“You served a three-course gourmet breakfast out there. Most of us get by with a percolator and a box of donuts,” Lucy teased.
She was exaggerating, but the inn’s famed cook did go the distance for the weekly social hour.
Claire blushed at the compliment. “Cooking never seems like work to me. Though I’m glad that Nolan and I have retired. This past year has been a wonderful adventure.”
“So I’ve heard. Good for you. It’s exactly what I’d like to be doing at your stage of life.”
After living in the Southwest for many years, Liza Merritt and her husband had returned last Christmas to take over the inn once more, and the older couple had taken off for distant places that Lucy had always longed to visit, in Europe and even Africa. In the warmer months, Claire and Nolan had stayed closer to home, helping at the inn during the busy weeks while fitting in trips all along the East Coast on their sailboat. It seemed like a perfect life to Lucy.
“Are you coming to the meeting for the Christmas Fair?” Claire checked her watch. “It’s probably started by now.”
Lucy folded a dish towel and hung it on a rack near the sink. “Wish I could, but I have to be at work in a little while. I need to run home and change.”
“No apologies necessary, dear. Your nursing is very important work.” Claire grabbed her handbag and smoothed down her cardigan. “See you soon. Have a good day.”
Claire was the type of person who, in her quiet way, always made others feel good about themselves. She took the time to see people clearly. Lucy thought it was a true gift.
We all have our gifts and talents, she reflected. Satisfaction in life comes from figuring out how to grow and express them. How to balance what we need to do with what we want to do.
She smiled at her philosophical mood as she slipped on her coat. It so wasn’t like her. But church did push her thoughts in the big-picture direction. She was glad now that she’d made the time this morning to come here.
She pushed open the glass door and flipped her collar up as she headed to her car. A brisk wind swept off the harbor, which was just behind the church. The waves were choppy today, capped with white foam. Bands of clouds scudded over a deep blue sky.
It was a pretty day, and she wouldn’t mind the drive up to Southport. The time alone, to center herself and recharge, was always welcome. If she hoofed it home and changed quickly, she would have a leisurely trip and little traffic on the thruway.
“Lucy? Lucy, wait a minute, please . . .” a man’s voice called to her from the church. Her breath caught in her throat and she slowly turned.
Craig Hamilton. She could have screamed. What was he still doing here? She didn’t want this. Not one bit.
She turned her back to him and felt the urge to run the short distance to her car, jump in, and race out of the lot. But as she heard his quick steps on the gravel and his harsh breath as he ran to reach her, the idea of sneaking away again seemed silly and immature.
She was cornered and had no choice but face him. She finally turned, mesmerized by the sight of his approach. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, then scolded herself for getting so unhinged.
Stay strong. If ever you needed to find a poker face and not be swayed, this is the moment.
“I’ve been watching for you. I almost gave up,” he admitted in a breathless voice.
She so wished that he had.
“Here I am,” she said flatly.
“So I see. Thank you for not running off.” He took a deep breath, gazing at her as he got his bearings.
He looked so different, but the same, too. It was funny, like an optical illusion that kept switching before her eyes from a vision of his younger self to this version: the same smile, the same features, but much older.
But not so old that he’d lost his good looks. She hated to admit it, but he hadn’t lost them in the least.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, but I have to get to work. At Southport Hospital,” she added, hoping he knew she didn’t mean the diner.
“Right. You’re a nurse now.”
“That’s right.” Lucy nodded, feeling embarrassed now that she’d shouted out the information at the diner Thursday morning—for his benefit, of course.
“That’s wonderful. I bet you’re great at your job.”
“I try,” she said in a clipped tone.
He gazed down for a moment, as if he’d forgotten what he was planning to say. Or was he losing his nerve?
He looked up again. “I don’t want to make you late. But I’d like it very much if you could see your way to having a talk with me sometime while I’m here. I’d like to meet you for coffee, or something? Anywhere you want.”
“And talk about what, Craig? I’m a nurse. I’m married to Charlie Bates, who owns the diner and is the town’s mayor. I have three kids, two sons and a daughter. Not much more to report.” She shrugged. “Your life is an open book, literally. Not that I’ve read it, or plan to,” she added, sounding far colder than she intended.
Her sharp reply caught him off balance. Did he think he could just smile and toss her a few compliments, and she’d turn to mush—like she used to?
“I deserve that. You have every right to be angry. Every right not to speak to me ever again. But I wish you would. Just once. There are things that need saying. I can see by your reaction that the past isn’t over for you yet either.”
“Whoa, there . . . That’s a big assumption. And totally wrong. If I don’t seem eager to talk, it’s because the past is over for me. Completely. The book is closed, and there’s no use opening it again. I don’t see any benefit. Not for me.”
He didn’t answer right away but looked past her for a moment, out at the harbor and horizon. “All right,” he said finally. “If that’s how you feel. I feel just the opposite. I’ve thought about you a lot, Lucy. About the past. Especially lately. All my missteps and mistakes. I keep thinking I’m going to write you a letter. I’ve written it a thousand times in my head.”
His confession was flattering. She couldn’t deny it. She felt herself softening to his request but forced herself to pull back. She didn’t owe him a thing after what he’d done to her. She didn’t have to help him for one second to make it right. It wasn’t her problem if he felt bad now for his “missteps and mistakes.” It wasn’t her job to fix that.
“I think you mean well. But the time for talking is past. It’s passed for me, I know that. Maybe you should have written that letter right after you left, when I was tying myself up in knots, trying to understand why you did. Frankly, the reasons don’t matter to me now. Offering to dredge it all up . . . well, that’s too little, too late.”
He looked stunned by her reply. She could see in his expression that he was shocked by her words and her manner, as if he didn’t recognize her anymore. Well, she’d changed. That was true. Though it wasn’t at all like her to say something so cold, and even cruel, to anyone. It felt as if another woman had taken over her body and her tongue. A woman who was angry and hurt—and had not a drop of forgiveness in her heart.
Craig took a step back, his warm, beseeching expression going blank. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should have realized . . .” His words trailed off, his apology unfinished.
For a man who expressed himself so smoothly on a film screen, in real life, he stumbled over his lines. “I won’t bother you again, I promise. But if you ever want to talk to me while I’m here, or anytime, I’d be very grateful.” He reached into his pocket and then held out a slip of paper. “Here’s my cell number. Call or text anytime.”
She glanced at his outstretched hand and met his gaze, some small voice urging her to relent, to show the man a little mercy. He did seem sincere. But a louder voice ordered her to grasp her righteous flag and march on.
She dug her own hands into her pockets and stepped back
.
“Goodbye, Craig.” She almost added It was nice to see you again automatically. But it had not been nice. It had been painful—more than she’d ever expected it could be. Not after all the time that had passed.
She turned away from him quickly and hugged her arms to herself as she ran against the wind to her car, feeling a genuine and deep ache in her heart.
Once she had slipped behind the wheel, she couldn’t start the car. She just stared out the windshield at the harbor. How odd. With all the times she had pictured seeing him again—and she had pictured it, though she hated to admit it—she had never once expected it would feel this way.
* * *
* * *
“I finally reached Alice,” Lauren’s aunt Jessica said, mentioning the veterinarian, Dr. Ackroyd, who had been donating her services to Grateful Paw for years. “She should be there within the hour. In the meantime, set up a vaporizer. Just plain water; none of that mentholated stuff. Put it near Wilbur’s bed so he’s breathing in the warm, moist air. But not too close.”
Lauren had her phone on speaker as she wandered around Cole’s kitchen looking for a pad and pen to take down Jessica’s instructions. Phoebe was sitting on a kitchen chair, a towel on her lap, and Wilbur was curled into a cozy ball on the towel. The girl gazed down at him, stroking his forehead with one fingertip and murmuring encouraging words.
He looked listless, his eyes half-shut, his breath labored. Phoebe had offered him his bottle when she got home, but he didn’t want to eat. Bad sign for a pig, Lauren thought.
“I don’t even know if Cole has a vaporizer.”
“Of course he does. It’s standard kid equipment. They give you one when you leave the maternity ward,” her aunt insisted. “I know Wilbur isn’t interested in food, but see if you can get him to take some water. Bottled water, room temperature. If he gets dehydrated, he’ll have to go into an animal hospital.”
Phoebe’s eyes grew wide and glassy. “No! No hospital. He’s not going there. Ever!” she shouted.
Lauren was alarmed at her response. She did not seem like the sort of child to shout and act out that way. Not at all. The situation had upset her deeply, Lauren realized. She’d been dumb to have this conversation on speaker, with Phoebe hearing every word.
She picked up the phone and turned off the speaker. “Deal breaker for Phoebe. I’d better get him to drink. Can I flavor the water with something?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. What do pigs like to eat?”
“Practically anything. But maybe just a touch of organic honey? Manuka is best, if they’ve got it. It’s antiviral and might give him a little energy.”
When had her financial-whiz aunt turned into such an earth mother? Could that possibly happen to me . . . if I stick around here too long?
“I’ll ask. And on the slim chance there’s no vaporizer, we’ll run up to a store and get one.”
“Great. I’ve got to go. My passenger is getting restless back there. I need to pull over and see what’s going on.”
Lauren heard a low, unhappy Moo-oo-oo in the background.
“Sounds like she needs to stretch her legs.” She could only imagine Aunt Jess pulling into a highway rest stop and leading a cow from the van into the dog-walking area. She might make the evening news. Wouldn’t Lillian Warwick be proud of that?
“Let me know what Alice says.” Jessica said goodbye and hung up.
Phoebe sat with her head lowered, and Lauren leaned way down to catch her gaze. “An animal doctor is coming very soon to see Wilbur. In the meantime, there are a few things to try that might make him feel better.”
Phoebe’s expression brightened a bit. “Can I help?”
“Absolutely. I can’t pull this off without you, pal. Jessica said to see if he’ll drink some water with a tiny touch of honey. Do you think there’s any in the house?”
Phoebe nodded and pointed to a cabinet near the refrigerator. The kitchen was old and cozy. The knotty pine cabinets and dark green countertops reminded Lauren of her grandma Morgan’s house. She pulled open a door and saw a neat array of spices and baking supplies. A jar of honey sat right beside it. Organic, too, though not the “manuka” her aunt had prescribed. Whatever that was.
“Great. Where’s his bottle? I’ll whip this up and you can feed it to him.”
Phoebe smiled at the plan, then leaned down to talk to Wilbur. “You’re going to have a treat, Wilbur. You must be thirsty. Please drink it,” she added in a solemn voice.
Phoebe hadn’t mentioned the hospital again, but Lauren could tell she was thinking about it.
Cole had disappeared into another part of the cottage shortly after she’d arrived. He returned to the kitchen just as Lauren was about to fill Wilbur’s bottle from a dispenser of spring water she’d found near the back door.
“Wilbur needs water. Or he’ll be sent to the hospital. But we won’t let him go there. Right, Daddy?” Phoebe asked before Cole was even all the way in the room.
He rested his hand on her head for a moment. “We’ll do our best to keep him home with us, honey. You know that.”
“The vet is coming soon,” Lauren reported. “Do you have a vaporizer? My aunt said to set one up for him.”
“It’s in a closet somewhere. I’ll find it. Then I’d better get to the meeting. Sorry,” he added, with atypical concern.
“Sure. No problem.”
His brash, contrary side must be in the laundry today, she decided. It had been nowhere to be seen since she’d arrived. So far, anyway.
Cole started to set off on the vaporizer hunt, then stopped in the doorway. “Thanks again for helping us. I’m sure you had better things to do.”
She considered acting as if the visit was a great inconvenience and sacrifice for her but knew she couldn’t pull off the charade, since she was actually happy to be there. “I’m the Pig Lady, remember? This is what we do.”
Hearing the nickname she’d devised made Phoebe smile. Cole smiled, too. Really smiled. Lauren felt as if she’d been hit by a mega-blast of sunshine.
Wilbur’s bottle dangled in her hand and she suddenly realized it was dripping. “Where did I put the lid for this thing?” she mumbled, wandering back to the counter.
“You forgot the honey,” Phoebe said.
“Oh . . . right. It needs honey. Just a touch.” She felt Cole watching as she looked around for the jar and then mixed the honey into the water. She kept her focus on her task, waiting to hear his footsteps disappear down the hall.
Thank goodness he’ll be shut up in his office for a few hours. I don’t think I’d make it otherwise.
A short time later, the vaporizer was spurting a cloud of steam toward the kitchen ceiling and Wilbur was sipping his honey water.
When the bottle was more than half empty, Lauren said, “I think that’s good for now. We don’t want him to get a tummy ache. Let’s see what the vet says.”
Phoebe agreed and put the bottle aside. It was hard to tell if Wilbur was relieved by the misty air, though Lauren knew her smooth blown-out hairstyle was getting wavier by the minute. The piglet squirmed a bit in Phoebe’s lap, and she put him down on his bed. He walked in a small circle, then lay down again with a raspy sigh. Lauren was worried, but she was determined to keep a brave face for Phoebe’s sake.
“What should we do now?” Phoebe stared at the piglet, her chin propped in one hand.
There didn’t seem to be anything more they could do. That was the frustrating thing when someone you loved was sick. There was so little you could do for them except keep them comfortable and cheerful.
“Do you have some crayons and paper? We can draw pictures and happy signs for him, to cheer him up,” Lauren said. “And make him some get-well cards from the other animals? I’m sure they all want him to feel better.”
Phoebe sat up, suddenly b
righter. “Great idea. I’ll go get my crayons right now.”
Cole appeared in the doorway, and Phoebe rushed past him. “I need to get my crayons. We’re making Wilbur get-well cards.”
He cast Lauren a questioning look. “To cheer him up,” she explained.
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine?” she said quietly. “It might cheer up Phoebe, too. She’s taking this so much to heart. She got very upset when Jessica suggested that Wilbur might need care in an animal hospital,” she added in a quieter voice.
“I’m sure she did.” His expression was solemn. He glanced over his shoulder. “She has her reasons. I hope it doesn’t come to that either. When does the vet get here?”
“Any minute. She just sent a text. She’s been held up on another call. I thought your meeting was about to start?”
“They have some company business to take care of first. I’ll go back in a few minutes.”
“I’m just curious, what sort of company has a big teleconference meeting on a Sunday afternoon?”
“It’s Monday in Auckland.”
“Oh, right. So it is.” She glanced at her watch. “I set my watch for Europe and Australia but somehow forgot to set it for New Zealand.” She shrugged, as if she, too, always thought in such global dimensions.
So he wasn’t a down-and-out farmhand, as she’d first assumed. Or even a struggling home-based entrepreneur, which had been her second guess this morning. She was about to ask what he did for a living, but a knock sounded on the back door. Lauren turned and saw a woman peering through the glass. “That must be the vet. I’ll get it.”
“Thanks. I’d better head back.” He gave a thumbs-up sign. “Wishing Wilbur luck.”
“Aren’t we all,” Lauren replied as she ran to the door.
“Lauren? Your aunt Jess sent me. Sorry I’m late.” Dr. Ackroyd was not tall but looked strong. She had a round face and dark hair threaded with gray pulled into a long ponytail. Her skin looked as if she spent too much time outdoors in the sun and wind but didn’t care; little crinkles showed at the corners of her bright blue eyes.
One Bright Christmas Page 17
