by Judith Yates
Confusion flashed across his face, then it was forgotten in anticipation of lunch. Bridget sent him off to wash up.
Amy hung her jacket on the old-fashioned coat rack in the hallway. “Willy was confused because his dad wasn’t at the firehouse when we stopped there. I tried to explain to him.”
“Greg used to take him down to visit whenever George was on duty. He probably expected his daddy to be there like always,” Bridget explained. “I don’t think Willy’s been to the firehouse much since Greg died.”
“My father spent a lot of time with the kids?”
“I’ll say. Made up games for them all the time. Took them for walks. Helped George assemble toys on Christmas Eve. And every Fourth of July, he’d take his classic 1952 Buick convertible out of the barn to polish up so he could show off the kids in Tremont’s parade.” Bridget smiled at the memory. “Of course the kids were very small then, but my George had a ball riding with them.”
Although Amy felt a pang of jealousy, she was glad her father had had the chance to be something of a grandpa. She also was glad to learn something new about him. “I didn’t know he kept a classic car,” she said, “I’d love to take a look at it sometime.”
Bridget’s expression changed, her gaze lowered to the floor. “Mom sold it not long after Greg died. Although it practically killed her to do it. But there were a lot of expenses, and money’s tight around here even now.” Then she added quickly, “It was registered in Mom’s name, too.”
Tension hung in the air. Although Amy wished she could have seen the car, she didn’t dispute Bernadette’s right to sell it. She also knew about Bernadette’s money problems—the inn’s money problems. Yet having it expressed out loud had made them both uncomfortable, and Amy didn’t like it. She decided it was time for the wall between her and the Ryan daughters to fall.
“Look, Bridget, I’m aware the inn’s strapped for cash. That’s partly why I had to come here,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Let’s not pretend with each other anymore.”
Bridget’s shoulder’s sank with relief. She touched Amy’s arm. “I hate pretending, too.”
“What’s for lunch?” Willy cried as he burst back into the hall, his little sister trailing behind him. “I’m hungry.”
“Grilled-cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.” Bridget turned to Amy. “There’s plenty extra. I hope you’ll join us.”
“I’d love to.” The inn did not serve luncheon, so it was kind of Bridget to think of her. Even more, Amy liked being included. She wasn’t sure why, but this time it struck the right chord.
Bridget brought out the food while Amy helped the kids get settled at the same table they’d used at breakfast. Both Willy and Jenny dug into their food with gusto. Amy, too, was hungry after her little hike with Willy, and the simple lunch was warm and filling.
“My mother called while you were out, Amy,” Bridget mentioned as they ate. “She wanted me to make sure Paul gave you that phone message last night. From a Jeff Martin?”
The mention of Jeff and the reminder of Paul and last night made her skin feel as hot as the tomato soup. Bridget gave her a look that made Amy wonder if she had turned as red, as well. “Yes, he gave it to me.” But Bridget continued to stare, compelling her to add, “Jeff’s an old boyfriend, that’s all. I’ll probably call him after lunch.”
Amy was amazed she had invoked Jeff as an excuse to cover her discomfort. That was a first.
“You mean you haven’t phoned him back yet?” Bridget sounded surprised.
“There’s no rush.” Amy had planned to call Julie first to hear about Shawna’s morning audition. Then she’d call Jeff.
Bridget smiled and shrugged. “I guess not if he’s an old boyfriend.”
After lunch, Bridget put the kids down for their naps, and Amy returned to her room to make her phone calls. The news was good about Shawna. Julie claimed the ad agency had been impressed with her and would be phoning back. The call with Jeff went pretty much as she’d expected. At the end they wished each other the best and said goodbye.
Lying on her bed, with the pounding of the workmen in room 16 occasionally butting into her thoughts, Amy felt relieved to be finished with Jeff at last. She realized the dull ache that had weighed her down for months was no longer lodged in her heart. When had that happened?
The rest of the day continued in the usual mundane way at the inn: languorous and quiet all afternoon, followed by the frenetic activity surrounding the two dinner sittings. As expected, Bernadette was too busy upon her return to take time for Amy. Bridget left with the children at six, and Maura’s shop was opened late on Tuesday nights. That left Amy to sit alone at dinner.
She didn’t mind being by herself. The young waiter was charming and solicitous, the food was excellent, as usual, and Bernadette had given her a lovely table near the fireplace. The warmth from the steady blaze soothed her, yet the mandolin’s mellow refrains and the candlelight reminded her of the first night she had sat there with Paul. Amy did mind thinking about him. But somehow she couldn’t stop. She half hoped he’d walk into the dining room and sit at her table. She was half afraid he actually would.
After finishing her meal, Amy decided to turn in early and attack the historical novel she’d tried to start yesterday. She was on her way upstairs, when she heard Bernadette calling her from the main hall below.
“You’re going to bed already?” the older woman asked. “I thought we might talk over a glass of wine after I finish up in the dining room. Shouldn’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes.”
Amy couldn’t believe her ears. “That would be great,” she said, coming back down the stairs. “I’ll wait for you in the Pub Room.”
The cocktail lounge wasn’t very busy, reflecting the inn’s midweek occupancy. Amy sat at the bar and chatted with Bud while he filled drink orders. By the time Bernadette appeared, Amy was showing Bud how to mix an obscure exotic drink a guest had ordered. “Where on earth did you learn to make those?” Bernadette asked.
“I tended bar at Rehobeth Beach the summer after I graduated from college. It was an extremely long summer, but I learned them all.”
Stepping behind the bar, Bernadette reached for two white wine goblets. “Your mother allowed that?”
“Well, she wanted me to go to Europe with some sorority sisters.”
“But you had a mind of your own, I see.” Bernadette chuckled. “Just like your father, God rest his soul.”
Stunned, Amy followed the older woman to a table across the room. In her entire life, no one had ever compared her to her father. No one.
Unnerved by her remark, Amy watched Bernadette sip her wine. Lovely pewter teardrop earrings dangled along her strong jaw. She was a handsome woman with a free grace and style that was so unlike her mother’s polished beauty and rigid ways. Greg Riordan had gone from one type of woman to a total opposite. Amy wondered why.
Bernadette put down her glass. “I called Paul this afternoon and asked him to come this evening. I thought you might have liked some company during dinner.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Amy said, being careful not to sound as flustered as she felt. Thank goodness he hadn’t come, she thought with relief, choosing to ignore a pesky stab of disappointment.
“It was no trouble,” Bernadette replied with a shrug. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t get away. Said he had a lot of work to catch up on.”
Paul’s lame excuse told Amy what he thought about last night and what he thought of her. If he didn’t want to be bothered, that was fine with Amy. As far as she was concerned, he was doing them both a favor.
“But maybe he can come tomorrow,” Bernadette suggested. “I’ll call him again to arrange it.”
“No. Don’t,” Amy blurted out. “I mean, we shouldn’t pressure him if he’s so busy.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Bernadette looked perplexed as she leaned back in her chair. “But maybe in a few days&h;”
Amy said nothing, hoping her
silence would spur Bernadette on to a different topic. She wasn’t disappointed.
“I don’t suppose you know how Greg came to buy the inn,” Bernadette said.
“I know virtually nothing about my father’s life after he and Mother split up. We had little contact.”
“Apparently he never stayed in one place too long,” the older woman revealed. “He had worked a variety of jobs at motels and small hotels all around the country.”
“How did he end up in Tremont?”
“When he got a job at one of the chain motels in Winchester, he rented a room at the old boarding house across from the general store.”
“You mean the house that’s the bed-and-breakfast now?”
Bernadette nodded. “I worked there at the time, cooking and cleaning. That’s how Greg and I met, and after about a year we decided to move in together. Right about that time, the Stanley House—this inn—came on the market. Your daddy wanted it badly—as a business and for a home for us.” She went on to explain how Greg had gone about raising the necessary money to add to the sizable nest egg he’d saved during his years on the road.
Amy drank in every word, learning about a Greg Riordan who had craved a home after years of drifting, and who was resourceful enough to make the dream happen. How different this was from the picture her mother had painted of him!
“You changed the inn’s name?” she asked, her throat tightening as she broached the subject that had convinced her to come to Tremont.
“Greg insisted, and I saw no reason not to. Stanley House held no significance for us, or for anyone, really. Stanley is the name of the man who owned it before us.”
“I see,” she murmured, trying to keep the emotional connotations of her next question from weakening her voice. “Then why Touch the Blue Sky?”
“Greg thought of it,” Bernadette replied lightly. “Different, isn’t it? But pretty.”
“That’s all? He didn’t say how he thought of it?”
“It seemed to fit, what with the mountains and the gorgeous vista and all,” Bernadette explained. Lifting her wineglass to her lips, she paused before drinking. “I did ask him where it came from. He just shrugged and smiled with this faraway look in his eyes. He liked the way it sounded—said it reminded him of happy times.”
“He said that?” Amy gasped with astonishment. “My father really said that?”
Bernadette stared across the table at her, puzzled by her reaction. “Why, yes. I remember it like it was yesterday. That’s exactly what your daddy said.”
Chapter Six
Amy went to bed filled with thoughts of her father. Although Bernadette didn’t know it, she had confirmed a connection between the inn’s name and Greg’s memories of Amy. It was something, however slight, for Amy to latch onto. As for Greg’s will and the running of the inn, Bernadette had been as unforthcoming as ever.
“It’s like pulling teeth with that woman,” Amy mumbled on her way downstairs to breakfast the next morning.
At the front desk she found a message from Maura inviting her to the shop in Winchester, followed by lunch with Bridget. With the prospect of a break in an otherwise uneventful day, Amy was delighted to call Maura with her acceptance. After a week in Tremont, she no longer found it daunting to be surrounded by Ryans.
Although Maura’s directions seemed scattered when Amy jotted them down, they worked. Amy drove through the rolling countryside to Winchester and had no trouble finding the shop in a neighborhood near the Shenandoah University campus.
New Worlds was attractively laid out with huge decanters of potpourris and herbs, ethereal artwork on the walls and an array of wind chimes dangling from the ceiling, and shelves of essential oils and books about everything from walking with angels to the power of Zen. Maura showed off the shop with pride as she and Amy discussed what might need improving.
When it was time to meet Bridget for lunch, Maura insisted on driving Amy in her Jeep. “After eating fancy meals at the inn all week, I thought you might enjoy the Blossom Diner. The food is simple, but good. Even a vegetarian like me can fill up on some great dishes. And they make the absolute best fruit pies.”
Maura drove to the classic 1950s road diner at breakneck speed. “I don’t see Bridget’s car,” she said, sliding out from behind the wheel. “Let’s go in and wait.”
Amy followed the younger woman inside, where country music twanged on the jukebox, every stool at the long counter was occupied and pink-uniformed waitresses swept past quickly. Maura craned her neck in search of a vacant booth. When she spotted one, she tugged at Amy’s coat sleeve.
They wove their way past a quartet of departing truck drivers and then Maura stopped short. “Well, hey, Cuz.”
“Hello, ladies.”
The rich voice made her heart skip a beat. Excitement clashed with wariness. Amy stepped up behind Maura. “Hello, Paul.”
He was sitting beside a well-dressed blonde and across from an attractive, dark-haired man. The woman looked exquisite in a winter-white wool suit; her golden blond pageboy was beautifully cut and styled, her skin tawny peach. She would have fit right in at a power lunch on Connecticut Avenue in D.C. Amy wrapped her jacket tighter over her poor-boy sweater and jeans, wishing she had given more thought to her attire that morning.
Paul stood up to introduce Amy to his lunch companions. The blonde, Lynette Devroy, nodded and smiled. The man, Dirk Campbell, made a point to stand when he shook her hand. “Finally I get a chance to meet you, Amy. My buddy here has been very secretive about you.”
From the look Paul shot his friend, Amy couldn’t tell if Dirk had been serious or not. She wondered if Paul was afraid his lady friend might get the wrong idea. She wondered if he regretted kissing her the other night.
“Dirk is the business manager for the News Group,” Paul said, sitting again. His voice sounded strained, his eyes watchful.
“Why don’t you join us?” Dirk asked, clearly more at ease than Paul. “There’s plenty of room.”
“Actually, it looks like you’re just finishing up,” Maura piped up quickly. “We should probably grab that last empty table before somebody else does. Come on, Amy.”
Maura jerked Amy away before she could utter anything more than goodbye to Paul and his friends.
“Why did you do that?” Amy asked when they reached the booth.
“I don’t really need to spend my lunch hour with Dirk Campbell.”
“Why not?” Amy certainly didn’t want to join Paul’s party, either, but she was curious about Maura’s resistance. “He seemed nice enough. And not bad looking, either.”
“He’s all right, I guess.” Maura began perusing the laminated menu. “We just don’t see eye-to-eye on most things—like the kind of business I’m in. Some people around here aren’t particularly forward thinking.”
Amy felt there had to be more behind Maura’s agitation than that, but thought it best to drop the subject. Besides, something else was on her mind. “Are Lynette and Paul an item?” she asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster.
“Hardly. She’s his accountant,” Maura said, her attention still glued to the extensive menu. “I think she’s practically engaged to some big shot in county government.”
“Oh, I see.” Amy chided herself for feeling relieved. Paul’s personal involvements shouldn’t concern her. Yet she couldn’t help keeping an eye on his table until he and Lynette left—without Dirk. Again she had to quash her inner dismay.
Dirk came over to Amy and Maura’s table. “You haven’t ordered yet?”
Maura scarcely looked up from her menu. “We’re waiting for my sister.”
He asked Amy if he could join them, and she thought it would be rude to refuse. Although Maura ignored him, Amy found him quite nice and enjoyed hearing his story about the diner’s colorful owner. But both Dirk and Maura became noticeably tense when a fleshy, middle-aged man wearing a wrinkled sport coat and too much cologne passed by their booth on his way to the cigarette machine
.
The man stopped on his way back. “Taking some time off in the middle of the day, Maura?” he said after an archly polite greeting. “Business must be a little slow, eh? Maybe you should meditate yourself up some customers. Or even better, conjure up an aphrodisiac potion with those herbs and aromas of yours. That would be a surefire seller.”
“Wouldn’t do you one bit of good, Todd Tully,” Maura snapped as Dirk got to his feet.
Amy saw that Dirk’s brown eyes were stone cold as he stared down at the other man. She remembered hearing the name Tully before.
“You know, Todd, a man who bets on horses all day has no call insulting a woman who works hard at an honest living.” Dirk’s tone was sharp, but his voice was calm and low.
“Dirk, I believe you have a point. At least, she’s honest,” Tully agreed with a sappy smirk. “She wouldn’t use the good-old-boys around here like her cousin Paul does. She wouldn’t take away my pa’s company by promising the employees the world and then proceed to do away with their jobs a few years later.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Maura shouted, her face beet red. “Your pa sold the papers to Paul fair and square, while he still could get a decent price after running them into the ground for years. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be wearing those disgusting diamond pinkie rings or spending every day at the Charlestown track. My cousin saved your pa from bankruptcy!”
“Yeah? That’s what he tells you,” Tully yelled back. “And who’s gonna save Paul Hanley when the papers go under?” With that, Todd Tully walked out.
Dirk sat back down. “Good going, Maura—flying off the handle like that, attracting everybody’s attention.”
“Oh, please, he deserved it.”
“But Paul didn’t, and neither did the company,” insisted Dirk. “We’re having a hell of a time keeping the lid on rumors. You shouldn’t have let him goad you like that.”
Maura’s brown eyes flared. “Sometimes all you goodold-boys are just a little too good. You know what I mean?” Picking up her menu, she buried her nose in it.
Dirk apologized to Amy for the ruckus, adding he hoped they would meet soon under better circumstances.