Sarah and I have become closer since Caroline began traveling.” She ran her fingers through her hair, which had always been a tell, something she only ever did when she was nervous. “My doctor wouldn’t have breached confidentiality, even though I did list you as my emergency contact and checked the privacy box allowing her to discuss my medical condition with you. But there’s nothing to discuss.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  “No.” Her mother had never been a very good liar. She shrugged. “It’s no big deal. And Sarah had no damn right to interfere.”

  “I’m not saying it was Sarah. But whoever it was only told me because she cares about you. You need to get that ultrasound.”

  “I can’t.”

  “They don’t hurt.” Jolene had accompanied a pregnant, fellow makeup artist whose husband had been working as a carpenter on a movie in New Zealand. “I’ll go with you.”

  Gloria’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It’s not because you need a break. Or even because of the fire, because surely it wasn’t the only apartment in Los Angeles you could rent. You think I’m dying.”

  She’d never known her mother to be dramatic. Indeed, Gloria Wells had always been steady as a rock, able to handle all storms life had brought her way.

  “Of course I don’t!” Which was true. Jolene didn’t have any idea of the seriousness of her mother’s situation, but on the drive from LA, she’d decided to reject that option. “And I honestly do need a break.”

  She opted not to mention also hiding out in case any press tried to descend on her after her signing that public statement that she saw on CNN at the airport was beginning to get some coverage. There was also the breakup. Though she and Chad hadn’t had anywhere near the star power as Brad and Angelina—a power couple breakup that continued, after all these years, to stoke new rumors—both Chad and Tiffany loved the spotlight.

  “But yes, I also want to be here for you. As you’ve always been for me.” Including that night her mother had rushed to the hospital after Aiden’s call, hugged Jolene, who’d been hooked up to a rehydration IV, and assured her that everything would be all right.

  “I’m scared,” Gloria admitted.

  “I doubt there’s a woman in the world who wouldn’t be.”

  “Not of the cancer. The treatment.”

  “Again, it’s only natural to be scared, but if treatment is necessary, that’s why I’m here. And I’ll stay as long as you need.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her mother’s green eyes, so much like Jolene’s, brimmed with tears that spilled down her cheeks. The wine sloshed over the rim of her glass and caused a crimson puddle on the white wood table. “I don’t want to lose my hair.” It came out as a wail. Drawn from the very depths of her being.

  Jolene knew many people would think she was being foolish. Even vain. Who worried about hair when you were fighting for your life? She was also sure that her mother wasn’t alone. For Gloria, hair, especially her own, had always been her life. And she’d been blessed with hair that any supermodel would envy. Hair she’d passed down to her daughter. Hair Aiden had once loved to comb his fingers through while she laid her head on his bare chest that was as physically perfect as the rest of him.

  “I get it,” she said, reaching across the table and taking her mother’s hand. “I really do. I’ve done makeup for stars who’ve asked me how I get my hair to look like this. I always tell them I inherited lucky genes from my hairdresser mom.” She’d often thought that’s why her mother had gone into hairdressing in the first place. Because, looking back through fading Polaroid photos, Gloria Wells, née Rogers, had begun trying out new styles before she’d started kindergarten.

  “But here’s the thing. Even if we get to that point, which we have no reason right now to believe we will, hair grows back. But I honestly can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

  “If I die, I’ll miss having grandchildren,” she sniffled. Jolene stood up and got a box of tissue, reminding her of that camo handkerchief Aiden had given her.

  “You’re not going to die.”

  “Now you have a crystal ball?” Jolene blew her nose and tucked the tissue into the pocket of her sweater.

  “No, but I volunteered to do the makeup for last year’s LA pink ribbon campaign and learned that the five-year survival rate for patients with cancer in one breast is 99 percent.”

  “Which means there’s still that 1 percent who don’t survive.”

  “Mom, listen to me.” She sat down, took hold of her mother’s hand again, this time tighter, and held her damp gaze. “I’m not going to let you die. Because I can’t imagine going through life without my mom.”

  Gloria took the tissue from her pocket and again dabbed at her moist eyes. “I wouldn’t want to miss my grandchildren,” she said again.

  “See?” No way was Jolene going to rain on her mother’s parade by telling her yet again that she had no intention of getting married and having children. She’d witnessed firsthand how hard it was to be a single mom. Women did it every day. With success. She just didn’t want to be one of them.

  She lifted her glass. “And never forget, we’re the Wells girls. Whatever we tackle, we conquer.”

  “I’ve never wanted to burst your bubble, Jolene, darling, but real life isn’t the Gilmore Girls.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Well, it should be.” Jolene sobered. “Whatever happens, dammit, Mom, we tackle, we conquer. Together. The same way we’ve always done. If the situation were reversed, wouldn’t you be telling me the same thing?”

  “Of course. And I’d still make the pot roast.”

  “See?”

  Her mother blew out a long breath. Ran a hand through her hair. Then lifted her glass. “Whatever we tackle, we conquer.”

  Relief, mingled with a very real fear she refused to reveal, flooded over Jolene. “So,” she said, stabbing a piece of beef so tender she doubted Tom Colicchio could top it in a quick-fire challenge, “we’ll call Dr. Jones in the morning and make an appointment.”

  “He retired.”

  “Him, too?” What with Seth’s father, Ben, retiring, then the police chief, and now the doctor who’d treated nearly everyone in Honeymoon Harbor, the town had definitely changed during her years away. Not that she’d expected it to stay frozen in place, like Our Town, that the Theater in the Firs seemed to do nearly every year, but it was still a little unsettling. And Aiden being police chief was at the top of the list.

  “Dr. Laurenne Lancaster bought out his practice. She’s a former Doctors Without Borders physician who inherited her grandmother’s old house and set up her office in it. She lives above the store, so to speak. The same way I do. Do you remember Olivia Lancaster?”

  “Wasn’t she one of the summer people? From somewhere in the desert? Phoenix, or Las Vegas, or something, right?”

  “Close. Palm Springs.”

  “I remember her being mega rich.”

  “An heiress, so the story goes. Her father, who’d be Dr. Lancaster’s great grandfather, was an inventor who held hundreds of patents. One of the later ones had something to do with a machine that cut identical size French fries and onion rings, which helped fast food restaurants become so popular.”

  “So the doctor inherited the inventor’s fortune?”

  “Just the house. Apparently Olivia donated the rest of her estate to charity. Her own daughter Katherine, Laurenne’s mother, turned out to be one of those poor little rich girls who partied too much and went through multiple husbands and, to hear Olivia talk about her whenever I did her hair, threw her life away. She didn’t want to risk any of her future
heirs growing up the same way.”

  “Sounds as if she needn’t have worried about that with her granddaughter.” A Doctors Without Borders physician was the polar opposite of an heiress party girl.

  “True. I met Laurenne once when she was about fourteen, she came to spend the summer with her grandmother while her mother was on an extended honeymoon in the Greek Islands. She’d spent most of her life with nannies and in boarding schools, and was a pretty, but very serious girl then.”

  “I don’t remember her.”

  “Her grandmother kept her on a very short leash. She was too old-school polite to say it, but since she was a terrible snob, I always suspected Olivia didn’t want Laurenne mingling with small-town riffraff. She did allow Brianna Mannion to visit for a sleepover a time or two.”

  “Given that Brianna was essentially the princess of Honeymoon Harbor, I suppose she was deemed socially acceptable,” Jolene said without a hint of envy or malice.

  Brianna Mannion could have used her family’s standing and historical importance in the town to have been a real bitch. But she’d been the kindest person Jolene had ever met. She’d never behaved as if she were above anyone and she’d certainly never treated Jolene as if she’d been below her. Jolene bet all her guests at the newly opened Herons Landing loved her. Her fiancé, Seth, had spent most of Kylee and Mai’s wedding day gazing at her as if she hung the moon and he couldn’t believe his luck that she’d accepted his proposal. Which, Brianna had admitted during the hair and makeup session, hadn’t come easily and had involved some groveling on his part.

  Still, if anyone could have helped him recover from losing Zoe, who he’d loved since middle school, it would have been Brianna.

  “So, getting back to the subject at hand, we’ll make an appointment for the recheck—”

  “I don’t need an appointment. Dr. Lancaster called in the referral and the radiology department at the hospital is open seven days a week. All I have to do is show up for an ultrasound. Which I was assured doesn’t involve any more boob squishing. She also promised that as soon as I got it done, she’d fit me in to her schedule the moment she got the results back. It might take a day or two since the film probably has be sent to a radiologist in Seattle for a second opinion. But apparently they can do it over the internet now.”