Relieved that her daughter’s mood had benefited from a nap, Tara collected her purse, the diaper bag, and grocery bags. She tugged Bella from the car, wondering at how heavy she’d gotten. She was turning into a little girl, right before her eyes. Why couldn’t babies stay babies?
Settling Bella onto one hip, Tara turned into the wind to blow the hair from her face. The baby bounced joyfully as the wind picked up, but Tara’s hair flew around their heads in a dervish. Bella fussed and pawed at it, trying to get it out of her own face.
They hurried in to the house and dropped onto the sofa. With a puff, Tara blew at the hair in her face as she untangled herself from her bag straps and grocery bags.
Bella dropped to the floor and took off at a dead run. Within seconds, a tell-tale crash echoed from the kitchen.
Tara wound her hair into a knot, collected the groceries, and hurried to the kitchen scoffing at the notion of coming home to relax. What had she been thinking?
With a sigh, she took a sauce pan from Bella and returned it to the cupboard with the others. It only took a moment to wrestle the baby out of her jacket, then she hefted Bella onto her hip. “Come on, let’s go check on the laundry, shall we?” But Bella had other ideas and arched her back, screeching in protest. Tightening her grip, Tara headed down the hall, flinching at the toddler’s thrashing. Once in the laundry room, she closed the door and put Bella down.
The little girl pounded on the door. “Pan, pan, pan!”
Tara let Bella be and hurried to fold sheets, but her thoughts drifted past the squealing baby, past the laundry room, and back to Winnie. The old woman was simply the grandmother type, and Tara couldn’t quite fathom Winnie as a 20-something college student. Had she been involved in anti-war and civil-rights movements? Was she a flower child? That was simply incomprehensible.
Collecting the pile of folded guestroom sheets, Tara opened the laundry room door. When Bella didn’t immediately run out, Tara turned in a circle, raising the stack of laundry to search around her feet.
“Bella!” she cried, tossing the sheets onto the top of the washer, but the toddler wasn’t fazed and continued to pull dryer sheets from the open box, tossing them rhythmically over one shoulder. Tara grabbed for the box and a tug of war ensued. Finally, Tara got control of the torn box and crawled along the floor collecting the mess, muttering under her breath as Bella howled in protest.
Once the box was on the shelf, Tara plopped one fist on her hip and scowled down at her daughter. Forgetting the laundry all together, she hefted Bella up to head upstairs. When they reached the TV room, she put Bella down in front of her toy box and dropped onto the sofa. As the toddler joyfully lobbed toy after toy out of the toy box, Tara considered the evening ahead. She’d planned to put a roast in the crockpot for dinner, but it was too late for that now.
When had things gotten so out of hand? It seemed like no matter how hard she tried to plan and to organize, her days ran amuck. Other women had babies and managed a home and a job, why couldn’t she?
Concern for Winnie returned and her stomach sank. Even though Tara had moved out of the old house years ago, she still depended on Winnie for emotional support.
Bella shrieked and banged a toy on the coffee table.
Thankfully, all the guests had checked out, and Bella could scream to her heart’s content. It was nearly impossible to keep her quiet anyway. When they had guests, Justin would wince at the baby’s shrieks and ask how to quiet her down.
Poor Justin. He worked long hours every day at his real estate investment company, only to come home to a frazzled wife and a screaming baby. Lately, it seemed as if they never got any time alone together, and if they did it usually involved talking about some problem with the Inn. Romance was certainly a forgotten topic. Once they got Bella to bed, they both immediately fell asleep. Half the time the baby ended up sleeping between them. And the Inn was a never-ending job of guests checking in and out, laundry, light bulbs, paperwork, something. It was always something.
Just the thought of the Inn brought to mind a million things she needed to do before the next round of guests arrived. And she’d left the sheets on the washer and the groceries on the kitchen counter. Her phone rang in her pocket and she retrieved it. Justin. “He must be psychic,” she chuckled.
“Hi babe,” she said, toying with a lock of hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t get the roast into the crock pot in time. Why?”
Her husband’s voice buzzed on the other end of the line.
She frowned. “Again?”
Justin explained, but his words only made Tara’s scowl deepen.
“Okay, I guess I’ll just make us a sandwich then.”
He continued, but Tara was beyond hearing. Her thoughts had wandered back to the days when she and Justin had spent long evenings together, making love, watching TV, or planning their dreams. Those times seemed very far in the past.
* * *
Winnie turned the deadbolt on the front door and switched off the porch light, then shuffled back toward the kitchen. For the first time in years, shadows taunted her from gloomy corners. All those years spent in this house were still there, deep in her bones. Her childhood with her parents was here, vivid and real; then too, there were all those years of solitude and anguish. It seemed as if she’d lived three distinct and different lives. It had been ages since she’d allowed herself to wander back through any of those other eras; mostly because she’d been sure if she cracked open a door on the past, it would rush in and overpower her, gobble her up, like a monster. Sure enough, these memories had teeth, sharp and jagged.
Her hand reached down to pat the letter in her pocket, and she remembered her first night in her dorm room. Claudia had been characteristically enthusiastic, bouncing around the room, hanging up posters and talking nonstop. “This is the Magic Mystery Tour Bus,” she’d gushed, holding up a brightly colored poster. “Come help me.”
Winnie kneeled on the bed, holding up the poster so Claudia could thumbtack it to the wall. “It’s the Beatles, right?” she asked, kinking her neck for a better view.
“Duh, who else could come up with something so cool?”
“I don’t know,” Winnie shrugged, moving back for Claudia to push in the last tack. “They certainly seem to come up with original things, don’t they?”
Claudia surveyed her handiwork, with her head tilted to one side.
A knock sounded at the door and Winnie climbed off the bed and went to answer, but Claudia ignored the intrusion, engrossed in unrolling another poster.
Roy stood in the hall, looking serious. “Hi Wynona,” he looked over her shoulder at his sister. “I promised mom I’d check on sis before I went to bed.”
“Must you continuously check up on me?” Claudia pouted as she flounced across the room and blocked the door so he couldn’t enter.
Happy to see a familiar face, Winnie gave Claudia a push. The thought of sleeping in the strange, noisy place had her homesick.
Roy ignored his sister’s attitude. “You okay, Wynona? I promised your folks I’d watch out for you too.”
His mention of home both pinched and soothed Winnie. “I’m fine, thanks.”
He eyed her in speculation. “The first night can be rough, even for the guys.”
Claudia snorted. “You guys are babies, now leave us alone.”
With one last look at Winnie, he turned to leave, then stopped in the hall. “You know where to find me if you need me.”
Truer words had never been spoken. All through that turbulent year, Roy had been there.
Winnie turned off the kitchen light with a long, weary sigh, and removed her glasses to rub her tired eyes. Sweet endearing Roy. He’d left for Vietnam and hadn’t returned home. Heaven knew he’d had his reasons, and the way she’d treated him hadn’t helped.
How had she let the only big brother figure she’d ever known leave when they were on such bad terms? She’d never been able to tell him she was sorry.
Shuffling toward
the stairs, Winnie knew that being heartsick didn’t change a thing. The sun rose high into the sky, then set as normal; and life just went on and on. It made no difference that everyone in town had known she’d lost her husband and daughter and come back to Smithville broken and lost. No, loss of pride, loss of self, even never-ending emotional pain didn’t kill a person, it took war and illness and accidents to kill -- sorrow and anguish just left a nasty, jagged, scar across one’s soul.
* * *
The blinds in Winnie’s kitchen rolled up with a whir, allowing sun to flood into the lovely, restored room. The kitchen had been pleasant enough in her youth but was downright luxurious now.
Her childhood had no lack of pleasant memories. Her mother had spent long hours working at her cherished cookstove. The woman had had a special knack for canning fruit and making jams and pickles. This kitchen had been filled with steamy, delicious smells in those days.
She shook off the memories before they turned dark, refusing to think about the days after Pittsburgh and before Tara came to stay with her. All it had taken was one silly letter to throw her into a tailspin. It was high time she pulled herself together and got on with the day.
Yet, the summer of 1967 was difficult to forget. It had been a turbulent time across the U.S. Even in the far reaches of rural Pennsylvania, they’d heard about the race riots in Detroit and Newark, where almost 70 people had died.
She remembered her parents talking as if the world were coming to an end, but to her mind, the world was ripe for change. She had only been concerned about the way it was happening. She had been sure that once she got up to the university, she could be more involved, be a part of the change sweeping the country, instead of just hearing about it after the fact.
Justin’s truck pulled into the driveway, interrupting Winnie’s thoughts.
Tugging open the fridge, she took out the egg carton and opened it to count the contents. Good, just enough to make Bella French toast. Now set on her task, she rummaged through cupboards, taking down bowls and collecting pans. Soon she was breaking eggs and humming to herself as she whisked them into a froth.
The back door opened and Bella rushed into the room, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. “Nana!” she hollered, wrapping her arms around Winnie’s leg. Justin came in and plopped the diaper bag onto the island counter. “Morning, Winnie, how are you?” he asked, eyeing her in speculation.
Alerted by the tone of his voice, Winnie patted Bella on the head. “I’m fine, thank you. And yourself?”
He shoved his hands into the pocket of his trousers. “I’m okay.”
Winnie waited with one eyebrow raised. Finally, she spoke. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” He drawled.
“What is it, dear, spit it out.”
“No spitting!” Bella cried out. “Don’t spit.”
Winnie chuckled. “You’re right, sweetheart, thank you for reminding me,” then returned her attention to Justin.
Justin ran a hand through his hair. “Well,” he started, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Tara said you got some bad news yesterday and I—”
“Bad news?” Winnie interrupted.
Justin’s neck turned red. “She— Tara, she said you got a letter, and it must be bad news because…” he sighed and stuffed his hand back into his pocket. “She got it wrong, didn’t she?”
Winnie bent to heft up the baby. Once the little girl was buckled in her chair and ready to eat, she headed back to the counter. “I’m fine, no bad news.”
Justin could see than an explanation was not coming, so he backed toward the door. “If you’re sure, then I suppose I better get going.”
“Would you like to stay and have French toast with Bella and me?”
He glanced longingly at the pan on the stove but shook his head. “I better not, I have a 9:00 meeting.”
Winnie shrugged. “Okay, all the more for Bella and me, right baby?”
“Toast!” Bella shouted, patting her hands expectantly on the island counter.
Chapter Three
Tara clanked the spoon against the top edge of the stew pot, then put it on the counter. “How was I supposed to know what was bothering Winnie? I can’t read her mind.”
“No,” Justin replied, “but you could have mentioned that you weren’t sure she’d received bad news.”
“Obviously, she was upset by the letter.”
“And obviously, it wasn’t bad news,” he countered.
Tara crossed the room to put dishes on the table, then plopped one hand on her hip. “Why else would she be upset?”
Justin sighed. “I don’t know.”
She tossed him a look and returned to the stove. “Whether it was the letter or not, she wasn’t herself.”
Justin picked up Isabelle and took her to the sink to wash her hands. “I guess so. I just felt like a fool.”
“Welcome to my world,” Tara muttered. She put the pan of stew to the table. “Did she seem upset to you?”
“Not a bit,” he replied, drying off Bella’s hands.
Tara sat down at the table, lost in thought. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to keep our eyes open, and make sure Bella isn’t wearing her out.”
Justin put Bella in her chair and scooted her up to the table, then scooped a spoonful of stew into her plastic bowl. “I told you I didn’t think asking her to watch Bella was a good idea. She’s getting old, and I worry about her.”
Tara pulled a face. “Nothing I do is a good idea anymore. Besides, she isn’t as old as I thought.”
He paused, halfway through cutting meat chunks and tossed her a look. “What does that mean?”
“Which? Winnie being old or my bad ideas?”
“Either.”
“Never mind,” she muttered, scooping up stew for herself. This was just another typical evening. They’d disagree about everything though dinner, and then head off to bed.
She used to look forward to her time with Justin. He was funny and smart and very sexy. Maybe they’d always sparred and enjoyed the battle but… she glanced down. Unlike her, Justin didn’t have stretch marks or that last five pounds of baby weight that stubbornly refused to come off. Gravity hadn’t left his chest worse for wear after nursing a baby. He still looked as good as he had the day they met. Maybe even better.
“Drink!” Bella said, reaching for a cup.
As she filled the sippy cup, Tara wondered why every conversation with Justin turned into a fight. They’d always disagreed on most things, but that had somehow added spice to the relationship -- another point of view, a challenge. Now their time together felt like a nonstop disagreement. Where had the spark gone? Was this what happened to marriages as they fell apart?
“That new project over in Waynesburg is a go,” Justin offered as he handed Bella her stew.
“That’s good news,” Tara said, willing to change the topic, but her heart wasn’t in it.
He looked up, eyeing her speculatively, watching her reaction. “Elliot is excited about the design; it’s the most progressive we’ve done.”
She must be overtired or hormonal or something, because she wanted to toss down her spoon and snap at him. He’d always been this way, preferring new and innovative projects. Why was it grating on her tonight? Justin’s desire to make everything modern had always been an issue between them, but she thought she’d learned to roll with it. Evidently not, because now she was angry. She’d suggested more than once that they rehab the old feed store for that project, but no, they had to come up with some fancy new thing and tear down all the historical buildings to make it happen. That was Justin, Mister Tear It Down and Start Over.
“Between the windmill and solar, it will make all its own…” his voice faded. “What?”
She shrugged and stuffed a spoonful of stew in her mouth.
He watched her chew, his expression darkening.
Silence settled over the table like a dark cloud. Bella belched and a grinned. “Scooze-ee,” she said, looki
ng from one parent to the other for approval.
“Winnie suggested I hire a manager for the Inn today,” Tara blurted, then shoveled another bite in her mouth. Now she was adding inadequacy on top of anger. Perfect.
Justin’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. “Is that what you want to do?”
She chewed, lifting one shoulder in response. Her mouthful was all that kept her from blurting out how unhappy and frazzled she was. Why couldn’t he see that she was struggling? He always seemed to keep an even keel. Why did he have to be so damn calm?
His spoon lowered to his bowl, and his gaze wandered off into the distance. “You have been overworked, so that’s not a bad idea.”
Her brow puckered. Her lack of ability to run the Inn and handle Bella overcame her grumpiness, and she floundered. The whole thing made her feel like such a loser. She should be able to manage her career and a baby. She was a smart lady. A competent person. She just needed to try harder. She could do more, cope better.
“That’s not an insult, Tara,” he said, his eyes now back on her face. “We agreed before Bella was born that you’d manage the Inn as long as it didn’t interfere with being a mom. If we need to adjust now—"
“So how does that work?” She blurted. “I’m supposed to let some stranger waltz in here and manage the house that we live in?” She’d already given up managing the boutique and her real estate business. Now, she’d have to let the Inn and the spa go as well? Was it her lot in life to bust her butt building a business and then turn it over to someone else?
At one point in time, she’d been in charge of her career and her finances. She’d been successful. Now, she was doing well just to get through the day.
Justin frowned. “It is kind of weird that we live here, I’ll give you that.”
Bella’s spoon fell on the floor, splashing stew along with it. “Spoon!” she cried.
Tara handed Bella the spare spoon she’d brought to the table earlier. What exactly would this new manager person do? Tara liked greeting guests and welcoming them into her home. It made her feel better to have that connection with people who would be guests under her roof.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 123
