Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series)

by M. Kate Quinn

  On that long-ago holiday, his father had taken one look at his son carrying that cake and had started his typical shit, ramped up, of course, for the sake of the company at the table.

  “Maria, are you kidding me with this?” he boomed to his wife. “You’re making the boy into a pansy. Christ, you fittin’ him for an apron, for God’s sake?”

  “Hey boy, where’s your apron?” his Uncle Tony had teased, causing a round of laughter around the table. His family members shook their heads as if Benny had shown up in the room naked.

  His old man shook his head in disgust. “We got to make a man out of you, Junior, no son of mine is going to be a pansy.”

  Benny had felt the glass pedestal wobble in his grasp. He jerked his hands in an attempt to right the tilting cake, the movement a misjudgment that caused the white frothy dessert to topple onto the table, coconut first. More laughter overtook the room. He hadn’t known what to do—clean up the mess, or run and hide. His brain froze with just one certainty. He was no pansy.

  Long after the talk had changed to some other topic, the loud chortles had rung in Benny’s ears. The brash mocking sounds that had pelted him then were mimicked now by the noise coming at him from the phone in his grasp—time’s bitter echo.

  “Answer me, Benny.”

  His brother’s bark snapped him back to the moment. He closed his eyes against any more thoughts.

  “For God’s sake, Sal. Fine, I’ll drop it. All right?”

  ****

  Sarah sat in the folding chair at the Garden Club’s meeting, nibbling a cookie provided by the month’s hospitality volunteer, Betty Conover.

  Betty, a sturdy woman with short and tidy, no-nonsense-styled hair sat in the seat beside Sarah. “How do you like the macaroons?” she asked.

  Truthfully, the cookies were over-baked and brittle. Sarah offered a little nod and took another bite, crunching much louder than a macaroon ought to.

  Betty leaned in close, gave Sarah a little jab with her elbow. “My husband’s told me about your little dilemma.”

  Sarah swallowed the dry cookie and took a sip from her paper cup of lemonade. How to handle it? The last thing she wanted to do was to be overheard by the other members of the group and have it become a big discussion that would burn up the Ronan’s Harbor phone lines.

  She shrugged. “Kind of sucks. I’m hoping Hannah doesn’t learn of it.”

  “I yelled at Tim, just so you know,” Betty said, straightening her posture. “What’s the big deal if you want to host your daughter’s reception? It’s preposterous to cause you worry.”

  A surge of gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Betty.”

  “Hey”—she tapped Sarah’s shoulder and winked an eye—”don’t mess with my Garden Club buddies.”

  After the club’s usual discussions of budget numbers and plans for their annual garden tour, the ladies mingled in the living room of their current president, Gretchen Reynolds.

  Gretchen, the mayor’s wife, was an animated woman with an infectious way of garnering center stage. She was the first to bring up the brawling incident at the beach. This started a chain of commentary with a cacophony of opinion whirling around the room like a dust devil.

  Sarah didn’t blame anyone for their concern. The residents of Ronan’s Harbor were a protective group, especially the ladies of the Garden Club. Their roots were firmly planted in this little town.

  Sarah couldn’t help but smile again at Betty Conover’s reaction to her “little dilemma,” as she had put it, and be touched by the particularly tight embrace Gretchen had given her after the meeting ended.

  The group’s kinship energized Sarah and gave her a renewed determination to stand her ground, to not be bullied or intimidated by anyone. That included Benny Benedetto. It felt good to remember that.

  ****

  The next morning Sarah spent time at Bayside Blossoms finalizing the wedding’s flowers. Gigi, of course, had it all under control. At least that was one thing about which Sarah could relax.

  Her friend was still agog about Mickey Dolan and was completely sure that this time he meant it when he said his divorce was going to happen. Sarah wasn’t as convinced.

  Gigi shrugged off Sarah’s words of caution. “Sarah, honey, no offense, but your opinion of men is kind of skewed, thanks to Captain Viagra being such a dog.”

  It was true that Gary had soured her on trusting men. But Gigi’s interest in Mickey had disappointed her friend one time too many. Sarah was a protective creature, and that was just how she felt these days—from her best friend’s heart, to Hannah’s wedding day, and right down to her beloved inn. Being the keeper of all that mattered was exhausting.

  “I’m a big girl,” Gigi said, her voice soft and tender. “You can cross me off your worry list. Let’s talk about something happy. Is our girl bursting with excitement?”

  “No,” Sarah said. “It’s weird. She’s been edgy, kind of cranky.”

  “Maybe all the details are getting to her.”

  “Most of the reception’s details are worked out—as far as she knows anyway. It’s more than that. I think it’s got something to do with her career plans. That temping gig is not really what she wants to do.”

  Sarah sighed. “Maybe it is just pre-wedding jitters.”

  “I agree,” Gigi said. “Brides get like that. She’ll relax once the day arrives. After their honeymoon she can sink her teeth into the career plans. Right?”

  “Absolutely,” Sarah said. She hoped Gigi was right.

  ****

  It was nearly lunchtime as Sarah headed back home. She turned the bend, passing the overgrown hedge in front of the Farleys’ cottage. The carpenter’s white cargo van was parked in front of her inn. Harvey Scriber sat on the top step of The Cornelia rooting the contents of a plastic cooler.

  “Hi Harvey,” she began cautiously. She’d spoken to him right after receiving the complaint and asked him to hold off on the work. She hadn’t felt it necessary to elaborate, feigning the inn’s schedule as the reason.

  Harvey looked up with his boyish face, his mouth a quirky smile. He munched a green grape. “My schedule freed up and I thought we’d get a head start, if that’s okay. Glad to finally get this show on the road.” He motioned with his thumb toward the front door. “Richie’s inside cleaning up. Don’t mind the mess in there. I did my best to cover the furniture with drop cloths. But you know how sheetrock dust is. It goes everywhere.”

  “Wait, Harvey, you weren’t, uh, supposed to start yet. Um, how’d you guys get in?”

  “You gave me a key, remember? Hey Hannah looks great, by the way. Going to make a pretty bride.”

  “Hannah?”

  “Yeah, she’s inside.”

  What was Hannah doing here in the middle of the week?

  “Wait till you see how knocking the wall down to the store room has really opened up the space.”

  Sarah maneuvered up the steps. This was not good. There was that little matter of the permit. Now what was she supposed to do? Have them reconstruct the damned wall?

  “Harvey, um, I’ll be right back.” First she needed to find out what Hannah was doing home, then she’d deal with this.

  He popped another grape into his mouth, closing his lips over it. “Like I said, it’s still a mess but you’ll get the idea of what it’s going to look like.”

  The front door opened and Harvey’s coworker, Richie, appeared, bare-footed with his pant legs rolled up knee high. His normally friendly face was a knot of dismay.

  “Problemo, Harvey. There’s a major leak along the back wall. Rotted the floorboards. The crawl space is a flooded mess.”

  The three of them hurried inside to the sunroom. Sarah carefully sidestepped the draped drop cloths hanging from the furniture. Along one side of the sunroom was a pile of things the workmen had removed from the storage room topped haphazardly with another large cloth.

  Hannah stood in the center of the room in her trim business skirt and short-sleeve
d cotton sweater, her hands pressed to her slender hips. Sarah’s heart quickened.

  “Hannah, honey, is everything all right?”

  Hannah pointed to the disheveled scene. “Apparently not.”

  Before she could reply Harvey’s voice boomed with warning. “Oh boy, Sarah, this’ll take some doing.”

  He and Richie crouched on hands and knees, peering into the open hatch of the crawl space beneath the sunroom. Richie punctuated Harvey’s words with a little whistle.

  Sarah approached the mess with scrutiny’s eye. A large patch of the old, cracked flagstone had been removed from the floor and the crumbling tiles had been randomly stacked to the side. The raw flooring beneath was warped in spots. Black stains marbled the grains of the wood.

  “Can you get this done in time?” Sarah was terrified of the answer.

  Harvey cocked his head, sucking air in through his teeth. “We’ll do our best, but we’re going to have to put in some overtime. I’ll need to draw up a new estimate.”

  A new estimate meant a new cost. As it was, Sarah knew the allotment of renovation money had been absorbed by the initial work plan. There was no way she could afford the added expense, as necessary as it was. And then there was still the fact that the town hadn’t approved any work yet.

  She needed to come up with something fast. Time was running out. Fear seeped into her bones, so like the dampness that had taken over the entire sun porch.

  She turned to Hannah whose eyes fixated on the troublesome scene. She rotated one ankle on a pointed heel.

  Sarah eyed Hannah’s foot as it circled back and forth like she was screwing it into the rotted floor. She wondered what the penalty would be for ignoring an official town complaint. Would they come and haul her off in handcuffs?

  “Whatever it takes, Harvey,” she heard herself say before her mind had the chance to process the words. “We just need to get this done.”

  “Will do,” he said. “As I said, I’ll need to come up with some new numbers and such, but for now how about you ladies leave us to work our magic.” He furnished a reassuring smile.

  Sarah gave Hannah a gentle push. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

  Once in the apartment kitchen she commenced preparing lunch for the two of them. She didn’t know if Hannah was hungry, and she sure as hell wasn’t, but the need to be busy propelled her effort.

  The crunch of the rotary can opener’s teeth to the metal of the tuna can was the only sound between them. Finally, in a hollow voice, Hannah spoke. “When were you going to tell me?”

  Sarah stopped turning the knob on the opener. She’d sensed Hannah’s mood earlier, been aware of her rigid stance, and knew by the telltale sign of her screwed mouth that she’d been gnawing the inside of her mouth. A tuna salad sandwich wasn’t going to erase any of it.

  “Okay,” Hannah continued. “So, if you’re still not going to say it, let me tell you.” Her voice was bitter now and it jarred Sarah.

  “Tell me what, honey?”

  “The town’s put a hold on my wedding plans because it’s illegal to host a catered event at an inn. You’ve applied for a permit for the chaos going on downstairs because that somehow didn’t happen in the first place.”

  Hannah shook her head, her look incredulous. “So don’t ask me why they’re demolishing the place already and, let’s see, what else? Oh, the chances of my wedding reception being here at The Cornelia are about as good as my believing those guys downstairs can get all that shit done before June first. Have I got it right, Mom?”

  Sarah’s mind reeled. At least Hannah hadn’t said anything about the notes. Hopefully, she was still unaware of those.

  The look in her daughter’s eyes was so much worse than rotted floorboards and a flooded basement. A giant lump lodged itself in Sarah’s throat. “Sweetie…” The dropped can opener clinked loudly against the glass bowl. She stepped around the counter.

  “No, Mom, don’t.” Hannah held up a hand, her pretty face pinched by a scowl. “Why do you do this, Mother? Why can’t you just level with me?”

  She began to pace. “I’m not fragile; you don’t need to keep me in some kind of cocoon, protected from reality. I’m a grownup.” Hannah swallowed a sob that Sarah heard forming in her throat.

  She instantly reached for her daughter.

  Hannah jerked away. The tears springing into her eyes only seemed to enrage the girl further. The air whooshed from her lips. “Daddy told me everything this morning. I was still on the train on my way into work when he called.

  Hannah swatted at the tears on her cheek. “And don’t look at me like that. Daddy wasn’t trying to rat on you, Mother. He was just asking me if you’d gotten the permit yet.”

  Sarah watched Hannah’s chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath. “So, naturally, since I know nothing, I said what permit?” She flung her hands into the air, riled again. “I got right on the next train home, called the office, and told them I was sick. Because, guess what? I am. I’m sick. And with that disaster downstairs, I might vomit right here and now.”

  Defiance crept into Sarah’s bloodstream. This was enough. “Can I talk now?”

  Hannah, even in her rant, knew by the sound of the “mommy voice” that it was her turn to shut her trap.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said to her silent, brooding daughter. She looked so much like a ten-year-old, it wasn’t funny. “I thought it best to not bother you with this detail.”

  “Oh, okay. So this is what you call a detail?”

  “No,” Sarah held up a hand against the snide words. “It’s my turn. This is not the disaster you think it is. It’s a glitch. You understand? I’ve taken care of it. I believe the permit will come through in time and Harvey and Richie will get that room looking great right on schedule.”

  She almost believed her own words. “Let’s not make too big a deal out of this, Hannah. It looks awful right now, I agree. But it’ll come together.”

  Hannah did not respond, but her slate-toned eyes were shrouded in doubt.

  “And, maybe your father didn’t mean to cause an issue, but if he really wanted to find out about the permit why didn’t he just call me?”

  Hannah pulled out a kitchen chair and plopped onto it like a bag of potatoes. She leaned her elbows onto the table, raking her hands through her nicely groomed hair and making a mess out of it. “There’s no way everything will be ready, Mom, even if you got the permit today. Ian and I should have just run away and gotten married.”

  Sarah moved back to her tuna. She added some chopped celery and a little onion. “Look, let’s just have our lunch and then we’ll go over our lists. We’ll tackle what’s still undone and do as much as possible today, how’s that?”

  “Mom, we can’t just pretend this isn’t the major problem that it is. Level with me. Level with yourself.”

  Sarah put a sandwich on a plate, cut it lengthwise and placed it in front of Hannah. She poured iced tea into two tall glasses.

  Sarah took a long pull of the cold liquid. “I just wanted to spare you from this kind of worry. I wanted to handle this by myself, make it perfect for you.”

  Hannah reached across the counter and touched Sarah’s hand. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Hannah said. “I know you were just trying to spare me. But, this is my problem, too. I should have known.”

  “I know,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry, Hannah. Sometimes I forget you’re an adult, a resilient woman. My protecting you from your own situation wasn’t fair. That’s the truth of it, honey.”

  Hannah lifted appealing eyes and produced an anemic smile. “Thank you, Mom. And, I know I’ve been edgy. So, I can see why you’d think I couldn’t handle the news.” Her smile broadened. “You can say it. I’ve been bitchy.”

  Sarah smiled and demonstrated with two fingers pinched together. “Little bit. But, you’re forgiven, bridezilla.”

  Hannah bit into her sandwich and chewed silently. Her head tilted to the side as though in deep thought. “You know,” s
he said finally. “I think Daddy would love it if I just said ‘screw it’ and decided to have the wedding at his club. Ian even said as much.”

  “He did?” Sarah didn’t know why but she took that bit of news as a slight.

  “You know Ian. He’s obsessed with Daddy. But, really I think he just wants everything to go smoothly. No glitches.”

  “We’ll tackle the glitches—together. How’s that?”

  “You promise there’s nothing else you’re keeping from me? Like, there’s no other jack about to jump out of a box?”

  Sarah’s cell phone ringing stunned her nearly as much as Hannah’s question. As she said “Hello” into the device she could not help but think of the anonymous notes. Did she owe Hannah this information as well? What good would it do her to know about them?

  ****

  Benny decided to walk to the grocer for more baking soda and vanilla. A walk to town would do him good. He wasn’t kidding himself by taking Tidewater Way to downtown; the quickest route to George’s Grocery was down Main. Yet he found himself on the sidewalk approaching The Cornelia Inn.

  The white van parked in front had its back doors splayed open. A carpenter-looking man unloaded some building materials. Benny watched him carry a bucket in one hand and a fold of drop cloths balanced in the crook of his other arm before disappearing through the inn’s front doorway.

  Benny’s insides knotted. Damn it to hell. Apparently Sarah Grayson meant it when she’d threatened to go ahead with the renovation sans permission, and have the damned wedding at her inn anyway.

  The memory of Sal’s disapproving voice beat the hell out of Benny’s eardrums. Wouldn’t Sal just love to learn that he couldn’t uphold a measly complaint?

  Benny picked up his pace, headed through the gate, and up the brick walk. He navigated the stairs and stepped cautiously through the gaping front door. “Hello,” he called, looking around.

  To the right, beyond the entry hall, the open French doors to the sunroom beckoned him. Tarps and crap were all over the place. Two workmen amidst the mess made a racket, clucking at each other like a pair of hens.

  “Excuse me,” he ventured. The canvas-clad Angry Birds turned in his direction, silenced themselves and gave him a little wave. Two sets of eyes stared at him.