by Lyn Gardner
Robin slowly opened the pencil drawer to look inside. There was an assortment of paper clips and rubber bands in one compartment along the edge, and a jumble of loose change in another. A mishmash of blank Post-It notes and steno pads filled the rest of the space, yet there wasn’t one touch of personal. True, at one time it had all belonged to Adele, but Robin was hoping for more. She wanted to find a handwritten reminder or a keepsake, something to connect her with her aunt, though as Robin glanced around the room, the office seemed just like her apartment. There were no signs her aunt had ever been here. Why? Why had everything in the innkeeper's suite and the office been stripped so bare of personal belongings?
Robin swiveled around, her eyes finding the prosaic oil painting hanging on the wall above the filing cabinets. Long and narrow, the landscape it presented was elementary, containing only the most basic blends of blues, greens, and browns, and Robin tilted her head. It seemed familiar, but it was far too primitive to be a copy of some masterpiece she had seen hanging in a museum. Unable to place it in her memory, Robin looked past the painting to three simply-framed certificates hanging next to it. Even though they looked official, most likely something to do with the business, they didn’t hold Robin’s interest. She knew whatever they were, they were most likely expired, so she rotated the chair toward the back wall. There was a bulletin board, the cork dark in some places yet light in others, but there were no notes attached, no reminders or calendars, just a row of thumbtacks neatly arranged along the bottom edge. Having run out of walls, Robin turned her attention back to the filing cabinets...and to the person standing in front of one.
Confident she could quickly avert her eyes if Judy turned around, Robin relaxed back in the chair and took in the view. The sweater Judy was wearing reminded Robin of ones often seen on ski slopes. A pale blue Nordic print against a background of ivory, it hugged her torso just enough to hold Robin’s interest for almost a minute before her eyes moved lower. Judy’s blue jeans weren’t snug, much to Robin’s disappointment, but they still managed to define Judy’s slender waist and rounded hips before tapering to short, straight legs. Vertically disadvantaged, to browse through the highest drawer, Judy was standing on her tiptoes and Robin was transported back in time, imagining the muscles in Judy’s calves pulled just as taut as they had been so many years before. Content in her daydream, Robin had no idea Judy had turned around until she heard the woman clear her throat.
Robin raised her eyes, and when they met Judy’s, only one thing popped into Robin’s mind. How in the hell was she going to explain the salacious grin she knew was plastered all over her face? Robin scanned the room, her eyes darting from one object to the next until her answer was found. “Oh, hey,” she said, pointing at the wall. “Cool painting.”
Judy looked over her shoulder at the lackluster artwork of non-descript trees and an all-too-perfect lake. “You actually like that?” she said, turning back around.
“Well, I don’t know,” Robin said, getting to her feet. “It’s kind of scenic. Don’t you think?”
“Most paint-by-numbers are.”
As soon as Judy’s words settled in Robin’s brain, the puzzle pieces came together. “That’s where I’ve seen it!”
“What?”
“I was just thinking that stupid thing looked familiar, and now I know why. My mother had something just like it hanging in her bedroom. She painted it when I was a kid. Adele must have done one, too.”
“Probably, there’s not a lot to do on the island when the snow starts to fall,” Judy said, again glancing at the painting.
Satisfied that her ruse had worked, Robin gestured toward the filing cabinets. “Did you find anything helpful in there?”
“Yeah, it looks like she kept practically everything, but you’re right about her filing system,” Judy said, swallowing a yawn as she closed a drawer. “That’s going to take me some time to figure out, but at least we’re not starting in the dark. Do you know if she had a computer? Like I said, she handled all the finances, so I just assumed she had it with her.”
“There wasn’t one here when I moved in. Why?”
“I was hoping she didn’t do everything longhand, but if she did, we’re going to have to look into getting one, I think.”
“That’s doable. I’ll just add it...” Robin stopped when she noticed Judy yawning again. Glancing at her watch, Robin’s shoulders fell. “Geez. Look at the time. I’m sorry. It’s late, and you worked today.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it work, but I was up at five.”
“Five!”
“I’m an early riser. By the time the sun comes up, I’m usually on my second cup of coffee. I normally don’t even have to set an alarm,” Judy said, following Robin to the door. “And speaking of work, I have to be at the gallery bright and early tomorrow, but I’m free on Sunday. How about I stop by in the morning, and we can talk some more?”
“Sounds good to me,” Robin said, and as she walked past the keys hanging on the wall, she stopped long enough to pluck a set dangling under the label Spare Front. Dropping them in Judy’s hands, she said, “I’ve always considered myself a morning person, but I do hereby relinquish my claim.”
***
By six thirty on Sunday morning, Judy was pacing her apartment. The sun wasn’t going to be up for another hour and a half, but with two cups of coffee in her stomach and more energy than she knew what to do with, she made it only halfway across the apartment again before she gave up and put on her rain suit. Grabbing her backpack off the kitchen counter, she flicked off the lights, shut the door, and climbed the steps.
Known as “the village” by the locals, Harrisonville was where most of the nearly five hundred full-time residents of Mackinac lived. Located just up the hill from the Grand Hotel, it contained an assortment of single-family homes, most of which were modest compared to the cottages lining the bluffs. In various shapes and sizes with white picket fences around some and chain-link surrounding others, the houses were like many found in small towns across America. The only difference was those in Mackinac had no need for driveways.
As Judy reached the top of the stairs, she paused and took a deep breath of the cold, damp air. By the time she left Safe Harbor on Friday night, the rain had eased up, and Saturday had remained dry for most of the day, but the skies had opened up again sometime during the night. With a steady drizzle pattering against the autumn foliage of trees as background noise, Judy removed the plastic bag covering the seat of her blue and white Giordano road bike. She stored it away for yet another rainy day, and climbing onto her bike, she pedaled out from under the small overhang along the house and headed for the street.
The season having all but ended, the village had yet to awaken. Most locals were now enjoying the luxury of sleeping in, so other than the hum of the streetlights, all Judy could hear was the melodic rhythm of her bike tires as they rolled over the pavement and the sound of rain as it pelted dried leaves. With the elevation of the town two hundred feet above Main Street, for the most part, she allowed the steepness of the hill to assist in her descent as she made her way down Cadotte Avenue. She kept her head bowed, looking out from under her hood occasionally so she could avoid as many puddles as possible, but even the spritz of rain upon her face could not dampen Judy’s mood. Since leaving the Safe Harbor Inn on Friday night, it had remained high, even though Walt and Sally had seriously tried to test it the day before.
Saturday had been tedious and at times frustrating. Brushstrokes had officially closed at noon that day. Saying goodbye to the tourist season with little fanfare, Walt and Sally flipped the Open sign to Closed, pulled down the blinds, and then at a snail’s pace, they spent the afternoon methodically finishing up what needed to be done. For Judy, the day moved along like molasses rolling up a hill. Paintings she had carefully wrapped in brown paper had been unwrapped to check what they contained, and boxes she had meticulously filled with artwork had been emptied and filled again, Sally and Walt triple-checkin
g what they had double-checked on Friday. The septuagenarians prattled on, filling Judy’s ears with endless recollections of the past as one hour moved like a snail toward the next, and while she tried to nod at all the right times and laugh when the response was called for, her thoughts were somewhere else. A somewhere void of watercolors and walls covered in white pegboard.
As Judy’s speed picked up when she neared the bottom of the hill, she gripped the hand brakes, slowing herself just enough to easily make the right turn, and as she did, she acknowledged the truth. The rapid beat of her heart had nothing to do with a brand-new day. Judy was excited for the possibility of a future she never thought she’d have.
Chapter Twelve
Judy winced as she went inside. The hinges screeched like fingernails down a blackboard, and holding her breath, she closed the door as slowly and silently as she could. While discussing the Inn with Robin two days earlier, she had noticed a pillow and blanket on a chair in the parlor, so after hanging up her rain suit, Judy grabbed her backpack and tiptoed over to the partially opened pocket doors. Peering through the crack, she did a double take when she saw the heads of the two cats pop up instantly from their place on the sofa, but there was no movement from the occupant under the blanket.
Pleased she hadn’t awoken Robin, Judy went on her way, slowing up just a bit as she moved through the dining room. It now smelled of polish and pine, and the haze she had noticed on the windows had disappeared. There were several stacks of tablecloths and runners piled on the buffets, and even the upholstery on the cushions of the chairs seemed more colorful than it had on Friday night.
The kitchen also had its share of aromas, a blend of cleaners and cleansers finding their way to her nose as soon as Judy crossed the threshold. By the stacks of dishes and glassware laid out on towels across the counters, it appeared Robin had cleaned this room as well. One quick glance at the windows and glass on the cabinet doors showed they were all streak-free and shining, and the coffee maker she had seen in Robin’s apartment was now sitting on the counter. Spying the coffee and filters nearby, Judy pulled a bag from her backpack and turned on the oven.
***
Robin’s eyes fluttered open, and she drew in a slow, contented breath when she saw sunlight streaming through the curtains. Out of habit, she reached down to rub the head of whichever cat was the closest, and when she came up empty, Robin checked under the blanket. Finding neither snuggled underneath, she cocked her head to the side, straining to hear even the slightest noise, but again, she came up empty. Why weren’t they meowing for their breakfast or chasing each other from room to room as was their morning ritual? Robin bolted upright. “I swear to God, if you two went upstairs and are getting into trouble, I’m going—” Robin’s words died off when the smell of coffee found its way to her. “What the hell?”
Robin tossed aside the blankets, immediately regretting her action when the coolness of the room swept over her. She rubbed her hands over her arms, and in socked feet, Robin padded through the house in search of a smell. When she reached the dining room, yet another aroma filled her senses, and noticing the kitchen door was slightly ajar, Robin went over and pushed it open with her finger. A second later, her breath caught in her throat.
The blink of an eye is as quick as a camera shutter, and snapshots of life are burned into memories without even trying. A diamond ring held by someone on bended knee or the first smile appearing on a swaddled baby’s face is eternally embedded into gray matter. The gaiety around tables at holidays and even the sadness etched into the expressions of mourners grieving at grave sites are things never forgotten, and as Robin stood there, she took a snapshot that would forever remain in her mind.
The sun poured in from the bank of windows behind Judy and cascading over her shoulders, it made her appear like an angel, haloed in brightness. Her hair sparkled in the light, and the V-neck of her dark green sweater exposed a shadow plunging deliciously between her breasts as she leaned on the counter reading a cookbook. Robin had never seen anything so beautiful.
Feeling as if she was being watched, Judy lifted her eyes and grinned. Robin was standing in the doorway, her face puffy from sleep and her long blonde hair, loose and tousled. Her sweatpants had settled halfway down her hips, and her long-sleeved T-shirt wasn’t quite long enough to hide a bit of the toned stomach underneath it. Judy’s grin widened as her eyes met Robin’s. “Good morning.”
Judy’s tone was honey sweet and soft, and while Robin was sure she hadn’t meant the words to sound so sensual, Robin’s first attempt at speech failed in an unintelligible squeak. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Good morning.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. I thought I’d get a jump on the paperwork.”
“You’ve already started?”
“No,” Judy said with a laugh. “I found you had moved your coffee maker in here, so I made a pot, grabbed one of Adele’s cookbooks, and I’ve been reading ever since.”
“Find anything good?” Robin said as she walked across the room.
“Yes, your coffee. What’s the brand? It’s delicious.”
“I blend it myself,” Robin said as she filled a mug. “It’s just a mix of beans, but I like it.”
“That makes two of us.”
“And speaking of like,” Robin said, taking a deep breath. “What in the world is that smell?”
“Oh,” Judy said, glancing at the timer on the oven. “I had a couple of bananas on their last legs, so I whipped up a small loaf of banana bread this morning. I figured you might like breakfast.”
“You made banana bread?”
“Yeah.”
“Fresh banana bread?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Yeah, the kind I buy at the store which, I might add, never lives up to my expectations.”
“Well, here’s hoping I do.”
Robin swallowed hard, not allowing herself to exhale for fear it would come out as a lust-filled sigh. Taking a sip of her coffee, she gathered her composure and changed the subject. “So,” she said, looking around. “You didn’t happen to see a couple of cats roaming about, did you? They usually sleep with me, but when I woke up, they weren’t there.”
“Yes, I saw them,” Judy said, smiling. “They scurried back to your apartment when I got here. They’re adorable.”
“Thanks.”
“What are their names?”
“Fred and Ginger.” When Robin saw Judy’s eyebrows rise, she said, “They were a Christmas present from my mother, and she loved old movies. Since Fred looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo and Ginger is all white, she had her mind made up on their names before she even gave them to me. I offered to dedicate all my books to her if she’d let me change them to something else, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I think it’s cute,” Judy said, flicking off the timer on the oven seconds before it was ready to sound.
Robin had never believed herself to be a perv. Sure, she had scoped out women in bars wearing provocative outfits or at the beach as they strutted past in their string bikinis, but her attention had always been fleeting. A casual glance to admire, a brief gander to acknowledge, or a cursory glimpse of interest that faded almost as quickly as it began, she did without even thinking. It was part of being a woman who appreciated women, and for Robin, it was as natural as breathing. Nevertheless, when Judy bent over to pull the bread out of the oven, and Robin caught herself eyeing the woman’s backside, she inwardly scolded her body for its reaction. “I think I should go get dressed,” she announced, placing her mug on the counter. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“Take your time,” Judy said, looking over her shoulder. “This has to cool down for a while anyway.”
Robin forced a grin before heading back to her suite knowing full well the bread wasn’t the only thing needing a cooling-off period.
***
By the time Robin returned to the kitchen, her mind and her body were under control. After enjoying
a breakfast of coffee and warm banana bread slathered in butter, the two women made their way to Adele’s office. Their intention had only been to find all the licensing, insurance, and other legal documents they would need to ensure they could reopen the Inn without any issues, but once they began, one by one the file cabinets were emptied. Utility bills were separated by the service they provided. Receipts from vendors were sorted alphabetically. Old employee records were set off to the side, and all the receipts Adele had kept for miscellaneous items were stacked as best they could be in the middle of the desk. By the time Judy and Robin were done, there wasn’t a horizontal space in the office that wasn’t covered in paperwork of some kind or another, and they both agreed, getting a computer had to move to the top of Robin’s list.
Their breakfast long since digested, shortly after twelve, they returned to the parlor carrying bottles of water and paper plates loaded down with sandwiches and potato chips.
“I have a question,” Judy said, in between bites. “The other night when I was here, it looked like you had all your stuff in the kitchen in the suite, but now everything’s been moved into the larger one. Not that it’s any of my business, but I was just wondering why?”
“Because everything in the apartment needs to be painted, plus I want to refinish the kitchen cabinets and get a new countertop. Things will go a lot faster if I don’t have to work around stuff, so I moved it all the other night.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
“Thanks. I thought so,” Robin said before taking a massive bite of her sandwich.
Tickled that Robin looked very much like a squirrel storing nuts in the winter, Judy returned to hers as well until, with her belly full and her plate empty, she sat back and took a swig of her water. “You know, it seems only fair that since you offered me this job, I offer you something in return.”
