“Edgartown?”
“Yeah.”
“Pretty pricy,” Blythe said offhandedly.
“Then … maybe one of the smaller ones.”
“A lot of rentals are also seasonal. They weren’t built to be used in our brutal winters.”
“Really?”
Blythe nodded.
Shelby dipped her spoon into her chowder more slowly.
“Have you got enough money saved for first and last month’s rent?” Blythe asked.
“What does that mean?”
“A lot of apartments and houses for rent require you to put up enough money to pay for the first month you rent, as well as the last month. And many also want a security deposit for at least another month’s rent.”
“That’s a lot of money,” Shelby said quietly, setting her spoon down. Her face had paled once again.
Blythe picked up the ladle and added more chowder to her bowl. “Yes, it is.”
“Do you require that kind of upfront money?”
“My guests usually only stay for a few days or a week, but yes—I require a deposit, too. That’s just the way a business is run.”
Shelby’s head dipped. “I guess I have a lot to learn about that kind of stuff.”
“Were you thinking of going into hotel management or anything of the kind?”
“I—I don’t think I know what that is.”
“There’re colleges that have programs where you can learn all about how to run a hotel or a small inn. I went to Cornell University for my degree. I learned a lot, and it was a big help when I took over Blythe Cove Manor.”
“How did you pay for college?”
“My parents helped me, but I also worked the entire time I was in school.”
“What kind of job?”
Blythe smiled. “I cleaned rooms in one of the local hotels.” She laughed. “After all these years, I’m still cleaning rooms.”
Shelby looked horror-struck. “Even toilets?”
“I’m afraid so,” Blythe admitted wryly.
Shelby looked like she might want to cry.
“Is everything okay?” Blythe asked.
Shelby nodded, but Blythe suspected the girl had just received a staggering look at reality.
“Would you like more chowder?” Blythe asked.
Shelby shook her head.
Blythe finished her soup and roll before she stood. “Why don’t you head into the living room and choose a movie for us to watch while I take care of these dishes.”
Shelby nodded. “Okay.”
Blythe cleared the table and put the leftover soup in a plastic container in the fridge, and stowed the leftover rolls in a bag. They might well end up in the stuffing for the chicken she intended to roast for her Christmas dinner.
By the time she returned to the living room, Martha had reappeared and sat on the back of the couch, while Shelby had queued up the movie.
“What are we going to watch?”
“I wanted to see that movie with the airport stuff you mentioned.”
Love Actually.
“Good choice. It’s one of my favorites.”
Blythe turned off the stereo and let Shelby take command of the TV and DVR remotes. She pushed play, and the movie began.
It must have been a very long day for Shelby, for within five minutes of the start of the movie the girl had snuggled into the corner of the couch and was fast asleep. It was time for Blythe to do a little research.
Easing off the sofa, she tiptoed away, heading to her computer to begin her research.
First off, by Shelby’s description, Blythe was pretty sure she knew which motel the girl and her aunt had stayed at during their vacation two years previously. And while she didn’t have the aunt’s—or Shelby’s—last name, she did have the aunt’s first name and could narrow down when they’d stayed on the island; during the Illumination two years previously—the exact date was only a Google search away. She knew Burt Matthews, the owner of the motel, thanks to their Chamber of Commerce affiliation, and fired off an email giving him a brief explanation as to why she needed the information. As it was so close to Christmas, she wasn’t sure when—or even if—she’d get an answer. If she didn’t hear from him in a couple of days, she would call—and hope that he hadn’t gone south for the winter.
In the meantime, what was she supposed to do with a runaway girl? A girl who may or may not have been reported as missing. Blythe didn’t dislike the kid, but she certainly couldn’t keep her indefinitely, either.
What would make a child run away from home, anyway? For some reason, Blythe was sure that in this case, Shelby hadn’t had a frivolous reason to seek a safe refuge. She must have felt secure with her aunt and here on the island. Had her time here represented a haven from her regular life? And how did this aunt figure into her life? The way Shelby had spoken about the woman, Blythe reckoned that Shelby had a good relationship with the woman. By process of elimination, did that mean she didn’t have a good rapport with her parent or parents? She’d mentioned Rick and a dog. That sounded like she lived with her mother and a boyfriend—and that it wasn’t a pleasant arrangement.
Blythe sat back and pondered the situation. She’d led what she liked to think of as a charmed life—in more ways than one. She had a lovely home. She had a job that allowed her to meet wonderful, gracious people who she enjoyed entertaining and it was her pleasure to serve. There was so much trouble in the world, most of which she didn’t encounter on a daily basis. But she had a feeling Shelby had had more than a lifetime’s worth of unhappiness and disappointment during her short time on the planet. Blythe felt that the key to the girl’s happiness was probably her aunt—but what could the woman do if she couldn’t wrest custody of the girl? Perhaps she’d offer her asylum during the time when Shelby’s mother either abandoned her or just didn’t care enough.
The sad fact was that the Social Services’ goal of keeping families together wasn’t always in the best interest of the child. Sometimes parents weren’t the greatest role models and were ill-equipped to take care of the offspring they produced. Would turning Shelby in to the authorities just condemn her to a continued hellish life?
It was a sobering thought.
The computer pinged, and Blythe checked her email. Aha! Burt Matthews had replied to her note.
Will have to do some digging to find out what you need to know. Hope to have some info for you by the morning. Let me know if I can do anything else to help.
Blythe smiled, feeling grateful that, like her, her colleague had a soft heart. Still, would that be enough to give this fractured girl a Merry Christmas?
That was a question Blythe wasn’t sure she could answer, but one she fully intended to try.
* * *
“Shelby! Shelby!”
Someone was shaking her shoulder, and Shelby cracked open an eye to see a woman standing over her. Oh, yes—Blythe. The innkeeper who had taken her in.
“It’s almost eleven o’clock—it’s time for bed. You slept through almost the entire movie.”
Shelby rubbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Would you like me to walk you back to your room, or do you think you can find it on your own?”
“I’m not stupid,” Shelby said irritably, sat up, and felt instantly sorry for her outburst.
“No problem,” Blythe said. “If you need anything during the night, just pick up the bedside phone and hit the pound key and four on the keypad. That will ring me directly. Okay?”
Shelby nodded. She felt like she ought to say something. Maybe thank the woman who had taken her in, but she wasn’t sure how that might go over, so she kept silent.
“I’m usually up pretty early, so as soon as you’re ready, come down for breakfast. I’m sure I can rustle up something we’d both enjoy. Do you like muffins or eggs for breakfast?”
“Eggs.”
“How do you like them cooked?”
The only times Shelby had had a cooked breakfast was when s
he’d stayed with her Aunt Alicia. “Poached. On buttered toast. Soldiers, my aunt calls them.” Her aunt had cut the toast into strips so that she could dip them into the wonderful runny yolks.
“One or two?”
“I could have two?” Shelby asked.
“You can have as many as you like,” Blythe said.
“Two would be good,” Shelby said.
Blythe nodded. “Then I’ll say goodnight and see you bright and early in the morning.”
Early? Maybe, maybe not.
Shelby rose from the couch and headed toward the staircase.
“Good night!” Blythe called.
“Yeah,” Shelby said, although as soon as the word was out of her mouth she felt like she should have said something—anything—else.
Shelby climbed the stairs, heading for her room in the empty inn. It felt kind of creepy walking down the long, quiet corridor, and suddenly she felt terribly lonely. She had never been so far away from her regular life—no matter how crappy it was. But at least here she felt kind of safe. Not as safe as she’d be in Connecticut with her Aunt Alicia, but safe enough.
She’d made a conscious decision not to run to Connecticut. If Jenny decided to pursue her—never a given—that would be the first place she’d look. Jenny never had a kind word for Aunt Alicia—unless she wanted to dump Shelby on her. And then—on a whim—would change her mind. Maybe at some time in the future Shelby could contact her aunt and let her know that she was okay, but that wouldn’t happen until she got a job and found her own place to live. Would Blythe let her stay for a while? Maybe she could do something to stay in her good graces. Maybe clean the inn’s rooms—but not the toilets—or shovel the driveway; anything that would keep her in a safe, warm place until she could pay for her own way—find her own place in this rotten, shitty, stinking world.
But Shelby also knew from bitter experience that goodwill only lasted so long. She needed to have an exit strategy. She needed to have a plan for her future.
But right then she was so tired, all she wanted to do was sleep. In a safe place. In a place where she wouldn’t be molested or mauled by a dog whose life was even more miserable than her own.
The future was a dark, empty abyss.
Shelby entered the pretty room Blythe had given her. She locked the door behind her, which felt good. She wished she’d had that option back at the apartment she’d shared with Jenny and Rick.
She grabbed a sleep shirt from her suitcase and headed for the bathroom, which also had a lock on the door. She used it, too. The bathroom had a shower and a soaker tub. She could use either of them and not have to worry that someone would barge in on her—not with a lock on the room’s door. She hadn’t had a shower in weeks because of that fear. She turned on the shower’s water to let it get hot, and then stripped off her clothes and stepped inside. Little bottles of shampoo and conditioner sat on a shelf, as well as a brand-new cake of sweet-smelling soap. Shelby stood under the spray and let its warmth seep into not only her body, but her soul.
She’d made it this far. She might have a day—maybe two—before she was going to be forced to seriously think about her future. But because of the holiday, she also figured she might be able to prevail on Blythe’s goodwill for a couple of days before she’d have to make some decisions.
As she toweled off and donned her sleep shirt, Shelby realized she was too sleepy to think about what she needed to do next.
It could wait until tomorrow … or the next day.
Turning off the bathroom light, Shelby was grateful that the pretty little Christmas tree on the dresser acted as a nightlight. Jenny had never erected a Christmas tree. Some years there was a present—something Jenny had received from a charity to give to Shelby—and there had always been a package from Aunt Alicia, but Shelby had never experienced a TV Christmas. One where people cared about each other, gave presents to each other that didn’t get left behind after a hasty move to an even crummier apartment or a homeless shelter.
As she climbed under the bed’s luxurious covers, pulling them up to her neck, Shelby felt a peace she’d seldom experienced and wished she could call her aunt. For she was sure that in this whole wide world only one person really cared about her … and that person wasn’t her mother.
Shelby grabbed the extra pillow from the other side of the bed and hugged it. After a while, it felt warm—reflecting her body heat—and was soft like the ones in Aunt Alicia’s guest room. She’d felt safe there, too.
The memory of that pretty room made her happy and sad at the same time, just like Blythe had described earlier. So happy—and sad—that tears leaked from her eyes. And it was with a heavy heart that she cried herself to sleep.
3
Happy Hollandaise
Blythe was up early that Christmas Eve morning. The first thing she did after feeding her cat was to check her email and was delighted to see that the owner of the Oceanview Motel had sent her a note.
Couldn’t sleep thinking about your young guest, so I searched our files and I think may have found the information you might need.
Blythe studied the note. Not only was there a full name and address for Shelby’s aunt, but a phone number, email, and snail mail address, too.
She waited until eight o’clock to call, and was relieved when the call was answered. Sadly, she learned more than she really wanted to know, but was also given a promise that Shelby’s aunt would make the drive to come and retrieve the girl later in the day. Blythe extended an invitation for them to stay for Christmas, but wasn’t surprised when Alicia McKendrick didn’t give her a yeah or a nay. Understandably, there were just too many extenuating circumstances for her to make a commitment. Still, Blythe urged the woman to pack a bag—just in case.
No sooner had she hung up the phone, than Shelby appeared in her kitchen, all tousled-haired and sleepy-eyed.
“Ready for breakfast?” Blythe asked cheerfully.
Shelby nodded. Still clad in a long T-shirt, the girl sidled up to the counter, leaning against it as if she might keel over without its support.
“What would you like: coffee, tea, or cocoa?”
“Cocoa sounds good.”
“Cocoa it is,” Blythe said, and turned to the industrial-sized fridge to grab the gallon-sized jug of milk. She poured a reasonable quantity into a saucepan and set it on the cooker’s boiling plate, then turned for the pantry to grab the cocoa and sugar.
“Still crave those poached eggs?”
Shelby nodded. “That would be nice.”
In the background, the local radio station played non-stop Christmas music. Blythe reached over to turn up the sound. She wrinkled her nose.
“What’s that I smell?” Shelby asked.
“Hollandaise sauce. Many of my guests have complimented me on it. It’s made of eggs, a little lemon juice, and butter.”
Shelby noticed a saucepan of water sat on the cooker, bubbling away. “What’s that for?”
“Your poached eggs.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Poaching means to cook food in a water bath.”
“So you’re going to be putting egg sauce on eggs?”
“That’s right.
“There’re English muffins on the counter. Take out a couple, slice them, and pop them in the toaster. While you do that, I’ll see to the eggs,” Blythe said.
Shelby did as she was told, but then turned to watch as Blythe cracked an egg into a small bowl. She picked up a bottle of white vinegar, opened the cap, and poured a small amount into the boiling water. Then she grabbed a spoon and started stirring the water until she had a mini whirlpool going. She dumped the egg into the water, and Shelby watched as the white wrapped around the yoke until it looked like a big white blob.
“Where did you learn to make eggs that way?” Shelby asked.
“My mother. She taught me a lot about cooking. It’s served me well over the years.”
Shelby scowled. “My mother never taught me a damn thing.”
Shelby nodded. “She was always too preoccupied.”
“In what way?”
“She’s into drugs. She’s…she’s an addict.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Blythe said. But Shelby wasn’t sure if Blythe was sorry for Jenny or her. She shrugged. “I learned in school that if you have an addict for a parent, you might be an addict, too.”
“I guess that depends on the decisions you make.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you see how drugs can destroy a life, you might want to avoid them at all costs.”
“But what if I’m just as weak as her?” Shelby said, and had to acknowledge that that fact had preyed on her mind far too often.
“It’s possible. You know—it’s Christmas Eve. Why don’t we think some happier thoughts?” Blythe suggested.
“You mean like happily ever after?” Shelby asked snidely.
“Sometimes it happens, but more often we have to work hard to find happiness.”
Shelby looked around the pretty kitchen. “I’ll bet you’ve never been unhappy a day in your life.”
“You’d be surprised,” Blythe said somberly. She wasn’t about to elaborate. She scooped the first egg out of the water, letting it drain while Shelby buttered the muffin halves. Blythe stirred the water once more before dropping the second egg in.
“Christmas isn’t such a big deal,” Shelby said blandly. “It’s really just another day on the calendar.”
“You think so?” Blythe asked.
“Sure.”
Blythe gazed heavenward. “It wasn’t when I was a girl. We had wonderful Christmases. If the weather was fine, we would go down and walk on the beach. If it was stormy, we would huddle in front of the fireplace and my relatives would tell stories about the past. There’d be a wonderful big dinner, and lots of presents.”
Shelby looked around the kitchen and into the big empty dining room beyond. “You’re here all alone.”
Blythe nodded. “Yes, I’ve lost most of my family, who either died or moved away. But I have memories of wonderful Christmases past that I can relive over and over again. It’s a comfort.”
An Unexpected Visitor Page 3
