Not like she’d had anything catered by Bernie lately, though. Once my dad had passed away in that ridiculously tragic hot air balloon accident, my mom had stopped leaving the house and instead spent her days painting ceramic hot air balloons as if she were trying to bring him back to life or something.
In addition to abandoning her social life, her designer put-together look had slowly declined to the point that, seven weeks ago, I’d arrived to find her wearing a wrinkled sweat suit covered with splotches of paint. She’d had long, gray roots too as if she had been skipping her monthly beauty salon treatments, even though she used to be religious about those appointments.
That was why I’d suggested she go see a therapist. She’d blown me off with an annoyed look, so I hadn’t brought it up again in all of our conversations. I knew it was her life to live how she wanted, but deep down I didn’t feel like she was happy anymore.
Hearing footsteps approaching the door, I bounced on my heels, anxious to tell her about my plan to buy Bernie’s Bakery. Maybe that would help show her that change could be good. Then she could change out of those dreadful sweats, which I deeply believed belonged in the garbage can.
The front door opened, and my eyes widened in shock. “Mom . . .?”
“Hello, Melinda.” She smiled, and I resisted the urge to pinch myself. Instead of sweats, she wore a peacock-blue button-up blouse, white pants, and the pearl necklace that had belonged to my grandmother. Her hair was the lovely ash blonde her hair-stylist favored, only she wore it down instead of pulled back. “I’m glad you were available to come over this morning. I have a lot I need to discuss with you.”
“You look so different,” I blurted out, then realized that was the understatement of the year. This was not the same woman whose sweat suit had seemed permanently plastered to her body, nor was this the same woman from my childhood who had preferred neutral colors and wearing her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. My mom had completely transformed.
“Well, I should hope I look different. I’ve been going to therapy twice a week for almost two months.”
My eyes welled with tears. “You’ve been seeing a therapist?”
“What else could I do when my daughter seemed worried about me?” She pulled me into a hug so strong and comforting that I wanted to bury my head into her shoulder like I’d done when I was little. “I’ve had a hard time letting your dad go, sweetheart.”
When she released me, I shifted my stance on the foyer’s marble floor. “And now?”
She smiled wistfully. “I’ll always love him, but I have to start living my life again. In that regard, I have a few important matters to talk about with you. Let’s sit in the family room. I’ve made us some coffee.”
“Before I forget . . .” I handed her the basket of baked goods. “Bernie asked me to bring these to you. I just came from the bakery.”
“How thoughtful.” Her eyes lit up as she lifted the brown and white–checkered cloth and peeked inside. Knowing Bernie, they were all of my mom’s favorites. Zucchini bread. Almond croissants. Carrot cake. She laced her arm through mine, then led me toward the family room. “How is Bernie?”
We passed by the grandfather clock next to the staircase, which began to chime the ninth hour, then we stepped into the family room. Numerous ceramic hot air balloons cheerfully occupied shelves around the room, each balloon and basket hand-painted in a unique color pattern by my mom. On a table in the corner of the room sat a ceramic urn with tiny hot air balloons painted around its middle. Inside the urn were my dad’s ashes.
Having his remains here had creeped me out at first, but I’d grown used to saying hi to Dad when I came in the room. I touched the hot air balloon urn lightly with the tips of my fingers, my throat tightening a bit before I remembered my mom had asked about Bernie.
I faced her, and swallowed. “Bernie’s not well, actually.”
Her brows knitted together as she stopped beside the buffet table. “What do you mean he’s not well?”
“It’s pretty serious.” I didn’t want to sugar coat it, but I felt bad that her expression had changed from relaxed to worried. “His doctor advised him to stop working and rest for two weeks due to heart palpitations. It’s so serious that even Nate is back in town.” Looking hotter than ever, I thought, but obviously didn’t say aloud.
She set the basket of baked goods on the buffet table, next to her rose-patterned china coffee pot and matching coffee cups and saucers. “I need to call Bernie,” she said.
“I’m sure he’d like that.” I pushed the image of Nate out of my mind and sat down on the sofa. I twisted my hands together, nervous about what I was bringing up next. “There’s something else I want to tell you. It’s kind of a huge decision I’ve made, actually.”
My mom continued to stare at the wicker basket on the mahogany buffet table as if she hadn’t heard me.
“Mom?”
She lifted her head slowly. “Hmm?”
I frowned, wondering if she was more distraught over Bernie’s condition than I’d anticipated. “If you’re worried about Bernie, you don’t need to be. I’m managing his bakery for the next two weeks so he’ll be able to rest.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She smoothed out the checkered towel lying across the top of the basket until it was without a wrinkle. “He loves his bakery, though. It will be hard for him to be away. You’ll need to call him every day to assure him everything’s going smoothly. And make sure that nice boy Nate sends a basket of freshly baked bread daily, too. That will cheer Bernie up.”
I mentally huffed. A “nice” boy would’ve called me after the kiss we’d shared. The thought of asking Nate Carter for anything irritated me. If it would be good for Bernie to have freshly baked bread delivered, then I’d rather take it to him myself.
“Fine,” I said, annoyed that she’d gotten so bossy all of a sudden. “But there’s something else I need to talk to you about. Bernie has decided to sell the bakery. I know I’ve turned down the inheritance money from Dad repeatedly, but I’ve decided to finally accept the money so I can buy the bakery. I’ll keep it open and thriving. Isn’t that fantastic?”
“Uh . . .” Instead of excitement or even answering me, her face paled, and she stood abruptly. She went over to the buffet table and poured two cups of coffee, then set them on coasters on the coffee table. “I don’t have that sugar-free syrup you love so much, but would you like cream or sugar?”
“Black’s fine.” I waved a hand. “But didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve found my calling. Customer service was always just a paycheck for me. Owning Bernie’s Bakery is now my dream. I haven’t found out the exact price yet, but I remember how much the inheritance money was over a decade ago. I’m sure that would be more than enough. Since you’d invested it, it’s probably even gone up since then. Right?”
“Quite a bit, actually.” She sat back down again, but instead of reaching for her coffee cup she rubbed her palms against her thighs. “Before we talk about the bakery, I have some things to tell you.”
I didn’t like how her expression had grown distant and how she seemed to look everywhere but at me. “What is it, Mom?”
She cleared her throat. “First, I’m going to have your father’s ashes scattered over the Sierras from a hot air balloon. I’m trying to find a company that will do it, which is proving more difficult than you could imagine.”
I choked on my coffee. “You’re spreading Daddy’s ashes?” My gaze automatically flew to the ceramic urn, to make sure it was still there. “Why would you suddenly decide to do that after thirteen years? Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Your dad left me a letter saying that’s what he wants.” She pressed her lips together, causing the lines on either side of her mouth to deepen. Then she reached into her handbag and pulled out a white envelope, still sealed. “When our lawyer gave me your dad’s will after he passed away, she also handed me an envelope, and told me it was a personal letter from him.”
A
stampede of needles pricked across my chest, and down my arms. “You never told me he wrote you a letter.”
“That’s because I didn’t have the heart to open it.” She dropped her gaze, staring at the envelope she held in her manicured hands, then she glanced up at me. “It’s been sitting in my nightstand drawer all of these years. Part of me felt like if I read his final letter to me, there really would be no turning back. I’m sure that sounds silly.”
“It doesn’t.” My throat tightened as I thought back to how my dad had died so unexpectedly. He had left early in the morning for his big hot air balloon adventure, and hadn’t returned. We never got to say good-bye. “But how do you know that he wanted his ashes scattered in the Sierras?” I pointed to the envelope in her hand. “The letter’s still sealed.”
“After talking with my therapist, I decided it was time for me to read his letter. I read it last night before I called you.” She fingered the envelope, then swiveled it around so the front faced me. “This envelope was inside the envelope for me. It’s addressed to you.”
Chills vibrated through me. I stared at the hand-written script on the front of the envelope: For Melinda
What the . . .?
“That’s for me?” My eyes burned as I reached for the envelope, staring at the two words on the front, which were written in my dad’s familiar handwriting. Covering my mouth with my hand, I turned the envelope over and confirmed it was still sealed.
She laid her hand over mine and squeezed. “If I’d known there was a letter inside for you then I would’ve opened mine right away. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I closed my eyes and nodded, knowing my mom would never have kept something like this from me if she’d known. A letter from my dad after all of these years. “I can’t believe he wrote me a letter,” I whispered.
“There’s something else.” Her tone was ominous.
My eyes popped open. “What?”
She gnawed on her bottom lip for a long pause. “In his letter to me, your dad said not to give you the inheritance money until you finish his Carpe Diem list.”
“His what?” I gaped at the envelope as if it had suddenly grown fangs.
“A list of ‘seize the day’ tasks that he wants you to complete in order to have a more fruitful life.” She took a quick sip of her coffee as if she needed to be recharged. “I don’t know what tasks he made for you, but he left a Carpe Diem list for me, as well.”
My brows came together and I held up my palm. “Let me get this straight. When I turned eighteen, you told me I could have my inheritance money. Now, almost a decade later, you’re saying I can’t have the funds until I’ve completed Dad’s Carpe Diem list even though we don’t know what’s on it?”
She raised her shoulders, and her mouth puckered. “Don’t be upset with me. It wasn’t my choice.”
I waved the envelope in the air. “What if he wants me to see the Great Wall of China first? Or hike Mount Everest? We are talking about Dad here. I could lose the chance to buy Bernie’s Bakery!”
Her penciled-brows drew together. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. But it’s his final wish. You know I can’t go against that, and I should hope you wouldn’t want me to.”
“Well, that’s just great.” I stood, leaving my coffee virtually untouched. “I finally have a professional dream, and now it’s going to slip through my fingers because I can’t complete a list of tasks that I hadn’t known about until five minutes ago.”
She rose to her feet, and stepped toward me. “Sweetheart, calm down. Open the envelope and see what’s on the list. Maybe they’re tasks you can do quickly.”
“Oh, please.” I shoved the envelope in my purse, then crossed my arms over my chest. “Dad was the king of adventure. I’m sure his list includes something like an African safari. I’ll be eaten by a lion before I ever get the chance to buy the bakery—if it’s not sold and turned into a day spa by then.”
My eyes burned. This was suddenly all too much. Bernie’s health problems. Nate’s return. Spreading my dad’s ashes. The inheritance money I hadn’t wanted and now wasn’t allowed to have. The letter from my dad to my mom. His letter to me. . . .
I threw my hands in the air. “I have to go.”
“Melinda, wait—”
“I’ll talk to you later, Mom.” I turned and hurried down the hallway because I couldn’t take any more right now. I walked out the front door, then got into my car and started the engine. My mom had closed herself off from me after my dad had died and her prime concern had been painting a gazillion ceramic hot air balloons. That’s why this letter from my dad hadn’t appeared until now, which had to be the worst timing ever.
I backed out of the driveway unable to believe my dream was being crushed only an hour after I’d discovered what it was. How tragic was that? I pressed my foot on the gas and zoomed down the tree-lined street.
There was only one place I wanted to be right now.
With tears spilling down my face, I rounded the corner, and brought my convertible to a stop against the curb at my childhood park. I swiped at my cheeks, then retrieved the envelope from my purse and left the bag on the floor of the car.
Gripping the envelope in my hand, I marched toward the swing set, which had always been my favorite spot to sit and think when I was sad.
Fresh tears escaped, blurring my sight as I approached the edge of the sandbox that enclosed the swing set area. I stepped over the wooden box and my heels sank into the sand as I plodded toward my swing. Then I glanced up, gasped, and came to an abrupt halt.
In front of me was Nate Carter, sitting on my favorite swing.
Chapter Three
Only one swing set occupied the large sandbox at the park, and it contained two black seats, each hanging from a linked chain attached to an overhead wooden beam. Nate was sitting in the swing to my right, which happened to be my favorite.
He’d ditched the leather jacket and was wearing a short-sleeved shirt—one that showed off his muscular arms—and snug-fit jeans. With the heels of my shoes sinking further into the sandbox, I gaped at him in shock, and watched his gaze lift to meet mine.
Our gazes locked and an electric current ran through my belly, giving me a strong sense of déjà vu. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t fourteen, my dog hadn’t just died, and Nate wasn’t about to kiss me. Far from it. In truth, it was probably a toss-up as to which one of us looked more surprised to see the other.
“What are you doing here?” I quickly swiped under my eyes, hoping I didn’t have black lines of mascara streaked across my face.
He jumped to his feet. “That’s the same question I was about to ask you.”
“I came here to be alone,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint and find someplace else to do, well, whatever it was he was doing. It was hard enough that I’d have to see him at the bakery for the next two weeks. I certainly didn’t need him here right now when I came to my sacred spot for emotional comfort, not distress.
“Well, I was here first.” He backed himself up against the seat of the swing, lifted his legs, then swung forward with a playful grin. “But you can stay if you’d like. Hop onto the other swing. I don’t mind your company.”
With a heavy sigh, I kicked my heels off, then climbed onto the left swing. “Since I can’t have the park to myself, I’d appreciate it if you would pretend I’m not here. I’d like to be alone with my thoughts.”
“Not a problem.” He grinned, then faced forward and pumped his legs to go higher.
Trying to erase the image of his alluring grin, I backed up on my tippy-toes, and sat in the seat. Then I lifted my legs and glided forward. The cool wind whipped across my cheeks and I closed my eyes, waiting for the comfort to wash over me. It didn’t happen.
Most likely because Nate was here. Sigh.
“What’s that in your hand?” His tone sounded curious.
“Nothing.” I twisted toward him, and tightened my grip on the sealed envelope, knowing I couldn’t read it now, not
with him peering over at me. “Besides, you agreed not to talk to me. Remember?”
He had the decency to appear contrite. “Yeah, but you look upset. And this is where you come when something’s bothering you. So why don’t you tell me about it?”
“No, thanks.”
“Come on.” He gave me a side-glance, flashing his gorgeous jade-green eyes at me in an endearing way. “Don’t you remember all of the things we used to share?”
I started to smile, remembering the secrets we would tell each other growing up. Then I recalled how he’d kissed me, then promptly disappeared from my life without so much as a sticky note. The corners of my mouth turned downward. “That’s when we were kids. We’re grown up now.”
“Yeah, it has been a long time since we’ve seen each other.” He glanced away for a moment, then turned back to me wearing a somber expression. “After the last time I saw you, I came home from the park and my parents told me they were splitting.”
“I had no idea that’s when you found out,” I said, wondering if he hadn’t called me after that day because he’d been too devastated over his parents’ divorce. Still, he could’ve sent a letter once things had calmed down.
He nodded. “They also told me that my mom was moving to France with some guy I hadn’t known about, and I had to decide if I was going with her or staying here with my dad.”
“How awful.” I’d heard through the grapevine that his mom’s relationship with that French dude hadn’t lasted. But she’d stayed in Paris and eventually remarried.
His brows furrowed, then he shrugged. “My dad’s always been the strong one, so I decided my mom needed me more. That was the hardest year of my life.”
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