The Inn at Rose Harbor (31 page)

“Well, he certainly looks content now,” she added, and seemed surprised. “Neal said that Rover had the most unusual reaction to you.” She paused as though she expected me to fill in the blanks; only I didn’t know what to tell her. We had barely met and I wasn’t comfortable explaining that I had just come through a major loss, which was why my heart felt wide open to this small dog. It was impossible to know exactly what had transpired in Rover’s short life, but apparently he hadn’t had such an easy time of it either.

Years ago I remember reading the story of a construction worker who’d been hurt on the job, losing the use of his arm. A friend had suggested he adopt a dog and he’d gone to the shelter. That dog chose him. I knew without a doubt that Rover had chosen me.

“It looks like you’re adapting to each other just fine.”

“We are,” I assured her.

Grace continued to frown. “He hasn’t … well, you’ve only had him a short while.”

“Hasn’t what?” I asked.

“Never mind.”

“No, tell me,” I said. The kettle on the stove whistled. I removed it, poured the hot water into the teapot, and automatically brought down two cups.

“Perhaps another time. I really can’t stay long. Cliff is at home waiting for me and I told him I would only be a few minutes.”

“Do you have time for tea?” I asked.

She hesitated. “It does look inviting.”

“You have time,” I assured her. I was sure her husband wouldn’t begrudge her a cup of tea.

Grace unfastened her coat and slipped it over the back of a chair and then sat on one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

I poured the tea and placed the sugar bowl and milk in the center of the counter. Then I scooted a stool to the other side, so we could sit directly across from each other.

“A few weeks ago we had a couple of men come through the shelter,” Grace said. “They asked to see what dogs were available for adoption. I had my suspicions right away—something didn’t feel right about those two. They lingered for a bit and wandered out to where we walk the dogs. Another volunteer happened to have Rover on a leash and the dog went ballistic when he saw the two men, barking crazily and tugging at his leash.”

“Perhaps he knew them?”

Grace reached for her teacup and held it with both hands. “Perhaps. We’ll never know for sure. One thing was certain, he had the same feeling I did.”

“Have you learned anything about them since that time?”

Grace shook her head. “It was just a feeling. If they’d applied to
adopt one of the animals, I would have found an excuse to refuse them. They gave me the creeps.”

I sipped my tea, wondering how Rover had known. Grace, too, for that matter. Perhaps the men ran a puppy mill. Well, it wouldn’t do any good to speculate. They didn’t get any of the dogs.

“Given the opportunity, I feel Rover would have gladly taken a chunk off their legs.”

“In other words, you’re afraid Rover might be a biter?”

Grace looked down and then nodded. “Keep an eye on him, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Let me know if there are any problems, all right?”

“I will,” I promised, but in my heart of hearts, damaged as it was, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone got adopted by a dog.

Very little had changed about Angela’s family home, Abby noticed, as she eased to a stop in front of the Whites’ residence. The rambler with its shuttered windows and large three-car garage was as familiar to her as her own childhood home.

At one time Abby had spent as much time at Angela’s house as she had at her own. More Fridays than she could count, Abby had spent the night with her best friend. Often they’d stayed awake until dawn, chattering and laughing, so young and silly. The most pressing decision was which boy’s invitation they would accept for prom. Those days seemed a lifetime ago now.

The Whites were never the same after burying their daughter, or so Abby had repeatedly heard. Did parents ever recover from the
death of a child? She prayed she would never have to answer that question herself.

With her hands braced against the steering wheel, she sucked in a deep breath and then reluctantly turned off the car engine. Her resolve weakened as she approached the house, clenching her purse in her hands. The hedge along the walkway was missing, she noticed. Funny how that small detail would catch her attention. In its place, Charlene White had cut out two foot-wide flower beds.

A memory flashed through her mind and she smiled. It had happened shortly after Angela started wearing Brandon Edmond’s class ring. She’d hidden her arm behind her back to surprise Abby. She’d wanted to dramatically whip her arm around to show her friend the ring.

The surprise had been all Angela’s though. The ring had flown off her finger, landing deep inside the hedge. The two of them had spent hours on their hands and knees searching for Brandon’s ring. Thankfully they’d eventually found it, but not before a lot of angst.

Pausing halfway up the walkway, Abby felt herself drowning in the memories of her friend. After all these years she still missed Angela’s easy laugh, her quick wit, and her zest for life.

“I don’t know that this is such a good idea,” she muttered under her breath just as if Angela was standing next to her.

“Just do it.”
Angela seemed to be telling her.

Oh great, Abby thought to herself, not only am I hearing voices, they are speaking in clichés. This is ridiculous.

Still, she couldn’t make herself turn away. It was now or never. Her brother’s wedding was due to start in three hours and the rest of the day would be consumed with the ceremony and the wedding reception. Then in the morning, she’d leave for Florida at the crack of dawn. A late night, an early morning, and a flight home—if she was going to confront Angela’s parents, it had to be now.

With renewed resolve, Abby approached the front door. Her
one hope was that Angela’s family wouldn’t be home. Then she would feel that she’d done her duty, and could leave in good conscience.

Angela couldn’t fault her if that happened. She was going to be in town for such a limited time, that this would have to be it.

Holding in her breath, she rang the doorbell. Her finger bounced against that round white button, her touch light and hesitant.

Almost right away Abby’s hopes were dashed as she heard movement on the other side of the door.

“Coming,” Michael White, Angela’s father, called out.

Abby held her breath as the front door was unlatched and opened. Mr. White stopped and stared at her. Abby watched as the blood drained from his face.

“Hello, Mr. White.”

He appeared to be in shock and didn’t acknowledge her.

“Who is it?” Angela’s mother called from the kitchen, and then joined her husband.

Charlene White stood next to Mike and stared at Abby with widening eyes. “You have a lot of nerve,” she whispered, almost as if the words were being wrenched from her throat.

“I’m in town for my brother’s wedding,” Abby blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind, as if she needed an excuse, an explanation.

“Oh yes, your parents must be happy to be able to attend their child’s wedding. Unfortunately Mike and I—”

“Charlene,” Mr. White said, cutting her off. He reached forward and unlocked the screen door. “Come inside, Abby,” he said.

“Mike, no …”

Not sure what to do, Abby hesitated.

Mr. White turned toward his wife. “It’s time, Char. Angela would have wanted us to welcome her friend.”

“How can you say that?” Mrs. White quietly turned and left the room.

Stunned, Abby remained frozen, standing outside as the cold wind whipped about her. Her hair flew in her face, slapping against her cheek as if to punish her for her audacity.

Calmly, ignoring his wife’s outburst, Mr. White held open the screen door. “Come inside, Abby, it’s chilly out there.”

With her feet weighed down with reluctance, Abby stepped into the house. “Thank you,” she whispered, as the warmth welcomed her. The first thing she noticed was that they had rearranged their living room and bought new chairs and a sofa. Pictures of what she could only assume were their grandchildren lined the shelves of the bookcases on each side of the fireplace.

“Sit down, please,” Mr. White invited, indicating the sofa. “It’s time we talked—past time, really.”

“Yes, it is,” Abby agreed, although the words nearly stuck in her throat. She kept her coat on and sat on the very edge of the cushion.

“You’ll need to forgive Charlene; losing Angela remains difficult for her. She’s had a hard time of it.”

Abby folded her hands, placing them on her knees. “I visited Angela’s grave for the first time. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it was as if I could hear her speaking to me. She asked me to contact you and Mrs. White.”

He smiled briefly. “As a matter of fact I’ve had a few conversations with my daughter myself. Unfortunately they are all one-sided and I’m doing all the talking.”

Abby didn’t elaborate on her experience. If she did, she feared the Whites might think she was nuts.

“Tell me about yourself,” Angela’s father asked, making polite conversation. “Are you married? Children?”

“I haven’t married …”

“Yet,” he finished for her, “you’re much too pretty to remain single much longer.”

Embarrassed, Abby glanced down at her clenched hands.

“Greg’s married now. He has two children, and lives in the Spokane area.”

Angela’s brother was older by two years and he’d lived on campus in Pullman for their last couple of years of high school.

“Sarah’s nine and Andy’s seven,” he added.

Abby glanced again at the framed photo of two youngsters on the fireside bookcase. Their gleaming faces smiled into the camera, sweet and innocent. Angela would have been a wonderful aunt to these two precious children.

Until then, Abby had avoided looking at Angela’s high school graduation photo, which was prominently displayed on the wall above the fireplace. It nearly filled the entire space. Angela had never been fond of that particular pose and was probably outraged that her mother had chosen to display that shot. Actually, Abby agreed with Mrs. White. Angela looked … perfect. The mantel was covered with a dozen or more candles in varying sizes as if it were a shrine to her memory.

Mrs. White returned to the living room, her hands knotted into fists at her sides. “You have a lot of nerve to show up here out of the blue.”

“Charlene, please,” Mr. White pleaded. “You must know how difficult this is for Abby.”

“As it should be.” The older woman glared at Abby, her eyes filled with accusation.

“Sit down, honey,” Mr. White said as though pleading with his wife.

Mrs. White looked like she wanted to defy her husband, but she must have read something warm and encouraging in his eyes, because she took the chair next to him.

“Do you have something you want to say?” Charlene asked Abby.

“Yes, of course.” The lump in Abby’s throat felt watermelon-size. “First off I want to tell you how very sorry I am—”

“Sorry. You came to say you’re sorry? It’s far too late for that.”

“Charlene,” Mr. White said softly, “let her finish.”

“If Angela had been driving that night, you would have been the one killed,” Mrs. White continued, ignoring her husband.

“I wish Angela had been driving. I would much rather have been the one who died.” It wasn’t like this was a new thought. Abby had gone through all the might-have-beens a thousand times or more.

If only they’d stayed later at the mall.

If they hadn’t stopped for dinner after shopping; if they hadn’t lingered over their meal, then Angela might be alive today.

If only she’d been paying more attention to the road instead of singing Christmas songs.

The what-ifs had hounded Abby for years, and they didn’t seem to get any better with time.

Charlene sat with her back stiff, and avoided looking at Abby as if the mere sight of her alive and well was a painful reminder that her own daughter was buried in a graveyard only a few minutes away.

“That night ended Angela’s life and it forever altered mine.” Abby’s voice cracked and she swallowed hard in an effort to hold back the threatening emotion. “I drove the car that killed my best friend. That isn’t something one ever forgets …”

“Or forgives,” Mrs. White inserted.

“I don’t imagine it is,” Abby whispered. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her fingers had gone white. “And I should know because I’ve never been able to forgive myself.”

Her statement was met with silence. Mrs. White angled her neck toward the ceiling and appeared to be fighting back tears.

“I miss Angela every single day,” the older woman whispered. “Not a night passes that I don’t yearn for my daughter.”

“I miss her, too,” Abby whispered back.

“Every day?” Mrs. White challenged.

“Most days … over the years the ache has gotten lighter, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about her often and—”

Again Angela’s mother interrupted her. “But the bottom line is that you’re alive and she’s not. You can marry and give your parents grandchildren.”

“I haven’t married,” Abby said, cutting her off, her hands stretching toward them pleadingly. “In fact, it’s as if someone pressed the ‘pause’ button on my life since the night of the accident. I don’t date; I avoid relationships. I live in a town where I don’t have family. I just do my job and stick to my own business. I’ve carried this load of guilt and grief until it’s become too heavy for me to haul around any longer.”

Both of Angela’s parents stared at her.

“I assumed that everyone else blamed me for the accident, too, but they don’t. I met Patty Morris at the downtown pharmacy and waited for her to reject me … only she didn’t. She was happy to see me. So happy in fact that she invited several of my closest high school friends to meet me for lunch this afternoon. And while no one overtly mentioned Angela, she was there; she was with us. I could almost hear her laugh. I could feel her smile. And because she smiled so could I.”

Tears flowed down Mrs. White’s cheeks. Mr. White’s, too. He reached in his rear pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes and then loudly blew his nose.