The Season of Silver Linings

by Christine Nolfi

  “Did you finish unpacking?”

  “Right after we got to the suite. Rosemary insisted—she’s never comfortable until everything is neat and tidy.” Millicent paused abruptly. Then she motioned Jada toward the privacy of the seating area to the right of the lobby. Growing somber, she asked, “Would you mind if we accelerated the schedule? This afternoon instead of tonight? Rosemary has woken from her nap. I was hoping she’d sleep longer—travel is hard for her, and it has been a long day—but she’s becoming insistent.”

  “She wants to talk now?” The nerves Jada had managed to keep at bay spilled through her in an icy rush.

  “If it’s not an imposition.” Angling her neck, Millicent peered toward the corridor on the opposite side of the lobby that led into the ballroom. “Is the bridal shower finished?”

  “They’re cleaning up now.”

  “Did Linnie receive everything on her wish list?”

  “And more. It will take Daniel several trips to haul the bounty to their house. I’d ask Philip to help, but he went into town. His men are finishing a new landscape installation on Highland Avenue.”

  The historian’s eyes were overly bright as she bobbed her head with interest. “Would Daniel like help ferrying the packages? Vasily has the rental car. He’s been roaming the grounds, bored out of his mind. Being stuck in the country with two fussy women is testing the limits of his endurance.”

  “I’m sure Daniel would love the help.” Jada sent him a text.

  It occurred to her that Millicent was drawing out the conversation to avoid the impending discussion. Was she more fearful of the dreadful facts awaiting her, or the effect they would have on Rosemary? Sympathy for her bounded past Jada’s apprehension.

  “Why don’t we talk in your suite?” When Millicent bobbed her head once more, Jada offered her most encouraging smile. “It’s nearly dinnertime,” she said, alighting on the perfect way to allay the historian’s nerves. “Would you mind helping me pull together a few snacks? You and Rosemary must both be starving.”

  “Why, thank you. What a lovely suggestion.”

  They went into the kitchen. Jada filled a tray with cheese, crackers, a dish of shrimp salad, and large handfuls of red grapes. Then she added three goblets and two bottles of Chablis. Millicent went to hoist the tray, a ridiculous idea. The palsy that invaded her hands at unpredictable moments trembled through her fingers. Gently moving her aside, Jada picked up the tray and led her to the lobby elevator.

  In the suite, the king-size bed was neatly made, the luggage presumably tucked inside the closet. One of the largest suites in the main section of the Wayfair, the room featured an oversize bay window in the sitting area. The wheelchair stood vacant near the dresser. On one of the leather club chairs by the window, Rosemary waited for them. Hands folded, she was the vision of tranquil seas.

  A fortunate discovery since her spouse was nervous enough for them both. Millicent walked to the other club chair, her features tense. She looked unprepared for the difficult conversation ahead.

  Jada lowered the groaning tray to the coffee table.

  Rosemary gasped, her attention tripping across the food. “Jada, you’re too kind.” Gratitude washed through her blue eyes. “Room service, from the sweetest pastry chef I’ve ever met. Actually, the only one I’ve ever met.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” Jada uncorked the wine. “Can I tempt you?”

  Intervening, Millicent took the bottle. “There’s no temptation necessary.” She filled the goblets and handed Rosemary a glass. “Jada, you’re joining us. We all need a drink.”

  “Of course—thanks.”

  A folding chair was stationed beside the coffee table. Had Mr. Uchida brought it upstairs? Jada made a mental note to thank him later.

  They sipped their wine in the lingering quiet. From the window, guests were visible one story below, wending toward the inn through the crimson-colored light.

  Rosemary broke the silence. “Philip asked if we’d like to come over tomorrow,” she told Jada. “Such a nice invitation. I’m looking forward to seeing where Fancy lives.”

  A kind gesture—Philip hadn’t mentioned the offer in the text he’d sent. “I hope you have a good memory,” Jada confided, smiling. “You’ll need it once Fancy drags you into her bedroom.”

  “Why?”

  “She’ll expect you to memorize the name of all her baby dolls and stuffed animals. She’ll also try to interest you in watching a fashion show. Prepare for her to suggest she try on all the dress-up clothes for your viewing pleasure.”

  “Oh, I’d like that!” Pausing, Rosemary noticed the moisture gathering in her partner’s eyes. She patted Millicent’s knee. “Do you need a tissue?”

  The gentle offer struck Millicent like a rebuke. “Don’t start pestering me,” she replied, snatching up a plate. She reached for a handful of grapes. She fanned out several crackers, did a poor job scooping shrimp salad on top. “It’s my job to pester you. I’m quite good at it.”

  “There’s nothing good about your behavior when you nag.”

  Millicent popped a grape into her mouth. “I’m thrilled the nap put you in a feisty mood, Rosemary. Nothing makes my day like when you’re brimming with piss and vinegar.” With a grunt, she settled back with her plate. “Now, leave me alone. Talk to Jada.”

  The affectionate squabble was a bright note Jada sorely needed. “I’m sorry you didn’t have more time with Fancy today,” she said to Rosemary.

  “Oh, it’s fine! How could I interest my granddaughter in a long conversation with a party underway? No, it was much better for her to enjoy the festivities.” Rosemary trailed a thoughtful finger around the rim of her glass. “After you took Fancy back inside, one of the women attending the party came outside to visit with us.”

  “Penelope,” Millicent garbled. In her state of high anxiety, she was finishing her plate in record time. “We had a nice chat.”

  “About you,” Rosemary softly added. “Penelope said you were the only real friend my daughter made in Sweet Lake. The only one who was patient with Bodi even when she behaved badly.” When she paused, a light feathering of grief centered between her brows. “She also mentioned that you went with Philip to identify the body. That he was so upset, the police chief suggested you help him through the ordeal.”

  Jada’s stomach pitched. “Daniel went with us.” She steadied herself. “He’s Philip’s brother.”

  Her eyes misting, Rosemary nodded. “Bodi didn’t have many friends growing up. Her behavior was hard for her schoolmates to understand. The stealing didn’t help. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t rifling through the other children’s book bags at school. Those were the easy years, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean?” Jada asked.

  “You were acquainted with Bodi. She was beautiful, yes?”

  “Very.” Like you, Jada nearly added. The sorrow canvassing Rosemary’s face silenced her.

  “My daughter’s beauty came at a cost. I was so foolish.” Rosemary took a long sip of her wine. “Bodi was still in eighth grade when she became sexually active. I had no idea. None whatsoever. It’s horrible to consider that she initiated many of those encounters.”

  Jada’s stomach pitched. “How do you know?”

  “Her second year of high school, the mother of one of Bodi’s classmates took me aside. After a PTA meeting.” A sigh escaped Rosemary’s lips. “She’d found a dozen photographs of Bodi on her son’s phone. Awful pictures, taken of Bodi with two of the boys on the high school football team.”

  The disclosure sickened Jada. “I wish—” She broke off.

  She wasn’t sure what she wished. Mostly, she decided, she wished the sorrow in Rosemary’s eyes wasn’t melding with a quiet expectancy as she pursed her lips, drawing silently on an inner core of strength. She was ready now, it seemed, for the conversation that would lead them back to a brutal day in March, and the dark secrets waiting there.

  Rosemary set down her glass. “S
hould we get started?” She rested a hand on Millicent’s wrist.

  Her heart beating in her throat, Jada nodded in assent.

  Then she led them into the past.

  Chapter 24

  The Wayfair Inn, six years ago

  Veins of ice spread across the windowpane.

  Plugging in the coffee pot, Jada mentally ticked through the employees who’d already called in due to the snowstorm. A paltry list since most of the staff had been let go last autumn. The absences represented a minor inconvenience. Only five rooms at the Wayfair were presently occupied—an unlucky couple from Dayton and four businessmen, all of whom were staying put until the vicious weather broke. The March snowstorm barreling down from Canada had already brought most of Ohio to a standstill.

  Fortunately, Mr. Uchida had made it in, along with three others with four-wheel drive vehicles or trucks capable of negotiating the whiteout conditions. As the coffee brewed, Jada squinted, looking past the ice crawling across the window. The rolling hills resembled a moonscape as layer upon layer of snowfall erased the landscape’s familiar contours.

  Brows puckering, she leaned closer. The yellowish glow of headlights cut through the curtain of white.

  “The snow plow service,” Mr. Uchida informed her when she strode into the lobby.

  “Shouldn’t they wait until the storm lets up?”

  “Mr. Curcio will send someone back again at noon. We’ll have another foot by then.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Curcio,” Jada murmured, approaching the glass door that led out to the veranda. In the parking lot beyond the sloping entry and the snow-laden walkway, the blade on the Dodge Ram sliced neat paths through the three-foot drifts.

  Mr. Uchida smiled. “Guess he’s serious about keeping his promise to Linnie’s father.”

  “I guess so.”

  Like everyone else, the owner of Curcio Landscapes had been upset last year when a stroke forced Linnie’s father to hand over management of the inn to her. Once Treat Wayfair and his wife left for an early retirement in Florida, the whispered talk in Sweet Lake grew like a groundswell. Jada did her best to ignore the gossip about the Wayfair going under because Treat Wayfair’s daughter couldn’t save the inn from its death spiral. Outside of Jada and Cat—and the Sirens—few townspeople held out hope for Linnie’s chances.

  Banishing the thought, Jada pressed her fingers to the glass. “Mr. Curcio didn’t send out Lance Treadwell, did he? All he does is flirt with me or Cat. He’s given up on Linnie. She told him it’s disgusting how he smells like grilled onions all the time.” Linnie had actually spritzed air freshener in the hulking youth’s direction while making the pronouncement.

  “You ought to give Lance a break.” Mr. Uchida shook his head with bemusement. “He’s not interested in your girlfriends, Jada. He’s been searching for a way to ask you out.”

  “Not happening.”

  “A girl your age shouldn’t work seven days a week. Let him take you out to dinner.”

  “I don’t have time to date. Even if I did, Lance isn’t the type of guy I’d consider.”

  Mr. Uchida gazed at her steadily. The sympathy he made no attempt to hide sent a prickly discomfort across her skin. There wasn’t much he missed. Jada suffered the uneasy sensation he was holding back advice he sorely wanted to give.

  Instead, he nodded toward the parking lot and the truck sliding to a halt. “Mr. Curcio sent Philip out to plow.”

  The news jolted her. “In this weather? The whole state of Ohio looks like the frozen tundra. He should be home with his wife and the baby.”

  “Jada, he’s got a lot on his shoulders now. He needs the money.”

  “He’s already working two jobs.” She’d never cared much for Philip’s cocky ways in high school, but the fix he’d put himself in would make any decent woman revise her opinion. “The rest of the time, he’s taking care of the baby.”

  The sympathy in Mr. Uchida’s eyes turned to worry. “Sad how Bodi still hasn’t taken to Fancy. It’s been two months.”

  Not sad, Jada mused. Frightening.

  She’d never before witnessed a new mother less interested in her newborn. “Bodi just needs time,” she offered. The words sounded false, even to her ears.

  They both fell silent as Philip wended his way through the snowdrifts and clomped up the steps to the veranda. Rubbing his red-knuckled hands, he paused to stomp the snow from his boots. Spotting Jada, he grinned.

  Behind her, Mr. Uchida made a weary sound. His disapproval was incapable of dispelling the swift joy arcing through her. Philip came inside, his eyes focused on her like a beacon.

  Frigid air streamed in, and he slammed the door shut. Philip made no effort to hide his pleasure at finding her waiting for him in the lobby.

  “Hey,” he murmured.

  “Hey yourself.”

  Mr. Uchida was still watching them, and Jada donned a businesslike expression. “Have you eaten? I’m happy to whip something up.”

  “No time. I have to head back, plow Sweet Lake Circle. Mr. Curcio took care of it at dawn. I’m sure it’s buried again.”

  “Want an egg sandwich for the road?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not a problem, really.”

  As he followed her into the kitchen, Jada smiled at the irony of the situation. When they were younger, she viewed Philip as the flakiest guy at Sweet Lake High. They weren’t exactly friends now, but she’d begun revising her opinion. Thanks to her friendship with Bodi, she was happy to help them both out whenever possible—especially now that they had a baby to care for.

  Like countless times before, she failed to pinpoint when her feelings toward him had begun to soften. When he became chivalrous, marrying Bodi after learning she was pregnant? Jada had listened in stunned silence when Bodi shared the embarrassing details of the one-night stand, and how Philip announced his intention to do the right thing. Or was it during her first visit to his apartment after he brought his new family home from the hospital?

  She had found him diapering the baby on the kitchen table, of all places. His large frame was bent over his daughter while he cooed like a lovesick hen and covered her tiny, wagging arms with sloppy kisses. The earthy delight glowing on his features, the careful movements of his callused hands as he gently turned the baby, slipping the diaper underneath her pink bottom before pausing to brush kisses across her downy head—his devotion to the fragile life cradled in his palms captivated Jada. Time slipped its normal rhythm, unspooling as she watched, her throat tight with emotion. It seemed cruel to break the spell binding Philip to his daughter, and so she had retreated to the living room. On the couch, Bodi stewed in front of the TV. The sweet babble drifting in from the kitchen had set her features with bubbling fury.

  Philip pulled her from the reverie, asking, “Where are your partners in crime? Sleeping in?”

  “Linnie and Cat are in the south wing, dealing with the window.” Jada found a skillet, set it on the burner. “When the wind starting kicking up, around four o’clock? A tree limb came through.”

  “It broke a window?”

  “Scared the crap out of us. We were all huddled in Linnie’s suite—the heating in the south wing doesn’t work too well. Anyway, we heard a loud crash at the other end of the corridor. We didn’t have the guts to investigate until dawn.”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  “We dug around the basement, found some plywood. Linnie and Cat are nailing it in place. They’re doing an awful job, but who cares? The south wing is in such bad repair, I can’t imagine we’ll ever scrounge up the cash to refurbish the suites.”

  Philip noticed the patches of snow dripping off his coat. “Should I go up to help?” He grabbed a dish towel, began mopping up the puddles surrounding his feet.

  “Don’t bother. They’re almost finished.” She tossed a pat of butter into the pan. “How’s Bodi?”

  “Pissed, mostly. I’ve been leaving my truck on a quarter tank. If I don’t, she goes on
joyrides with the baby.”

  “She does? Philip, it’s freezing outside.” Jada made a mental note to discuss the situation with Bodi. The temperamental new mother might accept advice more easily from a friend. “If you want my opinion, she shouldn’t take Fancy out until spring. The weather’s just too cold.”

  He smiled grimly. “Exactly why I leave the tank a quarter filled.”

  “Wait a second. You mean you leave your truck with Bodi every morning?” Reaching for the eggs, she frowned at him. “How do you get to work?”

  The eggs sizzled in the pan, and he licked his lips. “Dumb question,” he joked. Then he shrugged. “I’ll say one thing for Mr. Curcio. The heat works like a dream in the trucks he has us use to plow the streets.”

  She read between the lines. “You walk to work? You walked today—in a blizzard?” It was a good three miles from his apartment to Curcio Landscaping on Ridge Street.

  He shrugged, the injured pride heavy on his features. Letting it go, Jada made small talk until she’d slid the eggs from the pan and stacked them on thick slices of bread. With misgiving, she noted the dark patches of exhaustion forming half-moons beneath his eyes. When she returned to the fridge to grab an orange and two apples, he glanced at her with gratitude.

  With murmured thanks, he strode from the kitchen to resume his workday in town. The roar of an engine announced his departure. From the kitchen window, she watched the storm swallow the glowing taillights as he wended slowly down the hill.

  Returning to work, she began organizing breakfast for the few guests staying at the inn, planning to serve them whenever they shuffled downstairs. Seeing no reason to hurry, she took her time with the chore. If they all decided to sleep until noon, she couldn’t blame them. The snow was coming down now in heavier sheets, a wall of frigid weather.

  A shrill blaring cracked the silence.

  Following the ear-shattering noise, Jada raced to the lobby. Halfway up the stairwell one of the guests, rattled awake, was cinching on his robe. The businessman from Cleveland flinched as the blaring started again.