Finding Home

by Irene Hannon

  “Is Lillian still working on you about joining the computer age?” Cindy smiled at her.

  “All the time.” Genevieve gave a long-suffering sigh and handed Cindy the credit card slip for a signature. “This old brain isn’t wired for all those electronic gizmos.”

  “Your brain is as sharp as anyone’s I’ve ever met.” Cindy wrote her name on the slip and handed it back. “Just take the plunge.”

  “Sound advice, I expect.” She looked from Cindy to Scott and back again.

  Cindy dipped her head and made a project out of rummaging in her purse for her keys. “I’ve got to run.” She flashed Scott a quick look. “Let me know what your grandmother says.”

  “I’ll do that.” He walked with her to the front door and pulled it open as she exited.

  “Thanks.”

  She paused for an instant to give him a smile, and he caught the hint of a subtle, fresh fragrance that evoked thoughts of flowers and spring. It was the same fragrance he’d noticed last Friday as he’d helped her to his car after they left the E.R. And the same one that still lingered in Devon’s old room. He knew because he’d ducked in there more than once over the past week to inhale it.

  Pretty pathetic.

  He needed to get a life.

  Turning back, he found Genevieve watching him with a smug smile. “Such a nice woman. Lovely, too, don’t you think?”

  “Very.” He stepped away from the door and gestured toward the restaurant. “Now how about some of that pot roast? I’m starving.”

  “Coming right up.” She led Scott toward his table, waiting as he slid into his seat. “Cindy told us why you were in the E.R. the night you ran into her. We’re mighty sorry to hear about your grandmother’s troubles. Once she’s over her fall, you bring her up here for lunch or dinner someday. A change of scene can do a body a world of good.”

  Relieved she’d dropped the subject of Cindy, he considered the suggestion. “That might not be a bad idea. I haven’t been able to tempt her to leave Seaside Gardens yet, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

  “Make it worth her while.” She leaned close and winked. “Most people can be persuaded to step out of their comfort zones with the right incentive.”

  As she returned to the foyer to greet more arriving customers, Scott took a long sip of his water. That last comment hadn’t been only about Gram. Genevieve had donned her matchmaker hat again.

  Scott didn’t doubt the truth of the café owner’s remark. Assuming Cindy felt the chemistry between them, he might be able to convince her to go out with him.

  But that wouldn’t be wise. What if he let things go on too long, made the same mistake again? He couldn’t risk that.

  Leaving two broken hearts behind was already two too many.

  Chapter Six

  Sitting back on his heels, Scott surveyed Gram’s attic in dismay. Sorting through the detritus of his grandparent’s life—and several other lives, he suspected, eyeing a couple of antique trunks—wasn’t a job he relished. Especially on a Saturday morning. But she’d been insisting for weeks that it was time to sell the house, that she didn’t want him spending any more of his money on her care. Nothing he’d said had dissuaded her.

  With a sigh he picked his way over to a large, weathered trunk that had a rounded lid and reminded him of a treasure chest from a pirate ship.

  Except he doubted it was going to contain a fortune in gold doubloons.

  He gave it an experimental tug. It didn’t budge. The thing was probably crammed with a bunch of decaying junk.

  Pivoting toward the flat-topped wooden sea chest beside it, he dropped to the balls of his feet and gave it a slight push. Nada. It was just as heavy.

  Resigned, he fiddled with the tarnished brass key stuck in the lock. After a couple of tries it turned, and he lifted the lid. A cloud of dust rose, and he backed off to wave it aside, waiting until it cleared before leaning in for a closer look.

  The carved heart inside the lid caught his eye, and he squinted at the name inside. Emma. His great-great-grandmother. Interesting.

  Yet it wasn’t her trunk, based on the contents. On one side, a captain’s hat rested atop a folded uniform coat that appeared to have escaped the notice of moths. He carefully lifted the edge of the wool jacket. Underneath was a collection of personal items—a worn Bible; straight razor; framed sepia portrait of a woman in a high-necked blouse and another of a couple in wedding finery; a small embroidered wall hanging that said, “At home I wait, your true first mate”; a bundle of letters tied with faded ribbon; a journal; several scrimshaw pieces; and lots of other odds and ends he didn’t bother to sort through.

  The other side of the chest contained tools of the seafaring trade, among them a mahogany-and-ivory sextant, a ring of brass keys, what appeared to be a rudimentary first-aid kit, maps, a pistol and a logbook. Tucked in the bottom was a small tea chest.

  Scott lifted the sextant, which appeared to be in perfect condition. This stuff must have belonged to Elijah Adams, his great-great-grandfather. Gramp had mentioned him a few times while he and Devon were growing up, but all he remembered was that the man had been in the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service in the late 1800s.

  Switching his focus to the other chest, he lifted that lid and took a quick inventory. An old-fashioned satin-and-lace wedding gown rested on top, looking far more fragile than the uniform jacket in the first trunk. Scott didn’t want to risk poking around too much for fear it would disintegrate, but he did peek underneath. He spotted a framed photo of a whiskered man wearing the cap in the first chest—surely Elijah—and a number of pieces of primitive art that looked as if they might have come from Alaska.

  Scott closed the lid and sat back on his heels. Why had Gram never mentioned these artifacts? And when had they been put up here? He’d been in the attic on a few occasions during his younger years and the trunks hadn’t been here then. He’d have noticed the pirate chest.

  Even more intriguing—might this treasure trove possibly give Cindy an idea for her exhibit? Elijah and his wife had lived in Eureka.

  Abandoning his plan to clean out the attic—for today, anyway—Scott pulled his cell phone from his belt and punched in Gram’s number. She answered on the second ring.

  “Morning, Gram. How are things today?”

  “Same old, same old. The Lord hasn’t taken me yet.”

  He ignored that comment and forged ahead. “I have a question for you. I’m checking out the attic like you asked, and I found two old chests up here. I think they belonged to my great-great-grandparents. The sea captain and his wife.”

  “Oh, my. I’d forgotten all about those. Yes, they did, and they’ll be a bear to deal with. They’re heavy as lead, as I recall. I had to pay those delivery people extra to haul them up to the attic and bribe them with my carrot cake. But it worked. They caved after I gave them a sample.”

  He believed it. Gram made a killer carrot cake. Or she used to. Man, what he wouldn’t give for one more piece of it.

  But that was a challenge for another day.

  “Yeah, they weigh a ton. Where did they come from?”

  “Your father’s aunt. She came across them when she was closing up her house to move into an apartment. She’d never married, so there were no children to pass them on to, and she thought someday you and Devon might want to have them. That was fifteen, twenty years ago. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about them. I never even looked inside.”

  The timing of their arrival explained why he’d never seen them. He must have been away at college when they’d shown up.

  “Well, I opened them and they’re packed with history.” He sneezed and took another futile swipe at the dancing dust motes. “Remember I mentioned that Cindy Peterson works at the historical society? She’s trying to come up with a theme for the big annual display that kicks off the fundraising drive, and this stuff might give her some ideas. Would you mind if I showed her the trunks?”

  Silence.

  “Gram?”

>   “I’m here. Just thinking.”

  Uh-oh.

  “That might be okay, but I’d want to meet her before she goes poking around in our family history.”

  He knew where this was leading. “I could ask her to call you.”

  “You can’t get to know anything about a person over the phone. Why don’t you bring her over here and introduce us? Tomorrow, if she’s available. I’d like to talk with her about showing my paintings to that friend of hers, too. We could kill two birds with one stone.”

  Three was more like it, counting Gram’s matchmaking schemes.

  Scott wasn’t thrilled about subjecting Cindy to his grandmother’s less-than-subtle efforts to get him hitched. But assuming Gram liked her—and how could she not?—his charming houseguest might have better luck than he’d had convincing Gram to show her paintings. And anything that could help lift her spirits was worth a few uncomfortable minutes.

  Still, he made one more attempt to dissuade her.

  “I’ll give her a call, but she may already have plans for tomorrow. Besides, it would be easier for her to drop by and see you next week when she’s in town. The historical society isn’t far from Seaside Gardens.”

  “I want you to introduce us. Since you know her, you can keep the conversation going if it starts to lag.”

  No chance of that, not with Gram on a mission. But he wasn’t going to win this battle.

  “Fine. I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m hanging up now so you can call her.”

  The line went dead.

  Shaking his head, Scott slipped the phone back on his belt and descended the pull-down attic steps. At the bottom, he tugged on the rope to activate the spring that folded them back up into the ceiling. Then he called directory assistance. He’d keep his conversation with Cindy brief. No way did he want her to think this was some scheme he’d concocted just to see her again.

  Although he had to admit he was more pleased by the prospect than he should be.

  * * *

  Cindy closed her car door, waited for Jarrod to get out, then pressed the autolock button as he shuffled around to her side, dragging his feet.

  “Why did we have to come here anyway?” He inspected the grounds in front of Seaside Gardens, where several of the wheelchair-bound residents were soaking up some sun. “We could have hiked for another hour.”

  “I’m pooped. And I already told you why we’re here. Scott’s grandmother has some trunks in her attic full of artifacts that might help me with my exhibit.” She wasn’t about to pass up a chance to muster some ideas, even if her buoyant reaction to seeing Scott again had unsettled her.

  “It’s all old people here.”

  “So? Genevieve and Lillian are older, too, and they’re a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah, but they’re happy all the time. None of these people look happy.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Some of the residents were slumped, dozing in their chairs. Most of those who were awake wore glum expressions. The ones shuffling along with walkers, aides by their sides, seemed to be struggling or in pain or wishing they were anywhere but here.

  No wonder Scott’s grandmother’s spirits were sagging. With all the trials she’d already faced, she needed to be in an uplifting environment, not one that was downright depressing.

  “Cheer up.” She patted Jarrod’s shoulder and started toward the entrance. “We won’t be here long.”

  As they approached the door, Scott stepped through. In all their previous encounters, he’d been wearing work clothes—jeans, cotton shirt rolled to the elbows, heavy boots. Today he’d exchanged the more casual attire for dark dress pants, black leather shoes polished to a military sheen and a white dress shirt with a thin green stripe that matched his eyes.

  Wow.

  In her worn jeans and T-shirt, she suddenly felt underdressed—and self-conscious.

  “I’ve been watching for you.” Scott smiled, checked his watch and held the door open for them. “I see punctuality is one of your virtues. How was the hiking?”

  “Wonderful. It’s hard to beat a day in the redwoods.”

  “True. What’s your favorite trail?” He directed his question to Jarrod as the door closed behind them and he took the lead down a hall.

  “Brown Creek.”

  “I like that one, too. Did you see any banana slugs?”

  “Yeah. Four.” Her son eyed Scott. “Do you like to hike?”

  “When I have the time. Which hasn’t been often lately. Prairie Creek is a great place.”

  “Me and my dad went there a lot.”

  Cindy dropped back a step as the two males chatted. For months after Steve’s death, Jarrod had refused to go back to the state park where he’d spent so many happy hours with his father. Nate Garrison had finally convinced him to return, but her son still didn’t talk about the place much with anyone else.

  Interesting that he’d opened up to Scott.

  When they reached a T in the hallway, Scott stopped and gestured to the left. “It’s the third door on the right.”

  She expected him to proceed, but instead he hesitated as if he was uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Maybe.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then motioned toward a nurse’s station a few yards away and spoke to Jarrod. “There’s a bowl of Hershey’s Kisses on the desk. If it’s okay with your mom, you can take a few.”

  “Can I, Mom?” Jarrod gave her a hopeful look. “I’m starving.”

  Cindy picked up the cue. Scott wanted to talk to her alone. His ploy was obvious, even if the reason for it wasn’t.

  Curious, she nodded. “Sure. But only a few. I don’t want you to ruin your dinner.”

  The instant Jarrod trotted away, Scott shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression sheepish. “I should have warned you on the phone, except I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to phrase it. So I’ll tell you flat-out. Gram’s main goal these days is to see me married. Don’t be surprised if she drops a few broad hints along those lines or regales you with my sterling qualities.” One side of his mouth hitched up. “She’s an incorrigible romantic, and at this stage of her life I doubt she’s going to change. So I’ll apologize in advance if she comes on too strong with any matchmaking stuff. Just ignore it.”

  Because he wasn’t interested? Or because he wanted to save her the embarrassment? She had no idea.

  Nor should she care. It wasn’t as if she was in the market for romance. Right?

  Summoning up a smile, she ignored the annoying swirl of disappointment in the pit of her stomach that suggested otherwise. “Maybe it’s an encouraging sign she’s still thinking along those lines. If she’d given up on life totally, I doubt she’d care.”

  “That’s one way to put a positive spin on it, I guess. Just brace yourself. She put her glasses on this afternoon, and because she hasn’t bothered with them for weeks, I’m assuming she wants to get a good look at you.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  Jarrod bounded back clutching several silver-wrapped Kisses. “You want one, Mom?”

  “No, thanks, honey.”

  “Mr. Walsh?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He fished one out of her son’s palm and peeled back the paper. As he popped it in his mouth, he grinned at Cindy. “A treat before the trick.”

  She chuckled and followed him toward his grandmother’s room.

  At the threshold, he knocked on the half-closed door. “Gram? We’re here. Are you decent?”

  “Come right in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Scott pushed the door open, ushered Cindy and Jarrod inside, then entered and edged past them to make the introductions.

  As Cindy walked forward to grasp Barbara Walsh’s extended hand, she did a quick assessment. In some ways, the frail woman propped up in bed was what she’d expected. Thin, with close-cropped white hair and a fragile appearance, she reminded Cindy of a newly hatched bird, all bones and skin. But her grip was firm, her vo
ice was strong and the eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses were keen.

  She might be down, but she wasn’t as out as Scott seemed to think she was.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Walsh.” Cindy smiled as they shook hands. “And please excuse my attire. We spent the afternoon hiking and came directly from the park.”

  “Please, call me Barbara. And no apologies necessary. My husband and I used to love to hike. Stan always said it was edifying for the soul to spend time in nature’s cathedral. Those redwoods are awe-inspiring.” She craned her neck to size up Jarrod. “Hello, young man. I heard you were only eleven, but you look much more grown up than that.”

  Jarrod had been hovering half behind her, but as Cindy turned, his chest puffed up ever so slightly and he edged out. “I’ll be twelve in two months. Would you like some candy?” He lifted his hand toward the older woman

  “Now that would be a treat. Thank you.” She selected one of the chocolates—softened from the warmth of his palm, Cindy suspected, as the woman scraped off the silver paper. “We eat too early here, and the only dessert was Jell-O.” She wrinkled her nose, put the Kiss in her mouth and smiled as she chewed. “This is much better.”

  “Would you like another one?” Once more, Jarrod extended his palm to display the two remaining candies.

  Scott’s grandmother patted his arm. “You’re a very generous boy, but you go ahead and enjoy those while your mother and I chat.” She refocused on Cindy. “Why don’t you have a seat near the bed, my dear, so we can get acquainted?”

  Cindy started toward one of the two cushioned chairs in the room, planning to pull it toward the bed, but Scott beat her to it. As he maneuvered it into place, Barbara beamed at him.

  “He’s always been such a gentleman. Treats me like a princess, too. Can you imagine what a wonderful husband he’d make?”

  As Scott straightened up, he gave Cindy a “what-did-I-tell-you?” shrug. She took the seat, doing her best to suppress the grin tugging at her lips.

  “That’s much more cozy.” Barbara folded her hands over the blanket. “First of all, thank you for the lovely flowers.” She gestured to the bouquet on her nightstand. “They were such a nice surprise. And so considerate. Scott thought so, too. Didn’t you?” She adjusted her glasses and peered over at him as he stood at the foot of the bed.