by Lyn Gardner
Robin sighed. “Declan, I came up here to write, and this place is more than I can handle. A shitload more than I can handle.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, kiddo,” Declan said. “You were a wreck after your mom died, but you pulled yourself together and did what had to be done. How many times did you fly back and forth between Indiana and Florida to handle her estate? And what about all the crap Pam put you through? You handled that.”
“Barely.”
“Maybe so, but you did it.”
“Yeah, but that was just about getting through the day or the week or the month. This is about changing my career, and I don’t want to do that.”
“Who the hell said you had to?”
“Declan, this place is—”
“Huge! I know. You’ve said it in all kinds of ways, but other than that, what’s wrong with it?”
“What?”
“Is it falling down?”
“No.”
“Does it need a lot of work?”
“Not really. Some of the rooms probably could use a facelift, and the innkeeper’s suite needs some serious changes, but other than that, it’s gorgeous.”
“Are the neighbors homophobic?”
Robin set her jaw. “Since when do I give a damn about homophobes?”
“That’s my girl,” Declan said, hearing a hint of pluckiness in Robin’s tone. “So knock off trying to find lame excuses not to stay.”
“What lame excuses?”
“It’s too hard,” Declan said in a nasally voice. “It’s too big. I wanna write. Boo hoo hoo.”
“Well, I do!”
“Then write, goddamn it,” Declan shouted. “No one said you had to run the freaking place. Hire someone, for Christ’s sake.”
Robin bowed her head. “I didn’t think of that.”
“That’s what you have me for,” Declan said, smiling. “Now, putting aside all your big, huge, colossal, gargantuan house worries and your redecorating tasks, I’ve noticed there’s one thing you haven’t said.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you like it up there? I know it’s only been a day, but what do you think? Is it somewhere you could call home?”
Robin took the time she needed to think about the question. “Yeah, I like it and...”
Declan glanced at his phone to make sure the connection hadn’t been lost. “And?” he said, putting the phone against his ear.
“And I slept through the night, Declan,” Robin said quietly. “For the first time in months, I didn’t have a nightmare. I didn’t wake up screaming. I fell asleep in just a few minutes, and I slept until the sun came up.”
Declan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his grin grew large. “Robbie.”
“Yeah?”
“Find someone to run that place…because you’re staying.”
***
Robin sat on one of the mismatched dining room chairs halfway between her living room and her kitchen, looking back and forth between the two areas, deciding what she liked and what she didn’t. The private entry had possibilities, but the shutters covering the bay had seen better days. One set listed to the right while another slanted to the left, and if Robin was going to stay, crooked wasn’t an option. The fireplace was rustic and cozy, and she could imagine sipping cocoa in front of the flames, but the surround would have to be replaced, and the brick scrubbed to remove the years of soot. The two ceiling fans centered over each end of the living room, their blades drooping from either age or grime hidden from view, would also have to go, and there wasn’t a chance in hell the shag carpet would remain.
She knew the kitchen cabinets could be salvaged with sandpaper and paint, but the counters had lived well past their prime as had the harvest gold appliances. She glanced over at the dining area, her eyes first finding the minuscule chandelier before she slowly considered the French doors and then the kitchen.
“I must be crazy,” Robin said, sniggering as she got to her feet. After taking another gulp of her rapidly-cooling coffee, she placed the cup on the counter and made her way to the basement. She had a lot of work ahead of her, and she was going to need a lot of tools to do it.
The hinges squeaked as she opened the door, and flicking on the light, Robin looked down at the old steps as the smell of musty dampness wrapped itself around her. She crept downward, listening to the treads creak as she moved from one to the next, dancing her fingers over the handrail for fear the old wood would splinter and pierce.
When she reached the bottom, Robin took in what was around her. With only four naked bulbs hanging from the joists, much of the basement was still in shadows, yet it was hard to miss the two chest freezers off to the side, their lids open like large-mouth bass. Robin went over and let out a sigh of relief. Both were empty except for a thin coating of dust on their otherwise pristine white interiors. After making a mental note to clean them before turning them on, Robin headed toward the washer, dryer, and three water heaters lined up against a wall. She tilted her head for a moment and then she saw numbers written on the top of each heater, designating the floor they controlled. “Well, that explains that, now doesn’t it.”
Having reached the end of the illumination the closest bulb afforded, Robin had no choice but to leave whatever existed in the shadows for another day. Going back the way she came, she noticed a large workbench on the other side of the stairs. Above it were several shelves filled with cans and bottles of various sizes, each labeled with what it contained, and Robin soon knew that if she was in the market for a nail, screw, picture hanger, hook, bolt, or nut, this was where she was going to shop first.
At the far end of the bench was a tall tool chest, its red surface dented and rusted, and for the next few minutes, Robin opened and closed all the drawers until she found what she needed. Clipping a measuring tape on her belt loop and stuffing a screwdriver and utility knife into the back pocket of her jeans, she turned to scan the shadowy basement again. Although tempted to spend the next hour rummaging around to discover what secrets it held, when Robin saw a stack of ladders propped up against a support column, she got back on track. Going over, she grabbed the one closest to her height and carefully made her way back up the stairs. The basement wasn’t going anywhere, and Robin had things to do.
***
For the rest of the morning, Robin was a cleaning machine. Between the supplies left under the sinks and the ones she had purchased the day before, by lunchtime, the parlor had been almost returned to its former glory. The drapes and area rug would have to be professionally cleaned, and while there was a laundry room on the second floor with three washers and dryers standing at the ready, it seemed pointless to wash the sheers at the moment, so she focused her attention on the rest of the room. By the time Robin’s stomach began to growl, the bookcases and tables were shining, the windows were streak free, and all the knickknacks had been carefully washed and returned lovingly to the spots her aunt had last placed them. Satisfied she had done all she could do, Robin returned to the kitchen to devour another ham and cheese sandwich before proceeding to attack the apartment with the same velocity...albeit not with the same results.
Her intent had been first to remove the shutters on the bay in the living area, but screws with stripped heads had caused her to mutter more than one expletive until, defeated, she turned her attention to the shag rug. At almost the length of the room, Robin spent the better part of an hour wrestling with it before it finally ended up like a beached blue whale across the living room floor. The soot and stains on the fireplace stood strong against every cleaner in her arsenal, and when she stripped away the cushions of the two bay windows and discovered hinged seats underneath, she was bested by locks for which she didn’t have keys.
By the time the sun went down, Robin was a wet dishrag. Her fingers were pruned. Her deodorant had long since failed, and she knew if she bent down one more time, she wouldn’t be standing straight anytime soon. She opened the refrigerator, considering th
e beer on the top shelf for only a second before she closed the door and trudged back to the totes stacked in the foyer. A minute later, she returned to the kitchen with a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other.
After filling a red plastic cup with a Cabernet that deserved crystal, Robin grabbed a notepad and began jotting down things she needed to do and needed to buy. The list snowballed, her mind still firing even though her body had long since fizzled, but when she felt Fred and Ginger rubbing themselves against her legs, Robin set the list aside.
“You hungry, guys?” she said, looking down. “Give me one second.”
Robin opened a can of food, divvying it up between two bowls before placing them on the floor in the dining room. Watching as her felines lapped up their turkey and liver pâté, she said, “Okay, kids. Now that you’re satisfied, Momma is going to go take a much-needed bath.”
Pouring a tad more than a splash of wine into her half-empty cup, Robin dragged herself into the bedroom. She grabbed her pajamas and a hoodie, and going into the bathroom, she turned on the taps clamped to the edge of the tub. A short time later, Robin was up to her shoulders in the hottest water she could handle.
***
With the window closed and Fred and Ginger cuddled alongside her, when Robin opened her eyes the next morning, she wasn’t in any rush to move. For two nights in a row, no nightmares had roused her in her sleep and no thoughts, dark and heavy, had prevented her eyes from closing. Slumber, it seemed, had once again become her friend.
She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of lemony polish as it made its way to her nose. Both cats climbed on her chest demanding attention, and accustomed to their morning routine, Robin petted both as she closed her eyes and listened to their purrs of appreciation.
Fred and Ginger were a gift from her mother. Their names given to them because of their colors and Constance’s appreciation of old movies, their fur had held so many of Robin’s tears over the past couple of years she had lost count. She had hugged them tightly as she wailed for the loss of her mother and had pulled them close when frustration, fear, and anger had pressed down on her like an unbearable weight, and through their rubs, purrs, and playful nips, they had always managed to stop her tears.
Feeling a sandpaper tongue doing its best to lick off her skin, Robin opened her eyes and looked down at Fred. “Are you telling me I’m going to be breakfast if I don’t get my ass in gear?”
Fred lifted his eyes and licked his lips. “Yeah, I thought so,” Robin said with a smile. “Okay, kids. Move your butts, and I’ll get you some food.”
At the sound of one of their favorite words, the two cats jumped off the couch and dashed down the hall, leaving their owner behind to snicker at their eagerness as she sat up and swung her legs off the sofa. Robin took the time to stretch, working out the kinks that had settled in during the night, and getting to her feet, she headed out of the room, but before she made it across the foyer, the doorbell rang. Unlike the one in the apartment, its volume equaling that of an ocean liner’s horn, the chime at the front of the house was quiet and melodic, and Robin’s appreciation of the difference showed on her face as she opened the door. “Hey there, Maxine. Good morning!”
“Drat,” Maxine said, seeing Robin’s rumpled pajamas and disheveled hoodie. “I always forget that you young people sleep in. I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t be silly,” Robin said, waving the woman inside. “I wasn’t really sleeping. I was just going to feed the cats and put on some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Is it decaf?” Maxine said, unzipping her jacket.
Robin’s shoulders fell. “Oh no. Sorry, all I have is regular.”
“Good,” Maxine said, hanging her jacket on the coat tree near the door. “That other shit will kill you.”
***
Once Maxine was comfortable in the parlor with a freshly brewed cup of coffee, Robin excused herself long enough to brush her teeth, comb her hair, and exchange her pajamas for a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Henley. By the time she returned to the front of the house, Robin was awake, aware, and filled with questions.
“It’s nice to see this all uncovered again,” Maxine said as Robin walked into the room.
“I bet,” Robin said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Hey, do you mind if I ask you a few things? The longer I’m here, the more questions I’m starting to have.”
“Of course not. I don’t mind at all,” Maxine said, resting back against the cushions. “Shoot.”
“Okay,” Robin said, scanning the parlor. “Why did Adele only cover the stuff in this room? I did a quick tour of the house yesterday and other than quilts covering the mattresses, everything else was just left out in the open. I would have thought she would have wanted to protect everything.”
“Oh, that’s an easy one. Like a lot of the B&Bs on the island, Adele used a service for her sheets, and when she decided to close the Inn, she canceled the service. The only sheets left were the ones from her apartment. They barely covered the things in here, but it was better than nothing.”
“All right, that makes sense, but it leads me to my next question.”
“Which is?” Maxine said, tickled by Robin’s sudden exuberance.
“Every room seems to be completely furnished down to the paintings on the walls except for her apartment. Why? Where did all her stuff go?”
Maxine stared at the cup in her hands for a moment. “She gave it all away.”
“But why?”
“Because everything back there was as out-of-date as I am,” Maxine said, giving Robin a weak grin. “Adele poured her heart, soul, and money into the Inn, but as far as that apartment, it was just a place to hang her hat. When she first moved here, she spruced it up, but that was in the eighties. Those styles went the way of the dinosaur, thank the Lord, and since she never updated anything back there, when she decided to close the Inn, she called a couple of charities on the mainland and had everything hauled away. Adele figured it would be easier for you to sell the place without having to deal with all the old crap nobody would ever want.”
“Wait. You knew about the trust?”
“Of course. I told you, Adele and I never had any secrets.”
Robin relaxed back on the couch. “And she thought I’d sell it just like that?”
“She didn’t have a reason not to, but I think, deep down in her heart, she hoped you wouldn’t.”
“What makes you say that?”
Maxine paused, and her eyes began to sparkle. “Just a guess.”
Impressions, whether they are first, second, or third, are often opinions formed without any conscious thought. Perceptions based on nothing more than appearance or perhaps a look, they can create friendships as effortlessly as they can create enemies. When they first met, Robin thought Maxine to be a marvelous old woman with a lot of spunk and an attitude to match, but now she had a funny feeling there was more to meet the eye when it came to Maxine. Robin wasn’t exactly sure what was lurking behind the glint in the senior citizen’s eyes, but she would have had to be blind not to see it.
Entrenched in her own thoughts, it wasn’t until she heard her name when she realized Maxine had been talking to her. “I’m sorry,” Robin said, a hint of red coloring her cheeks. “My mind was somewhere else. What did you say?”
“I was saying that I know that you’ve only been here a couple of days, but I was wondering if you’ve decided whether you’re going to stay or...or if you were going to leave.”
Robin took a deep breath, and letting it out slowly, she said, “I’m going to stay.”
Maxine threw herself at Robin, giving her the strongest hug she owned. “Oh, you just did this old woman’s heart good. Do you know that?” she said. Pulling away, Maxine held Robin at arm’s length. “And your aunt...oh, Adele would have been over the moon.”
“I keep telling myself I must be crazy, but crazy or not, I’m not going to be able to do this without your help.”
“
My help?” Maxine said as her smile faded away. “Oh, Robin, I work in the fudge shops a couple of hours a week just to keep busy. I’m way too old—”
“No, not to work here, silly,” Robin said with a laugh. “I need your help when I start setting up interviews.”
“Interviews?”
“Maxine, I’m a writer, and I want to write, and I can’t very well do that and try to run this place all by myself. When I said I was going to stay, that’s contingent on me finding someone to manage the Inn,” Robin said, crossing her legs. “What I’m thinking is that I’m going to place some ads online. That way, I can reach out across a few states, and if and when I get responses, I would have you look over them. You were Adele’s best friend, and you’re going to know the type of person she’d approve of and the type who’d fit in on Mackinac. I don’t have a clue about any of that, at least not yet.”
Robin waited for a response, and when saw the corners of the woman’s mouth drooping as she stared off into space, Robin’s shoulders fell. “Maxine, I’m sorry if you thought I was going to step into Adele’s shoes, but my passion is writing and—”
“I think I already know of someone.”
“What?”
“A few years ago, Adele took a spill. She got banged up pretty badly, but that didn’t stop her guests from showing up for their reservations. One of the ladies in town, her name’s Judy, took over until Adele could get back on her feet. She was here for a while, and I know Adele really liked her. I also know that Judy’s filled in at other B&Bs on the island when the owners went on vacation or an emergency came along. She’d be perfect for Safe Harbor. She’s hardworking. She knows the island, and this would give her the break she needs.”
“The break?”
Maxine paused long enough to take a sip of her coffee. “I’m not one to tell tales, but Judy’s husband up and left her about five years ago. He owned one of the bike shops in town, but after the divorce, he sold it and...well, he kind of left Judy high and dry.”
