Room at Heron's Inn

by Ginger Chambers

His smile faded. “I was afraid you might.”

  Silence stretched. Words tumbled through her mind, but she couldn’t say them. Instead she stammered, “I—my things. What do I do with my things?”

  His relief was palpable, confirming how very badly the Marshalls were in need of help. She had sensed that same anxiety the last time she’d come here, but she had been so wrapped up in her own emotions that she’d barely remembered it, until now.

  “Are your suitcases in your car?” Eric asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then how about if I go get them and take you to your room. You can settle in, and I’ll show you around the place later. There’s plenty of time for that, really. Samantha gets overly excited about anything new. There’s still a lot of kid in her.”

  He smiled again, and Robin was caught by his easy charm. It wasn’t suave or practiced. It was just there, a part of him. She wondered if his father had had that same trait.

  As she continued to look at him, a delicate tension began to build in the space between them, only to be broken when the front door opened a crack and David shouted inside, “I’m back! You don’t have to come looking for me. Maybe we should invest in a time clock. But then slaves don’t get paid for their labor, do they?” The door slammed shut on his last word.

  “That boy is doing his best to scare you off, isn’t he?” Eric murmured.

  Again the tension began to grow, this time to be interrupted by Samantha. “Are you two still here?” she demanded as she erupted into the hall with a stepladder, glass cleaner and buffing cloth in hand.

  “We’re working on it,” Eric countered. “Give us time.” To Robin he said, “I’ll get your things and be back in a minute. Is the car locked?”

  “No,” she said. He was gone before she could say anything else.

  Samantha grinned. “Actually,” she confided, “I told a fib earlier. I was the most impatient for you to get here. Not Eric. Not that he wasn’t anxious, mind you. With the wedding coming up so soon, there’s not a lot of extra hours in the day for any of us. Timothy’s mother is doing most of the work, the planning and everything, but Eric has to go calm her down at least once every couple of days. She freaks about everything! I think she has a thing for Eric and creates these little panics just to get him to come see her. But he’s determined to do his part. Big brother to the bride and all that.”

  Robin followed her into the formal living room, which, along with the dining room, comprised the two main rooms branching off the front entrance. The decor—overstuffed reading chairs and sofas, chests and tables, bookcases bulging with games, various types of reading matter, freshly cut flowers, and richly colored oriental rugs—was cheerfully inviting.

  Samantha marched to an ornate mirror centered over the wide fireplace, positioned the stepladder securely in place, climbed confidently to the fourth rung, squirted the glass cleaner on the surface and started to rub. The ammonia made Robin’s nose twitch.

  The front door opened and Eric paused, holding her suitcases. The two leather cases had seen Robin through three years and two continents. At the moment they looked ready to burst, their sides bulging with all that she had brought. She was slightly embarrassed by their appearance.

  “You remember the way, right?” he said, motioning her toward the staircase.

  After retracing the path they had taken several days earlier, they walked to the rear of the third floor, where he shifted the suitcases to one side and ushered her through Bridget’s door.

  “We cleared some space for you, so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself,” he said. “A few drawers in the chest, some space in the wardrobe. But if you need more room…” He set the weighty cases down by the bed.

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Robin said.

  He lifted an eyebrow in doubtful amusement.

  She walked to the window and looked outside. From this height she could see past the trees in the neighboring yard to a wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean. All her life she’d been drawn to the sea. It seemed to hold the key to the elements of her existence. Her past, her present…her future?

  She let the curtain fall back into place and looked around to see that Eric Marshall had been steadily watching her. For a moment she’d forgotten that he was there. She smiled, hoping to cover her distracted state. It took a few seconds for him to return her smile.

  “This is such a beautiful area,” she murmured. “Do you have many visitors in the year?”

  “Enough to keep the place functioning. A good many repeat customers.”

  “How many guests can you accommodate at one time?”

  “We have seven rooms. Two king suites, two doubles and three with twin beds. The three twins have to share a bath down the hall. The most we support is fourteen people, give or take an extra person or two on occasion.”

  She glanced wordlessly around the room.

  “None of the rooms in the family quarters have private baths,” he said, answering her curiosity. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you around. Take your time.”

  Robin wanted to claim that she was ready now. But a little time to herself would be nice, if only to draw a few unobserved breaths. “Would fifteen minutes be all right?” she asked.

  “This is your free day, remember?”

  “Fifteen minutes will be fine,” she told him.

  “I’ll meet you in the family room.”

  “Where’s that?” she asked, stopping him.

  “Just turn right in the hall outside this door and keep going to the front of the house.”

  Once she was alone, Robin stood in the middle of the room, closed her eyes and waited for the seconds to tick slowly by.

  ERIC WENT DOWNSTAIRS to check on David. Miraculously, the boy was doing exactly as he’d been told: determinedly, if haphazardly, weeding the front flower bed. On his way back inside, Eric stopped by the living room, to find Samantha putting the finishing touches on the huge fireplace mirror. In Barbara’s stead, he was supposed to clean and straighten the occupied rooms this morning, but full service would have to wait until he’d shown Robin McGrath around. As he’d said earlier, there was plenty of time to do everything. The two visiting couples would be away most of the day, as would Donal Caldwell. As usual, the elderly gentleman, who had been one of their first guests eight years before, had left the inn carrying his easel and paints. He would be away for the day.

  Eric sprinted up the first set of stairs and into a suite and, with ease born of repeated practice, stripped the sheets from the oversize bed, replaced them with fresh ones, and shook the thick feather comforter back into place. After a quick repositioning of the pillows, he thought that he might have time to do the same thing to the next room down but he decided against it. He didn’t want to make Robin wait.

  SHE WAS ALREADY IN THE family room, looking at an old photograph of the six Marshall siblings. She’d been holding it with both hands, staring at it intently. When she became aware of his presence, she jumped and hastily replaced the framed photo on the table.

  “Quite a crew, weren’t we?” Eric mused with fond remembrance as he took time himself to examine the photo. He had a vivid memory of posing for this photograph. He remembered his father coaxing everyone from behind the camera…Allison at sixteen, attempting to hold the squirming two-year-old David…Benjamin at eight, teasing the five-year-old Samantha…Barbara at ten, melting into his best jacket, hiding her face in its sleeve. He’d been at college then, in his senior year. His father had taken any number of shots that morning, trying for a “keeper,” as he called it. It was a difficult job to persuade such a disparate group to cooperate. Who would have thought that barely one month later…?

  Eric put the photo down and looked at his new employee. There was something strange about the way she returned his gaze, almost as if she knew what he was thinking. He frowned. Something certainly had gone off kilter for him this morning. He felt as if he’d been knocked out of position, and for some reason couldn’t quite get back into step
.

  He gave himself a mental shake. Okay, so he was attracted to her. That didn’t mean he had to concoct fanciful interpretations for her every act.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, uncomfortably aware that an overcompensating briskness had stiffened his tone.

  She seemed taken aback by his sudden change from newfound friend to detached employer, but she quickly took refuge in her own official status. “Of course,” she said evenly setting her shoulders.

  “I thought I’d start the tour by showing you some of the unoccupied guest rooms on the floor below. It’s not necessary for your job, of course, but just in case you’re curious…”

  He paused at the door for her to precede him, and she spared him a cool glance as she went by.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ROBIN SAT ON THE END of the short pier, swinging her feet above the gently cresting waves. On occasion, a wave would build and tickle her bare toes before pushing on to shore. The water was cold, but refreshing in small doses.

  At the base of the twin rock towers at the entrance to the bay, a sea lion barked to its companion, who glided sleekly through the water in search of food. Seabirds fought the chill breeze in the same pursuit.

  A week had passed since her arrival. A week that had been both easy and difficult.

  Robin leaned back, resting some of her weight on her outthrust arms, and lifted her face to the morning sun.

  So far, the most trying aspect of her new job was to remember that in her present persona she wasn’t an accomplished chef. She couldn’t allow herself to perform any of the professional maneuvers that had become second nature. She had to proceed slowly and at times—at least, for her—awkwardly. She couldn’t afford to show her true skills. She also had to keep the meals simple, ordinary. As time went by, possibly she could branch out a bit creatively, but that moment would have to be carefully tested.

  Much more difficult to carry out were her personal dealings with the Marshalls. It wasn’t easy to let herself be drawn into their lives, even though that was why she had come here.

  Samantha had accepted her as readily as if she were a lost puppy the girl had found and given a good home. Her chatter was free, her heart open.

  Barbara was more reticent, her personality quieter, although she had accepted Robin as a member of the household and had even proudly introduced her to Timothy.

  While it was possible David had uttered a word to her this week, Robin couldn’t recall what it was. He and Eric seemed to have regular altercations; each had an uncanny ability to get under the other’s skin. So far, though, the boy had done nothing overt to strike out against her, and for that she was grateful.

  Dr. Mays, the psychiatrist her mother had taken her to as a child, would be appalled to learn what she had done. She had told Robin repeatedly that what had happened was not her fault. But how did a person escape such a feeling? You could run away, but the memory never truly disappeared.

  Water splashed over her toes again, this time causing a chill. Robin pulled her feet back onto the pier, dried them and slipped on a pair of woolly socks and sneakers before rolling down her jeans.

  She stood up, ready to start back to shore. But as she turned, she saw a familiar figure at the end of the pier. With his hands plunged deeply into his pockets, his long thin frame hunched, David seemed to be waiting for her. He glanced her way but looked quickly away again.

  Robin hesitated, then closed the distance between them.

  The boy was dressed in his usual faded black garb, his hair a mass of loose curls tangled by the breeze. Only now he had added a scuffed-up black leather jacket. His thin face had the stamp of a Marshall, though it was drawn with a less aggressive hand than his siblings’ faces. There was a certain “unfinished” look about him that the next few years would probably resolve. He was young. Very young.

  “I saw you sitting out there,” he said after she had stopped a short distance from him. His tone was studiously casual.

  “So you thought you’d come keep me company?”

  His pale blue eyes were wary. “Not really,” he said.

  She grinned. “Too bad. I was hoping for someone to talk to.”

  David snorted. “Who wouldn’t be bored in this place? There’s nothing to do, nothing to see.”

  “It is quiet,” she agreed.

  He snorted again. “You don’t know the half of it! Wait until you’re here for a month or two. It’ll drive you nuts, just like the rest of us.”

  “I didn’t realize that all of you were—”

  “Completely crazy. We live here, don’t we? Other people come to visit, but we actually live here.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “Awful!” he affirmed. “I liked San Francisco better. There was always something to do. My friends were there.”

  “You have friends here, don’t you?”

  He frowned fiercely. “Of course I do.”

  “Then—”

  “It’s not the same. Eric decided we’d move, so we moved. He didn’t ask, he just told us.” He paused. “I hate it here!”

  “Have you told Eric how you feel?”

  He wheeled around and started to walk away. She matched his pace. “He knows,” he said sullenly.

  They walked in silence along the steeply rising trail that led toward the Pacific.

  “What made you come here?” he asked, once they had halted at the edge of the cliff. The wind, stronger now that they were away from the protected cove, buffeted their bodies and whipped their hair.

  Robin thought the view reason enough. It was magnificent! Brilliant blue sky, equally brilliant blue ocean, crashing surf, the picturesque beauty of Dunnigan Bay, and farther beyond, the wild cragginess of the Pacific coastline. David, however, seemed blind to everything except his problems.

  She shrugged and said lightly, “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

  “But it’s a decision you regret. I don’t blame you. Eric can be a real—” He swallowed the word he’d been about to use.

  As the silence drew out again, Robin answered, “Actually, I don’t mind working for him. He doesn’t interfere. He lets me do my job.”

  “Maybe you haven’t been here long enough. Just wait until you do something wrong, or what he thinks is wrong. Then you’ll see.”

  “Barbara said Bridget gets along very well with him.”

  The boy made a quick dismissive motion. “Bridget thinks the sun shines out of his—” Again he censored what he was about to say, kicking some dirt with the toe of his motorcycle boot. “A lot of people do,” he murmured instead. “Eric this, Eric that. Saint Eric!”

  Robin turned to look at him. His young face was miserable. It reflected anger, resentment, deep unhappiness. Her heart twisted. That brother should harbor such animosity against brother… Would these feelings have occurred without the accident of their father’s death forcing each into an artificial relationship? David had been two years old at the time. Some people didn’t believe children that young could be affected by the happenings around them. By the looks of it, David had been, as well as by the difficult years that followed.

  Robin searched for something to say. She wanted to help in whatever way she could. After all, it was because of her that— She forced her mind away from that line of thought. Assessing her own guilt was not the answer at this moment. She brushed strands of hair away from her face and changed the subject. If she was to be of any help to David, she had to gain his trust, and she didn’t think the process could be hurried.

  “I see you like Black Obsession.” She indicated the faded emblem on the front of his T-shirt. “Are they your favorite band?”

  David’s face immediately brightened. “Yeah, they’re great. Their last album was a killer! Especially ‘Twin Delay.’ I like the way Digby takes on the idiots who spend their lives thinking they can make a difference in the world, when everybody knows that they can’t! They just keep running in their tiny little wheels like pet rats after some kind of imaginary—”
He stopped abruptly, as if he’d suddenly realized he was providing too close a glimpse inside himself.

  What Robin saw was a young man who was a much deeper thinker than he wanted other people to believe. Robin was familiar with the rock group he was talking about, and with that particular song, as well. Several of the line cooks at Le Jardin were fans of rock music and frequently received permission from Jean-Pierre to play the radio while they worked. That song did berate the do-gooders of the world, but the imagery David had used to describe this was his own. The boy had proved he was very articulate, particularly for someone who had had such a hard time in school—flunking subjects, spending inordinate amounts of time in detention and now in danger of not obtaining his diploma, if what she’d overheard was true.

  “Yes,” she said, “I like it, too. I’m not sure I completely agree with what Digby says, but I like the way he says it.”

  “You like it?” David echoed in surprise.

  Robin smiled lightly. “I just said so, didn’t I?”

  The boy looked completely thunderstruck that someone quite a few years older than him had even heard of the band he loved so much, much less appreciated them. “But—but,” he stammered, “Barbara and Allison, and even Sam, hate—and Benjamin, too. He—” He paused to regroup his thoughts. “They’re a small band, not all that well-known. How do you know about them?”

  “How did you learn about them?” she countered.

  “On the radio.”

  “Can’t I listen to the radio, too?”

  “But to the kind of station that plays Digby…”

  She turned away to move back down the trail. This time it was David who fell quickly into step beside her. “You’re different,” he said after several silent moments.

  “Is that a compliment?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I suppose.”

  She glanced at him. His face had lost some of its defiant anger. She had broken through, if only temporarily.

  “David!” a sharp, angry voice called.