It was Mr. Witherell and he was bent so far forward he didn’t see her, either, so she quickly leaped aside to avoid colliding with him and breaking her eggs. He wasn’t carrying an umbrella, but he was wearing a hat and a dark rain jacket that looked as old as his funeral suit.
“Good morning, Mr. Witherell. Crummy weather, isn’t it?” she asked but he scuffed on without replying.
I’m sorry about Mark! she had the impulse to call after him, but didn’t. Please don’t hold his behavior against me. I’m a nice person, really!
A few minutes later, the friendly beep of a horn sounded behind her. She stepped farther away from the pavement. It beeped again, so without turning to look she swept her arm in a semi-circle, signaling the driver should go around her. Another honk. She could tell by the volume the driver was much closer now. He yelled something that sounded like, you’re on the wrong side.
Hardly able to see through the deluge, she kept her head down. “I’m not in your way—go around me!”
“You want a ride?” The driver’s remark was clearer this time. He had stopped and lowered his passenger-side window.
Zoey came to a standstill, too. Squinching her face against the rain, she peered at him. There was something familiar about his thick eyebrows and angular features but it took a second for her to remember how she knew him: it was Nick. The good-looking guy from the funeral reception. From the park restrooms. She’d already embarrassed herself in front of him twice. Considering her current state of mind and the condition of her apparel, Zoey realized it was almost inevitable she’d do it again a third time if she got into his truck.
“That’s kind, but no, thanks.” She resumed hiking but instead of driving off, he coasted forward, matching her stride.
“I promise I’m a not a creep,” he called out. “Your aunt Ivy can vouch for me.”
Zoey had to give him credit; he was persistent, and she was soaked. She stopped walking as the car came to a halt, and tugged the door open.
“Wait!” Nick grabbed a cloth from his dashboard and wiped off the upholstery where the rain had come in. Zoey couldn’t help noticing he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“That’s very gallant,” she said, tongue-in-cheek. “But it’s going to get twice as wet the moment I sit on it.” She climbed in and discreetly pulled the carton out from under her T-shirt so she could buckle her seatbelt.
Nick grinned when he saw the eggs. “Incubation?”
“No. Breakfast,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. But inwardly she was laughing. Wittiness was one of her favorite qualities in a man and a shiver flicked up her spine and across her shoulders.
“Want me to turn the heat on?” he asked, reaching for the dial.
“No, thanks. My aunts—” Zoey caught herself. She still thought of her aunts in the plural. Aunt Ivy and Aunt Sylvia; their names went together in a pair, like salt and pepper. “My aunt keeps it really warm in the house. It feels good to be cold for a change.”
“Is that why you went for a walk in the rain, to cool off?”
“It wasn’t raining when I started out.” They had almost reached Ivy’s house and Zoey noticed Nick put his signal on. “You don’t have to turn into the driveway. You can just pull over here at the curb.”
“No I can’t. Street parking isn’t allowed on weekdays between nine and five. I’ll get a ticket.”
Parking? That meant he intended to stay. “You want to come in?” It wasn’t an invitation, it more of an expression of surprise. Not that it would have killed her to have a cup of coffee with him, but she needed to change her clothes and make breakfast before the meeting.
“Yeah, of course.” Nick gave her a quizzical look. “I have an appointment this morning with your cousin and aunt. Didn’t they tell you?”
“You’re the Armstrong boy?” She was so thrown off that she accidentally used her aunt’s wording; Ivy referred to anyone under fifty as a boy or a girl. Zoey had long since given up trying to convince her that some adults might be offended by those terms.
“Actually, my son’s the Armstrong boy. I’m the Armstrong man.” Nick made a muscle, but Zoey no longer found him amusing.
“You’re the carpenter Mark is planning to hire to renovate my aunt’s kitchen?” She wanted to be sure she understood correctly.
“I hope so, yeah.”
Is that why he was at Aunt Sylvia’s funeral—to drum up business with Mark? Zoey got out of the truck and shut the door harder than she needed to. Nick got out, too, and followed her up the driveway, past where Mark had parked his convertible. Given the soaking she had just endured in pursuit of eggs for his breakfast, the sight of his car made her want to kick his tires.
Neither Mark nor Ivy was in the kitchen, so she told Nick he could have a seat while she went to look for them. She poked her head into the living room but it was empty, too. Zoey dashed upstairs. The doors to the bathroom and her aunt’s room were both closed, so she went to dry off and change into clean clothes.
When she came out of her room, she knocked on her aunt’s door. “Aunt Ivy? Are you awake?”
“Yes. Come in.” Her aunt was fully dressed but her silver hair formed a helmet of tight curls atop of her head, her locks holding the shape of the rollers she’d worn to bed. Ivy used to have hair as thick as Zoey’s, but after she lost it to chemo, it grew back baby-fine. Every evening she put it up in rollers so it would appear fuller the following day. “Look at me,” she fussed. “I can’t find my brush anywhere.”
Zoey scanned the vanity table. It contained a jar of moisturizing cream, two tubes of lipstick, a bottle of lily of the valley perfume and half a dozen pink and green plastic rollers. But the hairbrush was missing. Zoey lifted the table skirt; no brush there, either.
“Did you bring it into the bathroom with you?”
“I haven’t used the bathroom yet. Mark just came in and woke me up. He’s been in there ever since.”
Zoey checked beneath the bed and under the bureau. She lifted the quilt and overturned the pillows. “Is it possible you used it last night and it fell behind the headboard?”
“No, the last time I used it was when I was putting my hair up. I was so tired I fell asleep right after that.”
It was true; Ivy had been too weary to sit in her usual place at the vanity, so she’d propped herself up in bed against the pillows. Zoey had brought the rollers and brush to her and when Ivy was finished, Zoey returned the brush to the vanity table. She distinctly remembered because she had to put it back before she turned off the lamp beside Ivy’s bed, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to see what she was doing. By the time she’d set the item in its place and crossed the room to the nightstand, Ivy was already sleeping.
“I’m sure it will turn up somewhere. I’ll get mine for you.”
She was halfway down the hall when Mark opened the bathroom door and stepped out. “Hey, Zo. Is breakfast ready yet? I’m starving.”
You. Have. So. Much. Gall. Zoey thought, but she ignored his question and asked her own. “Have you seen a brush in there? It’s got a blue handle.”
He reached back into the bathroom and produced the brush. “Is this it? ’Cause I don’t think it’s sturdy enough to get through those snarls.”
“It’s Aunt Ivy’s.” She grabbed it from him and hurried down the hall.
“Where did you find it?” Ivy asked. When Zoey told her, she said, “I don’t know where my mind is lately. I honestly don’t recall going into the bathroom. I’m starting to think something is wrong with me.”
“You’re just not a morning person,” Zoey assured her, even though for the first time her aunt’s forgetfulness bothered her, too. Not necessarily because she initially didn’t remember using the restroom that morning, but because she still couldn’t remember once she’d been told that’s where she’d left her brush. Yet she had no problem recalling everything that happened last night right before she fell asleep, Zoey thought. She was probably worrying over nothing, but she silently resolve
d to pay closer attention to her aunt’s short-term memory in the future. For now she said, “Take your time doing your hair and when you come down, I’ll have a cup of coffee waiting for you.”
In the kitchen, she found Nick taking measurements of the cupboards, while Mark leaned against a counter, watching.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, guys. Aunt Ivy hasn’t decided if she even wants to replace the stove, much less do any other renovations,” Zoey warned.
“Oh, sorry,” Nick pushed the button on his measuring tape and it snapped into place. “Mark said—”
“This isn’t Mark’s house.” Not yet, anyway.
“It’s not yours, either,” Mark shot back.
“No joke. That’s why—”
Nick quickly cut in, “I’m happy to do—or not do—whatever your aunt wants. No pressure. We’ll leave it up to her.”
Satisfied, Zoey suggested the men go wait in the formal dining room, where she planned to serve breakfast. The first three omelets she made were warming on a platter in the oven and she was ready to fold the last one when her aunt came in. “That smells good. Where are the boys?”
Zoey motioned toward the dining room. “I thought we’d eat in there.”
“That’s much too formal. Let’s eat here, at the family table.” Ivy peered into the skillet. “Uh-oh, I think the edges of that are browning.”
Zoey smiled; if her aunt was giving her cooking tips, it meant she was feeling a little more like her old self again. She lifted one side of the egg with the spatula and gently folded it over.
“I’ll take care of this so you can go fix your hair,” Ivy offered. Somehow, that hint didn’t seem as insulting when it came from her aunt as when her cousin said it.
Zoey ran upstairs and brushed her hair into a high pony tail, revealing wet marks on her shoulders. She changed her T-shirt again, vaguely aware that she would have left the same one on if Nick wasn’t eating with them. Then she hustled downstairs to tell the men breakfast was ready.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cartwright,” Nick said when he entered the kitchen.
“Good morning, Nicholas. It’s good to see you again. But what did I tell you about calling me Mrs. Cartwright? It makes me feel old. And I’m not old—yet. Am I?”
“Being called Nicholas makes me feel like I’m in trouble. And I’m not in trouble—yet. Am I?”
Both of them laughed; obviously this greeting this was a running joke between them.
“Have you met my great-niece yet?”
“Yes. I’ve had the pleasure—twice.” Nick gave Zoey a sidelong glance and then smiled broadly at Ivy.
Is he trying to charm his way into a major remodel gig? Zoey wondered. She couldn’t let herself forget that Erik had seemed charming at first, too. And that Nick was Mark’s friend.
Once everyone was seated and served, Ivy asked Nick how his son, Aidan, was doing in school.
“He’s doing great, thanks, although he’s looking forward to summer, of course. By the way, if you want him to get started on the flowerbeds, he can drop off a load of mulch some time next week. I noticed he’s got a few trees to edge out back, too.” Nick explained to Zoey, “Aidan’s mother and I are divorced. He’d been living with her in Connecticut, but he decided to finish out his last two years of school here on the island. He takes care of Mrs. Cartwright’s—of your aunt’s landscaping and other small projects. We had a mild winter, so he hasn’t had to do it since January, but your aunt lets him start the Cadillac during the colder months to keep it running. Makes me jealous—I’ve never been behind the wheel of a Caddy.”
“Aidan’s such a nice, polite, handsome boy,” Ivy gushed. “He takes after his father.”
Nick chuckled. “Ugh. Please don’t wish that on the kid.”
“My great-grand-niece, Gabi, came here to complete the school year, too. She just started classes today.”
“Oh, yeah?” Nick took a swallow of coffee. “If she needs anyone to show her around Hope Haven or introduce her to kids at school, I’m sure Aidan would do it. He knows what it’s like to be the new kid on the island.”
“Thanks,” Zoey replied noncommittally. No matter how much Ivy raved about Aidan, he was two grades ahead of Gabi, which automatically made Zoey wary.
When they finished eating, Mark asked Nick to get his laptop from the truck. Apparently, the two men had already discussed what kinds of cupboards and countertops might look good in Ivy’s kitchen and Nick had created a gallery of photos to show her.
“Hang on, not so fast,” Zoey warned. “The first thing that needs to be discussed is whether or not the stove even needs to be replaced. Aunt Ivy doesn’t need to see photos in order to make that decision—she needs her stove evaluated.”
“Right,” Nick readily agreed. “I evaluated it the last time I was here and I have some concerns I’d like to draw your attention to. If I get my laptop, I can show you what the experts online recommend, so you don’t have to take my word for it.”
“Don’t be silly, Nicholas. I trust your opinion,” Ivy said.
So he pointed out a few issues he thought could be potentially hazardous if left unchecked. He also asked Ivy questions about the burners and whether her food was cooking evenly and discussed the cost differences between repairing and replacing the range. By the time he was done talking, both Zoey and her aunt were convinced it was imperative for Ivy to get a new stove, and they gathered round Nick’s laptop as he showed them a few models. Zoey was impressed with his recommendation of a vintage-look freestanding range that would go perfectly with the house: he had good taste. And when Nick confirmed he’d fit the new stove for half the price of the manufacturer, her trust began to deepen.
“Didn’t I tell you he’s the best contractor on the island? Appliances, carpentry, plumbing—he does it all.” Ivy proudly patted Nick’s forearm.
“It’s more like I do a little of everything.”
“Now show her the photo of the fridge that will complement that stove and then we can move on to the cupboards,” Nick ordered Mark.
Ivy appeared baffled. “My refrigerator works just fine. Why would I want to replace it?”
“Because you’re getting a new stove!” Mark’s exasperation was evident. He lowered his voice and clarified, “Aunt Ivy, if you replace the stove without making other changes to the kitchen, it’s going to stand out like a sore thumb.”
Zoey thought her head was about to explode. Since when did he address her as aunt? And “like a sore thumb” was one of Ivy’s idioms—obviously Mark was mirroring her language in order to win her over. “If you’re concerned about the colors of your appliances clashing, I could paint the fridge to match the stove, Aunt Ivy.”
“It’s not just that the colors won’t match, the styles won’t—” Mark began to argue, but Ivy interrupted him to consult with Nick.
“You’re the professional, Nicholas. Do you think I should get a new fridge?”
“If it’s working well, then the only reason to replace it would be aesthetics. So unless having different styles of appliances bothers you, I’d say don’t waste your money.”
Mark huffed and crossed his arms, clearly dissatisfied with his friend’s answer, but Nick was undeterred.
“Eventually, if you want a new fridge, I know some places off island where you can get a good deal on a trade-in. But there’s no rush. Changes can be very difficult. Give yourself time to adjust.”
As Ivy visibly relaxed her shoulders and exhaled, Zoey sensed Nick wasn’t just talking about kitchen appliances and she could have hugged him for being so understanding about what her aunt was going through. She tried to catch his eye so she could mouth, “thank you,” but he was studying Ivy’s face, patiently waiting for her to think it over. He seems more concerned about her well-being than Mark does, Zoey thought. Had she judged him prematurely?
“I think I’ll only purchase the stove for now,” Ivy said. “And I’d like you to install it, Nick.”
“Sure thing.” He low
ered the lid to his computer.
“Wait, we still haven’t discussed the cupboards and countertops,” Mark said.
Nick looked as incredulous as Zoey felt. Somehow she managed to modulate her voice when she replied, “She just said she only wants to purchase the stove for now. Right, Aunt Ivy?”
“She meant she didn’t want a fridge. That’s not the same as not wanting new countertops or cupboards,” Mark answered for their aunt before she had the chance to answer for herself. “Ivy and I have already agreed this place needs to be brightened up.”
Ivy nodded. “It is rather dim in here. The other day I nearly tripped over Moby. The room is so shadowy he blends right in.”
Mark was all over that. “Yeah—it’s unsafe to keep the décor the way it is.”
“There are ways of brightening up the room without tearing up all the cupboards and countertops. We could put a different bulb in the overhead light,” Zoey suggested. Obviously.
“Will that be enough to make a difference?” Ivy asked Nick.
“It’s a good start, sure. We can look around and see what else might be contributing to the dimness. For example, that big rhododendron shrub right outside the side window. If we trim that back, we could let a lot of light in.”
“Oh, but Sylvia always likes to look at the rhododendrons while she’s washing dishes,” Ivy objected.
Just as Zoey was wondering whether anyone else noticed she’d referred to her sister-in-law in the present tense, Mark said, “Uh, Sylvia isn’t here any more, Ivy.”
You think she doesn’t know that? Zoey seethed. She’s aware of it almost every single waking moment. If Zoey’s legs were longer, she would have given him a swift shin kick beneath the table.
Fortunately, Nick quickly jumped in, replying, “Yeah, that’s right. I remember Sylvia telling me how much she enjoyed watching the bees opening up the blossoms, but she was glad they were on the other side of the window screen.”
Aunt Ivy's Cottage: A totally gripping and emotional page turner Page 8
