One Snowy Night

by Patience Griffin

  Donovan knew how painful this must be for her. Her past had been a particular kind of hell.

  But he had a strong urge to honor his grandparents this one last time. “I think reviving the Christmas Festival will help Sweet Home. And Nan always said that there’d be no Christmas Festival without first kicking it off with the Wines of Alaska.”

  Leaky didn’t look convinced. “We remember the devastation our town endured when we lost Isabella, Beau, and then your grandmother . . . all because of alcohol. You should remember it, too, Donovan Stone. I think you came up with this cockamamie idea so you can sell the lodge for a higher price.”

  Sweet Home had always been able to see through him. “Yes, true, I originally saw bringing the lodge back to life as a way to boost the sales price. But I came to see the wine tasting as a tribute to my grandparents. I’m sure you heard that my grandfather passed away last month?”

  Everyone on the council nodded.

  “Then you must understand why this is so important to me. Also, a successful wine tasting could inspire the new owner to support the town.”

  “So you already have a buyer?” Leaky asked, hopeful.

  “No. But my business manager and I are putting together a business plan for whoever ends up with the lodge. Remember my grandmother’s café? One of our ideas is to open it up again for lunch, say five days a week, like Nan used to do. We’re already fixing up the cabins so they can be rented.” He felt guilty for using the proverbial we when it had been Hope who was doing the lion’s share of the fixing. He couldn’t help but glance at her and he got what he expected—a glare. He continued, “I’m confident of finding an investor who wants to revive the lodge with so many possibilities. But in the short term, think of the influx of money the Christmas Festival could bring in this season. The holiday jobs it could provide. There’s still plenty of time to promote it.” Though October was winding up in a couple of days.

  “Give us a minute to talk among ourselves,” Leaky said, before turning to huddle with the rest of the council.

  Boomer whined and Donovan picked him up, catching a glimpse of Hope in his peripheral vision. Her back was needle straight and it was obvious she was fuming. He wanted to go to her and explain, to win her approval. But it was so hard to explain why this wine tasting had become so important to him. His feelings about Sweet Home and the lodge were a jumbled, tangled mess, like Christmas lights that had been thrown haphazardly into a storage bin.

  Hope stood again. “If I may say something?”

  “Go ahead,” Leaky said.

  “Donovan could do all those things he mentioned without lifting the dry decree.”

  Donovan gazed at her, trying to convey how sincerely he wanted to help the town. “You know how much the wine tasting meant to my grandmother and the Sisterhood of the Quilt.”

  “But—” Hope started.

  Leaky cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve come to a decision.”

  His face held no clue as to which way it was going to go.

  “I’m sorry, Hope,” Leaky said. “We’ve decided to look forward instead of backward. We approve Donovan’s petition.”

  “But—” Hope tried again.

  Leaky held up his hand. “We hear your concerns.” He looked over at Donovan. “The decree will be lifted for one day, but that’s only if you agree to all our stipulations.”

  “Certainly,” Donovan said. “What are they?”

  “First, only the Alaskan sweet wines your grandmother served. No beer or hard alcohol.”

  “That’s the plan,” Donovan agreed.

  “No minors.”

  “Of course.”

  “Keys will be collected at the door. You’ll need to set up a system to get everyone and their cars home afterward.”

  That would be easy. Donovan could hire two people—one to drive the attendees home in their cars, another to follow them and drive back to the lodge for the next group.

  “The wine must be served with food,” Leaky said.

  “All of this is doable.” Donovan felt tremendous relief. He hadn’t even realized how invested he was in the Christmas Festival and the wine tasting. Up until now he thought it was about missing his grandparents. But something had shifted, and his vision expanded. Suddenly he could picture a vibrant Sweet Home, the way it had been seventeen years ago. He felt like he could really help the town before he sold off and left Sweet Home forever. But even as he had the thought, his future life in Florida was becoming blurry.

  The one thing he saw clearly was an image of the lodge restored to its former glory and then some. He had the means to make the lodge bigger and better than it was before. It all must’ve been rolling around in his brain since he arrived back in Sweet Home because the vision became clearer. “If it helps,” he interrupted the council, “my grandfather had plans drawn up to add more suites to the lodge and more cabins to the grounds.” His grandparents had always wanted to expand but never had the energy to do more.

  “Yes, yes, that’s a fine idea. But there’s one more thing,” Leaky said, pulling Donovan back to the present.

  “Yes?” Donovan smiled, feeling victorious. “Anything.”

  “The final stipulation is that you have to fix up and reopen A Stone’s Throw Hardware and Haberdashery in time for Christmas.”

  Donovan was dumbstruck.

  “Your trap’s hanging open,” Leaky said.

  “But I’m not going—”

  “I told you this was an all-or-nothing deal, Donovan. Reopen the hardware store or your Christmas Festival wine tasting is a no-go.”

  Donovan took his seat, feeling dazed, angry, dismissed . . . even cornered. He hadn’t been prepared for this scenario. And he was always prepared. Didn’t they know that he could just pick up and leave Sweet Home and let the lodge rot?

  But he couldn’t do that. His grandparents would be so disappointed in him if he didn’t see this through. He’d be disappointed in himself if he ran. Again.

  Restoring the hardware store to its previous charming state was an impossible task, especially with such a short deadline. Getting the lodge up to snuff by the weekend before Christmas, when the Christmas Festival took place, was going to take every minute of his time, plus Rick’s. Donovan did have some help—Hope. But the three of them couldn’t do it alone. With the hardware store added to the agreement, there was no way he could get it all done.

  In dismay, he stared at the back of Hope’s head, musing that the old Hope would’ve jumped in and saved him. She would’ve explained to the town that the lodge was enough. But this Hope just sat, staring straight ahead, as if Donovan weren’t there. Just a ghost.

  Maybe he was one.

  He was shocked that he didn’t matter to her anymore. Shocked by how much it hurt. He longed for their old closeness. Which was something he never expected, not in a million years.

  * * *

  • • •

  PINEY WAS FEELING pretty pleased with herself. It had been her idea to make the hardware store part of the deal and she didn’t feel one bit guilty about it either. The extra money wouldn’t put a dent in Donovan’s net worth, but it could literally mean life or death for Sweet Home.

  If only she could come up with a way to bring Hope and Donovan together, some neutral ground away from the ogling eyes of Sweet Home, where they would have a chance to recapture the love of their youth. She put the idea out there, knowing the universe would provide.

  Chapter 13

  DONOVAN, WITH BOOMER in tow, left the Baptist church only to have his arm tugged, pulling him to a stop.

  Hope had fire in her eyes. “How could you do this to us?” It was clear she felt personally betrayed.

  Yes, it was personal for Hope. And, he guessed, personal for him, too. The loss of Beau, his grandmother, and Izzie all felt fresh.

  That look on Hope’s face
made him regret not giving her a heads-up about speaking to the council tonight.

  “Tell Leaky you’ve changed your mind.” Her words were almost a plea.

  “I can’t do that.” Donovan felt an overwhelming need to make things up to his grandparents for running out on them when Beau died.

  “If you can’t do it for me, then do it for your daughter.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Hope pulled him over to the side of the road; apparently she didn’t want the rest of the town to hear them as they piled out of the meeting.

  She dropped her hand from his arm and her eyes darted self-consciously to several people who were openly staring at them. Hope took a deep breath before bringing her eyes back up to meet his. “Ella has a drinking problem.”

  No! Why couldn’t he have passed on his ability to throw a hundred-yard pass? Or that he could code like a son of a gun? He’d wanted to pass his strengths to Ella, not his biggest flaw—the family drinking gene.

  But maybe Hope had it all wrong. “Tell me what’s going on.” Ella might have caved to peer pressure at a party sometime, but that didn’t mean she had a drinking problem at all.

  “Ever since my dad died, Ella’s been drinking a lot. I think she’s self-medicating with booze, trying to dull the pain. She and my dad were close. He lived part time with us from the time she was little.” Hope choked up a bit. “We both miss him.”

  Donovan wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her. But he couldn’t. He’d only just forgotten how good she felt in his arms the last time. Well, he was only kidding himself about that, too. He could never forget how she felt. She was imprinted on him as surely as if her heart were carved into his own.

  But she wasn’t the old Hope, and he wasn’t the screwed-up kid who’d left Sweet Home at eighteen.

  “What have you done to help her?” he asked.

  Hope looked around as if the answer were off in the bushes or in the street. “I don’t know. I’ve tried everything—grounding her, lecturing, watching her every move. I even told her the whole truth about Izzie”—her voice hitched—“and Beau.”

  “Where is she right now?” Donovan asked.

  “This very minute? I don’t know. I asked her to come with me tonight but she said she was going to Tyler’s and afterward, Lacy’s.” She dropped her head and shook it, looking wary. “Aberdeen said she was going to lock up the liquor but I doubt that she did.”

  Donovan took her arm. “Come on.”

  Hope pulled away. “Where are we going?”

  “To find our daughter.” Donovan hoped he was doing the right thing. In his gut, he felt it would help Ella to see both of her parents working together for her good.

  “Aberdeen lives down the road from my rental.”

  “We’ll check there first. If she isn’t at Aberdeen’s, then we’ll drive out to this Tyler person’s house.”

  Hope nodded and they hurried to his car. The council members and attendees all stopped to watch as he opened the passenger door for Hope.

  “Ignore them,” he instructed.

  “Easy for you to say.” Hope slid into the car. “You don’t live here.”

  He set Boomer in her lap before going around to the other side and getting behind the wheel. He didn’t want to talk about leaving Sweet Home, so he changed the subject. “What the council is asking me to do—reopening the hardware store by Christmas—is impossible.”

  “Good.” Her happy tone wasn’t encouraging. She pointed at the signpost. “Turn right at the stop sign. Aberdeen’s is the first trailer on the left.”

  Donovan did as she directed. When he turned the corner, Hope sucked in some air.

  “My car isn’t there.”

  “Don’t panic. Where does Tyler live?”

  “Out on Cemetery Road.”

  A road Donovan had traveled several times since he’d returned to Sweet Home.

  Hope guided him to the boy’s house, but Hope’s car wasn’t there either and all the lights were out.

  “No one’s home. Where is she?” Hope asked worriedly.

  “Text her,” he said. “Just to make sure she’s all right.”

  “I already did but she didn’t answer.”

  “Does this happen often—you know, where Ella goes off on her own and makes you worry?”

  “Unfortunately, it comes with having a teenage daughter.”

  That certainly rang true. He’d only been a father for a short period of time and he was so anxious he was having trouble concentrating on the road.

  “What next?” he asked.

  “Home. I’ll go home and wait for her to return. I seem to be waiting for her a lot lately,” Hope said resignedly.

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to wait with you,” Donovan said.

  “You don’t have to,” Hope insisted.

  “I know. But I want to anyway. For Ella’s sake.” And his own.

  Ten minutes later he pulled up in front of Hope’s tiny house. It was almost small enough to fit inside his living room back in San Jose.

  He grabbed Boomer and followed Hope up the shoveled walkway, thinking she really did have her hands full—keeping up with a house, a job, and an unpredictable teenager!

  She unlocked the door, turned on the light, and he stepped in after her—straight into a puddle.

  “What the . . .” Hope’s words died as she ran to the room at the back—looked like a kitchen—water splashing beneath her feet.

  He set Boomer on the love seat. “Stay!” Then Donovan rushed after her . . . Boomer did, too, getting all wet. Nothing he could do about it now. Donovan hurried to Hope. “What happened?”

  She was reaching under the sink, pulling out a wrench and muttering to herself, “A pipe must’ve broken. Or the water heater. Bad luck follows me around.”

  “Hand over the wrench and tell me where the shutoff valve is.”

  “I’ve got it—”

  “Don’t make me wrestle you for it. I’m a half foot taller.” He gently touched her arm. “Let me do this one thing for you.”

  “You already did one thing for me . . . the signing bonus, remember?” She fired her words as if she were at target practice and his face was the bull’s-eye. She frowned and then handed over the wrench. “The shutoff valve is in the dungeon.”

  “Dungeon?”

  “The basement. It’s a cellar, really. I certainly don’t go down there unless I have to. Here.” She went to the corner and scooted an area rug away with her foot, revealing a metal ring that was flush with the water-soaked hardwood floor. “You’ll need a light. There’s no electricity down there.” She opened a drawer, uncovered a flashlight, and held it out to him.

  “Where is the shutoff valve?”

  “About three feet up on the south wall.” She pointed south.

  He’d never liked dark enclosed spaces, but he would do this for Hope. And for Ella.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as Hope grabbed a broom.

  “Sweeping what water I can out the back door. Or else I might as well turn this place into an ice rink.”

  It did seem unusually cold in the house. “Did the furnace go off, too?”

  “No.” She looked defensive. “I turn it down when we’re out. Conserving energy. Saving the planet. I’m a good world citizen.”

  He’d forgotten how it could be. He hadn’t grown up with much, like most people in Sweet Home. They were all used to getting by on little, even the essentials . . . like heat. Suddenly he was grateful he’d had Rick send Hope that bonus.

  Hope was glaring at him with her Don’t you pity me face with an extra I’m fine! in her eyes.

  “I’ll be right back.” He reached down and yanked open the door in the floor, flipping on the flashlight before descending the steps into what looked like hell. As he did, water spla
shed into the hole. Hope was quite possibly sweeping the water on his head on purpose.

  He shone the flashlight side to side, illuminating a basement so empty and musty that rats, spiders, and ghouls would find it too spooky. No wonder Hope never came down here. He went to the south corner, located the valve on the wall, and shut it off. “All done!”

  Hope cried out, and he nearly tripped up the stairs, afraid something had happened to her or Boomer.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He found her in the small coat closet near the front door, trying to pull out a wet box. Boomer was in one arm, wrapped in a towel, looking confused.

  “Here, let me,” he said.

  Hope moved out of the way and he stepped in, carefully lifting and maneuvering the soggy box out of the closet.

  “Support the bottom. It’s Izzie’s things,” Hope cried. “Her trinkets and artwork.”

  Donovan remembered Izzie’s talent for art. “Where do you want me to put it? Kitchen table?”

  “Yes. It won’t hurt the Formica.”

  But once in the kitchen, he set the box on a chair. He took Boomer. Hope pulled out two stuffed bears and a small jewelry box. He leaned over as she opened it and saw the cross necklace.

  “It’s from Izzie’s first communion,” she said hurriedly. Finally she pulled out the box from the very bottom.

  “No!” she cried in dismay. Water was dripping from it.

  It had to be the artwork. “Let’s spread them out on the table and the counter. If we can get them dried quickly, maybe it won’t be so bad.” He knew of a good art restoration firm in California.

  “The house is waterlogged. There’s no chance that they’ll dry out at all,” Hope said, sounding defeated.

  “Okay. Then we’ll take them to the lodge and spread out the artwork on the cutting table in Nan’s studio.” Then he’d call that restoration firm . . . anything to keep the wobble out of Hope’s voice. “But first, let’s get them out of this smaller box.” Then he thought of something else. “Is there anything in Ella’s room that might be getting damaged?”