Hope’s boots crunched in the snow as she hustled next door. When she got to Bill’s porch, she hesitated. This is stupid. It’s late. Surely he doesn’t want me bugging him. But she was already here and his light was on. Finally she got up the nerve and knocked anyway, then waited nervously as she heard grumbling and shuffling on the other side of the door.
Bill slung it open and peered at her. “What do you need?”
“Can I come in? I want your opinion on something.”
He stared at her for a long moment . . . with his usual frown deepening. Finally he stood back. “Well, since you’re already here.”
Hope crossed the threshold, looking around. Though Bill had lived in Sweet Home for two years, she’d never been inside his cabin. It was so small it made hers look like a sprawling ranch. It was just one room with a small kitchen area tucked at the back and a twin bed nestled into the front right corner. Bill’s bulldog, Mangey, acted as if he were older than Bill, barely lifting his head an inch to stare at her before dropping it back down on the quilted dog bed at the foot of Bill’s bed. The rest of the room looked like Elsie Stone’s sewing studio at the lodge. Hope couldn’t believe that Bill had a small longarm quilting machine taking up most of the left side of the cabin. The rest of what should’ve been the open area was instead filled with a large table holding a sewing machine at one end and cutting mats everywhere else.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said, smiling. “It’s kind of a quilter’s dream.”
He grunted impatiently.
She handed over the drawing. “I don’t know if you know this, but my sister died when I was seventeen. I want to make a quilt out of her clothes and this is what I came up with.”
Bill pulled glasses from his pocket and put them on, making him look like Grizzly Adams getting ready for story time. He laid the paper on the table and, grabbing a pencil, immediately started making changes.
Hope stood back, trying to get a glimpse of what he was doing, but his hand covered his work.
Finally, he glanced at her. “The trunk is too short and the branches too chunky.” He looked down at the picture again. “What do the fabrics look like?”
She pulled up the photos, then handed him her cell phone. “This is how I laid it out.”
“You’ve got a good eye for color,” he grumbled. He handed her phone back and then her updated drawing. “Anything else?”
Since she had already been bold enough to come over here uninvited, Hope pointed to the chair in the corner, which was neatly stacked with quilts. “I’d like to see your collection sometime.”
Without answering, he walked to the door and opened it.
“Not tonight, of course,” Hope said, backpedaling. “But sometime.” She headed for the door, glancing at the drawing. He had indeed made it better. Much better. He’d added half-square triangles where she had used only squares. And he framed the whole picture with Bear Paw blocks, alternating them with moose.
She stopped at the threshold. “Thank you for this. Good night.”
He shut the door behind her without saying a word.
She hurried home, eager to redraw the quilt, incorporating Bill’s suggestions. He’d made the picture more interesting, more Alaska-like, without taking away from Izzie’s Memory Tree. She wondered what she could do to repay him.
At her kitchen table once again, Hope worked on the drawing until she could barely keep her eyes open. She finally put the colored pencils back in the box and stood, stretching. She treaded to her room and slipped on her blue flannel pajamas.
As she crawled into bed, she thought she’d be too tired even to pull up the kuspuk-inspired quilt that her mom had made for her when she was ten. Surprisingly, though, she lay awake. The awkward moments she’d shared with Donovan earlier flooded back to her. He had made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years—or at least she’d been able to keep those feelings at bay while he was gone from Sweet Home. Was he also behind the burst of creativity she’d had afterward, ending her day on a higher note than expected?
“Hey.” Suddenly eleven-year-old Izzie was sitting beside Hope, propped up against the headboard with her feet stretched out.
“I’m sleeping,” Hope said.
“You’re never too asleep to talk to me, though.”
Hope rolled over to face her. “Okay. You’re right.”
Izzie slid down in the bed. “Tell me how it went with Donovan. Is he as cute as he was when I died?”
“Yeah. But he’s definitely not a kid anymore. He’s a man, Izzie.”
Izzie rested her head on her hand and stared off into space. “He was awfully fine then.” She dropped her hand and looked over at Hope. “Did you reconsider telling Ella the truth about her dad?”
It wouldn’t hurt to be honest with Izzie, especially since Hope wasn’t really having this conversation. “Yes. I did think about telling Ella when she came home tonight. But I’m not going to do it. Donovan said he wasn’t going to be here long, so wouldn’t it just hurt her?” And him. “Besides, if I told her now about who her real father was, Ella would never trust me again. I’ve lied to my daughter all these years and there’s no way back from that.”
Izzie sighed. “You might be right.”
“I didn’t expect you to agree with me.”
Izzie shrugged.
They lay in silence for a long moment, before Izzie spoke again. “I’m glad you’re doing something with my clothes. They were only taking up space in your closet. You have to admit space is a precious commodity in your tiny house.”
“Yeah,” Hope said. “I know.”
“What took you so long?” Izzie asked, her voice taking on the tenor of that otherworldly wisdom of hers.
“Your clothes were incubating,” Hope said. Elsie Stone used to say that about quilting projects that were set aside.
Izzie slid down farther until she and Hope were face-to-face. “You’re not making any sense.”
“It’s finally the right time, is all,” Hope said. “What did you think of the design?”
“Absolutely brilliant. I also think it’s a good idea to have Ella help you with it.” She paused, looking serious. “You know Ella is in trouble, right? She’s too young to understand that Dad is happy in heaven and he doesn’t want Ella to be sad over him.”
“I tried to tell her,” Hope said.
“But she doesn’t hear,” Izzie finished for her.
Hope got a crazy idea. “What if Dad visited Ella like you visit me?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Izzie said. “Ella is going to have to walk through her pain. No shortcuts.”
“I’m afraid there’s going to be more stumbling than walking.” Because of Ella’s drinking.
“Everyone stumbles, Hope,” Izzie said in her wise-woman voice. “What’s important is whether you can catch yourself from falling. Or even better, if someone else is beside you, to steady you and help you to your feet again.”
Hope knew the answer, but she asked the question anyway. “Like what you do for me?”
“Exactly,” Izzie said. “And what you’re now going to do for your daughter.”
Chapter 5
WRAPPED IN HIS winter coat and reveling in the morning sun, Donovan stood on the porch with his cup of coffee as Rick walked to his car.
“I’ll see you in a while,” Donovan said.
Rick waved, started his car, and eased out of the circular driveway as Courtney Wolf—real estate agent and an ex from sophomore year in high school—pulled in. She glanced in her mirror and adjusted her blond poufy hair before sliding out gracefully.
“Hey, Donovan,” she said in that breathy voice she used to get guys in high school, “how’s it going? It’s great to see you.” She scanned him from head to toe, her smile widening as she scoured every inch of him.
He scoope
d up Boomer, using him for cover. “Hi, Courtney. Long time no see.”
“Who was that leaving just now?” She motioned to the end of the drive. “He was a looker.”
“My business manager, Rick Miller.”
“Did he really have to run off like that?”
“We’re heading to Anchorage right after you assess the property, well, both properties. Rick is driving into town to have some sandwiches made at the Hungry Bear.”
“You know I always speak my mind,” she said. “So tell me, what is it with you handsome men? Do you always run in packs?” She laughed. “With a last name like Wolf, you’d think I’d have better insight into men than most.”
Donovan only nodded, where once upon a time he would’ve laughed right along with her. “Come on in and take a look around.” He held the door open and she smiled at him as she stepped over the threshold.
Donovan decided it was best to set things straight with her from the start. “At first I thought I’d put the lodge and the hardware store on the market as is. But now that I’m here, I’ve decided to fix up the lodge to get a better price for it in the spring.” He watched her reaction to see how disappointed she was that both properties wouldn’t be listed now.
She smiled, seeming happy with the arrangement. “I don’t expect anything to move until the spring anyway. You’ll fix up the lodge, but what about the hardware store?”
He shook his head as he set Boomer in the box he’d made up for him using one of the towels from the downstairs restroom for padding. “The hardware store is too big of a project. For the lodge, though, I’d love a list of contractors who could oversee the remodeling, as I don’t plan to hang around.”
Her face fell at that.
“I promised my dad that I’d move to Florida,” he explained.
“What about your place in San Jose?” Immediately, she looked embarrassed. “I Googled you. Something I do with all my clients.” She stepped closer. “Especially ones I haven’t seen since high school.”
He could tell she was flirting with him and it wasn’t completely unpleasant. Courtney was nice, her blond hair flawless and her green eyes incredible. But he wasn’t really into the pageant type. Sure, he’d dated his share of beautiful women, especially when he needed some arm candy for events in Silicon Valley . . . but they’d only been concerned with getting their photo into magazines. Hope popped into his mind. He would’ve been proud to have someone like Hope on his arm. She was genuine. At least that was the Hope he’d known seventeen years ago.
He pointed to the other side of the house. “Courtney, come take a look at the kitchen. I think it’s going to need a lot of updates.”
She followed him and started speaking as soon as her foot hit the linoleum. “A complete gut . . . down to the studs. A modern, professional kitchen from top to bottom would be a huge selling point. Everything updated, all personal touches gone. Sleek cabinets, professional-grade appliances, and maybe concrete flooring.”
“Do you know any . . .” Donovan’s eyes landed on the backsplash of handpainted tiles in the style of Dresden Plate quilt blocks, the tiles Nan had painted herself. He’d been going to ask Courtney about an interior decorator, but he didn’t trust her. She’d probably volunteer herself. Courtney was all hair spray, fake nails . . . and she wanted to gut everything in the kitchen! He didn’t want the lodge to be sleek or glamorous. His grandparents’ lodge deserved an authentic Alaskan look—maybe tile in the kitchen, stained hardwood floors throughout, bearskins, and bright curtains. “Um, uh, do you know a good floor guy?”
“Sure. We’ll tear up this dreadful stuff. Don’t you worry.” She glanced around at the walls. “Actually, you should paint all the wood in the lodge. It would give it the modern look it needs.”
Donovan cringed. He couldn’t paint the wood that had been felled from the surrounding forest. His grandparents would be rolling over . . . He wished he’d never called Courtney, as she was already putting herself in charge of what was or wasn’t going to be in the lodge. He panicked. “Well . . . I know you have ideas, but we’ll have to clear everything with my interior decorator first.”
Courtney lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Oh? Who did you get?”
Now he was really in trouble. “The same person who did my apartment in San Jose.” Which was a whopper. He and Rick had decked out his bachelor pad, making it a man-cave dream—industrial, sterile . . . not Alaskan at all.
“Sure,” Courtney said again. “I’ll get him locally sourced swatches and tile samples.”
“Her,” Donovan corrected. He had no idea where that came from.
“Just let me know where to send them,” Courtney said.
“I’ll take care of it.” Donovan just wanted this conversation to end. “Let’s take a look at the back porch.”
Courtney took measurements of everything and recorded them in a notebook. “I’ll get you copies of everything I’m doing.” When she wasn’t flirting, she seemed very professional, and Donovan felt like the sale of the lodge was in good hands.
When he led Courtney into his grandmother’s sewing studio, Courtney sighed and turned back to him.
“You know, I only came a couple of times with my mom to the Sisterhood of the Quilt, but I really liked it. At the time I chose to spend more time with my friends. I guess I just assumed the Sisterhood of the Quilt would always be around.”
“Me, too.”
Courtney gave him a sad smile, and in that moment, she seemed more real than he’d ever seen her. But then the moment was gone. “We’ll have to think about how to stage the studio. It certainly can’t be a sewing room. That would only appeal to a small subset of buyers. It’s large enough to make it into an in-home theater with dark curtains to block out all the natural light from those large windows.”
He felt another twinge of guilt—actually more than a twinge. The studio had been his grandmother’s pride and joy. It was where the Sisterhood of the Quilt met. It was where laughter had reigned and memories had been made.
Courtney walked to the doorway. “Show me the bedrooms.”
He took her upstairs and answered all her questions, while she jotted down the details of each one. There were a lot of rooms to cover in the main building, and then there were the three cabins outside, and she wanted to examine every one of them. Donovan was beginning to worry that Rick would think he wasn’t going to meet him in town at all.
“How many acres with the property?” Courtney asked, looking at the view of the river out back.
“I believe a hundred,” Donovan said.
“I’ll check with the borough to be sure, and find all the boundary lines.” She stopped and looked at him. “Do you want to go into town for lunch before we get started on the hardware store?”
“Actually . . .” Donovan made a show of looking at his watch. “This has taken more time than I expected. I’m supposed to be on my way to Anchorage with Rick by now. Is there any way we can reschedule the hardware store for when I get back?”
Courtney’s pleasant smile faded. “I really can’t do it tomorrow or the day after. I have appointments with clients outside of Fairbanks the next two days.” She appeared conflicted. “I could try to reschedule with them.”
“No. I’m not in a super rush.” But Donovan could tell his dad was anxious to have him in Florida as soon as possible. Which brought up several more things he’d have to do to make things work, if he was going to put off selling the lodge until spring. Like finding that contractor, a manager to run the place, and a housekeeper.
“What about Friday?” Courtney offered. “Let’s meet up for coffee at the Hungry Bear. Nine a.m.?” It was amazing how quickly she’d switched from conflicted to completely in charge and in control. “Is it a date?”
Not a date. Donovan didn’t have the time or the inclination to do any canoodling—Nan’s word—while he was in Alaska.
“I can meet you Friday morning.”
Courtney didn’t linger but went to her car, as if afraid he might change his mind. Or maybe she was being considerate, understanding that he was late. “See you at nine on Friday at the Hungry Bear.” She waved and got in her car.
But as soon as she did, he had a creeping feeling of doubt. Hope. Hope worked at the Hungry Bear, and seeing him with Sweet Home High’s biggest flirt would certainly make her jealous.
But they weren’t in high school anymore. They were adults now. They were nothing to each other. Just acquaintances. She’d had a whole life he knew nothing about. No way would she be jealous.
But the feeling still nagged that he would be doing something awful to Hope if he met Courtney at the Hungry Bear.
On autopilot, Donovan took Boomer’s makeshift bed to the SUV and set it in the back seat. Next, he put Boomer in, then locked up the lodge, though Donovan doubted there was a need. Besides, it seemed that someone in Sweet Home already had a key. The same someone who had left seasoned firewood by the hearth. He wondered if it was Hope. He decided Piney would be the one to ask.
When he got into his vehicle, the sun came out, making the Home Sweet Home Lodge sign cast a shadow on the lodge in the shape of a cross. Donovan sucked in a breath. Though Beau and Nan had been on his mind nonstop, until this moment he hadn’t thought to stop at their graves. “I know Rick is going to be anxious to get on the road, but I’m not going to put this off one more minute.”
Sweet Home’s cemetery was two miles from the lodge and one mile from town. The setting in the summer was quite beautiful with the trees towering over the resting places of the town’s dearly departed. All through their teens Donovan and Beau had mowed the cemetery’s lawn, helped dig graves, and even acted as pallbearers when needed. They’d gotten paid for the mowing, but the rest was in service to Sweet Home. The last two caskets that Donovan had carried had been Beau’s and his grandmother’s, memories Donovan usually kept buried deep. But he was going to drive to the cemetery just the same and have a long overdue discussion with his brother and say a quick hello to Nan.
One Snowy Night Page 7