The Inn at Rose Harbor (21 page)

I finished knitting the row and let my hands rest in my lap as I decided to briefly close my eyes and rest … just for a few minutes … only a few. Almost immediately I could feel myself drifting into a half-sleep.

Then it happened for the second time since I’d moved to the inn.

I felt Paul’s presence and was wrapped in the memories of the first time we met. It had been at a Seattle Seahawk football game. Paul was in the seat next to me, and the first thing I noticed about him was his smile. It didn’t come from his mouth as much as his eyes, which were a compelling shade of blue. Big blue eyes. Big smile.

“You attend all the games?” he asked me as I passed him the beer he’d ordered from the attendant.

“I wish,” I said, “but unfortunately no. I watch them on TV, though.”

“Me, too.”

Right away we bonded over football. Throughout the game we
talked back and forth, cheered and groaned together. The couple with me, the Andersons, were keeping each other company. Without Paul, I would have felt odd man out.

The Seahawks won the game. As we stood to exit the stands, the Andersons were thanking me profusely for bringing them along. I nodded and was about to exit the row myself, when Paul stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Would you like to have a beer with me?” he suggested.

I was tempted, really tempted, but for a split second I hesitated. After a number of painful disappointments, I’d mostly given up on relationships. To be blunt, I wasn’t sure I had the energy for this anymore. I’d already learned that Paul was in the military and only in the area for a brief time. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved in something that was destined to dead-end in quick order.

In retrospect, even knowing that I would eventually lose him and my heart, I remain grateful that I told him yes that afternoon.

We talked for three hours that first night. Three solid hours. Our connection had been strong from the very beginning. We were close to the same age, and neither of us had been married, each for different reasons. Paul had been married, in essence, to the military.

My reasons were completely different. I’d dated plenty of men but I’d never fallen head over heels in love and I didn’t want to settle for comfortable.

My parents claimed I was too picky, and I suppose I was. Not until my second date with Paul did I realize what had held me back from those other relationships.

I’d been waiting to meet Paul.

Deep down I’d known that when the time was right, I’d connect with the man I was meant to love for the rest of my life. I’d almost lost faith.

Half-asleep, I remembered Mark’s question from earlier in the day when he’d asked me who Paul was. The question had badly
shaken me. I don’t remember now what I told him or if I even answered. And now Paul was with me.

I sent Mark
, he seemed to be telling me.

Spenser is no friend. He was dishonorably discharged before we left for Afghanistan. I should have told you, but I assumed neither of us would see him again
.

Spenser hadn’t even been in Afghanistan. It’d all been a lie to dupe me.

And so Paul had sent Mark to protect me? The handyman had said he’d felt compelled to hurry over to the inn. At the time he didn’t know why. By his own admission he’d tried to ignore the urge and found he couldn’t. He hadn’t been happy about traipsing to Rose Harbor Inn … and it had showed.

I wanted to ask Paul why he’d sent Mark, of all people. There were any number of others who could have served the same purpose. Corrie McAfee, for instance. Married to a private investigator, she could easily have sent Spenser on his merry way.

Just as I sensed Paul’s presence, I sensed his departure. He’d only been with me a few seconds. I wanted to cry and beg him to return, but intuitively I realized it was useless. It was enough that he’d been with me.

I knit for another hour, content because Paul had been by for a visit, however briefly. As my fingers worked the ten-row pattern, I wondered why Paul had chosen to come to me now. Why hadn’t he come when the grief was at its worst? Why had he waited until I was in Cedar Cove?

Perhaps he had been with me at other times, but I had been too raw, in too much pain, to feel his presence. On second thought, perhaps it was the inn—this special place, this harbor I’d found—that had brought everything together so we could connect.

It was still relatively early when I set my knitting aside. I ran a hot bath and soaked in the water, savoring the lavender-scented
bubble bath and my special soap. When I climbed into bed, the sheets felt cool against my skin.

I reached for the novel I was reading, fluffed up the pillows, and read until after ten. Apparently both my guests were out late.

After receiving the news of Paul’s death, I’d been unable to sleep. I’d fall asleep easily enough, then bolt awake, sleeping in fits and starts for the rest of the night. After a month of this I was close to a mental and emotional collapse. I got up each morning with burning eyes, feeling sick to my stomach from lack of sleep. Although I hated the thought of it, I resorted to taking over-the-counter sleep medication.

That night, after my dream of Paul, I didn’t take a pill. I finally felt I could wean myself off the medication. To my delight I slept better than any night since I’d lost my husband.

I woke the next morning feeling refreshed and eager to tackle the day. For several minutes I lay in bed, pleasantly surprised by how well I’d slept. I felt so very grateful to have had Paul visit me, if only for those few moments.

Because it was still early, I dressed warmly and walked down to the bakery to pick up my order of fresh sweet rolls. They smelled heavenly, still hot from the oven. I’d make sure they were served warm.

By the time I returned, Abby was up and dressed.

She looked up guiltily when I walked in the front door. “Morning,” I greeted her cheerfully.

“I hope you don’t mind; I helped myself to a cup of coffee.”

“Of course. That’s why it’s here.” After I set the box on the kitchen counter, I removed my coat, hung it up in the foyer on the hook, and then joined Abby in the kitchen.

“I apologize that I wasn’t awake when you returned last night. How did everything go?” I hoped I wasn’t asking unwelcome questions. It was none of my business, but I couldn’t help being curious.

“It went just beautifully,” Abby said. “So much better than I’d dared to hope.”

“You met everyone in the wedding party?”

“I did. My parents arrived without a problem and several of my aunts and uncles are in town, too. It’s the biggest family get-together we’ve had in more years than I can remember. Roger is so happy and Victoria is a perfect complement to him.”

“That’s great.”

Abby remained in the kitchen, pressing her shoulder against the doorjamb with her ankles crossed, apparently in no hurry to return to her room.

I opened the refrigerator and brought out the French toast I’d prepared the day before and was planning to bake that morning. I sprinkled the top with frozen berries and set it on the stovetop while I waited for the oven to preheat. I intended to scramble eggs, too.

When I opened the oven door, I noticed that Abby was still in the kitchen. She stared sightlessly into space, apparently deep in thought. When the ding told me the oven was fully preheated, I set the dish inside the oven and closed the door.

I debated on whether to ask specific questions of Abby. “Is everything okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low and gentle.

Right away, Abby broke into a smile. “Yes, everything is fine … better than I expected.” She didn’t elaborate, though.

“We run from foolish things, don’t we?” The question was out before I had a chance to censor it. I couldn’t imagine what had made me ask something like that.

But Abby took it seriously and nodded. “We do; we really do.” The thoughtful look was back. “My parents are happy. I didn’t expect that. I thought …” she paused and smiled. “They’re happy and that makes me happy, too.”

I didn’t know why her parents’ happiness should come as a shock. Considering how quickly my mouth got ahead of my brain, I decided it would be best not to ask.

“It’s good to see that those we deeply care about are well, isn’t it?” I asked instead.

From Abby’s expression I could see that she hadn’t processed my question, which was fine. I didn’t really need an answer.

“I would have given just about anything to avoid this wedding,” she commented softly, almost as if she was unaware that she’d spoken aloud.

“You didn’t want to attend your brother’s wedding?”

“Oh, no. I was eager to do that. What I didn’t want was to return to Cedar Cove.”

I waited for her to explain.

“I was so certain it would be a disaster … It still might be, but I doubt it. My family will back me.”

“Good.”

“My family,” she repeated softly, and again I don’t think she realized she’d spoken out loud. Snapping out of it, she looked up and smiled. “I’ve been so afraid and I shouldn’t have been. If I’d faced these demons earlier I would have spared myself a great deal of grief.”

“Then you think coming home for the wedding worked out for the best?” I posed the question even though I already knew the answer.

“It did,” Abby confirmed. “It really did.”

The scent of cinnamon wafted up the stairwell and stirred Josh awake. He hadn’t gotten back to the B&B until after three that morning. Despite his mood, he’d crawled into bed and instantly fallen asleep.

He could hear noises down below and he recognized the voices of Jo Marie and the other guest. Annie? No, that wasn’t it. “A” something. Abby. The other guest’s name was Abby.

Both women were up and about. Rolling onto his side, Josh glanced at the bedside clock and was shocked to see that it was past eight. He needed to get back to Richard’s house. He was concerned about his stepfather.

Before Michelle had left the older man’s house the night before, Richard had fallen into a fitful sleep. His breathing had gotten
shallow. More than once Josh had been convinced he should call 911. He would have done it, but he knew it would only upset Richard. The old man was determined to die in his own home on his own terms. He was alone in the world and that was the way he wanted to leave it.

Josh didn’t know when he’d become so concerned about his stepfather’s wishes. He should hate the old man, but oddly he found that he didn’t. If anything, he pitied him.

With some difficulty, he’d managed to convince Michelle to go home and sleep. They’d planned to meet again this morning at nine.

He, however, had been determined to stay the night at the house. If Richard knew, he would hate the idea. Part of Josh wanted Richard to hate him; he was accustomed to his stepfather’s intense dislike. In fact, he was comfortable with it and as painful and demoralizing as it was to admit, he found a certain satisfaction in seeing Richard weak and nearly helpless.

He’d intended to stay the night in part to help Richard and in part to irritate him.

Josh thought he’d sleep on the sofa. Only he got worried and ended up pulling a chair into the old man’s bedroom and sitting by his bedside. He wanted to be close in case Richard needed him, even though he knew his stepfather would prefer to die than to accept Josh’s help. They both knew it.

It’d worked out fine, him being in the bedroom. Josh found himself listening to the old man’s breathing, which at times was steady and even, and at times shallow and weak as if his heart had decided to pause for a beat or two.

Josh fell asleep sitting in the chair.

The older man had woken him up sometime later, growling and cantankerous. “What are you doing here?” he’d demanded, eyes narrowed.

“Just checking on you,” Josh had assured him.

“Get out. I don’t want you here.”

“No doubt.”

“I mean it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. No need to get upset. You want me gone, then I’m out of here.”

“Where’s Michelle?”

Josh noticed that Richard didn’t push himself up on one elbow the way he had earlier. Whether it was because he was too weak or because he was too tired to put much effort into it, Josh didn’t know.

“Michelle went home a long time ago.”

His frown deepened. “Why didn’t you leave at the same time?”

Josh grinned, knowing his answer wouldn’t please the older man. “I figured you’d like the company.”

“You figured wrong. Now get out of here.”

Josh stood and dragged the chair into the other room. He left the door open, thinking he might be able to hear Richard from the living room if he was needed.

After a few minutes he’d settled on the sofa and was almost asleep when he heard his stepfather softly murmur his name. In a flash Josh was on his feet. He scrambled so fast that he nearly tripped in his eagerness to get to Richard’s bedroom.

Richard was sitting up and from the glower on his face, he wasn’t happy.

“You okay?” Josh asked.

“Damn straight I am.”

Josh’s own heart raced at double time.

“I told you to get,” Richard reminded him.

“I did.”

“Get out of the house, understand? I don’t want you here.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll leave.”

“Don’t come back, either.”

Now that was a request Josh couldn’t honor. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll be back in the morning.”

“You come back and I’ll kick you out myself,” Richard threatened.

Josh resisted the urge to laugh. His stepfather might have been able to use physical force against him when he was in high school. Now, however, Richard didn’t have a prayer. Not even a sliver of a prayer.

“You heard me.”

“You can try,” Josh told him.

“Now get.”

Josh reached for his coat, slipping his arms into the sleeves. “Go back to sleep; I’m leaving.”

“Good.”

Josh noticed the water glass at Richard’s bedside was empty. He walked over to retrieve it and stepped back when the older man cowered reflexively.

“Richard,” he whispered, shocked by his stepfather’s reaction. “Did you expect me to hit you?”

His stepfather didn’t answer. He turned his head away and closed his eyes.