Is that what I want?
“It’s settled,” he continued. “I’m bringing dinner and wine, and you don’t need to do a thing. I’ll be there by seven.”
“Okay then. As long as you don’t mind hanging out with a girl who’s spent all day cleaning the bathroom floors.”
“There’s no one I’d rather spend my evening with. As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
“On second thought, forget I said that. I’ll just need to check them for germs first.”
I was still smiling when I heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway. I welcomed the pleasant clench in my chest as I thought about Crawford—his warm eyes, his slow grin, his rumpled clothes and hair. How was it possible that in this small space of time in Sweet Bay, my life had changed so remarkably?
Every time my mind crept back to New Orleans, I forced myself to focus on what was in front of me rather than what waited for me in my real life. It was a trick I’d learned since I’d been back at The Hideaway—pretend to be the spontaneous, go-with-the-flow person I wished I was and I could almost forget that I was going against the grain of my cautious, orderly life.
He knocked and I jumped up off the couch. When I got to the front door, I pulled it open and held my hands out. “They’re so clean, you could eat off them.”
But it wasn’t Crawford.
“Miss Jenkins. I hoped I’d find you here.”
Sammy Grosvenor. Middle Bay Land Development. My stomach dropped.
“I haven’t seen you around the diner again, so I thought I’d come by for a little chat. Do you mind?” He put his hand on the door and pushed.
“I do mind.” I held on to the door firmly. “If you need to talk to me about anything, we can do it out here. Although I can’t imagine that we have anything to say to each other.”
“Oh, there’s plenty.” He peered around me into the house. “Clark was right. He said a lot’s been going on around here and I can see it. Looks good, Miss Jenkins. I hate to tell you it’s all about to change.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
He raised an eyebrow. “Allow me to explain. You’re the owner of one of the choicest plots of waterfront property in Sweet Bay. I tried to tell you this when we spoke at the diner a couple months ago. Only one other piece of property rivals yours in terms of desirability, but the owner has proven to be quite stubborn. With the unfortunate death of your grandmother and your refusal to sell, I’ve informed Mayor McClain that it’s high time we get ourselves in gear and make some necessary changes.”
He trained his eyes on me, his round face red with heat and exertion, his hair matted down on top. My stomach tightened into a ball of knots waiting for him to explain, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of appearing interested.
“I’ll cut to the chase. My case to the mayor shows that this stretch of property serves no one but The Hideaway’s cornucopia of senior citizens. The area will better serve Sweet Bay, and the entire county, if it is developed into something a little more upstanding. I’ve always liked the idea of some fancy loft apartments. You know the kind—industrial look, exposed pipes, metal railings. Maybe some shops and restaurants underneath and a nice boardwalk along the water to connect it all.
“With my plan in the works, Sweet Bay could rival other tourist destinations along the Gulf Coast. I’ve assured the mayor’s staff that these changes would move us up substantially in the eyes of folks looking to spend vacation dollars. The mayor couldn’t say yes fast enough.”
“Mr. Grosvenor—”
“Please, call me Sammy.”
“Mr. Grosvenor, you’ve been trying to get your hands on this house for years, and my answer is the same as it was at the diner. You’re not getting the house. Now if you’ll excuse me, a friend is coming over soon and I’d prefer it if you didn’t ruin our dinner.”
I tried to close the door, but he stuck a foot in the doorway. I opened it back up and sighed. He was a bothersome bug, a pest that wouldn’t go away.
“You misunderstand me, Miss Jenkins. I don’t want the house. I have no use for it. I want the house gone.”
“Gone?” I laughed. “You can’t do that. It’s not your house to take.”
My voice sounded light, but inside, bells were going off. Sammy had come around many times, but he’d never had a real plan, just a desire to take land out from under an old lady’s nose. This time, it sounded like he’d done his homework.
“The mayor agrees with me that eminent domain is the right road to take. It’s the first step in paving the way for our new Sweet Bay. I’ll allow time for the residents to collect their things and make some plans, but do inform them that they should be quick. I don’t have time for the Ingrams and Greggs to sit around and bemoan their misfortune. We’re all adults here and this is how the world works. I’ll stop by again with the necessary papers, but I wanted to let you know what’s going on.”
“That’s—this is impossible.”
“I’m afraid it is very possible,” he said with less bravado. “You know, Miss Jenkins, many of the residents in this town think I’m slimy. They think I do nothing but twiddle my thumbs and wait for someone to die or run out of money so I can swing in and take the house.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It’s true, I do work that way sometimes. But this time it’s different. This is all in the name of bettering our town of Sweet Bay.”
It was a lie and we both knew it. He didn’t care about Sweet Bay—all he cared about was the money a hot new development would put in his pocket. Inside, I was seething, but I couldn’t let him see it. I had to talk to Mags’s lawyer first.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m finished. Do you have anything to add?”
“Not a thing. I’ll have my lawyer contact you in the morning.”
With the door closed, I let out a shaky breath. I pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes, then grabbed my phone off the dining table and walked to the back porch to call Crawford. The night couldn’t have felt less like a victory if I’d walked off the end of the dock and fallen into the water.
“I’ll have to take a rain check for tonight,” I said when he answered.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I heard the concern in his voice. Mitch—or any of the men I’d dated in New Orleans—would have been on his phone the minute I bailed, looking for other friends to meet up with. Instead, Crawford gave me a chance to lighten the load Sammy had just dumped on my shoulders.
I took a deep breath. “What do you know about eminent domain?”
In the backyard, the sky was solid lilac, the sun long gone below the trees. The sun-warmed grass poked the bottoms of my bare feet. Without thinking, I did something I hadn’t done since I was a young girl. I stretched out on the grass on my back—toes pointed, arms stretched over my head—and stared up at the sky.
After my parents died, I often came out into Mags’s backyard just to lie down and think. As the stars popped out, I’d imagine they were holes, and my parents were up there peeking through the sky at me. I thought if I only stayed still long enough, I could catch all the love they dropped down.
As Crawford had told me on the phone, there was no reason to jump to conclusions. “Wait until you talk to Mr. Bains. See if Sammy’s plan even holds water, then we’ll figure it out, whatever it is.”
“But what about all your work on the house? The painters are coming tomorrow, and the electrician is coming back in the afternoon to—”
“Let me take care of the house. We can pause the work if necessary until we figure out what’s going on. Most of the heavy lifting has already been done. The rest can wait.”
I hoped it would just be a simple wait and not a permanent ending.
I rolled onto my side and looked up at the house. The lights inside gave the rooms a welcome glow. It sure didn’t look like the neglected relic it had been when I first arrived.
Was it possible Sammy could take it all away from me?
34
SARA
JULY
I walked into Mr. Bains’s office in Mobile the next day to find him swimming in paperwork. File folders and papers covered his desk and the floor surrounding it. His face, mottled and damp, showed the day had been a rough one. When he saw me in the doorway, he gestured to the paper-covered chair across from his desk.
“I wondered when I’d hear from you.”
I sat down, desperate for him to tell me Sammy had it all wrong.
“My buddy over at the courthouse called me late yesterday and told me the news,” he said before I could speak. “He knew I’d been Mrs. Van Buren’s lawyer and thought I’d want to know. It’s harsh, but this type of thing does happen. Granted, usually it’s to make way for a road expansion or railroad tracks, not something as trivial as condos and a boardwalk. But Sammy has the mayor’s ear on this one. When he started chirping about tax dollars coming into the county and how that could change the face of Sweet Bay, the mayor turned to mush.”
“So he can do this? It’s really going to happen?”
“Looks that way. Unless of course . . .”
“Unless what?”
Mr. Bains sat back in his chair and clicked the end of his pen. “You can try to challenge Sammy’s right to take the property. We can go to trial, show them that The Hideaway can be more than just a home for five—now four—people that doesn’t do much for the town.”
“Would it do any good?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. It sounds like Sammy’s nailed down all the loose ends. He’s acting on the mayor’s behalf, so it’s legal for him to do it. His plan is to use the property for the good of the public, which always sounds good to a judge.”
“Is making Sweet Bay a tourist destination a good thing for the public? Is that what the people want?” I couldn’t imagine Sweet Bay becoming glitzy and high class any more than I could imagine Mr. Bains sprouting horns on his head.
He shrugged. “People in small towns like to talk about keeping things the way they’ve always been, but when you start talking about what the influx of money could mean—better schools and parks, a beefed-up police department, things like that—you’d be surprised how quickly some people can give up that idea of smalltown charm.
“Now if you’re up to it,” he continued, “you could try to convince them that the work you’re doing on the house could better the town in similar ways—attracting vacationers from around the South or what have you. That doesn’t have quite the same punch as multiunit condos and high-end boutiques, but it’s something, and it would appeal to the residents who will stand against anything Sammy tries to do just on principle alone. I must say, though, I was under the impression at the will reading that you were less than thrilled at being named the beneficiary of that place. I would think this might be a good thing for you—Sammy coming in and giving you a reason to let the house go.”
“I wasn’t thrilled at first, but . . . things are a little different now.”
He nodded. “I can see that.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Despite how I felt about the house now, was this a sign that Mags’s death—and Sammy’s timely plan for the area—was supposed to usher in the closing of The Hideaway?
“Could anything make Sammy change his mind?”
“It would have to be out of the goodness of his heart. And Sara—I’m not sure there’s much good in there. I wish I had something different to tell you. I’d advise you to begin making your exit plans.”
On the drive back to Sweet Bay, my phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out with one hand and saw Crawford’s name. Blood pumped in my ears as I pressed End and dropped the phone on the passenger seat.
Don’t push him away now, Sara.
But I didn’t know what else to do. It felt like The Hideaway was slipping through my fingers, the path in front of me leading back to my real life.
At the house, so many trucks filled the driveway that I almost missed the motorcycle parked to the side under the oak. Two men with Sears stamped on the backs of their sweat-stained shirts struggled to fit the new stainless-steel refrigerator through the front doorway. They’d taken the door off the hinges, but it still wouldn’t fit. I avoided the commotion and walked around the side of the house.
I found Allyn reclining in a wooden Adirondack chair on the dock, a drink in his hand, his black boots and socks in a pile next to him. He’d propped his pale, skinny feet up on the railing. Glory sat next to him, laughing.
Allyn turned when the boards on the dock squeaked under my feet.
“Remind me why you ever left this place. It’s so relaxing. I think I might move in. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he said to Glory.
“Of course it is. You can stay as long as you like.” She patted his hand.
I tried to smile, but my throat was tight.
“Oh dear,” Glory said, noticing.
Allyn stood to get a better look at me, and I hugged him hard. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered.
He took a step back, then tightened his arms around me. “Whoa, what’s wrong with you?”
I let him go and wiped the corner of my eye. “Nothing, I’m fine. I’m just happy to see you. What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, Glory and I are getting acquainted. She told me a fascinating story about cutting Dolly Parton’s hair back in Georgia.”
Glory held her hands up. “I’ll let you two kids talk. Let me know if you need anything, Allyn. I’ll be right inside.”
She walked back to the house and held the screen door so it wouldn’t slam behind her. I turned back to Allyn. “I can’t believe you. You’ve already got her eating out of your hand.”
“It’s the hairdressing bond. We’re two of a kind.” He sat back down in his chair and picked up his glass. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“You tell me what’s going on. If you’re here, who’s manning my shop? You didn’t just close up, did you?”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t worry, it’s all taken care of. Rick was more than happy to hold the fort down until I get back tomorrow. Now, spill it. You’re not a hugger, so something’s up. Plus, you’re about to cry and you don’t do that either.”
I sighed and sat down in Glory’s chair.
“I just left the lawyer’s office. It appears the VIPs of Sweet Bay feel that some fancy condominiums and a shiny new boardwalk would serve the people of Baldwin County better than The Hideaway. So much better that they actually want to take the land and the house from me.”
“VIPs of Sweet Bay?” He shook his head. “Who are they and how can they make that kind of decision?”
“It’s called eminent domain. The government—in this case, acting under the urging of a land developer—can take this property, no questions asked, and turn it into something else ‘for the good of the public.’”
Allyn waved his hand around until I stopped talking. “Way over my head. I’ll ask Jaxon about it.”
“Jaxon? Who’s that?”
“He’s a new friend.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“He’s a lawyer. Very smart. Maybe he can help.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Unfortunately, I think it’s a slam dunk for the developer. Legally, he can do this, although ethically, it’s pretty dirty. Plus, Mr. Bains has already looked into it. I don’t need another lawyer. What I need is something to make this guy go away.”
“He’s actually taking the house from you? And what—tearing it down?”
I nodded.
“How long do you have before all this happens?”
“I don’t know yet.”
We sat in silence. Allyn handed me his glass of tea and I took a sip.
“Everything was going so well.” I laughed, but it was only to keep the tears at bay. “The house is coming along and it’s going to be gorgeous. The thought had even cro
ssed my mind that I might be able to run this place as a B and B. I’d keep Bits and Pieces, obviously. And I couldn’t move here—not fully anyway—but maybe I could do both. Crawford and I . . . well, like you said, Sweet Bay and New Orleans aren’t that far apart.”
I leaned back in the chair and tilted my face toward the sun. “So much has happened here, I just can’t imagine it all ending now—and at the hands of Sammy, which makes it even worse.”
I closed my eyes and forced my thoughts of William, the house, and all those pieces of furniture engraved with a skeleton key into a deep pocket in the back of my mind.
“It’s probably a good thing this happened now,” I said, willing my voice not to shake, “before I make any big changes in my life to accommodate this house. Sammy will raze it, throw up some atrocious condo building, and that’ll be that. I’ll head back to New Orleans and do what I’m supposed to be doing, and things will go on in Sweet Bay like they have been for years—except now it’ll be filled with snowbirds and spring breakers.”
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Allyn staring at me. I sat up and took another sip of tea, forcing myself to look calm.
“What about Crawford?” he asked.
“He said we’d figure it out.”
Allyn waited, but he dropped the subject when I didn’t offer any more.
“It’s beautiful here. A little . . . quaint”—he glanced around—“but I could sit on this dock all day. It’s so quiet I think I can hear the fish breathing.”
“That’s just because the construction guys are wrapping up for the day.”
“Construction guys?” He grinned. “Maybe you need to show me around.”
After a ten-cent tour, during which Allyn was disappointed to discover that most of the workers had indeed left for the day, we ended up in the driveway next to his Harley. He handed me a helmet.
“I brought an extra in case I needed to rescue you.”
“Rescue me from what?”
“Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to be rescued. You’re doing just fine, and we’ll figure out what to do about the house—and your man. I just need to do it over something stronger than sweet tea. Hop on.”
The Hideaway Page 20