"Thank you, Emmy. That's what I needed to know."
"Dennis, I-" I had no idea what I was intending to say, so I stopped.
"Yes?"
I paused.
"I'm sorry."
He exhaled again.
"So am I, Emmy. We'll talk again a little later, OK?"
"OK, thanks."
The next two days felt like a month. Time dragged impossibly, and I slogged through, completing tasks without feeling what I was doing. Silence from Quinn. I briefly thought about calling or texting him, but Erica threatened to physically restrain me if I tried, so I let it go. I knew she was right.
Quinn, where are you?
Even Julianne hadn't called, emailed or come by. I was sure I would have heard from her, that she would have found a way to remind me how I had ruined something so important for Quinn. To show us both how much better she was for him than I was. Though for all I knew, maybe she was in Santa Barbara with him.
Elaine also had disappeared. Liz showed up to do the overnights. Elaine didn't call in, hadn't left a note.
I did get a cryptic email from Lauren.
Emmy -
Difficult circumstances right now, but please just do what you can. Let us know if you need anything. Dennis or I will be in touch soon.
Thanks.
L
What did "soon" mean? Dennis had said we would talk "a little later" two days before; I assumed he meant in a few hours, but he hadn't called again. Luckily the inn was nearly empty. Heather and Tim had checked out. After Dan's birthday party in L.A., he and Martin went to visit friends in Mexico for a few days. Mr. Matthews was still in the hospital, and I hadn't heard any updates on his condition.
With just one or two rooms occupied, normally I would use the time to get organized, tackle a project, learn how to cook or bake something new. But given all that was going on, and the deafening silence from both Quinn and Elaine, I was too anxious and on edge to focus. All I could do was the bare minimum of tasks while I feared the worst.
I'm going to lose my job and my relationship in one day, just watch. I texted Erica.
It ain't over 'til it's over, babe, she texted back. Hang in there.
CHAPTER 23
On day 4 without Quinn, I awoke to a wet, gray morning. Dragging myself out of bed at 6 a.m., I pushed myself through a 6-mile run, barely noticing anything around me. Though the Clash blasted in my headphones, and the rain hit me in the face and shoulders, I was numb.
At mile 4 I was crossing the street, forgot to look both ways and almost got plowed by a delivery truck. The driver leaned on his horn and though I wanted to flip him off, I knew he wasn't really the object of my anger, frustration and sadness. I gave him a lame wave and moved on.
Back at home I peeled off my wet running clothes, slipped into the hottest shower I could stand and braced myself for the day. It had to start getting better. I was hitting bottom.
Wasn't I?
The Beach House was nearly silent when I arrived just before 8. Liz, the grad student who did some of the overnights, was sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee and the paper. She gave me a shy smile as I poured myself a cup.
"Anything going on?" I asked.
She cocked her head. "I was about to ask you the same thing. Is everything OK? You don't seem like yourself."
I gave a short, humorless little laugh.
"Yeah, you could say that. I'm fine, though. Thanks. Got class today?"
She glanced over at the clock on the stove.
"Oh shoot, yeah, I have to go. See you later."
Waving at her, I gulped some coffee, put on an apron and went into the living room to flip on the coffee urn for any early-rising guests.
As I turned to head back into the kitchen to slice the apple-streusel coffee cake and put the hard-boiled eggs in a bowl, a noise from the front porch grabbed my attention. Quinn?
Dennis and Lauren walked in the front door. I was shocked; they never came to the inn at this hour. Both looked bedraggled and exhausted. "Emmy. I'm glad you're here," Dennis said. His eyes were red, and looking at Lauren, it was clear she had been crying. My heart started to pound.
"Hey. Are you guys OK? What's happened?"
"Let's go into the kitchen for a moment," Dennis said, placing his hand on the small of Lauren's back and guiding her. I couldn't remember ever seeing them touch before.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee?" I asked.
"No, thank you. Please, sit down." He and Lauren were already sitting at the island. Lauren's eyes were full of tears.
"Please, what is it?" I breathed.
Dennis took a deep breath and let out a big sigh.
"It's Arnie- uh, Mr. Matthews, Emmy. He passed away early this morning."
Tears sprang to my eyes.
"Oh no. No. I- God, that's terrible. I'm so sorry."
My eyes spilled over before I could stop them. I didn't want to cry in front of them. I loved Mr. Matthews, but Dennis and Lauren had known him for decades. I should be comforting them. Still, all of the emotion of the last few days came flying to the surface, and the next thing I knew, Dennis had his arm around me and I was sobbing.
Jesus Christ, Emmy, get a freaking grip!
But I couldn't. I sobbed and sobbed, and felt Dennis softly crying, too. Finally, after several long minutes, I caught my breath and pulled away. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean- I mean, you both knew him for so long and you were so close. I don't mean to-"
"It's OK, Emmy," Lauren whispered. "You loved him, too. And he thought the world of you. He called you 'darling Emmy.' Did you know that? His first question when he asked about the inn was always, 'How is that darling Emmy?' ever since you started working here."
I smiled and wiped my eyes.
"It's really kind of you to say that, Lauren. Thank you. He was- well, he was really special."
Her face crumpled. "He was," she cried.
"So, when is the-? I mean, do you know when-?" I whispered. I couldn't say the word "funeral."
Dennis sighed again. "He had everything arranged already, it's all taken care of," he said, shaking his head. "It's just so like him. He wouldn't want anyone to have to bother over him. That's what he would say."
"That is what he would say," Lauren agreed.
Dennis put his hand over hers, then looked back at me. "The funeral is tomorrow morning in San Luis Obispo, where his daughter and son-in-law live. Then they'll have a reception at their house afterwards. We’re on our way up there now. If you'd like to come Emmy, you're welcome to. We can make arrangements for someone to cover for you."
"Thank you, Dennis. I'd like to," I said, my eyes filling again. I swallowed hard to keep from crying. "Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to take anything from here, any food? I have some things in the freezer, I could put together a box for you. Or I could make some things fresh today."
He and Lauren exchanged a brief look that I couldn't read.
"Thank you, Emmy. That won't be necessary," Lauren said quietly. "It's nice of you to offer. Caterers have been arranged, and people will bring food, they always do. Just bring yourself."
"Are you a relative? I don't think we've met," an elderly woman said to me as I picked at a plate of crudités resting on my lap. I was in a corner of the crowded living room at Mr. Matthews' daughter's house, taking a break from the sad, awkward conversations I'd been having with all of these strangers, friends and family of his. Nice as they all were, the whole thing wore me out.
Martin and Dan, just back from Mexico, came to the funeral but not the reception. After greeting me at the church with hugs and plenty of shared tears, they said they would see me back at the Beach House.
Wandering around Mr. Matthews’ daughter’s house, I started feeling a little lightheaded. I realized that it was after 3 and I hadn't eaten since I nibbled a piece of toast with my coffee early that morning, before the town car came to pick me up for the ride to San Luis Obispo. Lauren and Dennis had insisted on arran
ging the car so I wouldn't have to make the two-hour-plus drive. So here I was, balancing the little plate on my lap, munching absently.
"Um, no, I was a, I guess a friend of Mr. Matthews," I said to the elderly woman who had greeted me, jumping up to give her my seat. She had to be in her mid-80s at least, so small and frail that I felt tall next to her. Her silver hair was tied up in an elegant knot and she was dressed neatly in a black dress with a subtle white floral pattern. "Please, won't you sit, ma'am?"
"Well, aren't you polite," she smiled. "Thank you, dear, but I'm all right standing. I've shrunk so much, when I sit I disappear."
We both laughed softly. "I'm Emmy," I said, extending my hand. "Are you a relative?"
Her soft, birdlike hand felt like a child's in mine.
"Emmy, from the Beach House?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, furrowing. "Have we met before?"
She shook her head. "No, but my brother loved the Beach House, he talked about it often. He was so proud of Lauren, who used to bounce on his knee. He got a kick out of her being a lawyer, but he really loved that inn. And you were so kind to him, making him special treats and taking extra care of him. He loved to brag that he was everyone's favorite guest, that all the ladies there fought over him."
I shook my head, smiling. "You know, he really was my favorite."
Then it struck me what she had said. "Mr. Matthews was your brother? Oh God, I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am. He was such a special, sweet person."
"Thank you, dear. But please, call me Charlotte, or Aunt Charlotte, that's what everyone calls me."
Glancing down, I noticed she didn't have anything to eat or drink.
"It's so nice to meet you, Aunt Charlotte. Can I get you something to drink or eat?"
Her smile weakened, and suddenly she looked very tired. "You know, I would love a glass of water, if it isn't too much trouble."
"It's no trouble at all. I'll be right back." I helped her into the chair I had been sitting in and made my way to the kitchen.
It was empty, except for a woman sitting at the kitchen table, her back to me. Funny, from the back she looks like- Just then she turned, and I saw that it was Elaine. I hadn't seen her since she appeared at the end of Quinn's meeting. She looked at me blankly, as though all the emotion had simply drained out of her. I opened my mouth to say something, but then closed it again. What was I supposed to say? Give her my condolences for Mr. Matthews? Confront her about Quinn's meeting? Ask her if she'd laid it all on me?
I was so pissed off at her, but I was just too tired to deal with it at that moment. Looking at her, it struck me, too, that she was really alone. No matter what was going on with me, I always had my mother to call, or Erica. Shari was my friend, the other inn employees respected me. I had talent, and time, I was going to have a life and a career. What did Elaine have? She was lonely and sad and scared, and it made her angry, so she lashed out. I felt sorry for her. Even if she blamed me for what happened at Quinn's meeting, even if she made Lauren and Dennis believe I had screwed up and they fired me, deep down I knew I would be all right.
Elaine's face hadn't changed. She just stared at me, so still it was eerie. Something passed between us. Her eyes filled with tears, then she stood and walked out without a word.
I knew it: It was her. She had sabotaged me.
All day I had been vaguely aware of my phone vibrating silently in my bag. It wasn't until I was back in the town car on the way home that I finally pulled it out, figuring my mom and Erica probably called or texted to see how the day was, to check up on me.
There were texts, and voicemails, and emails, it was as though I'd been gone for a week. Weird, since I never had that many messages. I started at the beginning.
Mom sent a text, just making sure I was OK. Erica emailed and texted, Shari texted. Then there was a text from a blocked number.
Em - I'm on a burner phone. Please call back, need to talk to you. Q
My heart raced. Just seeing the Q made me so happy, but the tone wasn't exactly contrite. Or warm, or even slightly friendly. The emotion of the day was all at the surface, so I let out a sound that was part sob, part hiccup, and I saw the driver's eyes flick to me in the rear-view mirror. "You OK, miss?" he asked gently.
"I'm fine, thank you," I said, giving a weak smile. "And thanks for the ride today."
He nodded, eyes back on the road.
I wanted to call Quinn that second, but I forced myself to listen to voicemail first.
I half-listened to a message from my mother, and one from Liz at the Beach House asking me to take a couple of her overnights next week.
And then I heard him, that voice, practically whispering in my ear. "Em. It's me. It's Quinn," he exhaled sharply. "So much has happened and I- I really need to talk to you. I'm sorry. I didn't want to apologize on your voicemail. But I am. Sorry, I mean. Call me."
Then another one. I could hear that he was driving.
"Em. It's me again. Look, I know you're upset. But we have to talk. I'm on my way back to the Beach House. I wanted to clear this up first, but," he paused. "OK, I'm almost there. See you soon."
And another.
"Holy shit, Em. I just heard about Mr. Matthews. God, I'm sorry. It's awful. You must be- I don't know what to say. Call me when you get this. I- I can't wait to see you."
I wanted to still be mad at him, to have too much pride and be too strong to need him right now. Like a child, I wanted to make him suffer through the waiting and uncertainty the way I had for the last few days. But I just couldn't. I wanted him too much.
The burner phone number was blocked, so I texted back.
I'm in a car on the way back from the funeral. Now's a good time to talk if you want to call. I can't call you, number is blocked.
The phone rang almost immediately.
"Hello?"
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi," I whispered back.
We were quiet for a minute. But it wasn't awkward; I felt this acute yearning for him, and I knew he felt it, too.
"Em, I miss you so much. Where are you?"
I started crying softly. "I miss you, too. The funeral was in San Luis Obispo. Lauren and Dennis got me a car service. So I'm, uh-"
I looked out the window to gauge where we were.
"Almost at Santa Barbara. Maybe 45 minutes away?"
"God, Em. Are you going home? Can I meet you there?"
I snuffled. "Yeah, going home. Meet me there. OK."
"OK. Do you want to talk? We can stay on the phone until you get home."
"No. It's OK. Let's- I think we should just talk when I get home, OK?"
"Yeah. I'll see you soon. Tell the driver to hurry up."
I smiled through my tears. "See you soon."
CHAPTER 23
I didn't see Quinn's car or Quinn himself when the town car pulled up to my building, so I let myself in and headed to the bedroom. I was about to change out of my dress and into yoga pants when the front-door bell rang. I knew it was him so I buzzed without asking, and there was a knock at my door a few seconds later.
Seeing him in the doorway, I was flooded with relief.
He stared at me, a tentative half-smile on his face.
"Hi," he said in the same soft voice he had used on the phone.
"Hi."
There was a long pause. He shifted on his feet.
"Uh," he glanced over his shoulder. "Can I come in?"
Shaking my head at my forgetfulness, I backed up and waved him in. "Of course."
We stood in the doorway awkwardly. I wanted to rush into his arms, and I could feel his anxiety, his urge to grab me into an embrace. But something held us both back.
"Are you OK?" he asked, searching my eyes. "It must have been a really tough day."
I nodded. "It was. But I'm, yeah. I'm OK. I just- I want to change out of this," I gestured to my dress, a simple navy sheath with 3/4-length lace sleeves I had bought for a wedding a few years ago. "Do you want to sit down on the couch, o
r help yourself to something to drink, and I'll be right out?"
"Sure, take your time. You look beautiful, by the way. I- I wasn't sure if I should say so, since you wore it for the funeral. But you do."
"Thanks," I said with a faint smile.
In my room, I switched on the faint side-table lamp, not wanting the glare of the overhead light. Facing my bed, looking at the yoga pants and T-shirt I had tossed onto it, pausing for a moment to collect myself, I sensed Quinn entering the room before feeling his hands on my shoulders. I jumped as he unzipped my dress.
"I just thought you could use some help with that," he whispered in my ear. I trembled. "I'm- I'm going. I mean, back into the other room."
He was on the couch clutching a juice glass half filled with red wine when I came in, another glass on the coffee table, nearly full.
"Thanks," I said, nodding toward it.
He looked up at me and shook his head, his eyes glimmering. Standing up, he set his glass down and took a long stride toward me. Gathering me into his arms, he squeezed me so tightly, one hand flat against my back, the other rubbing the back of my neck. I didn't even try to stop the tears, and I felt him shudder as he sighed heavily.
I don't know how long we stayed like that, it could have been a few minutes or an hour, just holding each other, all the tension and anxiety pouring out. Finally he released me and we sat on the couch. After I wiped my eyes with a tissue, he picked up both glasses, handing me mine.
"Can I go first?" he asked. "I want to hear all about today, but I just- I have to get all of this out."
I nodded, and then so did he.
"Em, I- shit, now I don't know where to start." He gave a wry, humorless chuckle.
"OK," he continued. "So, the meeting. I'm sorry. I know it wasn't your fault. And even if it had been, I shouldn't have- I mean, I could have handled it better."
"You mean, you could have not been a total asshole?"
He nodded. "OK, yes. I could have not been a total asshole. I shouldn't have doubted you."
He stared into my eyes for a moment. "I shouldn't have doubted you," he repeated. "I'm sorry."
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