He smiled at me for a moment before ducking his chin and folding his arms across his chest. “It’s been no secret to those of us close to your parents that the inn has fallen in quite the state of disrepair.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“Well, I guess I just wanted to let you know if you decide to make any repairs , you know before you sell it or if you keep it . . .” He inhaled a deep breath, hesitating for a moment. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t wish to do, but Luke is finally home and is looking for work after his retirement from the Navy. He’s been working around town doing construction and remodeling, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you get the inn back in condition you need for either running it yourself or selling it.”
“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll keep the suggestion in mind. I know I’ll have to do something with it, no matter what I choose.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in right now. If there is ever anything you need to talk about, feel free to stop by and see me anytime.”
“I will.”
“I’ll bring James back right after lunch. I know he tires easily.”
“Thank you.”
I gripped my purse strap tight as I fled the office, trotting to my car. I held my breath and grabbed the steering wheel so tight my fingers ached and my skin turned white. Driving away from the church, my mind spun in several directions. Yet again, Dad asked the hard questions—ones that forced my honest self to scream at my lying self. Ones, I hated answering because I wasn’t willing or able to admit the response. And ones, that brought a sickening swirling in my chest. For so long I’d seen this place in a different light. For so long I’d wanted a life far away from the tiny town. For so long my thoughts had dwelled with the notion of never returning. Ever.
And now, all of a sudden, everything I thought and believed felt wrong.
Could I even live here? Could I return to Shadow Brook? Could I resign from my job and move out of my apartment?
I drove into the inn’s parking lot, and my eyes traced along the building as I studied the shape of the boards and the way they had aged from time and the battering sea air. Just as old, the shingles on the roof had begun lifting. Some appeared as though they could blow off in the next storm and scatter all over the sand dunes while the dusty windows were clouded from the humidity and sun. The whole place was worn on the inside and the outside, and I knew no matter what I intended to do, it needed work. Lots of it.
A groan whispered from my lips. Facing Luke wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. Especially since the last time I saw him. I dumped him flat on his butt and broke his heart. The last straw, the nail in the coffin, I’d blamed my mother for everything, and that night I packed my bags and left for New York.
I slid from the driver’s seat and leaned against the car, listening to the wind chimes clink and clang as I stared at the old, faded green sign reading: 1308 Brook House Inn.
The thirteen-oh-eight inn.
The inn where I spent my childhood, running around as a little innocent girl with life at my fingertips.
The sudden thought of selling it to someone else and walking away from it hit me square in the chest. I couldn’t do it. No matter what had happened in the past. No matter how much I thought I hated it. It was mine, and I would fix it up, keep it, and reopen it for business. I bent down and fetched the papers from the passenger seat and moved around to the trunk of my car. I flipped through them, and after searching for the signature lines I grabbed a pen.
FOURTEEN
Maggie
May 1967
“Yes, I can be there by then.” Helen paused, listenin’ to the voice on the other end of the telephone. “Okay. Great. I’ll see you then.”
She set the receiver down onto the base, and a soft ping from the internal ringer clanged.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
Lost in her own thoughts she ignored me for a moment, starin’ at the blank sheet of paper sittin’ on the desk in front of her.
“Helen? Helen?”
“What?” She shook her head then brushed her fingertips across her forehead. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I lost my train of thought.”
“I saw. Is everythin’ all right?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. I just . . . that was the doctor’s office. They wanted to see if I could come in this afternoon instead of next week. I guess they had a cancellation, so I guess it’s my lucky day.” She shrugged as she glanced down at the watch around her wrist and tapped the face. “But they want me there in an hour and since it will take me at least fifty minutes to drive there. . . I should leave now.”
“Now? As in right now, this minute?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Is there somethin’ I should know about?”
“As in?”
“Ya aren’t sick, are ya?”
“Oh, no, no.” She waved her hand as if dismissin’ my question. “It’s just a routine checkup, that’s all. So I might as well just go now, instead of waiting until next week. You know, get it over with while I know we don’t have many guests.”
“All right.” I bit my lip. “So, when will ya be back?”
“I’m not sure so I’m going to need you to get started on prepping dinner if I’m not back in time.”
My heart thumped.
Dinner?
But I’m a horrible cook. Worse than horrible. I’m . . . was there a word more horrible than horrible? Terrible? Ghastly? Atrocious? Take your pick because they all had pictures of me next to them in the dictionary.
“But, I can’t.”
She leaned over, wrappin’ her arm around my shoulders. “I have faith in you.”
“No, ya don’t understand. I can’t cook.”
“You made the guests sandwiches the other day. They loved them.”
“Helen, sandwiches—two slices of bread, some condiments, and lunch meat—are not a whole dinner and totally different. Can’t we just send out for Moe’s? He makes wonderful food.”
“He does. Which is why we used him last night, remember?”
I closed my eyes, squeezin’ them tight as I clenched my teeth. Of course, I should have remembered. My car still smelled like mayonnaise this mornin’ when I went to grab the office supplies I’d forgotten to bring in last night.
“Surely, the guests won’t mind.”
“Don’t be so sure. I thought the same once and, boy, did I regret it.” She squeezed my shoulder again, movin’ me around the desk, through the dinin’ room, and into the kitchen. “I’ve got everything you will need.” She released me and grabbed a piece of paper. “I even have the recipe. It’s a simple meatloaf, that’s all it is.”
Meatloaf.
It just had to be a meatloaf.
“Can we make them somethin’ else?”
“I’ve already got it on the schedule and the ingredients are all here. What’s the number one rule we live by?”
“Watch your costs.”
“Exactly. And there just aren’t enough guests to pay for huge changes in the kitchen right now. Come summer, we can switch it up, but in May, we are just trying to recoup money losses from the winter.”
“I know. I know.”
“All the instructions are right here. If you follow it step by step, there is no way you can mess this up.”
“Are ya sure about that?” I growled slightly under my breath. Her faith in me was a tiny bit annoyin’. “What else am I supposed to serve?”
“You could just steam up some broccoli and whip up some mashed potatoes and I bet they would love it.”
I lifted my hand, sticking out my index finger and drawing a few imaginary circles in the air. “Just whip them up, huh?”
She laughed. “Yeah, just whip them up.”
I rested my hands on my hips. “And do you have instructions for how to do all that too?”
She moved around me, fetchin’ a wooden box from the countertop. The paintin’s on the sides had worn off in i
ts years of service and the leather hinges attachin’ the lid to the back of the box were frayed.
“Anything you need, you will find in here.”
“But—”
“Anything you need, you will find in here.” She patted me on the cheeks. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”
“I guess there’s nothin’ to do but wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it. You can do this.”
As she walked out of the kitchen, I was instantly reminded of my daddy’s idea of teachin’ me how to swim. “Just throw her in, she’ll either learn or drown.” I had heard him say. Thankfully, Mama had the good sense to not listen to him or follow what he’d told her to do. But I couldn’t help but feel the same as I did as a little girl, standin’ on the deck and lookin’ out at the lake, my heart poundin’ with the thought Mama was about ten seconds away from grabbin’ me by my arms and legs and tossin’ me in.
And now, here, Helen had done just that—tossed me in without care or concern I could—and more than likely would—drown.
I glanced down at the recipe card, readin’ the slanted cursive letters as I tried to forget the last time I attempted meatloaf. It was the day my husband came home to tell me he was leavin’ and the day I had to sign his last will and testament. Of course, just as he wanted, that piece of paper kept Rachel and I from bein’ homeless and poor, but I still remember the gut punch feelin’ I had, etchin’ my name on the bottom line.
“Why did it have to be meatloaf?” I asked aloud, groanin’ under my breath.
“Because meatloaf is good,” a voice said behind me.
I spun around, meetin’ James, pokin’ his head through the cracked door.
“At least when it’s done right it’s good,” he finished.
“Weren’t ya just here a few hours ago for lunch?” I asked, restin’ my hand on my hip.
“Yes, I was,” he shifted through the door, holdin’ up a paper sack, “but I needed to come back to give Helen the nails I told her I would pick up for her.”
“She’s leaving for a doctor appointment, ya might catch her before she leaves.”
“Yeah, I saw her.” He snorted. “Put you in charge of dinner, did she?”
“Unfortunately.”
He furrowed one eyebrow, smirkin’ with one side of his mouth. “Why do you say that?”
I let out a deep sigh as I lifted my hand to my face and bit on one of my fingernails. Admittin’ to myself my lack of ability in anythin’ to do with cookin’ or bakin’ was hard enough to Helen or Nancy, or to myself even, but to him? The thought made me wish for a hole to open up in the earth below me and swallow me whole.
“I just . . . I just don’t like cookin’.”
“You don’t like to cook? Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed that. I love it.”
“Well, thanks for the inspiration.”
“Do you want me to help?” He stepped forward, outstretchin’ his hand toward the recipe in mine.
I yanked it away before he could touch it. “No, no, ya don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. I have nothing else to do and,” he heaved a deep sigh, “to be honest, it might do me some good to cook for someone.” He motioned for the recipe once more and smiled.
For a moment the thought of jerkin’ it away from him crossed my mind once more. Instead, however, I handed it to him. While I didn’t want him to know of my shortcomin’, I didn’t want to serve a disgustin’ dinner to Helen’s guests more.
He took the piece of paper from me and moved to my side as he set it down in front of us. “Well, now, let’s just have a look at this.”
The recipe looked easy, perhaps even more so than the recipe Doris had given me months ago, and for a moment, thinkin’ about her recipe made me think of her. I wondered how she was. Where she was. The last I’d seen or talked to her was a tearful goodbye as I drove away from my house. My only close friend in Washington, she had supported me through the most horrible days of my life. Of course, I had planned on callin’ her when I arrived in San Francisco, but in the mess of the emotions of the days I spent there, I hadn’t.
I haven’t done much of anythin’ to stay connected to anyone.
I haven’t called Doris.
I haven’t called Sherry.
I haven’t called Frank and Alice, my in-laws.
I haven’t even called my own parents.
No one knew where I was. Although, in my parents’ case, such was for the better. If they didn’t know where I was, they couldn’t come get me, and worse, they couldn’t take Rachel away from me. Instead, she slept upstairs in my room, tucked away in her warm crib.
“Have you ever made meatloaf before?” James asked.
“Um, I tried . . . once.”
“Did your mother never show you how to cook?”
“Mama hired a cook. Mama never cooked.”
“Well,” he said, movin’ around me as he headed back toward the door. Instead of leavin’, however, he grabbed two of the aprons hangin’ on the wall next to the exit. “First things first,” he handed me one of the aprons—a blue one with sunflowers stitched on the front and around the bib before he slipped on the other one and tied the strings around his waist, “let’s get out all the supplies we will need.”
While he grabbed the bowls, pans, and a few different mixin’ spoons and spatulas, I grabbed the meat, peppers, onions, seasonin’s and spices, slices of bread, and eggs. Once everythin’ was laid out, James began. His instructions were thorough and kind, and he played often with the food, jugglin’ the peppers or tryin’ to spin the onion on his fingertip like I’d seen basketball players try with basketballs. It didn’t work, and the onion ended up on the floor not once, but twice, but it still made me laugh, easin’ the tension in my shoulders from all the thoughts of what—if anythin’—I was doin’ wrong.
“So, you said you tried to make this once, what happened?” He dumped the meat into a bowl and broke it apart.
“I ended up droppin’ it on the floor.”
“Before you cooked it or after.”
“Before.”
He shrugged. “Well, cooking it . . . depends on the temperature . . .”
“Seriously?”
“If the oven is hot enough, why not?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m guessing that’s not what you did, though.” He laughed.
“No, I threw it in the trash, and we ate cereal for dinner.” I shook my head, rememberin’ how awful I felt about the dinner, and yet how we laughed through the whole evenin’ as we spooned bites of baked oat circles and milk into our mouths. Of course, I didn’t know how much of our happiness was us just tryin’ to forget about what was happenin’ to us and to our lives.
“We, as in your husband, I presume?”
A lump caught in my throat and I looked away from James, shruggin’.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up.” He cracked the eggs into the bowl and then grabbed the bread slices, crumbling them up before addin’ ‘em in. “You know, it took me a really long time before I could speak about what happened with my late wife. People would ask and I would either ignore them or change the subject. I knew they were just trying to be nice, trying to show concern or to show me they cared. Didn’t seem like a kind gesture at the time, though. Seemed more like they were prodding at me with a hot poker. Talk about her. Talk about your feelings. Talk. Talk. Talk. I found for a long time I just hid away instead. Seemed more logical to stay away from them then to spend time with them only for them to poke me again.”
Although I knew he was starin’ at me—since I could feel his eyes burnin’ into the side of my face—I ignored him, fetchin’ an onion instead, and as I cut off the end, the scent hit my nose and my eyes watered.
“Lord, I hate the smell of these,” I whispered.
James remained silent for a moment, continuin’ to watch me while I continued to ignore him. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry if I’ve been poking
you with a hot poker. Death or divorce is still a loss, no matter what.”
I stopped cuttin’ and shoved the board and onions away a few inches, spinnin’ around mostly to get away from the smell, but also to get away from my own thoughts.
“Ya haven’t been pokin’ me,” I said. Still unable to look at him, I fixed my gaze on the floor. “And I’m not mad ya keep bringin’ it up. I’m just . . .”
“Not ready to talk about it.”
His deep voice inched up my skin, fleckin’ it with goose bumps.
“I spoke to my late wife’s parents this morning,” he said, slightly changin’ the subject.
“Are they still after the property?”
“They are. However, I believe they are starting to realize it’s a legal fight they can’t win. I’m sure they will give up sooner or later.”
“Ya know ya don’t have to hang on to the place just for me and Rachel. There are other houses here in Shadow Brook.”
“I’m not just keeping it for you. I’m keeping it for me too. I loved designing that house. In fact, I think it was some of my best work.”
“So is that what you do? For a job, I mean. Are you an architect?”
“It’s what I did do. I was able to secure several properties and made some good investments. My parents thought I was crazy because I wanted to retire before the age of thirty. But I didn’t care. I wanted what I wanted, and so did she. We planned on moving here to live the quiet life. So I made it happen. It just didn’t work out as we planned.”
“But how can ya keep that house, knowing ya built it for her and for a life with her, a life y’all will never get to live?”
He shrugged. “Because I love the memories. Of course, I wish she was here and of course, I hate that she died, and we will never share what I thought we would. But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember what we did share, or I want to forget about her.”
“I don’t want to forget about him.”
“I know you don’t.”
“I’m just . . . I’m just not ready.”
“Fair enough.”
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