by Irene Hannon
As the café owner took off for the kitchen, Kristen checked on Beatrice, who was seated between her and Clint. Bringing her along to the meeting tonight hadn’t been optimal, but her daughter had spent all day with Ruth Watson and her brood. She didn’t want to pass her off in the evening, too. Still, it was clear she’d rather be anywhere than here—despite the chocolate-pie bribe.
“So what did you have in mind for the Labor Day festival?”
At Clint’s query, she forced herself to change gears. “I’m open to suggestions.”
His expression grew thoughtful as Genevieve deposited their drinks and departed for the kitchen again. “It might be nice to plan something for Sunday, as Susan suggested. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Maybe it could be an event geared toward families and children.”
“I’m more experienced at planning things for couples.” Kristen stirred some cream into her coffee. “I don’t know what children would enjoy.”
“We have an expert on that demographic right here.” Clint smiled down at her daughter. “Let’s start with food. What’s your favorite thing to eat, Beatrice?”
The girl scrunched up her face and chewed at her lower lip as she considered the question. “Ice cream.”
Kristen filed away that new piece of information. Her own queries along those lines had been met with disinterested shrugs.
“Ice cream.” Clint set his elbow on the table and gave Beatrice his full attention. “I like that. The inn could sponsor an ice-cream social at the nature preserve on The Point. It would be a perfect opportunity to introduce the residents who haven’t made it down there yet to the interpretive trail, too. What do you think?”
Her daughter gave a solemn nod. “That would be nice. But I think you should have cupcakes, too. And lemonade.”
“Excellent idea. What do you think, Kristen?”
“Sounds perfect to me.”
“More than perfect. I understand Starfish Bay Chapel used to sponsor a popular ice-cream social, so we’d be reviving a much-loved tradition. Lindsey at the Mercantile remembers it.” Clint took a sip of his coffee.
“Remembers what?” Genevieve bustled over and set their pie on the table, along with an extra fork for Kristen.
“The annual ice-cream social.”
“Oh, I remember that, too! A lovely event. It was held every year until poor Reverend Tobias died and the chapel was closed.”
“The inn is thinking about bringing it back for the Labor Day festival. It was Beatrice’s idea.”
“And a fine idea it is, too.” Genevieve patted the girl’s shoulder, and Beatrice gave her a shy smile.
“We’re working out the details now.”
“Well, don’t let me interrupt. Wait till I tell Lillian!” She hurried back toward the kitchen.
Clint picked up the extra fork and handed it to Kristen, gesturing toward the pie. “I’ll warn you in advance—it’s addictive.”
“This is really good.” Beatrice hadn’t waited for an invitation to dig into her dessert. She was eating with more gusto than she’d exhibited since arriving in Starfish Bay—thanks to the man who was sharing their booth. Once again, her landlord had managed to engage her daughter.
Latching onto his approach, she broke off a modest bite of the pie. “What else do you think we should have at this ice-cream social, Beatrice?” She forked the creamy confection into her mouth, praying her daughter wouldn’t shut down.
The child poked at her dessert while Kristen held her breath. “A face painter would be fun.”
Kristen exhaled. “I like that idea.”
“And a magician. I saw one once at a friend’s birthday party. Or someone who makes animals and stuff out of balloons.”
“Those are all great suggestions.” Kristen took another bite of the pie Clint pushed back her direction after his own sample. “What kind of cupcakes should we get?”
“Chocolate.” Her daughter demolished the last bite of her dessert. “But I guess you should get some vanilla ones, too, in case someone doesn’t like chocolate.”
“And what flavors of ice cream?”
“Chocolate.”
Over her daughter’s head, Clint smiled. “I’m picking up a pattern here.”
“And chocolate chip,” Beatrice added.
“I better make a list.” Kristen dug around in her purse for a piece of paper, and Clint handed over his pen in silence as he sipped his coffee.
With her daughter watching as she wrote, she listed all the items they’d discussed. “Anything else?”
“I’ll think about it.” Beatrice settled back in her seat.
Tucking the paper back in her purse, she handed Clint his pen back and tried to think of another topic that would keep her daughter engaged. Nothing came to mind.
As if sensing her dilemma, Clint stepped back in. “So what do you think of Clyde, Beatrice?”
Her face went blank. “Who’s Clyde?”
Clint’s questioning gaze flicked to Kristen. “She hasn’t met Clyde?”
“I usually feed him after Beatrice goes to bed.” Kristen speared the final bite of pie. “I didn’t want attachments to form, given the house rules and all.”
“Who’s Clyde?” Beatrice looked from one to the other as she repeated her question.
“A kitten your...Kristen...adopted.” Clint set his mug back on the table.
“You have a kitten?” Beatrice stared at her.
“He’s not mine. He just started showing up, so I give him a bowl of milk every night. But I never bring him inside.” She directed the last statement to Clint.
“Are you going to feed him tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help?”
“Animals do seem to bring people together.” Clint was still watching her.
So far, he’d been batting a thousand with her daughter—and she didn’t intend to break that streak.
“Sure. I’ve been leaving the milk on the landing, but maybe tonight we can wait for him to come and all get acquainted. Would you like that?”
Several seconds ticked by. Finally, the little girl nodded. “Yes.”
The knot of tension in Kristen’s stomach relaxed a hair.
“Speaking of animals...remember the first night you were here, and I told you about my park?” Clint smiled down at Beatrice. “As it turns out, I’m doing a junior ranger program this Saturday at ten. We’re going to take a hike and look for banana slugs and explore some of those giant hollowed-out trees. If you two want to come, I’ll save you a place.”
“Can we?” Beatrice sent her a hopeful look.
Why not? She was off Saturday, and Beatrice seemed to open up a lot more when Clint was around.
“Sounds like a great way to spend a Saturday morning.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, her daughter gave her a genuine smile.
And as they finished up their desserts and paid the bill, Kristen allowed herself to hope that maybe...just maybe...things were beginning to look up.
Chapter Eleven
“Maybe he’s not going to come.” Beatrice rose from the step she’d been sharing with Kristen to scan the wooded terrain around Clint’s house. She’d been up and down as much as a seesaw.
Kristen checked her watch. “I’m sure he’ll be here, honey. This is earlier than I usually feed him, so we might have to be patient.” Clyde hadn’t missed a night yet, and she prayed this wouldn’t be the first.
The wind picked up, molding Beatrice’s jacket to her thin frame, and Kristen yearned to pull her into a protective embrace. But even though they were sharing a step, Beatrice had stayed at the far end. Now her back was turned as she watched for the kitty—a posture that summed up their relationship.
Kristen sighed. How was
she ever going to break through the barriers Beatrice had erected between them? Or, more accurately, the ones she’d erected nine years ago when she’d given her daughter away? The hope that had fanned to life earlier at the Orchid flickered. Her daughter seemed as distant as ever.
All at once, Beatrice’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe Clyde died.”
At her daughter’s soft words, pressure built behind Kristen’s eyes. “He’s not dead, honey.”
“How do you know?” Her words grew shaky and she played with the hem of her jacket. “Sometimes when people don’t come back, it’s because they died.”
Knowing Beatrice might rebuff the overture, Kristen followed her heart anyway and took the young girl’s cold fingers in a warm clasp.
Her daughter stiffened, but she didn’t pull back.
“He might be scared. He’s not used to people waiting for him. Why don’t you sit again?” She gave the small fingers in her grasp a gentle tug.
For an instant, Beatrice resisted. Then she sank back onto the step, keeping her distance. But she didn’t pull her hand away.
“I always wanted a cat.”
Her daughter’s quiet admission tightened Kristen’s throat. “Why didn’t you get one?”
“Mom was allergic to the dander. Dad said we might be able to get a dog, though. He was checking into it when...before they died.” Her voice hiccuped and she bowed her head.
Kristen wanted to scoot closer, but holding hands might be a big enough step for one day. “I had lots of pets while I was growing up.”
Lifting her chin, Beatrice inched toward her a fraction. “What kind?”
“Dogs. Cats. Horses.”
“Horses?” The girl’s eyes widened. “Where did you grow up?”
“My mom and dad owned a place in Wisconsin where families used to take vacations. It was kind of like a farm, but nicer than that. It was called Lake Pleasant Inn.”
“So it was a hotel? Like the inn where you work now?”
Kristen smiled. “Nothing like that. It wasn’t fancy at all. But we loved it anyway.”
“Do your mom and dad still have it?”
“No.” Kristen swallowed past a wave of melancholy. “My dad died when I was in college. It cost a lot of money to pay for all his doctors’ bills, so my mom had to sell the inn. She lives in town now, near my brother.” Kristen stroked her thumb along the back of Beatrice’s hand, which had warmed. “They’re both looking forward to meeting you.”
In the deepening dusk, Kristen couldn’t make out Beatrice’s features—but she had no problem interpreting the retraction of her daughter’s hand.
Don’t take it personally, Kristen. And don’t push. Give her time to adjust. You’re making progress. Really.
In the silence that fell between them, Kristen heard a faint meow. Beatrice straightened up and squinted into the shadows at the base of the stairs.
Clyde had timed his entrance perfectly.
“I think our dinner guest has arrived.” Kristen whispered the comment as she set the bowl two steps down and picked up the carton of milk.
A few seconds later, a golden ball of fur emerged out of the shadows and began to ascend the stairs.
“Here he comes!”
Beatrice’s soft but urgent voice carried down the steps and the kitty paused to inspect them, eyes glowing in the dim light.
Slowly Kristen opened the container of milk and poured it into the bowl. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come have your dinner, Clyde. You have a new friend who wants to meet you.”
The cat hesitated.
“He’s not going to come.” Beatrice’s whispered words were laced with disappointment.
“Give him a minute to check us out. Stay very quiet.”
She could feel the quivers of excitement running through her daughter, but the little girl did her best not to move.
At last, step by cautious step, the kitty ascended until he was two risers below the bowl of milk.
“Come on, boy. We’re your friends.” Kristen used a coaxing tone as she bent down, dipped her fingers in the milk and held them out to the cat.
Pausing after every step, he crept forward. After giving her fingers a sniff, he licked at them as she drew them back, close to the bowl of milk at their feet. Once there, he began to drink greedily.
“He looks hungry.” Another whisper from Beatrice. “Do you think I can pet him?”
“Let’s give him a chance to have dinner first.”
They waited while the cat lapped up the milk. As he was finishing, Kristen spoke again. “Hold out your hand to him and let him sniff it. Be very slow and gentle. You don’t want to scare him.”
Beatrice did as instructed. Clyde stopped drinking to study the small hand a few inches from his nose. He leaned forward. Hesitated. Then he brushed his whiskers against Beatrice’s palm and licked it.
Her daughter’s sudden giggle surprised Kristen as much as it did the cat.
It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.
“His tongue is tickling me.”
“I bet it is. Go ahead and talk to him, honey.”
“Hi, Clyde. My name’s Beatrice.” She leaned closer to the cat. “I’ve heard all about how you come here to eat every night. Would it be okay if I pet you?”
Kristen was about to tell Beatrice cats didn’t understand human language when Clyde nosed up the steps, past the empty bowl, climbed into the little girl’s lap and gave an expectant purr.
How about that?
Propping her back against the wall of the house, Kristen watched the two of them interact. The cat batted at Beatrice’s fingers as she played with him, producing more giggles from her daughter. Based on his contented meows, Clyde was enjoying the interaction, too.
But finally, with a languid stretch, he leaped to the steps. After one more look in Beatrice’s direction and a final meow, he bounded down the stairs and disappeared into the shadows.
Beatrice rose and stared after him. “Do you think he’ll come back tomorrow?”
“No question about it.” Kristen picked up the empty bowl and container of milk and stood, too. “He knows where the food is. And now he has a friend, too.” She started up the stairs to the landing, Beatrice following.
“Rose says I can be her friend, too.”
Rose. Kristen tried to place the name as she ushered Beatrice through the door.
“You know. Rose Watson. Her mom watches me during the day.”
“Oh, right.” The red-haired girl with pigtails who was always hanging out the car window when Ruth stopped by the inn to pick up Beatrice in the morning.
“And Clint is our friend, too, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” At the very least.
Kristen slid the carton of milk back in the fridge and moved to the sink to rinse the milk bowl. To her surprise, Beatrice stayed on her heels, still talking, still engaged.
“I didn’t think when I came here I’d ever be happy again. But I was happy tonight at the Orchid. And sometimes I laugh with Rose. I felt happy while I was holding Clyde a few minutes ago, too.” She played with the zipper on her jacket, her expression troubled. “Is that wrong?”
Wrong? Kristen struggled with that question as she dried her hands—until understanding suddenly dawned. Beatrice felt guilty for the fleeting moments of joy she’d experienced in the past few weeks because she believed she should be grieving over the parents she’d lost.
It was the same dichotomy Kristen herself had struggled with after she’d given up her daughter for adoption. For years she’d felt guilty about any moments of happiness that came her way.
Sometimes she still did.
Dropping down to one knee, she took her daughter’s hands. They’d grown cold again.
“No, honey. It’s not
wrong. Losing people we love is very sad. But God doesn’t want us to be sad forever, and neither would the people we love. Don’t you think your mom and dad would want you to be happy again?”
She bit her lower lip. “I guess. But I’m afraid if I stop thinking about them all the time, I’ll forget them.”
Tears pricked Kristen’s eyes. “You won’t. Because they’ll always be in your heart. And after a while, you’ll remember all the happy things you did with them instead of being sad. That’s how it was with my dad.”
Beatrice dipped her chin and scuffed the toe of her shoe. “I’ve been wondering why my mom and dad...why they let you take me back.”
Inhaling a deep, calming breath, Kristen framed her response with care. “I think it was because they knew it was hard for me to let you go in the first place. And I made them promise to send me pictures of you every year, so they knew I wanted to be part of your life.”
Beatrice tipped up her chin. “You have pictures of me?”
Rising, Kristen took her hand. “A lot of them. I’ll show you.”
She led the little girl down the hall to her own room, motioned to her bed and pulled the album out of the closet as Beatrice scooted onto the mattress. Sitting beside her, she opened the book and they paged through it together.
Beatrice didn’t say much, except to identify a few of the occasions in the photos. But at the end, after Kristen closed the album, her daughter looked up at her.
“Do you love me?”
Tears blurred Kristen’s vision as she choked out her response. “With all my heart.”
Several beats of silence ticked by. Kristen didn’t expect a reciprocal sentiment. She was more than happy to settle for the quick touch of Beatrice’s hand on her cheek before her daughter slipped off the bed with a quiet good night and disappeared down the hall toward her room.
Placing her palm flat on the spot Beatrice had touched, Kristen closed her eyes. They had a long road to travel to establish the kind of relationship she longed to have with her daughter.
But tonight had been a promising first step.
* * *
“Redwoods might be giants, but they all start small, either from tiny seeds like this—” Clint held out his palm and the eight junior rangers gathered around “—or from sprouts off of the stump of an old tree, like that one.” He gestured to a downed giant behind him. “And the ones that begin as sprouts usually grow in a circle, around the stump. How many sprouts do you think can grow from one tree that falls down?”