Your B&B or Mine

by Melissa West

  “First, I didn’t blame you for the scratch,” she said to Logan, then her eyes cut to her brother as she pointed her finger. “And yes you did. You put it in that bass boat you bought off Miles Blake.”

  Jack’s face relaxed, the memory coming back to him. “Oh, yeah. Man, that was a good boat. What happened to that boat?”

  Deep breath. Deep, long breath.

  “You sold it to Will,” Logan answered, his voice lower now.

  “Ah.”

  Savannah’s gaze landed on Logan, her heart suddenly heavy with the weight of death. And then it was as though she were back there—Logan coming to tell her Will was gone. She remembered his slow walk to her, his refusal to lift his head, like he no longer knew how to stand straight. Knew how to see clearly. Knew how to be.

  How to exist.

  The weather had been entirely too perfect, not a cloud in the sky, the sun so bright she had to squint as she looked up at him. Then he dropped onto his knees in front of her and shook his head slowly, and they’d both just crumbled. Never in her life did she think she would lean on Logan Park, but that day she collapsed against his shoulder like he was her last hope for life.

  They cried for what felt like forever. He eventually pulled her into his lap, and they just sat that way, on the ground, crying and talking. Still to this day, the words they said made no sense at all. And finally, when their bodies could cry no more, they lay back in the grass, hands linked for fear they would lose themselves again if they let go, and Logan told her about the first time Will saw her.

  It was as though Will himself was there telling the story, and she wondered how Logan remembered it so clearly. At some point day turned into night, but neither moved. They just continued to talk until, like their tears, their words ran dry. And then there was only sleep, out under the sky, no blanket for warmth. What could it do to warm them anyway?

  Now, Logan asked, “What can I do, Anna?” And for the first time since she returned, she felt like there was someone in Maple who cared about her and her needs.

  “Jim—”

  “I took care of it.”

  “You paid him?”

  “I took care of it.”

  Savannah didn’t know what to make of Logan helping her after she had been so hateful, but how else could she act after what he did? She was afraid if she relaxed she would tell him all the things she longed to say so many years ago, and she couldn’t go there. Anger felt easier.

  “I need to sort out everything for the receiving and burial.”

  Jack and Leigh took turns looking at each other, and Savannah contemplated turning her anger on them instead of Logan. At least he was helping.

  “We need cleaning stuff,” Savannah said.

  “I can get that,” Leigh replied a little too quickly. Since when was she willing to go to the hardware store without an argument?

  “I’ll help her,” Jack chimed in, pushing off the steps like he had just received a Get Out of Jail Free card.

  “It doesn’t take two to get stuff to clean up, you loser,” Leigh said, which immediately caused a sharp retort from Jack, and then they were arguing over who knew what about cleaning, and finally Savannah’s migraine decided to spike, her eyes burning at the edges, her neck aching as pain radiated from the crown of her head to her back.

  “Just get out of here already, before I throw you both out.”

  Her siblings stopped to look at her.

  “You know, you were a lot nicer before you moved to Boston. What, do they add lemon to the water to make you extra sour or something? You should—”

  “All right,” Logan said, cutting in, his voice filling Savannah with relief, which irritated her all the more. His voice shouldn’t make her feel better. “Everybody take a breather. Y’all get to town. Savannah, go in, figure out what you need for the receiving and burial.”

  A part of Savannah wanted to argue with him, though she had no idea why. She wanted to argue for the sake of arguing with anybody or anything that might argue back. Especially Logan Park. Maybe if she screamed enough she wouldn’t feel so empty inside.

  Leigh and Jack walked down the main road, still bickering, and Savannah turned her attention on Logan. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not alone here.”

  “Yeah? So why does it feel like I am? I’ve never felt more alone in my life.”

  “You just lost your mother. It’s hard to exist when the person who taught you how no longer does.”

  “Do you think it ever feels better?”

  Logan considered her, and she expected him to say time heals all, or some other nonsense that everyone says but no one believes. Instead he said, “No. But I think it might get easier to carry.” He backed up and turned for the road. “See you later, Savannah Hale.”

  The morning sun had long since disappeared behind the trees, the faint smell of honeysuckle lingered in the air, and with all the guests gone now and without the worry of new ones to come, Savannah walked to the wooden sign her daddy had made by hand and flipped it over. The word closed read so very final that she barely made it inside, the screen door flapping shut behind her, before the tears returned.

  Unsure what else to do, she walked upstairs and disappeared into her old room, not wanting to go over the details of burying her mama when she felt so weak. For now, she wanted to feel her mama’s life, not work out the details of her death.

  As she stepped into her former room, the smells of home came wafting back to her. Old candles still sat on the shelf beside her bed, half burned, half covered in dust. It surprised her that her mother hadn’t changed it into another available room at the bed-and-breakfast. But then Savannah knew her mother had hoped from the moment she’d left that she would return. The thought made her heart ache in a way she had never experienced, and needing to fill it with something, she walked over to her closet and opened the door, flicking on the light to find the space still full of old Christmas Barbie dolls in their original boxes, Precious Moments figurines, and two boxes of keepsakes that simply read “My Savannah.”

  Rising onto her toes, she pushed aside the box of CDs from her high school days and grabbed the shoebox she’d tucked away there before she left. A part of her had wanted to bring it with her, fearful her mother would find it and toss it without realizing what lay inside. But leaving with memories was tough enough. She couldn’t imagine bringing with her things that could stir it all back up again.

  The old wrought iron bed rattled as she sat down on the edge of it, placing the box beside her, not yet committing. But then she looked out the half circle window to her left and saw a full moon rising in the sky. There was nothing but time now—Leigh and Jack would likely eat dinner out. With reluctance, she kicked off her flip-flops and scooted back on the bed, crossing her legs crisscross applesauce, the box in front of her.

  “It’s just a box, Anna,” Savannah told herself, using the nickname her daddy had used every time he spoke to her. A name Logan picked up somewhere along the way.

  She tried to remember the first time she heard him use it, if it was a joke or serious, but she couldn’t remember. The only thing she knew was that he never used it around Will. Like he needed something that was just between them. Maybe he— No. Logan spent more time avoiding her than talking to her back then, so what would she know about his feelings? Besides, she refused to allow herself to go down that road again.

  Reaching for her cell, she started her favorite playlist—the one she played whenever she wanted to feel, not think, and then gently placed the box top beside her on the bed. Her eyes immediately went to the first photo inside.

  They were all there—Jack, Leigh, and Savannah, their parents standing like posts on the outside of them, Cape San Blas’s white beach stretching out behind them. They had rented a house for a week every summer for all of her childhood, and that summer was no different. Their smiling faces were brown and red from too much sun, and Jack had rabbit ears up behind Leigh’s head, but there were
nothing but positive memories from the day. Her gaze landed on her mama, and she had to swallow hard to keep from sobbing.

  Jane Hale always wore a patient, easy smile, and her eyes twinkled with knowledge she would never share. Savannah often wondered what her mother had experienced before meeting and marrying Savannah’s daddy, but Jane would only say her life began when she married Andrew Hale, not a day before it.

  Her hair was styled in the same shoulder-length waves she wore until she died, though in the photo her hair was the same strawberry blond as Savannah’s, not the snowy white it became as she aged.

  The headache began to ease as Savannah let her emotions out, no longer holding in her tears for fear someone would come by and she would need to get back to running things.

  The next photo was of them all at Jack’s major league debut. Their father hated flying, but he took the trip eagerly to see Jack play. That was the proudest moment of Andrew Hale’s life, and he would recount Jack’s homerun at his first ever major league game to anyone who would listen.

  Savannah continued through the stack as if moving through time. First the childhood favorites, then the few accomplishments they had experienced—Jack’s debut, her and Leigh’s college graduation—and then she reached the point where her daddy was no longer in the photos. The family reunion. Christmas. Savannah felt her heart growing heavy again. They would now have photos without either of their parents, and how could you call it a family get-together without the two most important members present?

  Finally, she reached a light blue piece of construction paper, and for a moment her hand hovered over it, unsure if she wanted to continue. She knew what lay behind it would only make it harder for her to breathe, and already her nose was stuffy from crying, her throat thick from the effort to stop. But there were times when the sadness felt so tangible she wanted to add to its weight, push the pain as far as it would go. Maybe to drown it out, or maybe to let it consume her. Whatever it was—a cure or a drug—she knew she needed to continue.

  Lifting the paper, she laid it on top of the family photos, her eyes on the mirror above her desk, directly across from her. Tiny keepsakes and notes were tucked into its frame. The sight of her red, splotchy face was so foreign that a part of her wanted to stop the madness now, but she couldn’t. So she let her eyes drop slowly back to the box, immediately landing on Will’s senior photo.

  With a shaky hand, she lifted the photo out of the box, her other hand going to her mouth. His dark hair curled out at the edges, refusing to be contained, messy yet somehow perfect. His honest blue eyes stared into the camera, his smile wide. Will never wanted anything but the happiness of others. There were times when Savannah listened with skepticism as people talked about the dead as though they were heroes, but with Will it was true.

  A rumble sounded off from her stomach, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since the muffin that morning. Wind rattled the window outside, and Savannah thought her brother and sister would likely return within the hour, without any food for her if she didn’t request it soon.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Leigh’s cell.

  “Hey.”

  Loud music and loud talking met Savannah’s ears. “Where are you?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, where are you?” she said louder then jerked her head toward the door, fearful she had disturbed guests until she remembered there weren’t any.

  “At Sal’s, eating with Jim, Logan, and Jack.”

  “Wait—you’re with Logan?”

  “What?”

  Sighing heavily, Savannah said, “I’ll text you.”

  “Fine, bye.”

  She immediately texted her sister to bring home a cheeseburger and fries and a Coke, because grief allowed you to eat whatever you wanted without guilt. Then she set her phone beside her again, eyeing it to see what Leigh would say back. A part of her wanted Logan to ask about her, and for Leigh to text her on his behalf, but that was stupid and besides…

  Her gaze fell on Will’s photo and she sighed again. “I know.”

  She turned the photo over and placed it neatly in the stack with the others, then went for the next, a smile forming on her face. Will stood beside a cherry-red Corvette. It was old and nothing especially beautiful to look at, but he and Logan had rebuilt the engine themselves, slowly bringing the car back to life. When they finished, they all went for a ride, only to end up out of gas on the side of the road, the boys arguing over whose fault it was. All Savannah could do was laugh.

  Still smiling, she ran her finger over the photo, her nail catching on the right edge, where it had been folded down the center, Will on one side…Logan the other. A memory came back, of sitting in the same spot on her bed, tears on her cheeks as she folded the photo in half. It was the day she came home from the lake incident, when Logan had towed her back to the dock, making a promise between them that he wouldn’t tell anyone.

  Somehow something had changed after that, when she’d looked into his eyes at her father’s truck. She no longer saw the reckless kid she had always known, but a boy who was less boy and more man, with a kindness in him that maybe had always been there but she never quite noticed.

  The moment had stretched between them, and then he’d cleared his throat and she’d looked away, but it was done—the start of something she could never finish, though every time she saw him she ached to see if that kindness in his eyes would return once more.

  Having only the one photo of Logan, she would reach for it, telling herself she wanted to see if the kindness showed, but really she just wanted to look at him without anyone around to judge her. The fold should have worked, kept her focus where it needed to be—on Will. But it didn’t.

  She would see Will on the other side of the Corvette, smiling into the camera. Smiling at her. Savannah would toss the photo back into the box, angry and guilt-ridden all over again. She’d eventually forced herself to stop looking at it, locking it, and all the emotions it conjured, away.

  Until the day Will and Logan left for basic training. She’d taken the photo out once more, giving herself permission to look at him. After all, she had no idea if she would see him again.

  Now, with no one around to watch but the shadow of guilt that always followed her around, she flipped the photo to the other side, allowing the tingly sensation she felt every time she saw Logan to spread from her chest to her head, making her almost dizzy. Warmth followed in its wake as she stared down at the boy she once knew, and wondered if he was the same man who stood on her front porch earlier today.

  Who was Logan Park now? And was he as dangerous to her heart now as he had been then?

  Chapter Four

  Logan drove back to Atlanta first thing the next morning, needing to wrap up a few things and grab some paperwork. And, okay, so he could get away from Savannah and think. Interstate 75 was as congested as ever, and he wondered why he didn’t leave at five like he wanted. Then he remembered the late night with Jack and Leigh.

  The whole reason he’d joined them was the hope that Savannah would show, so he could explain that he wasn’t in town to hurt her. Buying the B and B wasn’t to hurt her. None of it was to hurt her—it was all for Will. His double majors, his career choice, his travel, his every accomplishment and success were all for Will. But she’d never showed, and even if she had, how could he explain? He couldn’t. These experiences weren’t his to share; they were Will’s.

  So, after a few too many beers and no Savannah, he walked out of Sal’s to the small motel just down the street. He should have known she wouldn’t come, and he scolded himself for hoping to see her. When would he learn?

  His cell buzzed, his assistant’s name flashing across the screen. “Park.”

  “Logan? Hey, it’s Chloe.”

  Logan smiled. “I know. Your name showed on the screen.” Chloe had been his assistant for a year and yet still she walked on eggshells around him, petrified he would fire her for talking too much or not talking
enough or any one of a thousand reasons she gave him over the year. The truth was he liked her, despite her spazzy ways.

  A red convertible darted in front of him, cutting him off and nearly crashing into the car in the lane beside him before switching back to its original lane. “Watch out!” he called, tossing his hands as though the car could see him.

  “What?”

  “Not you. This idiot driver that nearly caused a pile up on I-75.”

  “Oh. Well, be careful. And the partners asked when you’ll get here. They want to discuss the Maple Cove acquisition.”

  His shoulders tensed up despite his effort to remain calm. “Tell them I’ll be there in an hour. But I need you to pull some things for me. I’ll be working remotely for the next few weeks to make sure everything’s in order.”

  “Remotely? You mean at the bed-and-breakfast?”

  The idea edged dangerously close to crazy, but Logan needed a comfortable place to work, and what better place than the bed-and-breakfast, so he could make sure there were no surprises for the company. And, okay, maybe he wanted to watch out for Savannah. He sensed yesterday that her brother and sister wouldn’t step up, and someone had to be there for her. Now that Will was gone, it was his job, he told himself. Just like it was his job to do all the other things Will couldn’t do.

  “Yeah. I’ll be there for two weeks.” Then he rattled off to Chloe all the things he needed—files he wanted transferred to the main server so he could access them remotely. Floor plans of the bed-and-breakfast. Land details. Sales figures for the past five years. And then figures for comparable establishments in the South. Part of what had made him so successful in such a short amount of time was his ability to not only find solid investments, but to figure out what they needed to turn profit.

  Maybe Maple’s bed-and-breakfast needed a new chef, a specialty dessert menu, or a backyard patio with a seating area overlooking the gardens. The most popular B and B’s across the South all had a singular thing that defined them. Some were food related, some were activity related, but they all had something, and Logan felt sure Maple’s lack of focus could be the reason for the steady sales decline over the last few years. Staying there would allow him to see its virtues and its flaws. And he saw no harm getting a little face time with its current owner while he scouted out the place.