by Nancy Thayer
Carley sighed. Vanessa took the pan away from Carley and finished pouring the steaming fragrant dark liquid.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Carley sank into a chair. “It’s just—it’s just that I’ve decided to open a B&B. I’m sure I can make a good amount of money. I’ve talked with Wyatt about it, and he agrees. But I just told Annabel my idea, and she’s completely against it. She’s offended by the very thought.”
Carley couldn’t help it, she began to cry, but she wasn’t crying about Annabel, she was crying because she was such a traitor, such a shit, aware that Vanessa’s husband was sleeping with Maud and not telling her. She hated this situation!
She felt even worse when she felt Vanessa’s arms fold around her in a consoling embrace. “Oh, hon, I didn’t realize. I knew Gus made some bad investments. Toby did, too. I think everyone has.” Vanessa grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped Carley’s tears. “Carley, you should have told me. I can loan you some money.”
Carley was speechless with misery. Oh, God, this was horrible, she couldn’t do this, she had to tell Vanessa, it would break Vanessa’s heart, but at least then only her husband would be betraying her, not her husband and both of her close friends!
“Oh, Vanessa. You’re so generous. I’ve got to tell you something—”
“Mommy?” Margaret came in the door, her cheeks red from the cold. Carley blew her nose heartily but she couldn’t speak. Margaret stood stock still, staring at her. “Mommy, you’re crying!”
Vanessa picked Margaret up and held her on her lap. Her black hair was held back with a blue headband that matched her blue and white snowflake sweater. Vanessa’s hair was as dark. They could be mother and daughter. “Hi, cutie-pie. Don’t worry about your mommy. She burned her tongue on her hot chocolate. Would you like some hot chocolate?”
Margaret drew back. “I don’t want to burn my tongue.”
“Oh,” Vanessa laughed, “aren’t I silly? It’s not hot now, honey. Look, here’s my cup. I’m going to dip my spoon in, and you can dip your fingertip in the spoon and see how warm it is, not hot, but nice and warm.”
Carefully, Margaret touched the liquid. “It’s warm, not hot.”
“Want to taste some of mine?” Vanessa held out her cup.
Margaret took it warily and brought it slowly to her lips. She took a sip. “It’s good. Thank you, Vanessa.”
“Your mommy made it. How’s your hot chocolate, Carley?”
Carley took a drink. “Perfect.” She sent Vanessa a smile of thanks.
Vanessa gave Carley an affectionate smile. “Listen, I think a B&B is a fabulous idea! You love to bake, you make delicious bread, you love people, you have all these rooms, and you’ve got a dynamite view. You could make quite the tidy sum.”
“Oh, Vanessa, I’m so glad you think so.”
With Margaret nestled on Vanessa’s lap, Carley couldn’t tell Vanessa about Maud and Toby. Perhaps this was good, Carley decided, as she and Vanessa began to talk about other things, town scandals, school events. After all, it was possible that Maud’s affair would end. Married people sometimes needed a fling, and perhaps that was all it was for Maud. Perhaps it would be better for Vanessa if she never knew about it.
Besides, it was really between Toby and Vanessa. It was Toby who should tell her if anyone did.
16
• • • • •
Wyatt recommended a contractor named Hugo Pineda, and Russell grudgingly admitted that if Carley was going to go ahead with the B&B plan, Pineda was as good as any to do the work. Both Russell and Wyatt went through the basement with Carley and the contractor, specifications were drawn up, and the Historic District Commission approved the plans. A contract was signed, and in the middle of February, the renovations began. It was a slow time for builders, and Hugo was glad for the work.
While Hugo hammered away in the basement, Carley ordered new beds and mattresses for the bedrooms. She dug through the trunks in the attic for hand-embroidered bed linen and hand-sewn quilts. She talked with other innkeepers, got her certification of registration with the state, bought a date book and register, and paid a local computer guru to put up an attractive website. She brainstormed with her daughters and they officially named the B&B: Seashell Inn. She got a credit card machine and learned how to use it, and just in time, for reservations began to come in for June, July, and August. The first time she saw the reservation blinking on her website, she nearly had a panic attack. This was real. This was happening!
When Hugo had finished the major renovations on one basement room, Carley whizzed in with her paints and brushes and curtain fabrics. Years ago, when she and Gus had first moved into this house, they had worked together to repair and refresh various rooms of the big old house. They’d wallpapered and painted and hammered and caulked. Soon they had two guest rooms ready on the second floor, for Carley’s parents and her sister and Sue, or Gus or Carley’s college friends, to stay in when they came to visit. Annabel had gladly babysat Cisco while they worked. Carley carefully drew her brush across the new molding on the sunny little ground floor bedroom, remembering those days with satisfaction. Gus would approve of this, she was sure. He would want her to do whatever she could to keep the house.
The renovations kept her so busy she didn’t have much time to visit with Maud or Vanessa—not that Maud ever had time to stop by these days. Not that Carley had any desire to hear the latest lovers’ update from Maud. Perhaps that little fling was over and done with. She hoped so. Her mother-in-law didn’t stop by as often, either, and when Annabel did see Carley, she held herself aloof. Fine, Carley thought. Can’t be bothered. But she missed Annabel’s warmth and humor; she was sorry to upset her mother-in-law. At least both Annabel and Russell were still involved with their granddaughters, taking them out for pizza, attending Cisco’s recitals and Margaret’s kindergarten play.
Kevin moved out, much to the girls’ disappointment, in March. Hugo began work on the window at once. A few days later, he called to Carley, “Come see!”
The room was a glowing jewel. The half-moon window gave the space the air of a medieval chamber. Its mullioned windows divided the garden into a dozen small oil paintings of flowers, sunshine, green grass, and the room was dazzling with light.
“Hugo, you’re a genius!” she cried.
“It’s true,” he agreed. “I am.”
• • •
The basement rooms were ready. All Carley had to do was organize the furniture. She had to go to the Cape to buy accessories and necessities—fresh bath and beach towels, lamps, soaps, tissues, bed linens. She was looking forward to that shopping trip, eager to turn all three rooms into perfect retreats of peace.
She was just checking her calendar to see which day she should go off-island when Cisco exploded into the kitchen.
“I hate you!” Cisco screamed.
Startled, Carley stared at her older daughter, quickly checking for signs of injury. Cisco was in a full-blown tantrum, her face splotched with anger, her eyes streaming with tears.
“Cisco, honey.” Carley went toward her child. “Cis, what on earth has happened?”
“You have happened!” Cisco screamed. “You with your great big enormous bones! Your monster swimmer’s shoulders! You’ve ruined me! Why did you ever have to give birth to me?”
Madame Fourier must finally have told Cisco the terrible truth: Cisco could never have a career as a ballerina. Like Carley, she was tall, with wide shoulders and, increasingly, a real bosom.
“Cisco.” Carley tried to embrace her daughter but Cisco shoved her off. “You need to calm down, Cisco. You’re working yourself into a state.”
“Into a state? You want me to calm down? My life is over and you want me to calm down!”
“Cisco, your life is not over.”
“The life I want is over. My dreams are over.”
“You’ll have new dreams. I promise you, you’ll have new dreams—”
Cisco dropped to he
r knees. Her shoulders shook. “I don’t want new dreams. Oh, Mommy, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me take ballet? Why did you let me go on believing I could be a ballerina?”
“Darling, when you started ballet, you were just a kid, like Margaret. Neither of us could guess you’d come to love it so much.”
“You could guess I’d look like you.”
Carley knelt next to her daughter. Reaching out, she took Cisco’s hand. “You look like me, true, but not exactly like me, Cisco. You’ve got a lot of genes mixed up inside you, we all do. You have your father’s black hair and eyes. For all I knew, you’d end up with narrow shoulders like Auntie Sarah. The point is, you may be too broad-shouldered for ballet, but you can still dance—”
Cisco shook her head violently. “I’ll never dance again.”
“Oh, honey, that would be terrible. You love to dance. Didn’t Madame Fourier suggest something else—modern dance, for example?”
“No, she didn’t! Because the truth is, I’m an Amazon, I’m an ostrich, I’m a giraffe!”
“Cisco,” Carley laughed. “Come on. You’re hardly—” Cisco pushed up off the floor. She seethed with anger. “Go on, laugh at me. Laugh at me because I’m too hulking to ever be a ballerina. You must have been making fun of me all along! Everyone must have been laughing at me to think that great big huge Cisco could be a ballerina! I wish I’d never been born!”
Carley reached out for her daughter. “Cisco, my darling—”
“Don’t touch me! I hate you! You’ve ruined my life!” Cisco ran from the room.
Carley’s heart ached. But what could she do? Everyone saw dreams die, that was part of what growing up was about. When Carley was very young, she wanted to grow up to be a horse, not a cowgirl, but a horse. When Sarah was Cisco’s age, she’d wanted to be a NASCAR driver. It was heartbreaking, but Cisco would survive. She would find other dreams. And Carley was glad this particular dream had met its end. Maybe now her daughter would eat.
17
• • • • •
Carley would have spent more time fretting about Cisco’s broken heart if she hadn’t been so overwhelmed with the way summer was spinning toward her.
Finally the day came to set up the rooms. One Sunday in April, she invited Lauren and her husband Frame and their three children, and Wyatt and his girlfriend Angie over to move furniture and, in return, enjoy a luncheon feast. The men carried chairs, end tables, antique writing desks, old paintings, and framed maps of the island down to the guest rooms. They screwed in curtain rods and hung draperies. They set up the new bed frames and mattresses. Carley and Lauren sailed crisp white cotton sheets over the beds, and Margaret tenderly unwrapped the exquisite new soaps. Even Cisco, still furious with her mother, found herself unable to resist the excitement and joined in to help. They hung thick new towels on the racks, arranged seashell-shaped soaps in the azure soap dishes, folded feather-soft afghans over the arms of the chairs.
When they were finished, Lauren stepped back, folded her arms, and asked, “When can I move in?”
Carley laughed. The rooms were gorgeous, tranquil and dreamy. “They do look inviting, don’t they?”
“You have a gift for this,” Lauren told her.
With a lift of her heart, Carley thought: maybe I do!
• • •
When the work was done, Carley and the others brought lunch to the table beneath the grape arbor. It was the first day warm enough for eating outside, and she’d spent last night preparing picnic food: cold pesto-rolled chicken cutlets, Parmesan potato salad, macaroni salad—the children’s favorite—arugula and spinach, sliced tomatoes, the first early sweet ones of the season, and four different kinds of cookies for dessert. The children ate fast and raced off into the yard, leaving the adults to enjoy their conversation.
“Wyatt,” Lauren asked, taking a second helping of potato salad, “where’s Angie? I thought she was coming.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Angie’s not big on physical labor. I think she went over to the Cape.”
“You think?” Lauren cocked an eye at him. “Is there trouble in Paradise?”
“Lauren.” Wyatt lowered his head and gave her a level glare. “No one ever said it was Paradise. We’re just friends.”
“Leave the man alone, for Pete’s sake!” Frame bellowed. “You women.”
Carley refrained from pointing out that she hadn’t said a thing. “—do you, Carley?”
“Oh, sorry, Frame, what did you say?” Fortunately just at that moment a soccer ball rolled under her feet. She tossed it back to the kids.
“I said it seems to me your kids are doing fine,” Frame repeated.
Carley looked out at the yard. Fourteen-year-old Nicholas, nine-year-old Rosalind, and five-year-old Will were playing against twelve-year-old Cisco and five-year-old Margaret in a nonsense game they’d named “Kick-Steal,” which was basically a free-for-all with the big kids protecting the little kids from getting tackled.
“They’re having a good time now.” Carley lowered her voice. “Cisco’s had a rough week. Madame Fourier told her that her shoulders are too wide for her to become a classical ballerina. She’s devastated, and furious at me.”
“Why is she mad at you?” Wyatt asked.
“Because she got her big shoulders from me.”
“Your shoulders aren’t big,” Wyatt objected. “They’re perfectly—” All at once he looked embarrassed. “Fine,” he muttered. “Perfectly fine.” He crammed another cookie into his mouth.
Across the table, Lauren said, “I have an idea. Has Cisco ever ridden? Why don’t you bring her over and let’s put her on one of our horses and see if she likes it.”
“Your horses are twelve feet tall,” Carley gulped.
“They only look that tall. They’re all loves. I’ll bet Cisco would take to it. She’s just the right age.”
“All right,” Carley agreed. “We’ll try it.” She was ready to try anything to make her older daughter smile.
At the end of the day, Lauren and Frame rounded up their three children and went home. Wyatt helped Carley bring the food into the kitchen. It was only natural for Carley to offer him some wine. Cisco went up to her room to tap on her computer, and Margaret settled in her own room with her dolls. The evening was still bright with early spring sunshine, but the air was chilly.
“Let’s sit in the living room,” Carley told Wyatt. “I could use a soft cushion after working all day.”
For a few moments, they sipped their wine in silence. Carley allowed herself to look at Wyatt, really look at him. He was as handsome as always, even in his old stained work shirt, but his eyes were weary and silver sparkled in his glossy brown hair. Surely Wyatt was too young for silver hair.
“Wyatt, how are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m all right.”
“No, seriously, Wyatt. Tell me.” When he didn’t reply, she prompted, “Do you miss Gus?”
“Of course I do. I miss him like hell.” Wyatt’s face creased. He rubbed his hand over his forehead. “I feel so damned guilty.”
“You! Wyatt, why should you feel guilty?”
Wyatt looked down into his wineglass. “I knew Gus was unhappy with the law. I knew he wanted to make more money. He was investing heavily, and not always wisely. When he lost it all, I loaned him some money, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. I couldn’t give it to him.”
“I didn’t know that. I was aware that he was playing the stock markets but I certainly had no idea he’d borrowed money from you. How much?”
“That’s not the point, Carley. The point is I wish I’d been a better friend to him.”
“Wyatt, remember, Gus didn’t die because he was worried about money. He died because of a faulty heart valve no one knew he had.” Softly, she said, “Wyatt, Gus was your best friend.”
Wyatt’s voice was hoarse. “Yes.” Wyatt bent over, elbows on knees, head in hands, and his shoulders shook.
Carley sat very still. She could f
eel Wyatt’s grief rising off him like a mist, a fog of misery and guilt and sorrow. Her heart ached for Wyatt, for Gus, for herself. She wanted to pat his back like a mother consoling a child, but she didn’t reach to touch him.
“Sorry, Carley.” He stood up suddenly, setting his glass on the coffee table. “I’d better get out of here. I’m tired and sounding downright maudlin.”
She followed him to the door. “Wyatt, I want to pay you back the money Gus borrowed. How much is it?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Carley, don’t even think about it. It was nothing.”
“But—”
“Really.”
“Oh, Wyatt, that’s unnecessary. But thank you. Thank you for helping today, too.”
Wyatt smiled down at Carley. “I’m always glad to be here.” He kissed her cheek lightly.
Then he was gone.
• • •
Sunday night, after Carley had Margaret tucked away in bed, she knocked on Cisco’s door.
Cisco looked up. She was in her pajamas, lounging on her bed with her laptop open. She just stared at her mother.
Carley sat on the end of Cisco’s bed. “Can we talk a little?”
Cisco didn’t look at Carley. “Like I have an option?”
“Well, I guess that’s right. No, you don’t have an option.” She considered her words. “You spent last night with Granddad and Nana. How was it?”
Cisco picked at the skin around her thumbnail. “Okay.”
“Did Nana help you feel better about not being a ballerina?”
Cisco hunched her shoulders. “I guess. She said life is a process of losing what we love.”
“But Cisco!” Carley grasped her daughter’s hands. “That’s so sad. That’s not the way Nana thinks when she’s her normal self. Goodness! Life isn’t just about loss.”
After a moment, Cisco whispered, “Nana cried.”
“Honey, we all cry about losing Daddy.”
Cisco peeked up at her mother. “Nana lost her son. Her only child. She’ll never be able to replace him, just like I’ll never be able to replace my father. But you …”
