Reason to Breathe

by Deborah Raney

  “Uh … can’t say I’ve priced one recently,” Phylicia drawled. “But Quinn makes a good point about electricity. Don’t start booking the venue yet, Jo. We might want to finish at least one of the houses first.”

  Quinn shot her a look. “Don’t be such a party pooper.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who went all Eeyore about the electricity.”

  He laughed. “Touché.”

  “Seriously, though,”—Phylicia looked sheepish—“what would it take to get electricity up here?”

  He looked down the slope at the bucolic scene the cottages made below. The sisters followed his gaze—and gasped in unison.

  “What a view.” Phylicia’s whisper held awe.

  Which made Quinn feel undeservedly proud.

  “This is your property, ladies.” Quinn beamed and looked sideways at Phylicia. “Any regrets?”

  “No way.” Joanna almost sounded as if she might cry.

  “And we have you to thank for it, Quinn.” Britt’s smile held genuine gratitude.

  He held up a hand. “No. Don’t forget your dad was the one who first spotted the property and thought of you guys.”

  “Yeah, while you did all the work.” The lines in Phylicia’s forehead appeared again. And he made it a personal goal to rid her permanently of that furrow.

  “Seriously, guys. I only did what your dad asked me to. He’s the one you should be thanking.” What he’d told them was true, but he did still wonder about Turner’s motives and why he’d left the sisters to handle everything without him. It didn’t make sense, and it sure didn’t fit with the man he’d known most of his adult life.

  Phylicia walked to the far side of the clearing and looked down on the nearly dry riverbed below. He noticed she always seemed to find an escape when the subject of her father came up. He went to stand beside her. She craned her neck to peer over the ridge and Quinn did the same. A trickle of water flashed in the channel, but nothing that could be called a creek, let alone a river or tributary.

  “It’s awfully pretty up here.” He let the words linger on the crisp winter air and took a step away from her, lest she fear he was going to touch her again. Or maybe it was more for his own sake that he put some space between them.

  “It is pretty. I’m really glad we bought the place. Thank you, Quinn.”

  “Like I said, I didn’t—”

  “Stop. I’m just saying thanks for what you did do. You were there when Dad wasn’t. I honestly don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  Her tone made him want to just shut up and take any credit she was willing to dole out. But his conscience wouldn’t let him. “You would have done just fine without me. And if I wasn’t here, your dad wouldn’t have let you make a mistake.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He looked askance at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you know what’s going on with my dad?”

  He shook his head, not sure why she was asking him this since he’d already told her everything he knew. “I don’t know any more than I did last time we talked about him. I didn’t even know he was getting married until you said something.”

  She bit her bottom lip.

  “Is he married already?” he asked softly. Maybe that was what had her so down.

  “I wouldn’t know. He hasn’t called once since we told him you’d talked us into … since we bought this place,” she amended. She glanced over her shoulder to where Joanna and Britt were gathering pinecones and lowered her voice. “Well, unless he’s called my sisters and they’re holding out on me.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess they wouldn’t. We haven’t really talked about Dad much. Joanna seems to let it roll off her back, and Britt just gets defensive.”

  “Defensive? Why?”

  “I guess because she knew Karleen—the hospice nurse Dad ran off with—better than Jo and I did. Britt liked her.”

  “I wish you’d quit saying ‘ran off.’ It’s not as if your dad ran out on your mom. Right?”

  Her jaw tensed. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Okay. Listen, if I knew anything, I’d tell you. Okay? The only thing I’ve talked to him about is this property.”

  He bent down to pick up a small pile of brush that had collected in the crook of a large maple. He tossed the mass over the ridge and turned away from the dust that billowed up from the debris. “I wish I had my work gloves.” He gathered up another pile of brush.

  “Let’s worry about the cottages first. We can work on the outdoors later this spring.”

  “Good point.” He dropped the debris back in the spot where he’d found it and brushed the dust off his clothes.

  “Thanks for showing us this spot. It’s really cool.”

  “It is. I knew you’d like it. All of you,” he added quickly.

  But for once, she didn’t seem uneasy at his comment. She wiped her hands on her jeans and started toward the stairs. “We’d better get back to painting if we’re going to finish before dark.”

  He checked his phone. “We’ve still got a good four hours. We can do it.”

  “Come on, sisters. Back to work.” And just like that, she was back to her cheery self.

  Chapter 14

  Thank you. Come back and see us.” Phee handed the customer her receipt and forced cheerfulness into her voice. She couldn’t remember a day that had dragged on the way this Monday had. So much for February being a short month.

  The shop was empty and since it was President’s Day, there wasn’t even any mail to sort, so she went to the workroom to finish an arrangement of sunflowers. Usually she loved working at the flower shop in winter. The colors and smells of the blooms and greenery was a little shot of spring that carried her through Missouri’s dreary winter months. But these days, all she wanted to do was work on the cottage. They’d finished painting the main rooms on Saturday, and she and Britt had gone back Sunday afternoon to clean the floors and pull up carpet in the bedrooms.

  They’d found hardwood underneath, but it was in bad shape and needed refinishing—which she didn’t know the first thing about. Quinn probably “knew a guy,” but she hated to say anything to him, lest the guy was him again. He’d assured them he’d send a bill for his time, but knowing him, it would be half of what he should charge them. She didn’t want to take advantage, even though the discount would be a huge help.

  And she had to admit, she liked having him around.

  She, Jo, and Britt had managed to each put three thousand dollars into a renovation fund after closing on the property, but they’d already spent almost a thousand of that. And it was the smaller cottages that were going to break the bank. Plus, they hadn’t moved into the cottage yet, so she and Jo still had rent to pay for their apartments. They’d talked about moving in together, but in the end decided it would be too much time and hassle to move twice just to save eight hundred dollars.

  According to Jo, Britt had been staying at Mom and Dad’s house by herself most nights, but judging by the dark circles under her little sister’s eyes, Britt wasn’t sleeping very well. At least there’d been no more visits from the police. Phee looked forward to meeting Britt at the house after work to haul some of the furniture out to the cottage.

  She was in the middle of wiring a gerbera daisy stem when the shopkeeper’s bell on the door announced a customer. She dried her hands and hurried to the front. “May I help y—”

  She instantly recognized the slender young blond standing at the counter. But several seconds ticked past before recognition cleared the fog from Karleen Tramberly’s wide blue eyes.

  “H-hello.” Karleen’s voice was tentative. “You’re …Turner’s daughter.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” She nodded. And Myra’s daughter too. “How may I help you?” The Chandler sisters had all been taught that politeness was next to godliness. But Phee tried—and failed—to inject a warmth she didn
’t feel into her tone. Mom would have been disappointed in her.

  “I’d like to have a plant sent to Murfurd’s Funeral Home. For the Jensen family.”

  Phee’s mind went blank for a second. “What … price range were you thinking?” Avoiding Karleen’s eyes, she grabbed a pencil and order pad.

  “I’d like a specific plant if you have it. But I’m not sure it’s in season. Do you have any cyclamen?” She glanced back toward the display window. “I didn’t see anything …”

  “Yes, we have a few nice ones. But I’ll have to check whether or not they’re in bloom yet. I’ll be back in a moment.” She sneaked a glance at Karleen’s left hand. No ring. Not that that meant anything. Mom had rarely worn her wedding ring, insisting she was too afraid of losing it. But sometimes, when they were little, she’d let Phee and her sisters take the diamond out of her jewelry box and try it on just for fun.

  She started for the stockroom, then turned. “Were you wanting a certain color? I think we have pink or white. I’m not sure …”

  “Pink would be nice.”

  Phee escaped to the back, surprised to find her hands were trembling. She found a pink cyclamen in bloom, popped it into a foil sleeve, then carried it to the front. “You want this delivered to the funeral home, correct?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. That’s a pretty one. Mrs. Jensen was partial to cyclamens.”

  They’d done a few other flowers for the Jensen funeral, but Phee didn’t know the family well. Only that the woman had been about her mother’s age. She wondered if Karleen had flirted with Mr. Jenson too. Glad the woman couldn’t read her thoughts, she took the credit card Karleen handed her across the cashier’s desk. “We’ll get it delivered first thing in the morning, if not tonight.”

  “Either one will be fine. Thank you.”

  Phee ran the card and returned it, avoiding Karleen’s eyes.

  “You’re … Phylicia—the oldest, right?”

  Again, Phee stared, amazed—and honestly a bit taken aback—at the woman’s boldness. “That’s right. I am.”

  Karleen cleared her throat. “So . . . How is your father doing? If you don’t mind my asking . . .”

  Phee frowned. And noticed for the first time how Karleen was fidgeting with the zipper on her purse. “You would know better than I do.”

  “Excuse me?” Confusion glazed the young woman’s eyes, then alarm. “Wait … has something happened? Is your dad all right?”

  Phee held up a hand. “What I mean is … I thought you were with him. In Florida.”

  “Oh … No.” Karleen shook her head. “Not for a couple of weeks now. He didn’t tell you?”

  “I—haven’t spoken with Dad recently.”

  “Then you thought we were still—”

  “Listen …” Phee held up her hands. “I don’t really want to talk about this with you. It’s between you and my—you and him.”

  Karleen reached to place her hand briefly over Phee’s. The action did not endear her to Phee. “Please, Phylicia, call your dad. I don’t know what he’s told you, but he at least owes you an explanation.”

  Pretending she didn’t hear, Phee pulled her hand away and straightened a stack of flyers on the counter. “We’ll get your order delivered by tomorrow at the latest.”

  Karleen leveled her gaze, but not in anger. Which surprised Phee even more.

  “Phylicia? Is everything okay? I’ve thought so much about you and your sisters these last few months. I hope you’re all doing okay.”

  Oh, I’ll bet you have. “We’re fine, thank you.” She didn’t wish to be out-and-out rude, but she did not want to have this conversation. Even though her curiosity was nearly killing her.

  “Your mom was one of the sweetest women I’ve ever had the privilege of caring for. I want you to know that.”

  Paralyzed, Phee stared at her. Then huffed. “You sure have a funny way of showing your admiration for my mom.”

  The woman drew back, then straightened, looking as if she wanted to say more. But instead, she stuffed the receipt in her purse, her gaze suddenly flighty and even a little … fragile. She turned and left the shop without a backward glance.

  Phee’s first instinct was to call Dad and get to the bottom of this. Why hadn’t he told them that he and Karleen had broken things off? Surely, he realized what a relief that would be to all of them. Maybe he would be coming back to Missouri now. And they could take the house off the market. Phee didn’t doubt that Dad had business in Florida. He’d been traveling to Orlando off and on with the company as long as she could remember, but he’d always been able to do his work in a few days and then return home.

  Phee was preoccupied and grumpy the rest of the day. Thankfully it was a slow afternoon at Langhorne Blooms, so she closed up the shop a few minutes before five thirty and headed to her parents’ house.

  Britt was there, in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt, ready to work. “I’m thinking of bringing Melvin out to the property with us. Let him get used to the place. Do you care?”

  “Fine with me. Maybe he’ll get a mouse.”

  Britt shivered. “I hope not.”

  “Maybe we should lock him in one of the small cottages.”

  Britt shot her a dirty look. “You’re just mean.”

  “I’m not mean. Melvin would probably think that was the greatest adventure ever.”

  “One step at a time, please. Let’s just see how he handles the main cottage first.”

  “Whatever.”

  She felt her sister’s eyes on her.

  “Are you okay, Phee?”

  Phee thought for a minute, trying to decide whether to mention her run-in with Karleen. “Guess who came into the shop today.”

  “I have no clue. Good or bad?”

  “Bad.” She frowned. “Well, and also maybe good.”

  Britt rolled her eyes. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Karleen Tramberly.”

  “Whoa! Seriously? I thought she was in Florida. Do you think that means Dad’s in town?”

  “I don’t think so.” She relayed her tense exchange with Karleen to Britt.

  “Phee! We’ve got to call Dad. What if something’s wrong? Have you talked to him lately?”

  “Not since we called to tell him we were buying the property. Have you?”

  “No. I’ve texted him a couple times. His replies were, like, two words.”

  She nodded. “Mine too.”

  “What if he’s”—she shrugged—“I don’t know … sick or depressed or something?”

  In her surprise-fueled anger, Phee hadn’t considered that possibility—and experienced a twinge of guilt. “Maybe we should call him.”

  Britt frowned. “Maybe we should wait, see if he calls us.”

  “True. And I really did want to get out to the property before dark.” She was grateful Britt was as reluctant to talk to Dad as she was. But how else would they find out the truth? “Okay. We’ll wait. Or we can call him another time. Besides, if I talk to him now, I might say something I’ll regret.”

  “You would not.”

  “I might. I’m so mad at that man right now, I don’t even feel like I know him.”

  Britt sighed. “I know. And then I feel guilty. I just hate this whole thing. It was bad enough we lost Mom. But this …”

  She gave Britt a quick hug. “Come and help me get that furniture loaded. We’ll talk more on the way out there, okay? It’ll be dark in an hour.”

  “I can’t believe you managed to stuff all this in two cars.” Britt hefted one end of an old desk, while Phee juggled the other. As Phee remembered, it was a piece Mom had stored in the basement at the house in Cape—something she’d had in her dorm at college. Thirty-some years ago. The desk had never been used in the Cape house that she could remember, but it would be adorable painted a cheery color and distressed. And it made the desk all the more special that it had belonged to Mom. Phee’s fixer-upper vibes were kicking into high gear. She wished Jo could hav
e made it, but she had to work late. Again.

  The sun slipped behind the naked tree branches shortly after they arrived, and the air turned brisk, but she and Britt were exerting enough energy unloading their cars that Phee was almost grateful for the chilly breeze. They hauled in a couple of side tables, Mom’s Persian carpet, and a pair of mid-century chairs upholstered in a muted turquoise fabric—all from Mom’s sitting room. Phee rolled out the rug, then placed a chair on either side of the fireplace. She took a few steps back to see the effect.

  Behind her, Britt clapped with glee. “That looks perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  Phee had to agree. Mom’s pieces were just right with the fireplace finish. “The right pillows will make all the difference—and maybe that white faux fur throw I have in my apartment.”

  “I’ve got to say, this place is turning out even cuter than I imagined.”

  “It really is, isn’t it?”

  “I wish I could envision things the way you do.” Britt tilted her head and looked at the arrangement of chairs by the hearth. “I have to see it before I can tell if it works. But wow, sis, this works.”

  Phee’s heart warmed. “I’m going to go get the paintings out of the car. I want to hang a little gallery wall over there”—she pointed to the right of the fireplace—“and then we can pull colors from that for the pillows.”

  She opened the trunk and pulled the box of paintings toward her. Mom’s cherished collection of originals had hung in her sitting room on a wall painted the teal color shared by the carpet and chairs. They would make a perfect gallery wall by the fireplace and pull the whole room together.

  But as she headed back into the house lugging the heavy cardboard box, a pang of guilt needled her. First, because she’d taken the paintings from Dad’s house, leaving behind a wall of faded rectangles where the paintings had hung in the sitting room. Although, surely that wouldn’t make a difference to a potential buyer. And maybe she’d have time to paint that one wall before the open house next weekend. If the house sold before then, all the better.