Close to Home

by Raney, Deborah;

  “I always have time for you, my dear. And let me guess—this has something to do with that nice-looking young man you brought with you the other night.”

  “Last night,” Bree corrected, buying time.

  “Was it just last night?” She clicked her tongue. “Well, whenever it was, I wondered what was going on with you two.”

  “He’s just a friend, CeeCee. Right now anyway. He would like it to be more. And—I don’t know—maybe I would too. But that’s just it. I don’t know. Shouldn’t I know? If he’s someone special?”

  “Well, I can only speak for myself, but I knew your grandfather—Tim’s grandfather,” she corrected. “I knew he was the one for me the moment I laid eyes on him.”

  “See? That’s how it was with Tim. But maybe that only happens once in a lifetime. Maybe it’s different the second time around.”

  “Do you want there to be a second time around?”

  “I think I do.” She felt near tears, but she swallowed them back, not wanting CeeCee’s sympathy as much as her practical advice.

  “Well . . .” CeeCee reached to pat Bree’s knee. “I admit, I wasn’t ever in your particular situation. I met my man, I married him, and we lived happily ever after until he went Home to be with Jesus.”

  Almost before Bree could think it, CeeCee added, “You could say the same, I know. It’s just that your Timothy went Home too soon. And of course you want to find love again. You should! And you will. You’ll have a family, and you’ll find happiness. And none of that will diminish what you and Timothy had together.”

  It was exactly, exactly what she needed to hear. That finding love again wouldn’t dilute what she and Tim had known together.

  “Love, marriage is sacred, sweetheart. Marrying again won’t change that. If anything, it proves you understand the beauty of what you had with our sweet Timothy. And, honey, why wouldn’t you want that again?”

  “I do. I’m just . . . I’m not sure Aaron is the one. With Tim I was so sure. So very sure. Right from the start.”

  “But how will you know if you don’t give this Aaron a chance?”

  “I know. And I’m trying.”

  “I didn’t get that impression.”

  Bree frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You seemed . . . like you were holding back with him.”

  “I guess I am a little. Maybe I’m expecting it to be exactly like it was with Tim.”

  “And, oh honey, it won’t be. Aaron isn’t our Tim. It’s not fair to ask him to be.”

  Bree nodded. “I know.”

  “I wonder if there’s something more though.”

  “Like?”

  “Are you afraid about what the family will think? Grant and Audrey? The rest of them? What they think doesn’t matter, you know. As long as you’re happy.”

  “But it does matter, CeeCee. I care what they think. A lot. I want them to like whoever I . . . would marry. If I ever married again.”

  “Well, of course you care. But you can’t make that your criteria. Besides, I thought they seemed to like your young man well enough.”

  “Do you think so? I wasn’t so sure. Audrey seemed a little hesi—”

  “Audrey! Pfft!” CeeCee’s hands flew. “Of course Audrey isn’t going to like the whole idea of you marrying again. She doesn’t want to lose you. None of us do. But you can’t—”

  “Would I lose you? If I married again?” There it was. The real reason this was so hard. “Would I lose all of you?”

  It didn’t comfort her that CeeCee’s answer didn’t come immediately. She took a sip of tea, wiped her mouth with the cocktail napkin it had been sitting on. “I suppose that depends on a number of things, dear.”

  “Like?”

  “Like how does your young man feel about sharing you with Timothy’s family? And how would his family feel about it? It can’t just be about you, you know. I’m sure you can imagine how hard it might be to have this . . . ghost of another family.”

  “But—” She felt herself tearing up again and fingered the frilly doily on the coffee table, trying to regain her composure. “Those things are important to me, CeeCee. I don’t want to lose this family. I think I’d rather stay single than lose my . . . my place in the Whitman family.”

  “Oh, sweet Bree . . .” CeeCee patted her knee again. “I for one am glad you feel that way. And it’s a dear, dear quality that you feel such loyalty for us. But”—she chuckled—“I daresay we’re not worth staying single for. Good heavens!”

  That made Bree laugh and helped her swallow back the tears. “I at least want to be around to see your new house.”

  “What new house?”

  Bree stared at her, not sure if she was teasing or having one of her senior moments. “The one Grant is building for you. In the meadow. At the inn.”

  CeeCee blew a raspberry with her lips. “That will never happen.”

  “Oh, I think it is happening, CeeCee. I think everybody was excited about it. It seems like the perfect plan. Don’t you think?” She’d waded into deeper water than she cared to swim.

  “Apparently what I think doesn’t matter. But let them play with their little blueprints if it makes them feel better. I’ll be long gone by the time they ever get that house built.”

  “No you won’t, CeeCee. Don’t talk like that. It doesn’t take that long to build a house. My boss at work built a house a couple of years ago, and it was done in less than six months.”

  “Goodness! I couldn’t possibly be ready to move out of this house in six months.”

  “We’ll help you pack. Since you said you don’t have to sell this house before they build, you can just take your time moving things in to the new place. It’ll be so much easier that way.”

  “Hmmm . . . We’ll see.” She held up her half-full glass and struggled to her feet. “I’ll get us some more tea.”

  Bree started to get up, but CeeCee put out her hand.

  “You stay put. I’ll get it.” She took a moment to steady herself, picked up Bree’s glass in her other hand, and hurried to the kitchen.

  She didn’t know whether to report CeeCee’s comments to Grant and Audrey or just stay out of it. If she was going to get involved with Aaron, withdraw a little from the Whitman’s, it would not be a good thing to get in the middle of the “what to do with CeeCee” dilemma. But perhaps she could try to sell her on the idea of the cottage.

  CeeCee reappeared with the tea.

  Bree tried to think of a convincing argument. “CeeCee, I—”

  “About your young man . . .” CeeCee pointed a bony finger at her. “If you’re asking my advice—and even if you’re not—I say go for it. Don’t get married tomorrow or do anything else crazy. But what have you got to lose, dear heart? You’ll never know if this boy is the one for you if you don’t spend some time with him. See what happens. You don’t have to say yes just because he asks you to marry him.”

  “Oh, no! He hasn’t asked . . . or anything. He hasn’t even kissed me yet, CeeCee.” That was technically true. “Like I said, it’s nothing serious.”

  “He hasn’t kissed you yet? Well, if the idiot box can be trusted”—she jabbed a finger toward the small television in the corner—“it is a rare man who will wait until that kiss means something.”

  CeeCee had a point. Bree did appreciate that Aaron hadn’t pressured her in that way. He really was a nice guy. Maybe she was making this way too difficult.

  As if she’d read her mind, CeeCee leaned in and put a hand on each of Bree’s cheeks. “You are a precious girl who deserves to be happy, to be loved. Don’t you be afraid to find love again. Timothy would have wanted that, sweetie. You know he would have.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she couldn’t hide them with CeeCee face to face with her. “I know. I know he would have. It’s just hard . . . to even imagine myself with someone else.”

  CeeCee gave Bree’s cheeks a gentle pat. “God will work out the details. You just need to trust Him.”

>   “I know. Thank you so much for letting me cry on your shoulder.”

  “And thank you for letting me cry on yours. Now”—CeeCee gave her a hard look—“you don’t need to say anything to Grant—or Audrey—about what I said about the cottage. They’ve been wanting to build out there themselves anyway. It won’t make any difference one way or another who they’re building for.”

  “But it does make a difference. They want your input, CeeCee. You heard Grant last week. They’re counting on you for ideas. And how to fit whatever furniture you’ll move from here.”

  “That can all be decided in due time. It’s nothing to worry your pretty head over. It will all work out.”

  “But . . . your savings. If you don’t mean to sell this house how will they pay for . . .” It sounded like CeeCee had no intention of ever moving to the cottage. And she knew Grant and Audrey didn’t have the money to build without CeeCee’s savings.

  “It’s not your concern,” she said again. “And now I don’t mean to rush you out, but I feel a headache coming on.” She rose, not meeting Bree’s gaze.

  Bree got up and gathered the tea glasses and carried them back to the kitchen. When she returned to the living room, CeeCee was standing by the open front door, waiting to usher her out.

  “You think about what I said, Miss Bree. About that boy.”

  “I will. And thank you again for your advice.”

  “Free any time.”

  Bree laughed and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you Tuesday. Usual time.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  CeeCee was a treasure. But her comments about the cottage concerned Bree deeply.

  Maybe CeeCee was just confused. She’d surely told Grant and Audrey her true feelings about the cottage. The night they’d held the “intervention,” she’d warmed to the idea so quickly, but maybe that was just to keep the peace.

  Tim’s parents apparently didn’t know about this change of heart because CeeCee had asked her not to say anything. But they needed to know. And quickly.

  Bree drove back to her house, feeling as if she was doomed to betray one or the other.

  11

  Grant?” Audrey called down the stairs but was met with silence.

  Where was he? She’d searched the house to no avail. She’d heard him come in not twenty minutes ago, but he’d disappeared.

  She called again, then grabbed a load of laundry and headed upstairs with it. They tried to reserve the second floor laundry for the inn’s linens, but with just her and Grant at home, she could barely scrape together two full loads each week, so she often cheated and tossed a few of their clothes in with the bedding.

  She loaded the washer and turned to start back downstairs, but something made her stop at the bottom of the flight of steps that led to their master suite on the third floor. She stood there, listening for a minute. “Grant? Are you up there?”

  She climbed the stairs to find him in the comfy recliner in the corner of the room, his laptop computer propped on his knees. The muffler-sized headphones he wore made him look as if he was headed off to the ski slopes. He glanced up briefly when she entered the room, but went right back to staring at the screen.

  “Hey you.” She put her hands on his shoulders and slid the headphones from his ears, kissing the top of his head. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  “Sorry. I thought I told you I was coming up here.”

  “No. You didn’t.” In the week since what the kids had started calling “CeeCee’s intervention” Grant had been practically obsessed with this building project.

  He angled his computer screen so she could see it. “I found this series on cottage building. It’s really informative.”

  “When do you think we’ll break ground?” She tried to strike a casual tone. She’d never let Grant know how much she dreaded the thought of Cecelia living on their property. She knew it was a selfish and petty attitude, but she couldn’t seem to overcome it either.

  She loved her mother-in-law deeply and considered Cecelia a dear friend, but she also wanted to keep it that way. CeeCee could be a little high-maintenance, and with whatever was going on with her mental state, things were bound to get worse. She wondered if Grant had considered that the creek behind where he proposed to build the cottage could be just as dangerous for CeeCee as the river near her house in Langhorne. They had drilled it into the grandchildren not to go down there without an adult, especially after they’d had a lot of rain.

  And Audrey could imagine all too well what it would do for the inn’s business if they had a crazy old woman wandering the premises in her nightgown in the middle of the night, scaring people to death.

  Still, she completely agreed with Grant that they needed to let CeeCee be as independent as possible for as long as possible. Maybe eliminating the stress of having to care for her house in town would get Grant’s mother back to her old self. Not to mention the stress it caused Grant running back and forth to check on his mother and take care of her house and yard.

  Grant partially closed the laptop and sat there, watching her pace in front of him. “We’ll be able to start construction right away. We can have electricity and water ditched down there in a day or two. And I’ve pretty much got the site plan done since the footprint will be the same as what we’ve always talked about. I’ll sub out the foundation, plumbing, and electric. If I can get those people in here in the next couple of weeks, we could be framing in three weeks. Four tops.”

  “It sure simplifies things that you don’t have to wait for your mother’s house to sell. That should speed things along.”

  “Money always does.” He wagged his head. “I’d love to get a good start on it while Mother is still favorable to the idea. It would take a minor miracle, but if we could get everything enclosed before Christmas, then we’d have the winter to do all the finish work inside.”

  “We? Do you have a frog in your pocket?”

  He grinned. “I’m assuming I can talk Link and the Sillies into helping on the weekends.”

  Audrey laughed at Grant’s nickname for their sons-in-law. He’d started calling them the Sillies after Corinne sent him a text message using the acronym SIL, meaning sons-in-law. The name had stuck. “Well, that would be the miracle you’d need. But I doubt you can expect the guys to drop everything and come help you every weekend. And I just don’t know how you’re going to do this all yourself, honey. You know I can’t help you. Not if we’re going to keep the inn running.”

  “I know that. And I’m not asking you to. If it doesn’t happen before Christmas . . . Well, it doesn’t happen. We’ll do what we can. I know this is going to put the brunt of the inn on you for a while and—”

  “Don’t worry about that.” She waved his comment off. “I can handle that. I know we need to get your mom settled—before things get worse.” She was more worried about how much of Cecelia’s care would fall on her when her health started declining. But she knew Grant’s answer to that would be, as it always was: “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “I promise I’ll hire out the stuff that makes sense to hire out,” he told her. “But I’d really like to get this built for under a hundred and fifty grand, and I can’t do that if I don’t do a lot of the work myself. That way when we sell Mother’s home, it’ll be a wash.”

  “A hundred and fifty? Surely you can keep it under that.” She hadn’t priced real estate recently—especially not new construction—but they were talking about a small, one-bedroom with a sleeping loft. A cottage.

  “We’ll see. Mother did say ‘spare no expense.’ ”

  They laughed, remembering Cecelia’s droll quip.

  Grant had spent most of the day Monday and Tuesday in Cape taking care of the financing and permits needed before they broke ground, and this morning he’d met with the same architect they’d hired for the renovations on the inn two years ago.

  “And I don’t want to do this halfway,” he said. “I’d like to have Mot
her moved in before spring if we can.”

  “Wow. You really think it could all go up that quickly?”

  “Well, like I said, minor miracle, but . . . Here—” Grant patted the arm of his chair. “Sit. Let me show you some pictures. I think you’re going to love what I’ve got in mind for this house.”

  “Is it anything like what we’ve always talked about building there? For us?”

  “Even better. I started with our plans, but Mother’s situation made me realize that we really need to keep the home more handicap accessible, all on one level with access for a wheelchair.”

  She deflated, envisioning an ugly ramp, and a plain vanilla one-story exterior. Nothing like the little cottage they’d dreamed of. She trusted Grant to know what she would like—and what she wouldn’t. He’d done a stunning job on the inn—everything she’d dreamed of and more. But a part of her felt a little . . . Maybe jealous was the word. Jealous that what had been their dream as a couple had been hijacked by his mother’s situation.

  She quickly pushed the feelings aside. Cecelia had been very generous to them over the years of their marriage. Besides, chances were, she and Grant never would have been able to afford their dream cottage, having invested everything in the inn. Cecelia had inadvertently given them a chance to build their “retirement cottage” a little early. She hadn’t seen her husband this excited about a project in a very long time.

  She settled in on the arm of the chair, snuggling up to her husband’s side. “So show me what you’ve been plotting away at up here.”

  He looked up at her from the corner of his eye, as if trying to assess her mood. Apparently the smile she gave him met his approval, because he opened his laptop and clicked on an icon.

  * * *

  Fresh out of the shower and dressed in sweats and T-shirt, Drew got the coffeemaker going and put two slices of bread in the toaster. As of today, it had been two weeks since he’d been called into his boss’s office and given the left foot of fellowship. Two weeks. It would probably get old quicker than he thought, but if not for the stress of worrying about what his future held, he could get used to sleeping in every morning and living barefoot in sweatpants.