Seaside Manor Bed and Breakfast

by Lilly Mirren

  Her eyes widened. “I have no idea.”

  “Great,” he said with a laugh. “That sounds perfect. Let’s go out for dinner to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “New beginnings.”

  She waved goodbye, then returned to her back porch to sit in a rocking chair and think. New beginnings. It was exciting and scary all at the same time. She felt a little lost, without defined activities to fill the rest of her day. Perhaps she’d find Oscar and see if her wayward dog wanted to take a walk. No doubt he was asleep in a hole he’d dug on the other side of the cottage in the sun. It was his favourite place to sleep, other than at her feet. A walk along the beach with Oscar, then dinner with Mick. The perfect way to spend an afternoon.

  Chapter 23

  Diana

  It was unusual for the big, hardwood door to be shut at this time of day. Cindy usually kept it open, with only the screen door to keep out the insects. Diana raised her fist, hesitated a moment, bit down on her lip, then knocked.

  The sound reverberated throughout the quiet neighbourhood. Diana glanced around. Someone cycled past along the street. The sound of bees in the nearby garden filled the air. She could see the side of the Manor from where she stood, a feeling of nostalgia and loss swallowed her before she pushed it away and faced the closed door again. Another knock, this time louder.

  Surely Cindy couldn’t ignore her forever. She understood that her friend was angry, and she knew why, but they were friends. That hadn’t changed. Cindy had to see that.

  There was no sound from within the house. Maybe Cindy was at the cafe, although Diana knew her schedule well enough to know that Cindy rarely went to the cafe before ten o’clock in the morning. And she’d purposely come to Cindy’s house to see her at seven a.m. in the hopes that she’d catch her at home, and they could talk.

  She wanted to explain, to talk to her friend about what’d happened and why she hadn’t been able to bring herself to discuss any of it over the years. It’d been too much for her to bear thinking about, let alone discussing with other people, even her best friend. The loss of her son left her heart empty and broken. She couldn’t bear to lose Cindy and possibly Rupert as well.

  Diana walked around to the garage but couldn’t see inside. Perhaps Cindy was out, but if she wasn’t, she was definitely ignoring Diana.

  Pain welled in her throat. With a toss of her head, Diana swallowed the pain and strode back to her car. Cindy was being unreasonable. Her affair with Andrew had happened so many years ago Diana could barely remember it. She’d been young, insecure, looking for love and attention — she’d made the wrong choice and she’d suffered for it ever since. Wasn’t that enough punishment? Having to give up a son, the only child she ever birthed, to strangers to raise? It was more than enough, in her opinion.

  By the time she reached home, she had talked herself into a spitting rage at Cindy. How dare her friend act as though she’d never made a mistake, never done anything wrong before? It wasn’t as though she and Andrew were still married, either. She knew what kind of man Andrew was. Some of the blame for what’d happened rested squarely on his shoulders, not that he’d ever admit to that. Of course, she hadn’t told him about Ben and that was her fault, he didn’t deserve that, but still… he was no saint.

  Diana marched into the house with her lips pulled into a tight line.

  Rupert glanced up from his armchair, the newspaper open in his lap and a pair of half spectacles perched on the end of his nose. “Hello, my dear, where have you been?”

  She slumped into the chair beside him. “I went to see Cindy. I wanted to talk to her about everything, get it out in the open, resolve things… but she wouldn’t even open the door.”

  His lips pursed. “Perhaps she needs a little more time.”

  Diana’s head swirled with anger. “She’s being impossible! It was so long ago; she can’t hold it against me forever.”

  “She’s only just found out about it though…”

  “I know, but it’s caused me enough pain to last a lifetime… surely she can see that I’ve suffered enough.”

  Rupert set the newspaper aside and reached for Diana’s hand. “Come on, my dear. Let’s have a cup of tea and talk about something else. You can’t resolve anything now. When Cindy is ready to talk, you’ll talk. Until then, you have to be patient.”

  All the wind in Diana’s sails died away and she slouched in her seat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

  “No need for any more of that. We can’t change what’s been done, but we can face tomorrow with our heads high. Okay?”

  She always marvelled at the way Rupert was able to change her attitude, to help her see things from a positive perspective. She inhaled a slow breath and nodded. “You’re right, of course. Thank you, my love.”

  She patted his hand and rose. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Rebecca

  The song on the radio grated on Rebecca’s nerves. Although everything was doing that lately. She was on edge, of course she was. Jake had sent her an email, and she was tense, waiting to see what he’d do next. She’d gone through it often enough to know he’d wait until she’d let her guard down before he made his next move. He was sick. Always wanted to have the upper hand, and it gave him some kind of thrill to keep her in a constant state of fear.

  Well, not this time. Her brow furrowed. She wasn’t going to live in fear. He couldn’t have that hold over her anymore. She was sick of it, done with that way of living. She should really leave the Cove, change her name, and not look back. But the problem was, she liked it there. She hadn’t meant to fall in love with the place, and at first, she’d felt strange there. It was so different to the bustle of city life that she was used to. But now, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. And the thought of giving up her job, friendships, the boxing gym… all of the things she’d built into her life over recent months, was too much.

  She didn’t want to leave it all behind to start over. Again.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the front windscreen of the cruiser with her eyes narrowed behind dark sunglasses. No, she wasn’t going to run again. Not this time. That’s what he would expect her to do, and he’d be waiting when she did. He always held the upper hand, always had the control. But this time, she wouldn’t run, she’d keep living her life, and if he came for her, she’d be ready.

  “Are you okay over there, Proby?” asked Franklin, with a concerned glance in her direction.

  “Fine,” she snapped.

  From the corner of her eye she could see his eyebrows arch. “Really? You don’t sound fine, and there’s a definite rage-vibe coming from your direction.”

  She huffed, stared out the passenger window. “Since when do you care?”

  He didn’t respond to that, simply drove in silence. Then, pulled the car over to the side of the road, set it in park and faced her. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head with a sneer. “Nothing’s going on. Why? I can’t be angry? Can’t experience an emotion?”

  He shook his head. “No, not usually. This isn’t like you, so spill.”

  She sighed. “It’s nothing, let’s keep driving.”

  He studied her a moment. “If there was something wrong, you’d tell me. Right?”

  Rebecca didn’t respond. Could she trust him? What if she told him the truth about who she was, why they’d sent her there? What would he do? From what she’d learned of Franklin since she started in her job in the Cove, he was a good man, an honourable man. But she’d been wrong about men before, sizing them up wasn’t exactly a strength of hers.

  “Just something from my past… someone, actually. He’s gotten in contact with me, and I’m not happy about it.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  She shrugged. “No, not really.”

  “Okay, well you let me know if there is.”

&nb
sp; “I will.”

  He pulled the car back onto the road and headed towards the centre of town. They weren’t going anywhere in particular, doing their normal trip around Emerald Cove. They did it several times a day, whenever there were no cases to manage — looped around the town, over the hill, through the small suburban neighbourhoods and back to the station. Most of the time she enjoyed it, the feel of the car beneath her, the music on the radio, the feel of the wind on her face through the open window.

  But not today. Today, her nerves were rolled like a ball, tense and ready to spring.

  Franklin’s phone rang and he handed it to her to answer.

  “Hello, this is Rebecca,” she said.

  “Bec, it’s Steph. Can I speak to the boss please?”

  “He’s driving,” replied Rebecca.

  “Get him to pull over, hon. This is important.”

  Rebecca waved a hand, signalling to Franklin to pull the car to the side of the road. He set the handbrake in place and took the phone.

  “This is Franklin. Oh, hey Steph, what’s going on?”

  Rebecca watched his face fall in the silence that followed. He pressed a hand to his forehead, then shook his head slowly. “Okay, thanks Steph.”

  When he hung up the phone, Franklin stared straight ahead in silence, his skin ashen.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Rebecca.

  He didn’t respond. So, she waited, watching for some signal, an indication of what he’d heard. Finally, he sighed.

  “It’s my dad. He had a stroke.”

  “Oh no.” Rebecca’s heart leapt into her throat. Franklin had moved in with his dad to take care of him. He loved his dad, that much she knew. She also knew his father had dementia, and that he’d been a challenge to care for, but other than that Franklin kept much of his private life to himself. “I’m so sorry. Is he okay?”

  “The ambulance came, apparently he was in the backyard, so the neighbour saw him fall. He’s at the hospital. I have to get over there.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Hop out, I’ll drive.”

  He didn’t object, instead, climbed out of the car and wandered around to the passenger seat, before folding his long limbs back into the vehicle.

  “I’m so sorry, Franklin,” she said. She never called him that, it was always sir, or boss, or Sarge. Never Franklin. It felt strange to say his name, but in a good way.

  He didn’t respond, stared straight ahead. She set the car in drive and pulled out onto the road, turning in the direction of Tweed Heads.

  “I wasn’t there…” said Franklin all of a sudden. “I wasn’t with him.”

  “You couldn’t be there all of the time. He knows you love him.”

  “Does he?” Franklin faced her, his eyes welling with grief.

  “Of course he does,” she said. “You’re a good son. The two of you… I’ve never seen father and son who’re so close.”

  Tears glinted in his eyes. “Thanks, Proby.”

  They were silent for the rest of the trip to the hospital. Franklin stared straight ahead. Rebecca’s throat was tight, it ached. When they reached the hospital, she pulled through the emergency drop off and Franklin climbed out, ran inside. She watched him go, then eased the car into the parking lot to find a space to park.

  By the time she’d made it inside, Franklin was nowhere in sight. She settled into a chair in the waiting room and stared without seeing at a television set mounted in one corner of the ceiling. Waiting was something she could do; she’d had plenty of practice. Waiting in hospitals, in emergency rooms like this one — with cream walls and metal chairs, people dotted about, heads in hands or staring at the walls. Although usually she was waiting to be seen by a doctor. She inhaled a long slow breath, let her mind wander over everything that’d happened that morning. What should she do? How could she help Franklin? She felt helpless, powerless to do anything that might bring him relief from the pain he was no doubt feeling. There wasn’t anything she could do except wait. She scrubbed both hands over her face with a sigh.

  An hour later, Franklin emerged through a pair of automatic glass doors. His hair was mussed, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his collar hung open. He drifted into the waiting room with glassy eyes, red-rimmed and vacant.

  Rebecca jumped to her feet, hurried to meet him. “Hey boss, how is he?”

  His gaze focused on her. “Oh hi, Proby. You didn’t have to wait.”

  “Of course I did. Besides, we came in your car.”

  He grunted. “Oh, right. He’s unconscious. They don’t know if he’ll recover.”

  “What do you want to do now? Can I take you somewhere? Maybe we could head to your house and pack you a bag or something?”

  He combed fingers through his hair, his face blank. “Huh? Oh, um… I don’t know. I guess I should get back to work. They said it isn’t likely he’ll wake up today…”

  “No, definitely not,” replied Rebecca with a shake of her head. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  Franklin didn’t object, so Rebecca drove him back to his house. She’d never been inside before but had waited outside for him plenty of times over the past few months. It was a small, red brick house in a neighbourhood of small, single story brick homes. It perched on top of a rolling hill with a million-dollar view of the ocean but with the front door angled away from the view as though it didn’t understand the big deal.

  Franklin sat in the car, unmoving. So, Rebecca climbed out, jogged around to his door, and opened it. Then helped him out, and with one hand on his arm led him into the house. He didn’t say a word, and the side door wasn’t locked. She could see where the paramedics had been. There were wheel marks on the lawn, and grooves in the mud by the side door where they’d wheeled his father from the house to the ambulance.

  She led Franklin to an armchair in the living room, he sat down with a whoosh of released breath. She studied him a moment, then walked to the kitchen, and set the kettle to boil. While she made them each a cup of tea and searched the kitchen cupboards for something to eat, she could hear Franklin talking on the phone in the other room. His voice fell quiet, then the phone rang again. She understood how these things went, for the next few days he’d be talking to people on the phone sharing the news with loved ones. He wouldn’t have time to think about his own fears, not for a while. Probably tonight when everything was still and quiet.

  Memories of her own brought back a rush of grief that she squashed with a swallow as she poured hot water over tea bags into two cups.

  She carried the tea and a packet of chocolate biscuits into the living room and set them on the coffee table. Franklin hung up the phone with a grimace, tossed it onto the table as well.

  “Have a drink and something to eat,” she offered.

  “No thanks, I’m not really hungry.”

  “I’m really sorry, Franklin. I know how hard this is…”

  His gaze found hers, connected. She felt it like a jolt down her spine. “You know?”

  She nodded, inhaled. “I lost my dad when I was sixteen. It’s not something you can ever really be ready for. But I’m sure your dad will get through this… he’ll be okay.”

  His eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Bec. I didn’t know — you don’t share much about your past.”

  “I know, I don’t like to talk about it. I miss him still, we were close.”

  Franklin leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “What do I do if he dies? What should I do now? I don’t know…” His voice drifted away. “I knew this day would come, of course. I mean, he hasn’t been well, and there was the dementia. But not yet, not so soon. This place is so quiet without him. He might not come home… that’s what they said… he might not come home ever again.” He glanced around, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat.

  “What you do now is call the relatives, call his friends, let people know. Then, you pack a bag with things you’ll need, and we head back to the hospital.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, Bec. I’m glad yo
u’re here.”

  “It’s really not a problem, I’m happy to help. I’ll drive you if you like.”

  He nodded. “Okay, maybe we should eat first… do you like spaghetti bolognese?”

  She offered him a wry smile. “I love it.”

  He stood, wiped his hands down the front of his pants with a sigh. “Great, we’ll eat and then go back to see Dad. And hope for the best…”

  Chapter 24

  Ethan

  “You have to flick your wrist, like this,” said Ethan with a chuckle.

  He leaned forward and flicked, sending the coin into the cup after bouncing once on the table in front of him.

  “That’s crazy, I can’t do that,” objected Emily. “Mine goes flying off in another direction. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Ethan shrugged. “I had a lot of spare time when I was at university. The dorm rooms were full of boys with nothing to do, so we learned a few tricks to pass the time. Of course, we could’ve been studying, I suppose. But where’s the fun in that?”

  He offered her a wink as he retrieved the coins from the cup to start all over again.

  “Well, all of the guests are tucked in their rooms, everything’s done for the night, so I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want one?” asked Emily, pushing up from her chair and heading into the kitchen.

  The Manor was quiet, only the sound of cicadas and an occasional muffled bump from an upstairs guest room interrupted the silence. In the background, there was a constant shush of waves, but Ethan couldn’t hear it unless he sat perfectly still and listened. It was one of his favourite things about living in the Cove, that the waves were always there, rhythmic and comforting, as a backdrop to his life.

  “Yeah, what are you having?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “Hot chocolate?”

  He grinned. “How about a wine?”

  Her lips broadened into a smile. “Red?”

  “Perfect.”

  It was hard for him to believe they hadn’t gotten along at first. Lately, there’d been none of the awkwardness, or terse comments from before. Emily’s attitude towards him had softened, and even though sometimes he caught her looking at him as though he’d done something wrong, with that crease between her eyebrows, most of the time she seemed relaxed.