by Dana Mentink
“It wasn’t your fault,” Bitsy said. “Someone broke in and that was that.”
If Julio had been wearing a hat, he no doubt would have doffed it. “Still, we owe it to Mr. Herzberg to preserve his family legacy.” He whipped out a pair of white gloves and pulled them on. Then he wedged on a slender pair of glasses and began reading, a wide grin splitting his face now and then. Bitsy looked from Julio to the others.
Rosa shrugged. She knew Julio enough to realize that he was not a man easily diverted. Finally, he looked up. “This may take a while. Don’t worry. Mrs. Mendez is watching the store.” Once again, he turned his attention to the letters.
Rosa and the others stole into the sitting room. Pike again had the phone pressed to his ear. He covered the mouthpiece. “The Realtor isn’t answering and neither is Lassiter. Big surprise with the Coastal Preservation League probably camped on their front walks.” He huffed as he disconnected. “Maybe I should drive over there and see where we are. I might be able to smooth things over if I tell them Julio from the Historical Society is examining the letters.” His eyes lit up. “Say, is there any chance Herzberg didn’t really write those letters? Maybe they’re fakes?”
“Brittle paper,” Julio called. “Hundreds of lines indicating the wires that held the paper pulp while it dried. Fakes?” he boomed, without looking up for a moment. “Zippo chance.”
“Zippo chance,” Pike repeated. “Of course.”
They talked quietly for a while, so as not to disturb Julio’s examination, but no one seemed to have a good idea of the impact Finley’s article would have on the sale of the Pelican.
Rosa inhaled the comforting scent of plastic tarp and newly applied primer. Whatever was taking place, it might delay things, but it would not stop the progress of the sale, and if selling was the only way to save Bitsy, then she wouldn’t want it to.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Manny asked.
Pike started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m going to go to the office and do some damage control.” He left.
Rosa blinked back to the matter at hand, answering Manny’s question. “We finish putting the place back together.”
“She’s right. We’ve got a project to wrap up, Pops.” Cy pulled a hammer from his belt loop. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Manny scratched at the stubble on his chin. “What were we working on?”
Cy and Rosa exchanged a look. The flicker of pain she saw on her brother’s face awakened a feeling of desperation inside her. “The window seat,” she said quickly. “You were repairing it, remember?”
Relief flooded her father’s eyes. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I was just testing you all.” He ambled into the kitchen.
Rosa felt Bitsy’s hand on her shoulder. “Manny’s not in his regular environment. It’s been crazy here. Confusing. I’m sure things will be clearer when he adjusts.”
Rosa didn’t answer. Instead, she did what she was born to do. She opened a can of paint and set about resurrecting a home, even while she knew the battle had already been lost.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROSA PAINTED UNTIL the last rays of sunlight withdrew from the Pelican and headed back out to sea. They ate tuna sandwiches and drank decaf coffee waiting for Pike’s call, which never came. With no word from Lassiter, she figured it would probably not be a restful night for Pike. He no doubt deserved it, but she found herself hoping it wasn’t too horrible for him. Rocky and Stu joined them after bundling piles of prunings and trimmings. Rocky cut the crusts off Stu’s sandwich and dissected it into precise halves, which seemed to please his brother.
After a massive yawn and bone-cracking stretch, Julio carefully bagged the letters, first enrobing each piece of paper with some sort of material he gabbled on about. The parcels were loaded into a wooden box. Still wearing the gloves, he carried the precious cargo to his car.
“We’ll transcribe and photograph them all,” Julio said. “Then we can discuss your possible donation to the history museum.”
Bitsy gave him a flirtatious bat of the eyelashes. “Or maybe I’ll keep them, Julio, dear. Have them scanned onto the computer and posted on a website for all to enjoy.”
Julio shuddered from his bald pate down to his white sneakers. “Scanned? A website? Surely not. These letters must be read and enjoyed firsthand. The power of the written word should not be splashed all over cyberspace. It’s like...using Mr. Herzberg’s precious letters as graffiti.”
“Better than using it for a squirrel mattress,” Cy said, reaching for another fried egg sandwich, Bitsy’s accomodation for the vegetarian.
Julio went a shade of lobster red.
“Don’t worry, Julio.” Bitsy patted him on the back. “I’ll keep the power of the written word in mind when I decide what to do with them.”
Julio squeezed into the driver’s seat and drove away, muttering to himself. Cy and Rosa helped Manny get settled into the carriage house. Their father seemed to suffer no further confusion, though his eyes were shadowed with fatigue. As he said good-night, he pressed a kiss on Rosa’s cheek.
“Don’t worry, princess. It’s going to be okay.”
She didn’t know whether he was talking about his mental health or the sudden death of her business. She found she was too tired to mull it over, so she gave him a smile and headed back to the main house.
Rosa hauled herself up the stairs to the tiny attic room, with Cy right behind her. Exhausted though she was, she found herself filled with a strange energy that seemed to emanate from the floorboards, as if the house itself was too filled with uncertainty to settle down. The wind had come up off the water and rattled the shingles on the roof. Their pattering echoed through the corridor.
“I’ll be right back,” she told her brother.
For some reason, Rosa’s feet took her up past the attic steps to the narrow hallway that led to Captain’s Nest. The air was cool here; it pricked her skin with a deep chill. She had the sudden, overwhelming urge to look out from Captain’s Nest, to see the mighty sweep of water that would make her problems feel small. A vague memory from the time she’d snuck into the Nest danced through her senses—the smell of old wood, the peeling plaster on the walls, the dusty trunks and boxes filled with imaginary treasures. A place where she really could be a princess, surveying her well-tended kingdom.
One more time. If she could see it one more time, she could lock the memory away, fix it permanently in her heart before the Pelican was bulldozed into oblivion.
When she reached the last step, she was confronted by the stalwart sentry of the heavy door. Just once more. A single, quick peek. Bitsy would not object to that. She turned the knob and met resistance. Stuck, as it usually was, this old wooden door that swelled and warped as it absorbed the essence of the sea.
She tried again, leaning in this time and adding a bit of shoulder. It still didn’t budge, so she bent down to peer at the doorknob. The old, rust-stained knob was still in place, visible in the feeble moonlight shining through a tiny window high up on the wall. Then she saw why she couldn’t open the door. A new latch had been installed, complete with padlock. She yanked the knob again, just to convince herself it was good and truly locked.
She gave the door a frustrated kick. Odd. Bitsy would not have been able to complete the neat installation herself. No, she’d likely had Rocky put in the padlock. But why?
What was Aunt Bitsy going to such lengths to conceal? As if Bitsy, the woman who felt it her calling to feed and nurture everyone in the vicinity, could be up to anything untoward. But why the lock, the secrecy? Rosa made up her mind to talk to Pike about it privately, though the thought of sharing another quiet moment with Pike made her stomach flutter.
She returned to the attic and found Cy snoring. She pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and he smiled in his sleep. Was he dreaming about Piper
, the woman he’d loved and lost?
Below them, on the first floor, did Bitsy dream about the mysterious contents of Captain’s Nest, or was it more nightmare material behind that door?
Climbing into bed, she considered her father, wondering if he worried when he laid down his head at night that in the morning it might be empty of the people and places that mattered so terribly much. How strange it would be to suddenly have things erased from your mind. If she could somehow forget the abandonment, if that memory could be drained from her own psyche, she might just believe Manny was a decent father after all. But memories could not be chosen, erased at will, forgotten just for convenience.
Somewhere deep in her recollections she felt Pike’s hand on her lower back as they cruised on Poppy’s Dream, saw the unadulterated joy in his eyes and the jubilant smile on those full lips.
How strange, she thought again, as her own mind surrendered to sleep.
* * *
THEY’D BEEN SUMMONED to the Great Escapes office on Thursday morning to formally withdraw from the contest. Feeling as though she was about to visit the principal for assorted misbehaviors, Rosa offered to drive Bitsy in order to finish together what they had started with such high hopes not one week earlier. Though Rosa desperately wanted to ask Bitsy about the new lock on Captain’s Nest, it did not seem the time.
“I guess it will be real,” Bitsy said, “when I tell them the inn is being sold. Maybe I’ll believe it then.”
Rosa squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s me who should be sorry, Rosa. I thought I was doing the right thing. I had great intentions for you both. I was so sure it would work...so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
Bitsy shook her head. “I’m rambling. Never mind.” Wind through the open window whipped at her hair. Bitsy retrieved a flowered scarf from her purse and tied it around her head in an Audrey Hepburn style. “Manny seemed to do well last night in the carriage house. Have you... Do you have any ideas about where he’ll live?”
In fact, Rosa had wrestled with that very thought since well before sunup. “I just don’t know.”
“Somewhere close, I hope. So I can visit. A small place would do, with a little patio chair and tables so he can play chess.”
“Chess? I didn’t know he was a chess player.”
Bitsy busied herself retying her scarf. “We learned together.”
“When?”
“When your mother was sick and in the hospital, I’d go keep him company sometimes, while you were at school. They had a chess set in the hospital waiting room, so we learned to play. Manny was always much better at it than I.”
Rosa shot her a sideways look. “You like my father, don’t you?”
Bitsy blinked. “Well, of course. Manny is a likeable man.”
Likeable? Not a word she’d often applied to him. “Not much of a father. You know that better than anyone.”
Bitsy smiled dreamily. “I never had kids. When I became friends with your mom, she was gracious enough to allow me to be a kind of aunt to you. You and Cy were the closest thing I ever got to parenting, but to judge by the outcome, Manny was—is—a great father. He has two superb children.”
“A great father? How can you say that? He abandoned us after Mom died. He basically left us orphaned. We would have been put into foster care if it weren’t for you.”
“I think he wasn’t strong enough to grieve and watch you grieve, too. Some people just don’t have that in them. We all find our own way to escape from that.”
“It was his job to be strong, to be there.” Rosa’s voice hitched. “You shouldn’t defend him. He took advantage of your generosity, too, and it wasn’t right.”
“Oh, Rosa. It’s not a matter of right or wrong anymore.”
“For me, what he did will always be wrong, no matter how much time passes. I can’t forgive it, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“You haven’t lived long enough to disappoint someone deeply, but you will.” The sunlight accentuated every wrinkle and crease in Bitsy’s face. She was, in a moment, old. “I hope that when you do, the person you wronged will forgive you.” She added quietly, “and I hope you will be able to forgive yourself.”
Rosa had forgiven her mother, after many years of struggle. The alcoholism was a disease that had overwhelmed will and desire in Katy. But her father had chosen to leave them, dumped them while of sound mind. Something wiggled inside and made her squirm on the seat. She’d never considered that grief could overwhelm, too, just as surely as addiction. The uncertainty ebbed away as quickly as it had arisen. Cy and Rosa had been submerged in loss, too, and they had not had the option to pack their bags and run away. She rekindled the resentment that still burned inside her and drove in silence for the last mile of the trip.
They waited in the outer office for Wanda Elliot. Bitsy sat quietly after greeting a man who was flipping through magazines, while Rosa prowled and paced, stopping in front of the prosaically framed photos of the board of directors arranged in a neat row on the wall. The most recent one appeared to be missing. She perused the black-and-white photos of the stiff, spiffily dressed executives, all sporting the same forced smile, backed by the same dreary wood paneling. What a difference a beautiful fabric wall panel might have made to jazz up the background. “I wonder who goes here,” Rosa said, pointing to the empty spot.
Bitsy started. “What?”
“Who’s the missing board member and what happened to their picture?”
“Got knocked off the wall and broke,” Wanda said, emerging from her office and patting her red updo. “Haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet. Sorry to keep you waiting. One of our photographers was shooting the Cedar Cove Crab Crawl and apparently he’s allergic to shellfish.”
“Is he all right?” Bitsy asked, eyes wide.
“Yes, but we’re going to have to give the Loganville Lobster Fest assignment to someone else.”
Rosa was determined not to be distracted by the eggshell paint and pedestrian furnishings this time as they settled in across from Wanda.
“So,” Wanda said. “I understand the Pelican is being sold and you’ll need to drop out of the contest.” Her face shone with something like glee. “Too bad.”
“Yes,” Bitsy said, “but couldn’t we find a way, if it takes a while for the deal to close, for Rosa and Cy to finish the contest?”
“No,” Wanda said flatly. “There isn’t a way. We have rules.”
“But maybe a small exception...”
Wanda grabbed a thick file folder and smacked it down on her immaculate desk top. “When a business starts making exceptions,” she said, glaring at Bitsy, “then it is no longer a professional operation, now, is it?”
Bitsy straightened, crossing one elegant leg over the other. “Surely,” she said, tone icy, “this isn’t the right venue to be discussing professionalism, is it?”
Wanda flushed. “A deal is a deal, and we’re done.”
Rosa looked from Bitsy to Wanda.
Rosa was surprised that Bitsy remained silent at this sour treatment. Then she unleashed her next comment.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to make things difficult, Wanda.”
Wanda stabbed a pencil into the desk and broke the point. “You don’t call the shots here.”
“Some of them, I do,” Bitsy purred, sitting back and eyeing Wanda the way a cat regards a cornered mouse.
Rosa was nonplussed by the interaction and Bitsy’s poisonous tone. “Uh, look, Ms. Elliot, we’re here to withdraw in compliance with your rules, but I don’t see why this has to turn into an ugly confrontation. Or am I missing something?”
Bitsy looked down her nose at Wanda. It was a showdown and Rosa was completely befuddled.
Wanda glared for a mo
ment, then her face took on a neutral expression. She straightened the file so it was perpendicular to the edge of the desk and moved the stapler a fraction of an inch to the right before she spoke. “No, you’re not missing anything. I guess perhaps I took a tone. I apologize.”
Rosa nodded. “Er, okay.”
Wanda cleared her throat. “The contest has been stressful from the start, and I know you’ve wasted time and money on the Pelican project. It’s best if we just end the business now, before you get in any deeper.” She selected a paper from inside the file. “Please sign and date at the bottom, both of you, and that will be the end of it.”
Wanda’s pursed lips indicated she would be thrilled to have both of them out of her office before the ink dried.
Bitsy signed, waves of displeasure wafting out with each stroke of the pen, her signature an angry scrawl. She handed Rosa the pen, pained. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
Wanda’s expression went from midnight to sunrise, an enormous smile breaking across the dour horizon. Rosa thought the woman could have at least maintained some semblance of professionalism, but now Wanda was patting her hair again, rising from her desk chair and smoothing the front of her skirt.
The editor’s wide-eyed stare was not directed at the business occurring on her desktop, but rather aimed, along with a girlish giggle, at the open office door. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she breathed, “So nice to see you again, Pike.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
PIKE KISSED BITSY on the cheek, and though Wanda looked at him with the expression of a puppy hoping for a doggie biscuit, Pike did not afford her the same treatment. He greeted her respectfully and flashed a smile at Rosa. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Wanda chirped. “We’re thrilled to see you, just thrilled. Please sit down,” she said, dragging another unattractive chair over and placing it next to hers. “Please.”
