There's Always Plan B (2 page)

“This is going to be a lot of fun,” she said to Tiffany. “You'll see.”

“Fun for you, maybe. You're getting everything you want. I'm getting nothing and it's your fault I don't have my dad anymore. I hate you.”

The unfairness of the accusation burned Carly down to her bones. As Tiffany began to cry softly into a tissue, Carly had to fight her own pain. Oh, yeah, this was everything she'd ever wanted. Running a bed-and-breakfast, living with her mother and daughter, trapped in a life that wasn't the one she'd chosen. She was making the best of a bad situation. She was doing most of this
for
Tiffany so her daughter could have a sense of place and belonging.

Carly considered several responses, and tossed them all away. Sometimes the better course of action was to suck it up and wait it out, which is what she decided to do. But once, just once, she would like someone to consider
her
feelings. She would like someone to take responsibility, to do the right thing and let her have the tantrum.

She drove down the familiar street and reminded herself that she would soon be back in the house where she grew up. At least she would have her mother to help. The burdens wouldn't be hers alone.

“We're nearly there,” she told her daughter. “If you're crying, Grandma's going to have about fifty thousand questions.”

“I know.” Tiffany sniffed, then wiped her face. “I just wish you'd been a better wife.”

As far as knife wounds went, this one cut right to Carly's heart. But before she could catch her breath, or think of a response, they'd pulled into the large gravel parking lot to the side of the massive four-story building that was Chatsworth-by-the-Sea.

Carly parked next to her mother's Jeep and turned off the engine. The pain faded as she studied the stone structure, the climbing ivy, the old and familiar trees. She could see the first of the towers.

“We're here,” she said, as if Tiffany wouldn't notice the big house in front of them. “Let's go find Grandma.”

Right now what Carly needed more than anything was a hug and a promise that everything would be all right. She wanted to drink cocoa and eat cookies and pretend she was Tiffany's age and the biggest problem she had was fitting in at school.

“Just leave the luggage for now,” Carly said as she climbed out of the car. “We can get it later.”

The crunch of her feet on the gravel made her smile. The sound was familiar, as was the scent of flowers and sea and something undefinable but old that had always made her think of home. Because it
was
home. It was simpler, easier times—when the world still made sense.

She led the way through the side yard where herbs and vegetables grew to a wooden door that led through the mudroom into the kitchen. At this time of day, her mother would be preparing the appetizers that were served from four-thirty to six.

“Hi, Mom, it's us,” Carly called as she walked into the large, airy kitchen.

Rhonda Washington stood at the wide center island, cutting slices of cheese. She glanced up when her daughter and granddaughter entered, smiled and put down her knife.

“How was the drive? You made excellent time. Tiffany, you're growing up to be so beautiful. Did your mom feed you something decent or have you been living on junk food all day?”

“Hi, Grandma.”

Tiffany stepped into the offered hug and didn't answer the question. Carly ignored the flash of irritation and told herself that her mother hadn't meant it as a criticism. Not really.

To distract herself, she studied the different generations of women, noting that Tiffany was a couple of inches taller, but that they shared both bone structure and eye color.

Rhonda had been born blond. Over time the color had darkened to a light brown, only to fade into gray. Tiffany's pale blond had yet to darken at all, although Carly suspected it would with time. But the similarities didn't end there. Both of them had the same smile and ability to speak their minds in a way that left her dodging bullets.

A small price to pay for sanctuary, Carly reminded herself.

Rhonda kissed her granddaughter on the cheek, then turned to Carly. “How's my baby girl?”

“Good, Mom. I'm doing okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Eyes as blue as her own studied her face. Carly offered a smile she was pretty sure looked sincere and even normal, then stepped into her mother's embrace. Familiar scents and memories enveloped her. Her mother's insistence on wearing Chanel No. 5 perfume every single day of her life. The warmth in the hug.

“It's good to have you here,” Rhonda said.

“It's good to
be
here.”

They straightened. Carly noted there were a few more lines around her mother's eyes and mouth, a slight drooping at her shoulders, but otherwise she looked much as she always had. The Washington women seemed to have sturdy genes, a fact Carly appreciated as she stood less than two months from turning forty.

“Let's get you two settled,” Rhonda said. “I'm so excited that we're going to be living together. Three generations in the same house. It will be like the Waltons.”

“The who?” Tiffany asked as she snagged a slice of cheese.

“Some old show on TV,” Carly told her. “A big family living in one house. They all said good-night to John-Boy. You sort of had to be there.”

Tiffany didn't look convinced by the thrill of the experience. “So where do we sleep? I have my own room, right? I mean I have to. I'm fifteen, Grandma.”

“I know. It's amazing how fast you're growing. Of course you have your own room. Two rooms, really. I picked them out especially for you. I think you'll really like them. They're in the tower.”

Tiffany stiffened. “The one with the ghost?”

Her grandmother drew her eyebrows together. “No, dear. Not by the ghost. What a silly question. Carly, honey, you're on the third floor in one of the older rooms. You can pick something else if you'd like.”

“I'm sure it will be fine,” Carly said, knowing that “older room” wasn't a euphemism. No doubt the room her mother had picked for her hadn't been refurbished in close to a hundred years.

While the working section of the B and B had twenty-five bedrooms and five suites, the house had closer to forty. Some were too small to be used for guests. Others were in noisy areas, or didn't get any light. When the house had been converted from a private residence to a B and B in the 1930s, some bedrooms had been held back for family.

Carly followed her mother to the old-fashioned elevator that took them to the third floor. From there they had to walk to the tower staircase.

“Are you going to be comfortable here on your own?” Carly asked her daughter.

Tiffany's response was to roll her eyes and sigh heavily.

“She's not a child,” Rhonda said crisply. “She's an independent young woman who needs her privacy.”

“See,” Tiffany said as she raised her chin. “Grandma doesn't think I'm a child.”

Carly knew there was no point having
that
conversation. She went up the stairs to the narrow door that led to the tower rooms.

“Isn't this terrific?” Rhonda asked as she opened the door and stepped inside.

Originally three rooms had made up the tower. The smallest had been converted into a bathroom. The other two consisted of a small bedroom and a sitting room.

“I brought up a desk so you have a place to study,” Rhonda said. “The bedspread is new and the wallpaper is only a few years old. Of course we can replace it all if you'd like.”

Tiffany walked through the rooms. “They're great,” she said, sounding delighted and surprised.

Carly agreed with both assessments. This tower faced south, so it got a lot of light. There were windows in both rooms, with the one in the sitting area looking out over the ocean.

The bright floral-print wallpaper provided a cheerful color palate played out in the rooms. The bedspread was lavender, the desk-chair cushion pink and the club chair and ottoman had been done in periwinkle. Thick carpeting covered what had been hardwood floors.

Instead of a closet, each room had an armoire. The bathroom was tiny but functional. There were bookcases, shelves and what signified true joy in any teenager's life—a phone.

“I love it!” her daughter said happily as she moved from one room to the other. “I love everything about it.”

Carly winced. She was happy that Tiffany was pleased, but a little wounded that she couldn't be the one to provide the joy.

Rhonda pointed to the phone. “Your own line. I wrote the phone number down somewhere.” She checked the pad on the desk and pointed to the top sheet. “Here it is. I got you a plan that gives you fifty dollars' worth of long distance a month so you can stay in touch with your old friends.”

Tiffany's eyes filled with tears, but for once they were happy ones. “Oh, Grandma, you're the best.” She hugged Rhonda.

Carly sighed with relief. She'd been afraid her daughter would hate everything about the house and the move, but finding such great digs at the end of the trip would go a long way to setting things right.

We may just survive this after all, she thought happily. Wouldn't that be great?

“Want to see your room?” her mother asked.

“Sure.”

They went back the way they'd come, taking the stairs down a floor. A large set of double doors closed off the guest section of the floor from the private part of the house. Rhonda went through one of them and walked to the end of the corridor.

Here the house was much older and not nearly so shiny. There was dust in the corners and bits of backing showing through the carpet.

“I picked a corner room to give you more light,” her mother said as she opened the last door on the right.

Carly stepped into a big room with windows on two walls. The furniture was old—original Art Deco style—which she loved. The bedspread looked new and out of place with the gleaming wood, but she figured she could change that later. There was a big armoire, a desk in the corner and a chair pulled up in front of the window facing the ocean.

“It's great,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Her mother sounded worried. “I know it's not new. Usually when you visit you stay in one of the guest rooms and they're much nicer.”

“It's fine,” Carly assured her. “I'll enjoy the quiet.” She knew her mother kept a suite of rooms on the first floor.

“Good.”

Tiffany glanced around. “Where's the bathroom?”

“Down the hall,” Rhonda said. “But she doesn't have to share it.”

“Cool. I'll go get my stuff and start taking it upstairs,” Tiffany said as she bolted for the door. “When will the truck arrive?”

Most of their furniture had been sold, but they'd kept a few things.

“Tomorrow,” Carly told her. “Think you can survive without your TV until then?”

“Oh, Mom. Of course I can. I'm not totally worthless.”

Tiffany ran down the hallway toward the elevator. Carly walked to the window and stared out.

“It's the same view,” she said, feeling the pain and uncertainty fade away. Coming back to the B and B had made sense. Of the very few choices open to her, this one had the most opportunity for success. If it wasn't the life she would have chosen, so what? At least she had a place to go and someone to help her get back on her feet.

“I'm glad you're here,” her mother said.

“Me, too. The past couple of months have been a nightmare, but it's all behind us now. Tiffany and I can start over. I really appreciate the opportunity, Mom.”

“Yes, well, this has always been your home. I'm just glad you wanted to come here so I didn't have to sell the place.”

Carly turned to her mother. “You wouldn't really have done that, would you?”

“Oh, it's so big and a lot of work. I'm not getting any younger.”

“But you have your staff. It's not as if you're cleaning rooms yourself.”

“I know, but there are responsibilities.” Her mother cleared her throat. “People aren't traveling the way they used to. In my day, travel was an adventure. Now most folks would rather sit home and watch cable.” She shrugged. “But that's all right. Now that you're here, we'll get things on track.”

Carly didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“There have been a few lean years. I've wanted to make some repairs—needed to, really—but I couldn't. This is your legacy, Carly. It makes sense to invest in it.”

The cold, dark panic of the past two months returned. Invest? What did she mean
invest?
“What are you talking about, Mom? Is the B and B in financial trouble?”

Rhonda avoided eye contact, instead giving the bedspread an unnecessary tug. “Just a little. But with your divorce settlement, we can get on our feet financially.”