by Vicki Hinze
“I won’t.”
No lies, they’d said. But he had to work at it to keep disappointment out of his voice. Why had he asked? Set himself up? Chump. The breeze caught a leaf and it floated on the wind toward the gazebo and pond. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, oh.”
“Were you hoping I would?”
No secrets. He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Yeah, I was.”
She smiled. “I would miss you, but I’m going to be too busy.”
“Doing what?” He smoothed back a strand of hair from her face. Light flickered in a clump of firs, near the gazebo. He squinted to focus. Someone was . . . watching them. Who would—? Ah, the binoculars again caught the sunlight. Batty Beaulah Favish. Doing her spying patrol. Though harmless, Miss Hattie must get tired of this “bird-watching” business.
Bess claimed his attention. “I’ll be catching up on the case by reading the files.”
He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Honey, when I get back, we’re going to have to have a long and serious talk about priorities. Missing me should come first.”
“Fat chance.”
She hadn’t mentioned the divorce, but she didn’t need to. His day seemed a little less bright for the reminder. He kissed her quickly, afraid of showing her too much, then opened the door and slid inside the car.
Bess tapped on the window.
John cranked the engine then pressed the button to lower the glass.
“Be careful, Jonathan.” Her eyes went soft. “And just so you know, even though I intend to be very busy, I’ll probably miss you . . . just a little.”
His heart beating a wild tattoo, he cupped her chin with his hand and kissed her hard. “I’ll take just a little.”
“You’ll take everything . . . for a week.”
“Seven days,” he corrected her. Was she complaining, or holding him to a promise? He couldn’t tell from her tone but either way, the threat sounded darn good. “Bess, why did you agree to this proposal? Was it because of the bad press?” He’d wondered half of the night, and he didn’t want to spend all day today again wondering. Hard to admit it, even to himself, but he prayed it wasn’t her pride or her fear of humiliation.
She looked down at the rocky dirt, dragged the toe of her sneaker across a smooth rock, then met his gaze. “I need peace, Jonathan. I don’t have it without you. And I’m not content. With the way things have been between us, I don’t have peace or contentment with you either. But I feel closer to having both with you than without you.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“Do you?”
Who could miss that plea for understanding in her eyes? A stone would have to understand. “Yeah, I do. You’re miserable either way, but misery loves company.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
He stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. Were it her left hand, the one bearing his ring, he’d have kissed it. “We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?”
“We are.” She took in a breath that stretched the beige fabric of her blouse taut over her breasts. “Hurry back, okay? Sorry singles don’t hack it on our seven-day stint, and I’ve told Bill Butler over at Fisherman’s Co-op we need some clams.”
“I’ll do my best.” John put his hand on the gearshift and thrust the car into drive. “Take care of you, Doc.”
“You, too.” Bess stepped back from the car and again watched him leave her. But this time, she had a better grip on what ranking second meant. True, he no longer loved her. But if he did, she now understood that he would be ranking her second only in his urgent priorities. Not in his heart.
So why did seeing him go now still hurt as much as seeing him leave then? Why didn’t she trust him to come back?
And why did she wish that, if only for one shining moment, he loved her again?
The afternoon came and went.
Miss Hattie had gone to visit with Vic, whose back was still giving him fits, and Bess had eaten a sandwich for dinner at the old desk in John’s room. She’d gotten through an amazing number of files.
The back of her neck cramped and a dull ache throbbed between her shoulders. Time for a break. She straightened up and looked at the file folders littering the room. Though neatly stacked, hardly a floorboard or a snippet of the rug was uncovered. John certainly had worked hard; Bess had to give him that.
She stood up, stretched a kink from between her shoulder blades, then walked down the hall toward her own room. The house was quiet. The storm had run its course and a cool breeze filled the hall. The hair on her neck lifted. She stopped in her tracks. The breeze blew chilly, almost cold, and steady. Where was it coming from?
The inn wasn’t air-conditioned—no need for it—and had no visible vents. Wary, she looked back over her shoulder, down the long hallway at the line of closed doors to the dead-end at the Shell Room. No doors open. And no open windows . . .
A draft? The inn had been built a long time ago, and older buildings always have drafts. Yes. Of course. A draft. That’s all there was to this seemingly sourceless breeze. Besides, Tony was here. If anything strange went on, he’d nip it. He’d definitely protect the inn and everyone in it.
A ghost being in residence was bringing her a sense of security, not inciting fear? That stunned her into smiling. But Tony could hardly be a typical ghost. He certainly ranked atypical to any she’d ever heard of, and it didn’t seem likely other ghosts could be as wonderful as him. If there were other ghosts. An uneasy shiver traipsed up her backbone. Could there be others?
She wrapped her arms over her chest. No. Not here. Tony wouldn’t tolerate other ghosts being here. Not around Miss Hattie. Dear Miss Hattie . . .
With her nurturing ways and golden heart, how had she borne it? Loving and losing Tony, still loving him all these long years after he’d died? Amazing. A miracle, really. Denied a lifetime with her Tony, she hadn’t become bitter at what she didn’t have, but seemed genuinely heartened by what she did. There was a lesson there; Bess knew it. Probably several.
In so many ways, Tony, Miss Hattie, Seascape Inn itself—with its rich heritage of love and healing dating all the way back to Collin and Cecelia—taught such unassuming, earthy, and gentle lessons about life and love. Wonderful, powerful lessons. Healing lessons.
Healing. What was happening between Bess and Jonathan proved that, and so much more. And even if things didn’t work out with them being together long-term, Bess would never forget the things she’d discovered about him, or about herself, here.
Yes, Millicent Fairgate would still fire Bess. No, she still couldn’t accept John’s money. Yes, she still loved the man to distraction and didn’t have a clue if he loved her back, though he obviously wasn’t indifferent toward her. But she felt a great deal more comfortable with herself now, with her feelings. And that was nothing short of a miracle. One she owed to Seascape and Tony and Miss Hattie—and, Bess strongly suspected—to Jimmy Goodson for all but highjacking her car.
Centered inside the small vaulted alcove at the end of the hall, beside the bank of mullioned windows, she reached to the left of the hand-carved bookshelves that flanked the thickly cushioned window seat, then let her fingertips drift over the spines of the orderly books. And she owed Maggie and T. J. MacGregor, too. Without them, Bess wouldn’t be here. She’d be at home in New Orleans, falling apart at the seams.
She turned from the hall into her bedroom, then grabbed her robe. Remembering how adorable her huge husband had looked wearing it had her smiling. Lord, but he was gorgeous.
The robe in hand, she left her room, heading down the white Berber rug, then into the hall bath. Automatically, she reached past the antique brass soap dish for the little Occupied sign on the tan marble counter near the sink. Though alone at the inn—well, except for Tony—she slipped it onto the nail on the outer door, and wondered. Could Tony leave Seascape?
Having no idea, and not wanting to upset Miss Hattie by mentioning him and reminding her of her loss, Bess
took the step up at the inner door into the bath, then debated between a long soak in the scrumptious-looking garden tub and a hot shower. The tub would relax her, but she had a good deal more work to do tonight, so instead she opted for the shower.
She stripped, tossing her jeans, blouse, and underwear into a heap just off the edge of the white, half-moon rug. After adjusting the water, she opened the glass door, stepped inside, then let the massager showerhead pound hot water on the cramped muscles between her shoulder blades. Her thoughts again drifted to John. In his search for Dixie, he certainly had turned over every rock. Amazing determination. A sliver of wistfulness laced with envy slipped through her heart. If only either of them had been that determined to save their marriage . . .
Minutes later, dried, robed, refreshed, and rejuvenated, she headed back to John’s room to work further on the files.
She’d been back at the desk for only a few minutes when Miss Hattie called out from the Cove Room’s door.
“My goodness!” Her eyes stretched wide, Miss Hattie scanned the stacks of unboxed files that were piled, wedged, and stuffed into every corner and crevice created by the king-size bed and cherry wood furniture. “Bess, dear, you’re up to your ears in paperwork!”
“Literally.” Bess smiled. “How is Vic feeling this evening?”
“Better, now that he’s had some of my chicken and cheese casserole. It’s his favorite.” She frowned. “I’m afraid, though, that I’m in for a challenge at trying to keep him down until he’s healed enough not to do himself further damage.” She wrinkled her nose. “A Mainiac through and through, you know.” She let out a little sigh. “I do so wish he had married. Vic is such a loving soul. He’d have made some lucky woman a fine husband.”
Didn’t Miss Hattie realize that the man was in love with her? Bess had seen signs of it the first day she’d met him. Hat in hand at the mud room door, he’d seemed flustered. And when Miss Hattie had invited him in for coffee, he’d looked as pleased as if he’d been the blue ribbon winner at the county fair.
“I brought you a cup of warm milk.” Miss Hattie raised a burgundy marble mug. “Thought maybe it’d help you sleep better, since Jonathan hasn’t yet returned from Portland.”
Stepping gingerly, she wound through the maze of files and passed Bess the mug, a smile creasing her gentle, round face. “I hope you won’t feel I’m intruding, dear, but I have to say how very pleased I am that you and John have reconciled.”
Heat rushed up her neck to her face. Bess focused on the stubby brass vase near her mug that held a single yellow daisy. “It’s only temporary, Miss. Hattie.”
“Oh, my. I’m afraid I misunderstood.” She let her gaze slide to the floor.
“I know we’ve spent a lot of time behind closed doors lately. We’ve been discussing the terms of the divorce.”
“I see.”
“Would you believe the demented man propositioned me?”
“Propositioned?” Miss Hattie sat down on the foot of the bed. “Propositioned? Jonathan? My goodness.”
Bess nodded and sipped from her mug of milk. “I was just irked enough to accept—though I made him sweat for a while, just to keep him honest.”
“Ah, you said proposition but you’re meaning his Happy Marriage Proposal.”
Miss Hattie looked immensely relieved, though Bess couldn’t imagine why. “Proposal, proposition—whatever you want to call it, it boils down to the same thing.”
“Hmmm, he mentioned it to me.”
“He did?”
She nodded. “I daresay, by the end of the week—or was it two weeks?”
“It was two but we negotiated it down to one.”
“Whatever for?” Pushing a pin back into her snowy hair, the dear woman frowned. “Oh my, I do apologize, Bess. I shouldn’t be asking such personal questions.”
“I don’t mind.” Bess licked at the milk mustache above her lip. “Actually, it feels good to talk about it.”
“I’m glad.” Miss Hattie plucked at the skirt of her green floral dress. “You’ll have him realizing he still loves you long before then.”
“Good grief, Miss Hattie.” Bess laughed only so she wouldn’t cry. “Jonathan doesn’t love me.”
She stilled. “He doesn’t?”
“No, of course not.” Her face warmed. “He’s in lust.”
“Ah, I see. Do you love him?”
Bess opened her mouth to answer, then closed it without uttering a word. Did she? “No. No,” she said more emphatically. “It’d be foolish to love the man again.”
“Then why, if you don’t mind my asking, dear, did you agree to his proposal?”
“To keep him from suing me for custody of Silk.” That was true, wasn’t it?
“I see.”
Bess feared the dear woman did see—far too much. More than Bess herself wanted to see. “I know it sounds crazy, but truly, you only have to understand John. I think he’s jealous of Miguel, you see, and because Miguel gave me Silk and I won’t take John’s money, he wants to punish me. He doesn’t understand that we’re only friends.”
“You and Silk, or you and Miguel?”
“Both.”
“And so what you’re telling me is that for your friend—a dog—you’ve given yourself to your husband for a week.”
“Not exactly.” Bess again sipped from her mug. The warm milk felt good going down her throat. She propped her elbow on the desk, then dropped her chin into it. “I’m keeping him from filing the lawsuit and making fools out of both of us.”
“So you’re using Jonathan to spare him humiliation?”
“I’m not using him.” Bess bristled at the crass sound of that. “He’s being an arrogant pig on the settlement and I’m trying to encourage him to be decent about it.” Encourage worked for Tony, right? When a wheel works, there’s no need to reinvent it.
“I’m sure you know best, dear.” Miss Hattie tilted her head. “I have to wonder though why you’d agree to sell yourself to a man you don’t love. It doesn’t seem at all like you.”
It wasn’t like her. Or like the woman she had been when she’d arrived here. For a long moment, she stared at the antique washstand in the far right corner of the room, at its pretty cream-colored bowl and pitcher. “I’ll tell you the truth, Miss Hattie. I don’t know who or what I am anymore. When I came up here, I was seeking peace and refuge. Nothing has gone as planned, though, and now I don’t know what to think.”
“Maybe you need to give yourself some time before making any life-altering decisions.”
“Life-altering?” Bess stilled. Again getting the sensation that something important had been revealed to her.
“Dear, you seriously don’t think you can spend a week—”
“Seven days. We settled on seven days because of him going to Portland.”
“Seven days, then. You can’t expect to live with John again as his wife for seven days and for things not to change between you.”
“I know it’s risky, Miss Hattie.” Bess rubbed at her neck muscles. They were again as tight as a drum. “And if I didn’t say I was scared, I’d be lying. I’m finding out things about both of us that are changing the way I’m seeing things.” She glanced over to the terracotta berry box John had said he hated. “Frankly, I fully expect a good heartbreak out of this deal. But what else can I do? He won’t bend on the settlement agreement.”
“Why should he?”
“Because I can’t touch that money. I won’t.”
“Why not? You did help earn it, dear.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me, then.”
Bess dropped her hands into her lap. She couldn’t meet Miss Hattie’s gentle emerald gaze. She wanted to, tried to, but failed. “If I take a single cent of that money, then it’ll prove John’s parents had been right about me.”
“But Bess, dear—”
“No, it’s true, Miss Hattie.”
“What do John’s parents have to do with thi
s?”
Bess grimaced. “They’re rich.”
“They are?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes?” A puzzled frown creased Miss Hattie’s delicate brow.
She didn’t understand. But, bless her, Miss Hattie had such a heart of gold that she wouldn’t understand. “I wasn’t good enough for their son.”
“Oh, dear. Are you certain about this? You’re a lovely woman, and I’d think that so long as you loved their son, they’d be proud to have you in their family.”
“They weren’t.”
“Did they tell you so?”
“No, ma’am. They couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t?” Her perplexed brow-crease now had the company of a frown, and she fidgeted with the single strand of pearls at her throat. “Why ever not?”
“Because I’ve never met them.”
“Bess, you’ve been married to Jonathan for seven years and you’ve never met his parents?”
“No.” She sighed. “Not once.”
“Then how do you know they disapprove of you?”
“Why else wouldn’t I have met them?”
Miss Hattie stood up and threaded her way through the files to the door. “Did Jonathan tell you this, dear?”
“Of course not. He refuses to speak of his parents.” Bess rubbed at her cheek. “I’m not sure he even speaks to them. The subject is taboo.”
“Ah, I see now.” Miss Hattie visibly relaxed. “So you’ve just figured this out on your own.”
“I’ve had to. Jonathan won’t discuss them at all, Miss Hattie. I don’t even know his mother’s name. Isn’t that just the most awful, insulting thing to have to confess? A wife should at least know her husband’s mother’s name.”
“Hmmm, yes, I would say she should.”
Relieved at Miss Hattie’s affirmation, Bess again sipped from her mug, swallowed, then returned it to the corner of the desk. “I know it’s confusing, and I probably seem very foolish, but the truth is that they were wrong about me. And, well, I guess part of me agreed to his proposal because I need this time with him, too.”