“From everything you’ve told me, Kevin would be overjoyed that you forgot the anniversary of his death. Sure, you should think of him, it’s only natural. But take this cake, and make it a celebration. Remember the good times,” Hannah counseled.
Amy hugged her again. “What would I do without you?”
“I’m very wise.” Hannah kissed her cheek. “Now, I better get back before Nell devours my entire lunch menu.”
Amy watched her go and then put the bakery boxes on the passenger seat where they wouldn’t get squished. As she walked across the street to the grocery store, she glanced in the window of the pizza parlor where two-year-old Pete and four-year-old Sam sat coloring on their table’s paper tablecloth, while their mom, Kelly, chatted with the owner, Tim. She recognized nearly everyone else who clustered around the tables devouring huge pies. She had only to look across the street to see Shannon, the florist, planting mums in the shop’s window boxes, and further down, Ryan and his partner Zane cleaning the windows of the bookstore they owned. Everyone waved and called hello was she walked down the street.
“Wow, what put that huge smile on your face?
Amy walked through the door of the small grocery story and smiled at the manager and owner, Paul Timble. “You, of course,” she said as she grabbed a cart.
“You’re such a tease,” he scolded her. In his late 30s, brown hair, great smile, with a slight paunch beginning to develop, his brown eyes reminded her of a puppy dog. All in all, he beamed “nice boy” out of his fingertips.
She smiled. Here was another true friend. A talented guitarist and singer who wrote his own music, Paul brought music back into her life. He was so easy to be around, and flirted relentlessly—if harmlessly—with her, reminding her of what fun it was to be around men.
“I was just realizing how I know nearly every person that I saw between here and Hannah’s. And, it made me happy. I did the books for On the Sound yesterday and I’m actually making money, a little, and I’m part of this great community. Sometimes I feel like I’m playing at being an innkeeper, like it isn’t real and will go away tomorrow. But today...” she smiled again. “It feels real. And, it feels good.”
“You look good, baby.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed.
“Now who’s the tease?”
“And, you’re definitely one of us. Now, Nell, she’ll tell you five years is the minimum before you’re accepted, but don’t listen to her.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, she doesn’t like me anyway.”
Paul looked taken aback. “What?”
“Forget it.” Amy shrugged and headed down the dry goods aisle. “It’s a girl thing.”
She zipped through the store—grocery shopping was so much quicker when she didn’t have guests. When she pulled up to the checkout, Paul jumped off the stool where he’d been fiddling with his iPad and scanned her items.
“School starts, and it’s dead in here during the day,” he said as he bagged her food.
“You can always come kayaking with me,” she suggested, having trouble keeping a straight face. The one time they’d gone out on the water, Paul had managed to tip his kayak not one, not two, but six times.
“Haha. You’ve insulted my manhood, now I must carry these out to your car.”
“Fine with me,” she said and laughed when he pretended to struggle with the bags. “Hey, I’m craving pizza. Dinner tonight? I can see if Hannah and Tom want to come.”
“And Nell. Oh, wait, you two don’t like each other now.” Paul shook his head as he loaded the bags into Amy’s car. “Women.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like her,” protested Amy. She grabbed his arm. “You can’t say anything about her not liking me.”
“Are we in high school now?” He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, yes, we are.” Amy laughed. She pulled out her phone and texted Hannah.
“Pizza tonite?”
The reply was instantaneous. “YES. Tom and I will be there at 6:30.”
“Okay, Hannah and Tom are in. Text Nell. Not a word,” Amy threatened when he started to open his mouth. “I’ll see you at 6:30.”
“Bring your guitar,” Paul called as she got in the car and started the engine. “I’m tinkering with a new song.”
Amy waved as she drove off. Chocolate cake, kick-ass friends and pizza. Did life get any better? Who needed Mr. Hollywood? Fueled with energy, she didn’t even unload the groceries when she got back to On the Sound—she just sailed inside, straight to the computer.
“Dear Ms. Williams,” she typed, sticking her chin in the air. “I regret to inform you that we are unable to accommodate Mr. Morrison at this time. Due to the number of bookings that we have during the duration of Mr. Morrison’s desired stay, we cannot provide him the individualized attention that he so desires without neglecting our other valued guests.” And also, I don’t think our front door is big enough to accommodate his extra large, Trojan condom-wearing ego. “I’m sure he will be able to procure a reservation at another establishment and hope he is able to enjoy the beauty of the San Juan Islands.” If he isn’t too busy eating his ½-inch Twix cubes.
She reread it, and satisfied, pushed send. It’d been weeks since she’d taken a day off, so she hurried to unload the groceries and then hauled her kayak down to the dock. She spent the afternoon on the water, and when she finally paddled back to shore, her cheeks were flushed with a slight sunburn, her arms ached, and she was relaxed down to her bones. She didn’t think about Ben Morrison again until she grabbed her purse and saw the movie sitting there. When she felt the irritation begin to build again, she took a deep breath. She’d return the movie on her way to dinner with the gang and that would be that. She vowed to not give him another thought—and for the rest of the night, she didn’t.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Amy tackled cleaning out her apartment, which always fell lowest on her priority list. While most of her possessions were scattered around the inn, clutter still somehow sprung up over time, probably multiplying while she was working during the day. As she worked, she took the time to step back and admire the room. Light blue walls and a high, slanted ceiling made the living room area bright and airy. Gauzy ivory curtains framed the windows that overlooked the sea. The fireplace, located on the wall facing the sea, was the focal point of the room, and she’d hung a mid-size flat panel TV above it. Her deep gray couch, the back lined with three overstuffed gray cushions with fat moss green stripes, faced the fireplace, and a green ottoman served as her coffee table. A long and skinny mahogany wood table ran along the back of the couch, where she usually laid her mail—which at the moment was stacked into multiple piles that were sliding into each other. Her guitar sat to the right of the entryway, next to her music stand and a small bookshelf with her music books.
The faucet still leaked in the bathroom, and she fiddled with it for a few minutes, but got nowhere. She chewed on her lip, considering whether to call Tom and ask him to fix the leak or replace the sink altogether. The tiles on the floor were chipped…and ever since she’d painted the walls that pretty lavender color, and splurged on her big antique claw foot tub, that tile was looking pretty faded. It should probably just be replaced altogether. First things first, she told herself. If she got through the winter with a decent amount of guests, then she could “girly” up her bathroom. But for now, she made a mental note to ask Tom to just fix the leak.
In the bedroom, she’d painted the walls a muted latte, and brightened it up with abstract paintings in bright red, purple and blues. Her clothes spilled out from the shelves in her closet, and she did what Kevin used to do rather than hang them up—just threw them all into the dirty clothes hamper. Photos of him and her family and friends lined the scarred wooden dresser next to the wrought iron bed with its deep blue comforter dotted with tiny flowers.
She spent a bit more time dusting, vacuuming and going through her mail before looking out the window and spotting the sun peeking through th
e clouds. Perfect yard work weather. Hands on hips, she surveyed her apartment and thought, good enough. She slipped on her gardening jeans—paint stained and ripped, with huge grass stains on the knees—and a faded, baggy gray thermal t-shirt. Carting the hamper downstairs, she started a load of laundry.
When the phone rang, she was sitting on the banquette, munching on the last of her potato chips from lunch.
“So, are you enjoying the Northwest’s sunbelt while we sit here in the rain in Seattle?”
Amy felt twin surges of affection and sadness when she heard Jack’s voice, an older, rougher version of Kevin’s on the line.
“Nope, still cloudy here,” she replied. The San Juan Islands enjoyed roughly 240 days of sunshine a year, a rarity in the Northwest that was known for its rain. In fact, they experienced half the amount of rain Seattle did, which she loved to tease Jack about.
“Did I catch you in the middle of anything? Do you have a lot of guests?”
“Actually, the inn is empty right now, and my next guest doesn’t arrive for two weeks. So I’m just puttering today, enjoying some me time.” She paused. “How are things with you?”
“I’m doing some puttering myself today. Just got back from visiting Jeremy and the kids. Deb’s still there—she likes being around the kids and being needed, and he needs the help right now, that’s for sure.”
Jeremy was Kevin’s brother, who had recently divorced and gotten full custody of his two-year-old son and five-year-old daughter after his ex took off to “find herself.”
“How’s she doing?” Amy traced the edge of her plate with her fingers, careful to make her voice neutral.
“Better, actually, since she’s focused on Jeremy and playing Grandma. But this time of year is still hard.”
“I know. It was the sweetest thing. One of my friends actually baked me a cake yesterday because she thought I might be sad.”
“Really?” Amy could hear the smile in Jack’s voice. “That’s nice. Most people forget. I remember one time Kevin and Jeremy decided to bake Deb a cake for Mother’s Day. I’m surprised there was any batter left for the cake at all; there was so much on the walls and floor. And of course, it tasted God-awful—burnt and dry. The dirt cake, Deb and I called it when they couldn’t hear us.”
Amy laughed. “I believe it. Kevin was such a terrible cook. And let me guess, you got stuck cleaning up the mess, right?’
“Yeah.”
He was still cleaning up the mess, Amy thought. He was the rock that held Deb together when Kevin died. Now, with his surviving son going through an ugly divorce and tackling single parenthood, his work had doubled.
“You know, you and Deb are welcome to come visit a few days if you want. No sense letting all these empty rooms go to waste. You could relax, play tourist, let someone else cook and clean for you,” Amy offered on impulse. She didn’t expect him to take her up on it. While they talked often on the phone, he and Deb had yet to visit On the Sound. The one year she’d driven to Seattle to be with them on Thanksgiving had been awful. Deb tried, Amy could see that. But it was clear that Amy was a too-painful reminder of her youngest son. And, even though Deb never said anything, Amy wondered if deep down, Deb couldn’t help but think that if it weren’t for Amy, Kevin wouldn’t have been rushing home on his bike for dinner. After all, it was certainly something that Amy had thought often—if she hadn’t nagged him to be home on time, he would have worked late, the SUV would have driven down the road without incident while he was safely in his office, and he’d probably still be alive. It had taken months of sleepless nights to realize that it was also true that if he’d left work earlier, as he’d promised he would, he’d probably be alive. The what ifs would drive you crazy, and so she tried not to dwell on them.
“I don’t know that Deb will want to,” Jack said. “I’m sorry, Amy—”
“It’s okay, Jack. I understand. Believe me, I do.”
“But, I’d like to see On the Sound again, and see you of course.” He sounded wistful. “I might take you up on that, if you don’t mind that I’m solo.”
“Are you kidding? I’d love that. You should come. Anytime. My bookings are pretty sparse in the next few months, so you don’t have to decide in advance—just come up when you feel like it.”
“I’d like that.”
There was a pause, and Amy decided to lighten the mood by telling him the story of her almost-guest, although she kept the name to herself. He listened, making the appropriate tsk tsk sounds here and there, but when she got to the part about the Twix being cut up daily, he roared with laughter. It was Kevin’s laugh, and Amy found herself blinking back tears.
“You’re well rid of him. The amount you’d have to spend on pampering him would outweigh his room charge,” he concluded, and that too was so like Kevin—practical to the core.
They talked for a few minutes longer, and Amy missed him when she hung up. And, Kevin. She sat at the table for a while longer, watching the clouds move across the sky. It was hard to believe it had been four years. Back then, her vision of the next four years involved having their first child, maybe moving to a bigger house. A cubicle with a window. And now, here she sat, owner of On the Sound, watching a seaplane come in from the leaden gray sky and head out of sight, no doubt landing by the pier. Her old life seemed so far away. And, little by little, it was harder to remember the exact shape of Kevin’s face, the way his hands looked when he played piano, the way his hair fell across his forehead.
Damn if she didn’t need some cake. A small smile curved her lips, and she blessed Hannah as she dragged herself out of the booth and got out a plate. She cut a generous slice of the torte and closed her eyes at the first bite. The chocolate was smooth, buttery, and dark, a hint of hazelnut mixed in. Savoring each bite, she leaned against the counter and watched the water. Hannah was right—it wasn’t a cure, but she did feel better. And, the clouds had begun to break up, letting in flashes of sunlight. Time to work her ass off in the garden.
She stopped on the way out the door to check her e-mail. Had Bitchy Assistant responded? She scrolled through her inbox but didn’t see anything from Kendra. Just as well, she thought as she exited the inn and swung by the garage to gather up her tools.
She steered the wheelbarrow to the front of the inn. A low, wrought iron fence ran along the front of the lawn, interrupted by an arched gate strung with small white lights that she liked to turn on in the evenings. Bright purple flowers from the clematis vine twined through the arch. A winding path of flat gray stones surrounded by soft green moss led to the front porch. Jasmine wound around the pillars on either side of the front porch. Bright yellow and blue pots of trailing flowers lined the steps. The garage sat to the left of the inn, and on the right side of the front lawn, rosebushes ran along the fence, elegant and feminine with their pink, red, and yellow petals. Next summer, she wanted to plant some low maintenance perennials at the base of the porch. Maybe branch off the front path to lead to the garage.
Perhaps tear out some of the lawn while she was at it, she mused as she eyed the grass that seemed to have grown at least three inches in the last few weeks. With a sigh, she decided it couldn’t be put off and trekked back to the garage for the mower.
The house blocked the winds from the sea, and the flashes of sun became more frequent, so by the time she was done mowing the front lawn, drops of sweat rolled down her back. She pushed on towards the back and breathed a sigh of relief at the cool sea breeze. Nell’s mom had told her to leave the clippings on the lawn once in a while to help squelch weeds, so she was relieved she didn’t have to haul multiple loads of clippings to the yard debris bin.
That task finished, she trimmed back the jasmine and clematis. “Be ruthless,” Jan had advised. “Otherwise your whole house will be covered.” Still, she couldn’t bring herself to cut it back too much—not when the blooms were so fragrant and lush. The roses, those were easier. She liked the routine of deadheading and clipped off some blooms to place around the
inn while she was at it. She was midway through the roses when she heard an engine revving down the road.
Nell’s bright red vintage Porsche screamed to a halt outside her fence, and she popped her head out the window. “Hey there. Wow, you weren’t kidding about the roses.”
Amy wiped a gloved hand across her sweaty forehead and walked up to the fence. “I know. Too much?”
Nell looked at the bushes, then surveyed the rest of the front lawn, tipping her sunglasses down her nose. It was one of the things Amy liked about Nell—no pat answer there. “No, it’s really lovely.” She directed her glance at Amy. “A lot of work though.”
“No rest for the wicked.” Amy fanned her shirt away from her sticky body. “Good thing you aren’t an impulsive guest with no reservation. I look like shit.”
“You’ve got dirt smeared all over your forehead,” Nell pointed out with a grin. “Speaking of guests, I had to drive by so that I could hear what happened with your mystery asshole.”
Amy laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you but nothing much.” She recounted the e-mail she’d sent, and Nell nodded her approval.
“Very nice. Cool, professional and yet taking no shit. So, she never e-mailed back, huh?”
“No. And, there’s no reason for her to, unless she just wanted to bitch some more.” Amy shrugged. “So, that’s that. I’ve got lemonade if you want to come in.”
Nell slid her sunglasses back up. “Thanks, but I’m on my way into town to pick up Hannah. We’re going over to Friday Harbor so she can pick up some organic something or other.”
Love on the Sound Page 9