The Inn at Rose Harbor

by Debbie Macomber

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She arched her brows in question.

  “You want to tell me something, but can’t decide if you should or not. Just say it.”

  “I don’t know that now is the best time.” She set the menu aside and leaned ever so slightly toward him, pressing her stomach against the edge of the table.

  “Sure it is.”

  “I’m concerned about you,” she said finally.

  “Really? And why is that?” Her comment amused him.

  Once more she hesitated. “I believe I know what you’re thinking. You want to leave Cedar Cove and come back after Richard has died.”

  That was exactly what he was thinking. Josh could see that it wouldn’t do much good for him to hang around town. The two men would never see eye to eye, and as Michelle had witnessed, they didn’t respect each other. Josh had just finished managing the construction of a strip mall and had encountered one complication after another. He was both physically and emotionally ready for a break, and he wasn’t keen on spending his free time butting heads with his stepfather. Richard would prefer to have him out of his life, and Josh was more than willing to accommodate the dying man.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” she prodded.

  He responded with a sharp nod of his head. “I’ve given it some consideration.”

  “Don’t,” she advised.

  “Can you give me one good reason why I should stay?”

  “I can give you more than one.”

  He snickered and pretended to read the menu. “Did you happen to read the specials on the board when we came in?” he asked in an abrupt change of subject.

  “No. Do you want to hear my thoughts or would you rather bury your head in the sand?”

  His appetite gone, he set aside the menu. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course you do.”

  Josh would prefer to put his stepfather out of his mind, but he could see that was impossible, especially since Michelle was so keen to see this through.

  He folded his arms and leaned back, prepared to listen. She didn’t disappoint him.

  “As much as neither one of you wants to admit it, you need each other,” she said point-blank.

  Josh nearly laughed out loud. He didn’t need Richard and his stepfather sure as hell didn’t need him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You’re all Richard has left in this world …”

  “Like he cares,” Josh rebutted. It didn’t matter that Josh was Richard’s last remaining relative.

  “And Richard is your last relative, too, and whether you want to admit it or not, the two of you are linked together. Richard is dying, and he’s afraid and alone. He would never ask you to stay but he needs you. And you need him, too. Josh, he’s the only father figure you’ve had in your life, and even if the relationship was a terribly disappointing one, you need to find closure. If you leave now, I’m afraid you’d always regret it.”

  Unsure, he mulled over her words.

  “By the way,” she added.

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  “The specials are cream of broccoli for the soup du jour and a shrimp basket for the entrée.” She read off the list that was posted on the countertop and smiled her dazzling smile.

  A sudden childhood memory flashed before Josh. He must have been around ten years old at the time; this was before his mother had met Richard. It’d been just the two of them back then and his mother had taken him down to the Saturday farmers’ market on the waterfront. A boat had docked at the marina, selling fresh Hood Canal shrimp.

  His mother had bought two pounds and they’d brought the shrimp home and boiled it in a mixture of spices. In all his life, Josh had never tasted more succulent shrimp. The two of them had feasted on the shrimp with homemade hush puppies and fresh coleslaw. Teresa had found some Cajun music and they’d done a silly jig around the living room. It was one of the happiest memories of his childhood … a childhood with far too few such memories.

  “Josh?”

  He looked up from the menu to find Michelle staring at him. “Sorry, my mind wandered away for a moment.” He realized he was too much in the habit of keeping everything to himself and so he described the memory to her. Once again he was reminded of how much his mother had loved Richard.

  “What do you remember about your father?” Michelle asked.

  Josh guessed she was offering him the opportunity to compare his birth father to his stepfather.

  Josh shrugged. “I have only vague recollections of him from when I was small. The only thing I really remember is Dad throwing something at my mother and her screaming, grabbing me, and then running into the bathroom and locking the door.”

  Michelle simply shook her head and didn’t comment.

  “I never saw him again after that. Well, not that I remember, anyway.”

  Michelle placed her hands in her lap. “You’ve never looked him up?”

  Josh leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I did when I was discharged from the army. Apparently he died when I was seventeen. It wasn’t that long after I lost my mother … six months I think. He was living somewhere in Texas at the time and had remarried.”

  Not once had Teresa said a negative word about Josh’s father. Not a single word. No need really. What little Josh remembered of his father said it all.

  The waitress came to their table. Josh ordered the shrimp basket and Michelle asked for the soup.

  “You’re not eating much,” he mentioned when the waitress left their table.

  Michelle hesitated. “I’m so upset with Richard that I could scarf down half the menu in one sitting. But I know better than to let emotional eating get the better of me.”

  Josh admired her ability to gauge the difference between real hunger and emotional hunger. It occurred to him that she was much more self-aware than he was.

  “You said that Richard had a hard time after Dylan passed,” he said.

  Michelle set her fork and spoon next to each other in perfect alignment. “He’s never been the same.”

  Josh had suspected as much.

  “He retired from the shipyard and hibernated,” Michelle continued. “He sat in front of that television day in and day out. My mother and father tried to draw him out but Richard wasn’t interested, and eventually he started resenting their help. When he stopped mowing the lawn my dad knew something wasn’t right.”

  “It made him think of my mother,” Josh whispered, hardly aware he spoke out loud.

  “He used to make you work in the yard, too, remember?”

  Josh chuckled. “I’m not likely to forget. You know what’s funny?” Michelle would probably laugh, but he didn’t care. “I have a rental house in San Diego and my yard is the best-looking one on the block.” He didn’t realize he’d picked up his enjoyment of yard work from his stepfather as well as his mother. If Richard ever found out, he’d get a good laugh out of it for sure.

  Their food arrived and for the moment they were distracted from conversation.

  “My mother’s death was hard on him, but losing Dylan, well, that must have been more than Richard could take,” Josh said as he reached for a deep-fried shrimp. He dipped it in cocktail sauce before plopping it in his mouth.

  Michelle’s spoon hovered over her soup. “Dylan wasn’t as wonderful as everyone thought.”

  “Oh?” Josh asked, looking up. He reached for another shrimp, waiting for her to elaborate.

  She didn’t.

  Josh decided not to push her. If Michelle had something to say, then she’d do it when the time was right; when she was ready.

  “You were kind to me at a time when I needed kindness, and I want you to know I’ve never forgotten what you did,” Michelle said.

  “You mean on the bus that time.” The teasing incident remained vivid in his mind.

  “No, what happened in the hallway at school.”

  Josh’s mind was a complete blank. He didn’t remember an
ything happening with her at school that involved him.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  Smiling, she leaned back in her seat. “Does the name Vance Willey ring a bell?”

  It did. Vance had been a bully. A loser who preyed upon anyone smaller and weaker than him.

  “I remember Vance,” Josh admitted.

  “He thought I was too ugly to live and he decided to humiliate and embarrass me in front of half the school.”

  That sounded like something Vance would have done. “What happened?”

  She squared her shoulders. “You stood up to him and told him to cut it out.”

  “I did?” Josh still had no recollection of the incident.

  “You said if anyone was ugly it was him, and that was sad because outwardly he was okay, but the ugly part was on the inside. You nailed him,” she said, smiling with the memory. “You told him that the only way he felt powerful was by putting other people down.”

  “I said that?”

  “Every word. You could have heard a pin drop in that hallway, too. And then you said you felt sorry for him. Everyone held their breath wondering what Vance would do.”

  “He walked away, didn’t he?” Josh whispered as a vague memory wormed its way into his consciousness.

  “He did, and I don’t think anyone was more shocked than Vance. I saw him later and you know what?”

  Josh couldn’t venture a guess.

  “Vance apologized to me.”

  Josh found that almost impossible to believe. “Now that’s cool.”

  “I thought what you said was the wisest thing I’ve ever heard,” Michelle confessed. “You didn’t leap to my defense; you didn’t fight him. Instead you hit him with the truth and he backed down.”

  It took Josh a moment to connect all the dots. Michelle had a specific reason for recalling the story. “You’re more or less doing the same thing with me, aren’t you?”

  She set the spoon aside. “Josh, don’t make the mistake of deserting Richard. If you do, you’ll find yourself dealing with unresolved issues. Richard’s being cruel because he doesn’t want to need you and admitting that he does is far too difficult. Look beneath the surface of his behavior and be as patient with him as you can.”

  Josh knew she was right, although she was asking him to stay when every instinct told him it was best to turn his back on the old man and walk away. “I actually feel sorry for him,” Josh admitted.

  “You’ll stay?” she asked.

  After a moment he nodded. He didn’t like it, but he knew she was right.

  Michelle reached across the table and grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. “Thank you.”

  She was the one who deserved his appreciation.

  When they’d finished their meal, Josh paid and together they returned to Richard’s house. Stepping inside, he called out, “We’re back.”

  No response.

  “Richard?”

  Josh found his stepfather in the chair, struggling to breathe. “Richard?” he said again.

  His stepfather gasped for breath; he looked like he was having some sort of attack.

  “Call nine-one-one,” Josh shouted.

  A moment later, Michelle assured him that an ambulance had been dispatched. They should arrive soon.

  Josh just hoped they would get there before it was too late. He rushed into the master bathroom and thrust open the medicine cabinet. The shelves were lined with row upon row of medications. It took him a heart-stopping minute to find what he wanted.

  Aspirin.

  Shaking four mini-dose tablets into the palm of his hand, he hurried back into the family room and placed the tablets in Richard’s mouth.

  “Chew them, Richard,” he demanded. “Chew and swallow. Get them down as quickly as possible.”

  The ambulance arrived and transported Richard to the Bremerton Hospital. Josh and Michelle followed behind in his truck. After Josh filled out the necessary paperwork, Michelle sat with him in the ER. He reached for her hand, needing an anchor. They waited for nearly an hour before a physician approached them. His badge identified him as Dr. Abraham Wilhelm.

  Josh stood to meet the physician eye to eye. “How is he?” he asked.

  The doctor’s concerned look said far more than any words the man might have uttered. “Stable for now. The bottom line is that he doesn’t have much longer in his weakened condition. I’d like to admit him, but he refuses.”

  “When you say he doesn’t have much longer, what exactly does that mean?” Michelle asked.

  “I wish I could be more precise, but I can’t. His heart is in bad shape.”

  “Did he have a heart attack?”

  “Actually he’s had several.”

  “What about surgery?” Josh asked.

  Dr. Wilhelm shook his head. “His heart is far too weak to sustain surgery. I think it’s time for hospice.”

  “Hospice,” Josh echoed. “Richard agreed to that?”

  The physician cracked what resembled a smile, although Josh couldn’t be sure. “When I mentioned hospice to Mr. Lambert, he said he wanted out of the hospital. His words were, and I quote, ‘Get me out of here. I don’t care what you have to do but I want out. People die here.’ ”

  Josh chuckled. “I see what you mean.”

  “Mr. Lambert prefers to die at home and so I urge you to take him there. I’ll arrange for hospice to make a visit as soon as possible.”

  Josh nodded. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Wilhelm slapped him across the back. “He has a strong will.”

  “He’s stubborn all right,” Josh agreed.

  “You’re family?”

  “His stepson, but I’m all the family he’s got.”

  Dr. Wilhelm nodded. “In that case, I’d say he’s fortunate to have you.”

  Chapter 11

  I’d just finished changing the towels in Abby Kincaid’s room when the doorbell chimed. I bebopped down the stairs, thinking it might be someone looking for a room, which would be nice.

  When I opened the door I discovered a rather tall, thin man standing on the other side of the threshold. He wore coveralls over a thick flannel shirt in an orange and brown plaid and was easily six-three or six-four, which was a good seven or so inches taller than me. His eyes were dark brown, and the instant he saw me, he frowned.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, unwilling to let him into the house until I knew exactly who he was and why he was at my front door. I drew myself up to my full height—not that it did any good—and stared at him, unwilling to flinch under his glare.

  “You called me.”

  I relaxed. “You’re Mark Taylor?”

  He nodded, and I stepped aside. He came into the foyer and stopped to sniff appreciatively. “You’ve been baking.”

  “Chocolate chip cookies. You interested?”

  “Does a bear …” He stopped talking abruptly and cast me an apologetic look. “I can’t remember the last time I had home-baked cookies. You have coffee to go with that?”

  “Does a bear …” I teased. I hadn’t been sure what to expect of the handyman Peggy Beldon had recommended. He’d seemed a bit of a grouch … or at least an odd duck. Seeing him now, he was outwardly exactly what one would expect a handyman to look like.

  To my surprise I actually liked him. We hadn’t started off on the right foot—I’d found my phone conversation with him more than a bit disconcerting. But despite my hesitation I was pleased I’d decided to give him a chance. His eyes were dark but honest, and while he wasn’t exactly Mr. Personality, he seemed, in a word, interesting.

  His hair was a dark blond and a tad long. I could tell it bothered him because his bangs fell into his eyes and he impatiently brushed them aside a couple of times.

  “You take your coffee black?” I asked when he followed me into the kitchen.

  “Please.”

  I carried two mugs to the kitchen table and piled cookies onto
a plate and brought those over, too.

  Mark sat down and reached for a cookie while I retrieved from my office the sketches of the sign I’d envisioned.

  Mark stood when I returned. The gesture surprised me. I wasn’t accustomed to such old-fashioned but thoughtful behavior in men. Then again, perhaps he was just looking to make a good impression to get my business. It was an odd contradiction with his gruffness.

  After I sat down, he relaxed in the chair, leaning against the back of it. “So, what do you have in mind?”

  “I need a new sign made for the front of the inn.”

  “Not a problem. I enjoy woodwork. Show me what you want.”

  I’d drawn up a couple of ideas. I wanted it freestanding in front of the short driveway so that guests who were driving to the inn would know that they’d reached their destination as soon as they came down the street. I wanted it painted white to match the house, with red lettering, and red roses painted on each side of ROSE HARBOR INN.

  Mark looked over the drawings and asked a few questions. “You want this to stand, what, five feet high?”

  “Yes, I think that would be perfect … with lettering that’s legible from the street.”

  He nodded.

  “What would that cost me?”

  He named a figure that I found more than reasonable. Mark’s quote was half that of the estimate I’d gotten before I took possession of the inn.

  “How soon could you have it done?”

  Mark finished his cookie, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and reached inside the pocket of his coveralls for a small black book. He licked his finger before he turned several pages.

  I looked away in an effort to hide my amusement. Before smart phones, most little black books were used for women’s phone numbers instead of jobs. It begged the question of whether there was a love interest in Mark’s life.

  “I could have that for you by the end of the month,” Mark told me, after flipping several pages. Apparently he already had plenty of jobs lined up over the next few weeks.

  “That long?” I hated the thought of waiting three weeks to identify the inn. Although I feared the more expensive estimate might require even more time.

  “I’ll see what I can do to make it happen sooner,” he suggested.