One Hundred Promises

by Kelly Collins

  When was the last time Lydia had been herself? Everything changed when her parents died. At sixteen, she’d grown up overnight. Instead of worrying about first dates and prom dresses, she fretted over her sister and her grandmother. She redirected her angst to make sure they were nurtured and looked after.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore.” A single tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Maybe you should take the time to find out.” Sage’s kiss to her cheek reminded her of their mother’s compassionate and caring nature. It was almost as if her spirit sat at the bar with them.

  Lydia looked at the clock on her phone. “I’m beat.” She slid her untouched beer to her sister. “You drink it. I’m going to head home and call it a night.”

  Sage leaned forward and gave her sister a hug. “Katie said the keys are under the mat.”

  “Yep.” All Lydia wanted was a quiet place to think and a comfortable bed to sleep in. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Yes. You will. Don’t forget we have the ribbon cutting for the park on Saturday, but I’m sure I’ll see you before then.”

  “That you will.” It wasn’t like Aspen Cove was a mecca for entertainment and options. Sad but true, the park opening would be the biggest event of the year.

  When Lydia tried to leave money on the counter, Sage shook her head. “You’re family. It’s a perk.”

  “I can use a perk or two.” She rose from her stool. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow?”

  “Not a thing. The clinic isn’t open.”

  “Right.” She wondered if increasing clinic hours would increase its profitability. Then again, Doc made a point that Aspen Cove took care of its own as he’d walked her back to the examination room and handed her a check for her first week. When she told him she worked before she got paid, he told her to take the check and stop complaining.

  Lydia was certain he’d paid for her services in advance so she couldn’t leave.

  She drove her car to the alleyway behind the bakery and the bait and tackle shop and pulled her overnight bag from the rear seat of her car. She could come back for the rest later. At the back door of the bakery, she found the keys where Katie said they’d be, under the smiley face mat. Was that a coincidence or had Sage told her about her love of all things smiley?

  She unlocked the door and trudged up the flight of stairs. It wasn’t her two-story house in the suburbs of Denver, but for now it was home. At the top she opened the next door and entered her new digs. On the coffee table was a large vase of sunflowers and a notecard from Bowie and Katie. She was grateful that her sister had made such good friends in town. Grateful they had accepted her as a friend so easily.

  Welcome Home Doc,

  There are staples in the refrigerator. This apartment comes with unlimited muffins and fresh brewed coffee.

  So glad you’re here in Aspen Cove.

  Hugs,

  Katie and Bowie

  She set the card down and walked to the window that looked over the town. On the sill lay several dead bees. Better you than me.

  Chapter Four

  Wes parked in the driveway and stood in front of his house. His house. He never thought he’d see the day his aunts and uncles would come together and do the right thing. They’d been fighting over family assets since his great-grandfather Thomas passed away.

  It was a good thing the papers were signed before the old paper mill was purchased, otherwise, he’d be living on Hyacinth Street in a smaller bungalow instead of Rose Lane in the big Victorian built by his ancestors. They would have never sold the property if they thought Aspen Cove could become the booming town it once was and with the plans to turn the old Guild Paper Mill into the Guild Creative Center, growth was a guarantee.

  He was no sooner out of his truck and through the front door when Sarge barreled into him. The old German shepherd acted like a puppy even though he was nearing seventy in dog years.

  “Hey, boy.” Wes rubbed the top of his head and waited for Sarge to sniff out the goods. Being a retired narcotics canine officer, he had a well-trained nose. The dog circled him several times before he pressed his snout into Wes’s ankle, the exact place he’d shoved a milk bone before he exited his truck.

  “Good boy.” All Wes had to do was expose his sock and Sarge retrieved his prize. They went their separate ways with the shepherd heading into the living room for a snack while Wes went to the kitchen for a late meal.

  He rummaged around his refrigerator for leftover pizza. He couldn’t remember when he bought it. Was it four days ago or a week ago? Once he flipped open the box and didn’t see mold, it didn’t matter. The great thing about pizza was it didn’t have to be heated. He pulled a slice out and ate it while he made the rounds of the house. It was something he did each evening. With every walk-through he moved something from his to-do list to the done column. The only thing he accomplished today was to ruin a T-shirt and embarrass himself in front of Dr. Nichols. The jury was still out regarding the blonde with the big attitude. He wasn’t sure if he liked her or not. She intrigued him for sure, but maybe that was because she was like a shiny new penny in town.

  He fell onto the couch and stared at the old Van Briggle fireplace tiles. Blues and greens washed the surface. He always smiled when he thought of those tiles and the months he spent removing soot and grime to uncover the beauty beneath. Wasn’t that the way of the world? His mind went to Lydia, who was pretty, but he could see the soot and buildup of a tough life covering her and wondered what she’d be like if someone spent the time to get to the beauty she held within.

  A knock sounded at the door. Sarge wagged his tail and rushed to greet their guests. It had to be someone familiar because a stranger would have gotten a growl. When he opened the door, Samantha and Dalton stood in front of him.

  “We had a meeting to go over the plans, didn’t we?” Wes had forgotten. Had he hit his head when he fainted? “Come on in.” He stepped aside and made room for his larger-than-life friend and his tiny girlfriend.

  They stared down at Wes’s bandaged hand. “We can reschedule,” Samantha said.

  He shook his head and waved them toward the dining room. It was the only room with a surface big enough to spread out the plans Dalton held in his hands. “No, it’s great. I lost track of time. Come on back.”

  They followed him to the back of the house where an old Duncan Phyfe dining room table sat like a trophy in the center of the room. It had taken Wes a year of begging to get his mother to part with the antique. She let it go when he offered twice what it was worth and pointed out it didn’t match the architecture of her modern loft. With the Covingtons, everything was a fight.

  Dalton opened the building plans and rolled the edges so they lay flat. “We love almost everything.”

  Wes hated the word almost. Almost got you nowhere. It was a word he’d heard all his life. That’s almost perfect. You’re almost there. It was a kind word that meant you missed the mark.

  “You want a beer?” When they both nodded, he grabbed three from his fabulous new refrigerator. The only thing that would make it better would be if it shopped for itself.

  When he returned, Dalton and Samantha were huddled over the first page. Few people knew he was an award-winning architect. It wasn’t something he bragged about because he’d rather build things than design them, but when Samantha bought the old mill that once belonged to his family, Wes felt like he had an obligation to make sure the building was handled in a way that respected the past while they moved the building into the future.

  “Tell me what you don’t like.” He opened a china hutch drawer and grabbed a pen.

  “Did we say we didn’t like something?”

  Wes chuckled. “You said it was almost perfect, which means something needs improvement.”

  The couple looked at each other and smiled. They proved that having less could be so much more. Samantha was a multimillionaire pop star and preferred to live in Dalton’s two-bedroom cabin. She once told him she was rich in love,
which was far better to collect than cash.

  Dalton picked up the pencil from the table. “Sockets. I need more sockets.” He drew in several more boxes along the kitchen walls and prep tables.

  Wes was excited to see Dalton get his dream culinary school placed beside Samantha’s new recording studio. When other creative people leased the remaining spaces, there was no doubt the town would grow.

  “That’s all? You want more sockets?” Wes expected a major reconfiguration, not a request for additional power receptacles. “I’ll give you all the sockets you want.”

  “It’s going to be amazing, isn’t it?” Samantha bounced with enthusiasm.

  “Yes. I’m so glad you saw the place for the goldmine it is.” He’d played in the paper mill as a child. He might carry the last name Covington, but he was a Guild on his mother’s side. Many people didn’t believe in preserving the past, but for Wes there was a lot to learn from his ancestors. They worked an honest day for decent wages. Work and play were separate. One didn’t bleed into the other. Cell phones didn’t exist. The internet wasn’t even a concept back then. Weekends were for the family. Stores didn’t open on Christmas Day. Life was less complicated.

  “It’s perfect.” Samantha left Dalton’s side and threw her arms around Wes for a hug. “When can we get started?”

  “Right away. When is your next album due?” That was the real determining factor. Samantha’s recording studio would be the first thing built since she was financing the project. Wes loved that a place that created paper would become a place to create. He knew if his great-grandpa Thomas could see the old mill when it was done he’d be proud.

  “I have to deliver by the end of the year, but the hardest part is finished. The songs are already written.”

  “Our biggest hurdle is getting enough people hired. I’m meeting with the Lockhart brothers tomorrow. They own a small construction business in Cross Creek. I’m hoping to subcontract them out for the duration. They have a stellar reputation. If it works out, we’ll get started this week. Once the Guild Creative Center is built, we can move on to flipping houses. The people who rent the new spaces will want great places to live.”

  Dalton grabbed the end of the plans and rolled them into a tube. “How are the permits coming along for the firehouse?”

  That’s where the big problems began. Aspen Cove was a small town and didn’t have a zoning commission, so permits came through Copper Creek whose mayor coined the word nepotism. His children filled all the important city positions. Craig Caswell ran the permits department like he was God building the universe. Only he didn’t have a seven-day plan.

  “I’m expecting to break ground in two weeks. Provided everything goes as planned, the Aspen Cove Fire Department should be ready by September. I’ve secured a company from Denver. They built the station in Cherry Creek. Not only is it high quality, but also state-of-the-art.” Wes told no one he’d been the architect of that project. It was the last job he worked on before he left Covington Architecture and Design. He could still hear his father’s voice telling him it was almost good enough. Funny how his tune changed when it came in under budget and won a coveted sustainability award.

  “That’s a relief.” Samantha’s manager had started a fire that had burned down her house and injured several townsfolk. No matter how many times people told Samantha the fire wasn’t her fault, she continued to blame herself.

  Her self-induced penance was to build Aspen Cove a firehouse, so no one had to depend on volunteers to save their lives.

  “It’s under control.” He offered his hand to Dalton for a shake and pulled it back when he realized how painful that would have been. The man was as big as an oak tree and no doubt had a powerful grip.

  “What happened to you?” Dalton wrapped his arm around Samantha and pulled her close.

  Wes wondered if they even realized how many times they touched each other. A pang of jealousy threaded through him. He wanted what they had. He wanted a partner to share his life. He wanted a woman who valued love above everything else. “It’s just a cut. I was working on a window sash and some metal flashing got the best of me.”

  “That means you met Lydia. Isn’t she the best?” Samantha asked.

  “The best what?” He led them to the front door.

  “She’s so smart and sweet.” Samantha nearly burst with enthusiasm. Wes wondered where she got her energy. He imagined Dalton and she fed off each other. He’d never seen two people so happy together.

  “Sweet isn’t the first word that comes to mind, but she stitched me up.”

  Wes closed the door and went back into the living room, where his dog had taken his place on the couch. He nudged the dog over and squeezed into the small spot Sarge allowed. “It’s just you and me, buddy.” Sarge looked at him with the same love Dalton had for Samantha and Wes wondered if he’d ever find that love and devotion with a woman.

  Chapter Five

  There was no way Lydia could live long term in a place where the walls buzzed as if alive. The sound never stopped for a second. She couldn’t figure out if it was the hum of the heater, a motor gone bad in the refrigerator, or if the ovens had been left on downstairs. All she knew was it kept her awake all night long.

  She trudged from the bedroom down the hallway to the bathroom. Dark circles painted her eyes and spoke to the sleep she hadn’t gotten in weeks. After a quick shower, she threw on clean clothes, brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her tangled hair. Clean and presentable was all she could hope for today.

  The sweet smell of muffins seeped through the floorboards. Her sister told her she could set her calendar by the muffin of the day. If her nose scented the lemon correctly, it was poppy-seed muffin day. Her mind might be tired, but her stomach was ready for food.

  She flung her purse over her shoulder and walked into the dark living room, where she came to a dead stop. With a big picture window looking east, the room should have been bathed in morning light, but thousands of bees looking for an exit draped the glass like a curtain.

  As Lydia’s heart rate picked up so did the hum. She reached into her bag for her EpiPen and backed her way to the door. When several bees dive-bombed her head, she gave up slow movements and raced for the exit, slamming the door behind her. The whir of the bees increased as she ran down the steps and out the ground level door. She didn’t slow down until she made it around the building and into the pharmacy. Once inside, she crouched by the window.

  “You’ve only been here a day and you’re hiding?” Doc’s familiar voice said from behind.

  “Bees.” Out of breath, it was the only word she could vocalize.

  “You’re hiding from bees? You think they’re hunting you down?” The hiss of his oxygen tank matched the cadence of his steps. “I don’t think they’re that smart. Instinctual for sure, but planners? Nope.”

  “There’s no way I’m staying.”

  Doc crouched down beside Lydia. “I didn’t take you for a quitter.”

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts and stared at the old man in front of her. “I’m not a quitter.”

  “Leaving here without giving it a chance is what I’d call quitting.”

  Lydia stood to her full height of five foot six and fisted her hips, still gripping the EpiPen. “Have you heard nothing? There are bees.” She shoved the pen back into her purse and marched over to the candy rack and took an Abba-Zabba. At least it had peanut butter in it, which could be considered healthy protein.

  Doc walked to where Lydia stood chewing on sweet nougat.

  “Just like crime, bees have no address. You find them everywhere.”

  Lydia shook her head so hard her brain hurt. “They have an address all right. Thousands of them are living in my apartment.”

  It took Doc a minute to process the information. When his white brows lifted toward the ceiling, Lydia knew he understood.

  “I’d say call Abby, but she’s visiting her sister in California for a few weeks.”

&n
bsp; Lydia reached for another candy bar but Doc pulled it away. “I’ve got muffins upstairs. How about you and I have a cup of coffee and a muffin while we figure this out?”

  She followed him up the back stairs to an apartment much like the one she was supposed to live in. The only difference was Doc’s place smelled like Bengay and Old Spice and didn’t buzz like a hive.

  He led her into the small galley kitchen and pointed to the table in the corner. Within minutes, they were having breakfast and making plans.

  “Can’t I call an exterminator?”

  By the gasp and wheeze from Doc she figured that was the wrong approach.

  “What have those bees done to you to deserve extermination? In Aspen Cove we take care of our own and that includes our bees.” Doc sipped his coffee. “I imagine those bees escaped the hives during the fire. Sure would be a shame to kill them off after they survived that mess.”

  Put that way, an inkling of guilt needled its way into Lydia’s chest. She reached into her purse and pulled out her only defense against a bee sting. “It’s me or the bees, and I’ll choose me every time.”

  Doc’s eyes grew wide. “How bad?”

  “Severe anaphylaxis.”

  The last time she got stung had been a good ten years ago. All she remembered was sitting in the grass of the commons area at college. A bee landed on her leg. When she swatted it off, it stung her. Everything else happened so quickly. The sting blazed through her system like an out-of-control fire. Her skin burned and itched. The venom wrapped around her neck like a noose and squeezed and squeezed until she lost consciousness.

  She woke up at Denver General in the ICU. It was the first time she met Adam McKay. He was the doctor on call. Right then she decided emergency medicine would be her specialty and Dr. McKay would be her man. How funny that sometimes you get what you ask for and it’s not what you wanted at all.

  “You can’t stay there.”