“Yes. I need to get home.” Reluctantly, she handed over Boomer before starting for the door.
“Hold up,” Rick said. “Donovan will see you out.”
Donovan gave Rick the I’ll-set-you-straight-when-I-get-back look before handing the puppy off to him.
“Yeah, I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her. “For protection.”
“I can take care of myself,” Hope said over her shoulder.
“Humor me, then.” Donovan hurried around her and held the door open.
“Suit yourself.”
He walked her out to her beat-up Honda Civic. “It was good to see you.” It wasn’t, really. The encounter made him feel uncomfortable on so many levels.
“Sure.” She knew he didn’t mean it. “Good-bye, Donovan.”
Her words were firm and felt final.
Fine by me. He walked back to the lodge, shivering from the cold.
Rick was waiting at the door. “Now that girl is a good reason to stay.”
For you or for me? Donovan shook the thought away. Long ago, he’d told Rick all about Hope, and he was certain Rick would never go after someone Donovan was interested in.
But Donovan wasn’t interested. Not since the day Beau died. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed an unopened bag of Doritos.
While he pulled out a handful, he glanced down at a small slip of paper lying on the counter and picked it up. A bill from Piney. Figured. This whole debacle was costing him in more ways than one. Tomorrow, he’d have to go to the Hungry Bear to pay his bill, plus inform Piney that she’d better stop delivering groceries out to the lodge. And she better stop meddling, too. But he wouldn’t admit how badly her delivery person had thrown him.
Donovan went back into the living room and sat on the dilapidated sofa.
“Hey.” Rick set down his half-eaten Pop-Tart. “I’m going to throw some numbers together for what it would cost to remodel this place.”
Donovan couldn’t care less about crunching numbers.
Rick pulled out a pad of paper and wrote furiously, mumbling all the while. “You can use the winter to fix things up. Work on the inside.” He looked up at Donovan. “Are you handy around the house?”
Begrudgingly Donovan answered, “I used to help my grandparents and my dad with stuff. So sure, I’m pretty handy.” He’d helped his grandfather build the back porch, and when he was needed, he was happy to help the homesteaders around Sweet Home.
Rick tapped his list. “I’ll drive to Anchorage tomorrow for supplies.”
“Good. Can you bring back some groceries, too?” That way Donovan wouldn’t be forced to go to the Hungry Bear.
“Shouldn’t you support the local economy?” Rick said. “Besides being the right thing to do, it’s a good business practice. It’ll build up goodwill with the folks of Sweet Home.”
“You don’t understand,” Donovan said.
Rick set down his pen. “Explain.”
Because Donovan had shared so much with Rick, he was honest with him now. “It’s Hope. It’s too hard seeing her.” It’s digging up old feelings—good times and grief.
“Listen,” Rick said, “this might be good for you.”
“No. Don’t start in on personal growth again. I’ve had a lot of it these last umpteen years in AA.”
“It might be time to deal with Hope and your brother’s death, is all I’m saying,” Rick said. “Maybe you should go with me to Anchorage.”
Rick didn’t have to say the rest: You need to catch a meeting.
“I will.”
“Now, can we get back to figuring out what we’re going to need in order to update the lodge?”
Donovan looked around with new eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe we should get an interior decorator in here to update everything. For staging.” Yes, restore the place for selling purposes only. The best time to sell would be late spring, not October with winter already here.
“Do you know anyone in town who could help with decorating?” Rick asked.
“We could ask the real estate agent.” Courtney Wolf from high school. “Let’s put that on our list of things to go over with her tomorrow.”
Another idea popped into Donovan’s head. If he wasn’t going to put the place on the market until spring, maybe he should hold a couple of town events here, like Grandpa and Nan did when he was a kid. They would help raise the profile of the lodge.
It was Business 101 that turnkey income-producing properties enticed more potential buyers than a boarded-up, defunct old lodge would.
He picked up Boomer and set him in his lap. “My grandparents used to hold Sweet Home’s Christmas Festival here, or at least part of it.” He’d have to ask Piney or Mr. Brewster if the festival even existed anymore. “One of my grandmother’s favorite traditions was to have a wine tasting on the first night of the festival, featuring only Alaskan wines.”
“Then you’re going to stay?” Rick asked hopefully.
“No!” Donovan hadn’t really thought this through. “No. Not permanently. Maybe just through the Christmas Festival. Then I’ll hire a manager to run the lodge until it goes up for sale in the spring.”
“Okay then,” Rick said.
Donovan glanced at the dining table, imagining all the cookies and cakes and cheese and bread that it used to hold. “Re-creating my grandmother’s wine tasting and hosting the residents of Sweet Home just one more time seems like a good way to honor my grandparents.”
“I think so, too.” But Rick was giving him a knowing look.
“Stop it. The wine tasting has nothing to do with Hope.”
“Of course. I believe you.” But Rick’s words didn’t match his face or his tone. “On a more serious subject: Are you sure a wine tasting is a good idea?”
“I promise, my sobriety is safe.” Donovan appreciated how Rick helped him to stay accountable. “I’ve never been fond of the sweet fruit wines of Alaska.” Then Donovan remembered the newspaper clipping tacked to the wall in Nan’s office. “There might be one obstacle, though. If the town council still exists”—and he was pretty sure it didn’t, with the town so small now—“I’ll have to speak to them about lifting the ban on alcohol.”
They spent the rest of the evening planning and strategizing how to pull off the wine tasting.
“Rick, I don’t think we can get everything done in one afternoon in Anchorage,” Donovan said. “When we head out tomorrow and when I have some decent cell service, I’ll book us a couple of hotel rooms.”
Rick pointed to Donovan’s chest, where Boomer was fast asleep. “What about your buddy?”
Donovan ran a hand down the puppy’s back. “He’ll go with us. Everyone in Alaska takes their dogs with them everywhere. Even runts like Boomer.”
Donovan glanced at his watch. “It’s ten and I’m beat. I’m going to take Boomer out, then head up to bed. What about you?”
“I’ll be up in a while. I want to make sure I have everything organized for tomorrow. I call dibs on the room with the king-sized bed.”
“Go for it.” Donovan planned to stay in his old room tonight, the one he and Beau shared whenever they slept over at Grandpa and Nan’s. Rick would be proud that Donovan’s personal growth would begin now by revisiting his past this way.
“Come on, Boomer,” Donovan said, though the dog was already in his arms.
He walked out into the night and set Boomer on his feet. “So, little guy, you liked Hope?”
Boomer sniffed around, getting the hang of this bathroom thing.
“She liked you, too,” Donovan said. “I could tell. She looked at you the way she used to look at me.” With complete love in her eyes.
Now, Hope only looked shell-shocked . . . and more than a little worn out.
“You ready for bed?” He picked up the dog and went in.
As
Donovan walked upstairs, he realized two things. Away from the fireplace, it was going to be very cold in the lodge. And Boomer wouldn’t do well on the floor of an unheated home.
He frowned down at the pup. “I guess I’m not sleeping alone tonight.”
Chapter 4
ON THE WAY home from the lodge, Hope had half a mind to drive to Piney’s and give her what for. But then Hope remembered the gallon of milk Ella had said they needed. She pulled into the Hungry Bear and parked.
Using her key, she unlocked the door and went in.
“Well?”
Hope jumped. “Piney! You about gave me a heart attack.” But as soon as Hope said it, the words made her sick because of her dad. “What are you doing, standing there on the steps?”
“I came down to set the alarm. I heard you pull up. You really need a new muffler.”
“I know.”
“So how did it go?” Piney asked.
Hope flipped on the lights. “You mean, other than Donovan hadn’t really ordered any groceries?”
Piney winked at her. “Who said he didn’t? Maybe it was a ploy to get you out at the lodge alone.”
“He wasn’t alone.” Hope raised her eyebrows at Piney.
“Who was with him? I didn’t see a wedding ring.”
“A lot of men don’t wear rings,” Hope said, thinking of her father, who never wanted his ring to get caught in the equipment at work. “His business manager, Rick, is with him. Donovan said he didn’t order any groceries and I believe him.”
Piney laughed. “Always siding with that boy. Some things never change.”
Hope opened her mouth but then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. She changed the subject instead. “Ella said we’re out of milk.”
“You better take a package of cookies with you, too,” Piney suggested. “You look like you’re in need of some stress eating.”
Hope pointed to the street. “I see Bill’s truck is gone.”
Piney peeked around her. “Huh. So it is.”
“Bill was here earlier, wasn’t he?” Hope said accusingly.
Piney smiled. “’Night, buttercup. Set the alarm before you leave.”
“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Hope said, as Piney made her way back up the stairs.
Hope skipped the cookies—her billfold couldn’t afford any sort of bingeing. She grabbed the milk, paid, set the alarm, and then headed to her car. But then she remembered she needed to get on the Internet to turn off autopay on her utility bill.
Fifteen minutes later, Hope was finally on her way home. When she pulled up to her tiny rental house, the lights weren’t on, which meant Ella wasn’t home yet either.
Hope went inside, made herself a bowl of off-brand Cheerios, and ate her dinner in silence. Next, she texted Ella and asked when she would be home.
The answer came quickly: Soon.
To pass the time, Hope pulled out her sewing machine and reached for the box of clothes on the floor of her closet. Everyone in Sweet Home contributed their no-longer-wanted items so Hope could upcycle them into bags for the Hungry Bear. Piney didn’t charge the locals when they forgot their bags—unless they were perpetual abusers—but she did charge $4.99 a bag to those who didn’t live in Sweet Home, for which Hope got two bucks a bag. She made most of her bag money during the summer months, though there was only a fraction of the tourists in Sweet Home compared to when she was a kid. Bag money became the emergency fund, stored in the coffee can on top of her fridge. Last winter, bag money had paid for Ella’s two rounds of antibiotics when she’d gotten a bad case of strep.
Behind the box of clothes to upcycle, Hope spied the Rubbermaid container of Izzie’s clothes. Mom had saved them and now Hope saved them, too.
Apparently, tonight was all about revisiting the past—seeing Donovan twice tonight, thinking about him ever since, and now the Rubbermaid container. She gave in to the urge, deciding it was okay to dredge up more crushing emotions, as she dragged out Izzie’s clothes and pulled the container over to the couch.
Every dress and every blouse Mom had made for Izzie was in that container. Hope laid each piece on the floor, remembering the good times when Izzie was here—the apple dress she wore to the church picnic, her Brownie uniform, even the pink plaid blankie Izzie had dragged to bed each night and the Sunbonnet Sue quilt that Hope had made her. Hope then stood back and examined the collection. And was surprised when she saw what she’d done.
It was crazy, but somehow, Hope had laid out the items in the shape of Izzie’s tree. A fat trunk center was made up of pants near the bottom, with shirts toward the top and their sleeves outstretched as branches. The blankie stretched out underneath as the ground. Hope could see how quilt blocks would fill in the tree. Emotions—good ones—flooded her, and it felt like kismet. All these years, she and Ella had contributed to Izzie’s Memory Tree, and now it was time to make one of their own.
Hope went back to her closet and pulled down the shoebox that held Izzie’s favorite things. She took hair bows, buttons, and a charm bracelet back to the “quilt” laid out on the floor and positioned the new items on the branches. When she was satisfied with how it looked, she grabbed her phone and took a picture.
Ella came through the door just as Hope was picking the clothes up off the floor and sorting them into lights and darks.
“What are you doing?” Ella asked.
“We’re going to make a quilt out of your Aunt Izzie’s clothes,” Hope said.
“We?”
“It would be a fun project for us to do together.” Hope pointed to the wall behind the sofa. “We could get it done and have it up by Christmas.”
“I only know how to make grocery bags for Piney.”
“It’s time you learned how to make a quilt.” There was enough fabric here to make an additional quilt—a lap quilt. With arms loaded, Hope headed to the washing machine in the kitchen. “Grab the darks and follow me in here.”
“Do I have to?” Ella moaned, but did as she was told.
“I can’t wait to show you the picture on my phone of what it’s going to look like.” She glanced at her daughter. “Are you hungry?”
Ella passed her a scoop of detergent. “I ate at Lacy’s.”
“Did you get any studying done?”
“Some.”
Hope shut the lid of the washing machine and hugged her daughter—partly to see if she’d been drinking, yes, but mostly because Hope’s heart was filled with joy. Then she smelled the strawberry wine on Ella’s breath. She started to ask who had been buying it for her, but then Ella unexpectedly hugged her back.
“It’s nice that you have a project,” Ella said.
“We have a project,” Hope corrected. She made a mental note to do some digging to find out who was buying alcohol for the kids in Sweet Home these days. Back when she was a teen, any number of twentysomethings were happy to pick some up in the next borough over for the price of a pack of smokes. Hope put her focus back on their quilting project. “Do you have any graph paper?”
“Sure. It’s on top of my desk.”
Hope went to Ella’s room to retrieve the graph paper. Several of Ella’s drawings were strewn across her desk. Seeing them always reminded Hope of Izzie and her artistic talent, too. While Hope was at it, she commandeered the colored pencils before running back to the kitchen to start sketching the quilt on paper.
She found Ella staring at her phone with a frown on her face. “I don’t get it. This is supposed to be a quilt?”
“You’ll see. After I get it drawn up.” Hope took her place at their small dining table. “Sit with me while I work.”
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
But as Ella walked away, she pulled out her phone. “Hey, Lacy.” And went into her room.
Hope wouldn’t be discouraged by her daughter’s lack of
enthusiasm. For the next hour, she sketched Izzie’s Memory Tree quilt and colored it. She was happy with the outcome but was worried that her sewing skills were too rusty to pull off this quilt. Yes, she had sewn with the Sisterhood of the Quilt back in the day and then made clothes for Ella until Ella told her to stop, but she hadn’t made a quilt since the Sisterhood had disbanded after the death of Elsie Stone.
Holding the drawing, Hope went to Ella’s door and knocked. “Come out and see what I drew.”
“I’m too sleepy.”
Only moments before, Ella had been gabbing away on the phone.
“Are you sure?” Hope asked, knowing she sounded a little needy. Yes, she talked to people every day at the Hungry Bear, but things weren’t the same as they were twenty years ago when Hope was growing up. She’d been part of a tight community then. Now, it felt as if there was no real community left.
“Leave the drawing on the table. I’ll look at it in the morning.”
“Sure.” Disappointed, Hope went back to the kitchen, knowing she should give up and go to bed.
This was the main reason she’d stopped quilting . . . no one to share her ideas with. One of her favorite parts about quilting was experiencing it with others, from the initial concept to the final product. In this case, she only had a drawing, a skeleton of what the quilt would become. But she still had that urge to connect, something the Sisterhood of the Quilt had encouraged her to do at a young age.
She pulled back the curtain and looked out at the street. Bill’s truck was sitting in front of his cabin. She ran to her bedroom window and checked there. Sure enough, Bill’s lights were still on. Hope didn’t let herself think about it, she just hurried back to the kitchen and grabbed the sketch off the table and her phone from the counter. She rushed to the front door and slipped on her coat and boots. Bill was the only quilter on the street and he was still awake.
There was no doubt about it, Bill was gruff. But Hope had gotten used to him. She’d also given him a pass because anyone who could quilt like he did and be so generous with his beautiful Alaskan quilts had to have a soft spot under all that grizzle. And Piney cared for Bill, which said a lot about him.
One Snowy Night Page 6