Choices

by Lyn Gardner

A short time later, Robin returned to the parlor, instantly wrinkling her nose at the smell of the dust being burned off the elements of the heaters. She cracked open a window to let in some fresh air before sitting on the sofa and ending her evening by sipping her beer in between bites of her ham and cheese sandwich, all the while wondering if she should just pack up and move back to Florida.

  The house was huge and so much more than she had bargained for. Her plans had only been to hunker down in a small cottage on a hill, content in allowing life to pass her by while she wrote her books, but how could she do that here? One person living in something so big seemed a waste. Then again, could she really sell it? Her mother had loved Mackinac, and her aunt had spent over thirty years renovating Safe Harbor, but Robin couldn’t help but think that if she called Leo right now, he’d have the house listed by the morning.

  Robin put down her beer, and reaching over, she turned off the end table light behind her. For a second, she debated on turning off the other lamp across the room, but its bulb was dim, and she was tired, so stretching out across the sofa, she covered herself with one of the blankets she had packed and stared into the shadows. As she listened to the occasional clink of metal baseboards expanding from the heat, she let down her guard, and her mind did the rest.

  She had once had so much energy, and the words she wrote flowed from her like water from a spigot, and then her mother died. The loss was unimaginable, and for months Robin walked around in a daze, but the reality of what she was becoming hadn’t settled in until her forty-third birthday. Surrounded by friends at a local bar, they toasted her, their impromptu roast bringing tears of laughter to her eyes, but when Robin walked into her empty condo later that night, she realized that she was becoming just like her mother.

  Constance had lived a solitary life, never going on dates or tripping the light fantastic with someone tall, dark, and handsome. She’d only venture out with friends for drinks or dinner, seemingly content with her lot in life, and now Robin was doing almost the same thing. True, she had dated lots of women, but only a few had remained in her life longer than a couple of weeks and then, one way or another, the relationship would come to an end. More often than not, the decision had been Robin’s. Some were too clingy and some, too aloof. Some liked to drink far too much while others tutted when she ordered a beer, and then there were those who either wanted all the control in the bedroom or none of it. Robin had had lots of reasons to walk away from relationships, but as she sat alone on her bed in the condo that night, she made a decision. Next time, she would try harder.

  Robin flinched, wincing at the headache now boring into her temples. She flexed her fingers, working out the stiffness caused by having her hands fisted for so long, and sitting up, she let out a sigh as she reached for her beer. Emptying it in one swallow, she fell back onto the sofa, took a deep breath, and tried to push away the thoughts that, once again, had burrowed their way into her brain like a cancer.

  They had been the same ones that had dogged her for months, turning her dreams into nightmares and her mornings into pots of coffee overflowing with caffeine. They had sucked the words from her mind, her skill as a writer evaporating with every sleepless night until there was nothing left except endless days and endless nights filled with contempt.

  Robin pressed her palms against her temples, groaning out loud her frustration at the throbbing in her head. She closed her eyes and again focused on the crackling of the heating system, counting the tiny pings and snaps of the metal as it expanded, but when something else made a noise, Robin stopped counting. She stopped breathing, too.

  Slowly, Robin opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling, peering at the plaster as if slitting her eyes would somehow heighten her hearing. As silently as possible, she drew in a breath, but before the air exited her lungs, Robin heard the noise again and bolted upright on the sofa.

  Robin had taken physics in high school and while not her favorite subject, she was familiar with the concept of heat rising. Molecules, less dense when warmed, rise above their cooler counterparts, but since turning on the heat in the parlor, the temperature in the room had yet to raise ten degrees, so physics had nothing to do with the floorboards creaking above her head. Her eyes darted to the chair across the way, and Robin was more than a little disappointed to see Fred and Ginger still snuggled on the cushion. If they were there...who was upstairs?

  She paused, silently praying that the house was just settling or perhaps the winds had grown strong. It didn’t matter that she knew the house was over a hundred years old, and its settling days were most likely over, and it didn’t matter that the sheers covering the window she’d cracked open were stock-still. All that mattered was as long as Robin could come up with excuses for the groans of the floorboards above her head, there would be no need to investigate. Unfortunately, Robin couldn’t come up with anything to explain why the sounds suddenly seemed to be traveling, and when the distant squeak of a hinge resonated against her eardrums, rationalization was lost, and Robin leapt to her feet.

  Robin had seen dozens of horror movies. She had sat in theaters, munching on popcorn as madmen slashed, strangled, and dismembered their victims in every way, shape, and form possible. She had, on occasion, jumped in her seat or turned away when the blood gushed, but more often than not, she’d just roll her eyes at the stupidity of the prey. They’d climb into unlocked cars without checking the back seats. They’d find a hiding place that any toddler could discover without even trying. They’d always fall when they ran and instantly lose the ability to right themselves. Their cell phones were never charged, and seriously, who walks into a room without turning on a light?

  Robin rushed around the room, turning on every lamp along the way, but when she returned to the sofa and went for her cell phone, she stopped mid-reach. Hanging her head, a strained titter slipped from her lips. She had just become the lead in a Hollywood thriller. Her phone was charged, of that, Robin was sure because it was currently plugged into an outlet...in the master bedroom of the innkeeper’s suite.

  Weapon instantly became the next word taking up space in Robin’s head, and with adrenaline now coursing through her veins, her brain began firing on all cylinders. She scanned the room, mentally crossing off items as she went. There was a pretty little chair sitting in the corner, its seat cushion covered in tapestry upholstery. It appeared light enough for her to carry, but unless her only intent was to make kindling, she doubted its ability to protect. The tambour mantle clock was undoubtedly hefty enough to make a dent in anyone’s skull, but its bulk made it impossible to use as a club, and the cherub candleholders situated to the right and left of it were far too fragile to even consider. She looked from one hurricane lamp to another, dismissing them all because of their glass bases and shades, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes locked on Fred and Ginger. They were light. They had claws. They didn’t like strangers. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Robin said in a whisper. “Get a grip, woman. Think, damn it. Think.”

  Robin returned to focusing on the room, her breath catching in her throat when she spotted a lamp atop a table near one of the bookcases. Its base was bronze and its design slim, so rushing over, she carefully removed the tulip-shaped glass shade and yanked the plug from the wall. The accent lamp was heavier than she had imagined, but its weight gave her courage. Turning it upside down, Robin gripped the neck of the lamp, raising and lowering it until it was comfortable in her hand before tiptoeing to the doorway. She stepped into the foyer, running her hand down the wall until she found the switch, and flipping it up, she quietly snorted. Of the three bulbs in the brass lantern, only one was working, and the light it cast was laughable.

  “Shit,” Robin said in a whisper and creeping toward the dining room, she felt for the light switch. She flicked the toggle up and then down and then up again. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me. Seriously?”

  Frowning at the thought of traveling through the pitch-black dining room, Robin returned to the entry and glance
d back and forth between the stairs, the parlor, and the front door. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she mumbled. “What am I going to do? Run screaming down the street?”

  It only took a moment for Robin to convince herself she had watched too many movies, and squaring her shoulders, she climbed the stairs; however, the closer she got to the second floor, the slower and quieter she became. Flicking on the switch at the top of the steps, she let out the breath she’d been holding when the four ceiling lights came on without incident.

  “Now what?” Robin said as she looked up and down the long hallway. There were five doors, all of which were open, a set of stairs leading to the third floor, and two archways. One was at the far end of the corridor and the other, only a few steps away, was to her right. Holding the lamp in a death grip, Robin went over and peeked through the opening, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears fading almost instantly as soon as the small sitting area came into view. In front of the three windows looking out over the street was two overstuffed chairs flanking a petite table, and from where Robin stood, she could see the lights of St. Ignace across the water. Confident there was nothing in the nook that could have made the noise she heard, Robin turned around and headed for the nearest open door, the tiny plaque next to it engraved with the words Sunset Shores.

  Robin took a deep breath, her knuckles whitening as she raised the base of the lamp above her head. Snaking her other hand into the darkness, she found the switch, flipped it on, and jumped into the room like a warrior ready for battle. A second later the room was flooded with light and Robin lowered her impromptu weapon. When she came upstairs, Robin’s intent hadn’t been to tour the house, but drawn to the two windows opposite the bed, Robin went over and smiled as she saw the lights of St. Ignace again. It wasn’t hard to imagine how beautiful the view would be in the morning with sunlight dancing on the water.

  Turning her attention to the wallpaper, Robin ran her hand over the pattern of small pale pink roses on stems the color of faded mint. There was also a hint of Aegean blue in the design, and as Robin looked around the room, she saw that Adele had chosen that color as the accent in Sunset Shores. The shade was repeated in the quilt and the area rug covering the floor, as well as on most of the frames of the paintings on the walls. Given the size of the room, it was minimally decorated, holding only a full-size bed housed in an iron frame, two tiny nightstands, and an armoire tucked into one corner, all of which were as white as the trim in the room. With the addition of a vase of flowers or perhaps a crystal bowl of potpourri, contrary to her orange apartment, as Robin left the room, she couldn’t think of anything else Sunset Shores could possibly need other than a fresh coat of white paint on the trim.

  The plaque alongside the next door in line announced Central Lake, and returning to her defensive posture, Robin repeated her surprise attack. Leaping into the room as soon as she turned on the light, she was ready for battle, and while a small yelp of fright did slip from her lips, it had nothing to do with an intruder.

  Unlike Sunset Shores, the paper covering the walls in Central Lake was anything but muted. Carnations of varying shades of fuchsia could be seen everywhere above the white chair rail and below it was stripes of white and a pink reminiscent of the hue found on plastic flamingos. Tatted doilies covered the tops of the bureau and nightstands, and lace curtains draped the windows, adding yet even more froufrou to the space. The darkly-stained walnut bureau and nightstands glaringly opposed the pink frilliness of the room, yet even with the less-than-desirable color combinations, it was clear to Robin the room had some finer points.

  The southeast wall jutted out much like the bays on the ground floor, allowing for a small seating area complete with two cushioned chairs and a coffee table, and Robin had no doubt that the three tall windows behind the set would fill the room with natural light. The queen-size bed was surrounded by an elegant brass and bronze frame, its antique finish repeating throughout the room, and with the two other doors in Central Lake open, Robin could see it contained not only a bathroom but a small closet as well. Failing to find anything that could have caused the sounds she heard, Robin closed the door to Central Lake and walked across the hallway to a room labeled Bayview.

  ***

  Robin descended the stairs an hour later, flicking off lights as she went. Battle ready, she had walked in and out of every room on the upper two floors. She had discovered several she adored and several she didn’t, but other than jumping out of her skin twice when full-length mirrors in bathrooms surprised her with her own reflection, Robin hadn’t found anything that could have caused the noises she had heard.

  As soon as Robin opened the doors leading to the parlor, her cats greeted her by weaving in and out of her legs, and ushering them back into the room with some kind, whispered words, she adjusted the doors until they were only opened a crack. She made her way around the room, turning off all the lights she had switched on in a panic, and after returning her faux club to the table by the bookcase, she headed back to the sofa.

  Robin sank into the cushions, combing her fingers through her hair as she let out a sigh. She reached over and yanked on the brass chain dangling from the lamp on the end table. When the room went black, Robin realized she’d forgotten to turn on the little light with the dim bulb, but before she could swing her legs off the sofa, Fred and Ginger jumped up and began looking for a place to sleep. A smile graced her face as she felt them settle in against her, their throaty purrs quickly fading away as sleep took hold again, and letting out a long breath, Robin pulled the blanket over her and closed her eyes.

  The heater still popped and cracked occasionally, but Robin’s heart no longer raced. Old houses make noise. It was just that simple, and as slumber weighed down upon her, pulling her into a chasm noiseless and safe, Robin’s mind fired a few more times. Why hadn’t her mother told her about Safe Harbor...and why had the creaks of the floorboards stopped as soon as she had gone upstairs?

  Chapter Six

  Robin opened her eyes and seeing nothing but black, her first thought and her first words were identical. “Shit, not again.” She scrubbed her hand over her face, but when something brushed against her skin, her eyes widened, and very slowly Robin pushed away the blanket covering her face.

  The sun was blazing its way across the parlor, the sheers no match for the early morning light or for the arctic air making its way through the window Robin had opened the night before. “Oh, that was stupid,” she said, seeing the lightweight panels flapping in the breeze. Totally forgetting she was wearing only a T-shirt and a thin pair of pajama bottoms, she tossed aside the blanket and regretted the decision instantly.

  “Fuck!” Robin yelled as the frigid air found its way to her skin. Darting across the room, she closed the window with a bang and then ran back to the sofa to grab the blanket. Mindless of the two cats who had taken up residence in the warmth, she snatched up the thermal fleece and sent Fred flying in one direction while Ginger soared in the other.

  “Crap, sorry guys,” she said as she cocooned herself in the blanket. “Momma will make it up to you. I promise.”

  Fred and Ginger stared back at Robin through eyes black as coal. After reprimanding her with several swishes of their tails, they forced themselves through the crack in the pocket doors and scampered up the stairs leading to the second floor.

  “Shit!” Robin said, running after them. “Fred. Ginger. Get your asses down here!” The few seconds Robin waited seemed like a lifetime to her full bladder. “Come on, guys. Momma has to pee,” she said, squeezing her legs together. “Please?” Another minute passed before nature’s call became too great, and remembering she had closed all the doors the night before, Robin stomped toward the innkeeper’s apartment as she mumbled under her breath, “They listen like stepchildren.”

  Robin took the time she needed to use the bathroom, brush her teeth, pull on a hoodie, and set up her coffee maker before she made her way back to the front of the house. With no cats in sight, she climbed t
he stairs, but just before she reached the top, she found herself scrambling for the railing when Fred and Ginger dashed between her legs and sprinted down the stairs. “What the hell?” she muttered as she plopped down on the step. “You guys see a ghost or what?”

  ***

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Hello me.”

  “Thanks for the flowers. How did you know where to send them?”

  “A couple of days after you left, I called that lawyer you’ve been dealing with,” Declan said before pausing to take a sip of coffee. “He hooked me up with your address and the name of a local florist.”

  “Well, they’re beautiful,” Robin said, glancing over at the arrangement of yellow, bronze, and russet chrysanthemums sitting on her kitchen counter.

  “I’m glad you like them. I hope they brightened your morning.”

  “They did.”

  “So, how’s the house? Just like you remembered?”

  “Not exactly,” Robin said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Declan, this place is huge.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? You said it was a little three-bedroom cottage.”

  “It was a little three-bedroom cottage until Adele sold that one and bought this thing. Declan, it’s a three-story Victorian bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re shitting me.”

  “No, I’m not!” Robin said, waving her hand in the air. “It’s freaking huge, Declan. I mean big. Massive. Colossal. Gargantuan!”

  As Declan’s eyebrows went up, the corners of his mouth went down. “Robbie, I’m fairly schooled in all the synonyms used to describe large, so it sounds to me like there’s something wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think that?”

  “Besides the fact that you just answered my question with a question, you mean?”