The Rosewood Diary

by Teri Blake

  “I do. More than anything. I remember summer vacations in that house and remember bringing my babies home from the hospital. But the house is way too big for Rob to pay for that house and an apartment. I’m going to have to work and I won’t be able to afford that house. The kids will be devastated. I think Rob is doing it on purpose, so the kids will want to live with him.”

  “Oh, Karla. I’m so sorry.” She had no idea how to navigate the rapids now. There was no turning.

  “Rob wants me to get the house ready for a realtor by the end of the month. I don’t know how much more change I can handle.”

  Quin swallowed hard. Today was not the day to tell her. She couldn’t do that. “There are a lot of bed and breakfasts just down the street, could you turn your house into another one?”

  Karla smiled. “I’d thought about that. I do love to cook, and hospitality is in my blood. But where would we live? The kids can’t share a room, they’re teens and it would be a nightmare. There are only five bedrooms total, but it was the house I vacationed in as a kid. I’d love to give others that same experience.”

  She didn’t even stop to think about the ramifications. If she wasn’t going to live in Rosewood, Karla should. “Well, my house, of course.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Reading the last entry was like admitting it was time to go, so Quin had avoided doing it. The last ten pages of the diary had remained closed and she hadn’t touched them for two days. Mom and Dad had left but let her know she was welcome to call them if she changed her mind and wanted them to stay there while they listed Rosewood House. But she couldn’t have them stay there along with Karla. Which brought up a host of other issues. Karla could pay rent, but would it be enough to cover expenses? She had no idea of the monthly cost of owning the house, outside of the month she’d been there.

  She’d arrived at Rosewood House with one bag and now she had to consider how much she could take back to her apartment. Duggy, the diaries, and at least a couple of the paintings would go with her. Mike had called the day before and she’d given him the final approval to set up a small gallery for a one day only showing. It was the best he could do with short notice.

  “I think lots of people will turn out.” Paxton ran a line of tape at the bottom of the long thin box that would hold one of the paintings she’d planned to ship to her apartment.

  “I hope so. It’s going to be a lot of work to take all of them to his store.” She had no clue how to price them so that they weren’t undervalued, but also were priced to sell.

  “I think he’s asking one of his friends with a vineyard to be there with samples. Art and wine pair well together.”

  If that was the case, she was missing out. She didn’t drink any. “I guess I’ll have to try that.” She’d tried to keep Paxton busy so she wouldn’t have to think about leaving him in a few days. Yes, they could still talk from hours away, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  “He seemed pretty hopeful the whole lot would sell. If you’re not sure about anything, ask him. He’ll give you a straight answer.” Paxton handed her the box.

  Now she had to decide. Which of Ryla’s paintings would come with her? There were so many she loved. So many that reminded her of the house, and secondarily, her childhood with her sister.

  She flipped through the various seascapes but kept coming back to one. She pulled it out and held it up in the light, not that her apartment had the best light to showcase it.

  “You’re sure about this?” Paxton moved paintings of the same size to one area of the attic.

  “No. I’m not sure at all. Every time I turn around I change my mind. I want the best of both worlds. I want to stay here and live with Karla while she turns her house into a bed and breakfast. Then I get terrified that she won’t succeed and we’ll both be homeless because I can’t sell anything out here.” She shrugged. “My parents have instilled one thing in me for sure. Worry for my future.”

  Paxton sighed, then said, “I hate to point this out to you—”

  “Then don’t.” The words passed her lips quietly, without any hurt. He’d been right about everything. She couldn’t handle it if he gave her one more reason to doubt herself.

  “Remember, take me or leave me? I don’t play around. Your publicist left. Do you have any more guarantee of income there than you do here?”

  She turned away from him to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself. He always had to have some idea she didn’t. While it was more likely she’d be able to sell her artwork in New York because of people she knew, he was right, she didn’t have the hands and feet she used to. Ben was the one with the contacts and she’d let him do the job he was good at doing. She hated dealing with the business side of her career and that was about to come back to bite her.

  “But there are fewer people here. Fewer galleries. Fewer places I can sell to. It’s not like one place buys more than one piece at a time. Honestly, it takes me months to do one piece. I don’t know how Ryla managed to create so much in so short a time. But I’m not like that. I don’t make much per painting. Sometimes, I can sell print runs, if a gallery thinks the painting will be well received. Then I have to go to the printer and look through each one, making sure the quality is perfect. I sign and number the ones that are perfect, but those are rare.”

  “Are you trying to convince me, or you?”

  She wasn’t sure. Why couldn’t there be an obvious answer? Why couldn’t the way be clear? Stay or go.

  “Have you read the rest of Ryla’s diary yet?” Paxton finished stacking the largest of the paintings.

  “No. Not yet. It’s like the last connection I have to Ryla. You know, when you have a conversation with someone, even when you know them, it’s unexpected. It’s like that with her words when I’m reading them for the first time. Once I’ve read them all…that’s gone too.”

  “I understand. I won’t pressure you. How’s Duggy?”

  It was so strange to be up in the attic, the one place in the house where the rabbit couldn’t go. “He’s doing well. Ever since he escaped, he’s been pretty close to me. As soon as I go back downstairs, he’ll stick close to my feet just like he used to do with Ryla. I think he’s adopted me.”

  “And you’re sure now you want him?” Paxton sat in the lone chair, awash in the sunlight from the one dormer window. He was so confident in his own skin, which made him even more handsome. She could see him in whole and in the various curves and shapes and colors it would take to paint him.

  “Yes. Completely. I’m sorry I tried to give him up. Part of me feels like I’m trying to keep every last thing that belonged to her because I just can’t let it go. The rest of me is trying to be smart about it and realize that some things mattered to her, others didn’t. Some things should go because she had no real connection to them.”

  He nodded. “That’s true and healthy. You’re going through the stages like you should. Just be careful that when you return to your life outside of this house that you keep trying to work through it. Here, you have to. Everything that was hers is right here for you to deal with. There, you’ll be able to stuff your feelings easier. You’ll even convince yourself that doing that is healthy. It’s not.” He stayed in his seat, giving her space even though she didn’t want it.

  “I suppose that’s why you’re trying to convince me to stay? For my mental health?” She tried to laugh but just couldn’t manage it. Her chest was too heavy, too full of all that needed to be said between them. Hopefully, distance wouldn’t get in the way.

  “Yes, and other reasons.” He stood and slowly approached her, then rested his hands on her hips. “Some of them more selfish than others.”

  Ryla’s diary entry about her love for Alex still wouldn’t let Quin reach out to Paxton completely. She wanted to be the one to pull him in, so she wasn’t always the one relying on him. She was strong, but he wouldn’t know that. Not when she had to keep showing her weak side. With only ten pages left, all of them very recent, there was littl
e chance of a sudden admission of love for Paxton, right? She hoped she wasn’t convincing herself.

  “You’re saying I should stay here just for you?”

  He smiled. “There are worse reasons you could stay. Ryla stayed at first because your parents left her to babysit a house, then never returned. They finally just gave it over to her since it was paid for. She loved the ocean, but this house was not her reason for staying.”

  Deep down, Quin had known that. That was why it had been so simple to suggest Karla could stay there. Ryla never would’ve cared that someone else was there. And Quin’s own childhood memories were fond where Ryla was concerned, but the house was just a house. “Karla will be staying here.”

  “There’s room for you, Karla, and her kids. Rosewood is a big house. Of course, you could always stay next door if the kids got to be too much.”

  She hadn’t thought they were that far along yet. “You’re suggesting I move in with you?” Other women her age probably wouldn’t be shocked by such a proposal, but she’d never been asked to live together.

  “In my house, not with me. I have five bedrooms and I’m honestly not there that much with my schedule.” He brushed her hair behind her ear. “Unless I had a reason to change my hours.”

  A reason like someone who wanted, and maybe needed him to. Paxton thrived on being needed. Could she let herself need him after she’d pushed people away for so long? Could she forget the hurt of her parents taking over her life and let someone else share in her decisions again, or would she always hurt him because she couldn’t trust anymore?

  “I don’t know that I’m capable of being who you need me to be. You might be who you are, but I am who I am too. I’ve been raised a certain way and that way scarred me in ways I never realized until I came back here. It’s not like a light switch I can turn off.”

  “I’m not asking you to give up who you are. That’s part of this thing called a relationship. We learn about each other and where we work together and how to communicate. What do we need to compromise on? These are all things we figure out. What I’ve seen over the last month isn’t something I want to give up.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. How many women her age didn’t know these things? How many women her age were emotionally relationship virgins. In some ways, he was so perfect for her because of his no-nonsense way of just stating what needed to be stated. She didn’t feel embarrassed because there wasn’t space for it, it was just fact. But sometimes, like now, his statement left her questioning her entire life up to this moment where she had to decide to stay in this relationship or move on. There was no past to equip her to make such a decision.

  “And these things can’t be figured out over the phone?” No matter that normally she hated talking on the phone.

  “It can. But it’s much easier in person. I just get the feeling that you’re running. I don’t want to be the cause, but I’ll help any way I can.” He gently rubbed her arms sending pleasant tingles through her.

  “I think it’s my parents. Honestly. Even though they’ve left I know what they’ll think and say if I don’t return to New York. They worked hard to get me where I am and if I just leave, they’ll look at it as an insult. For as much as I try to stay away from them…I still don’t want to disappoint them. Am I crazy?” She hoped she wasn’t. She’d never come right out with how she felt about her family. Even Ryla had never heard the truth about how she felt. But Paxton was safe.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy to want to live up to your parents’ expectations. So many people think that if they meet the demands of others, that means they’ll be loved. I don’t know if your parents somehow made you feel like you would lose their affection if you failed, but people often read that from others even without prompting. They just lost one daughter, do you honestly think they would shut you out for choosing to stay here?”

  When he put it that way, no. She couldn’t. But disappointment did often feel like a lack of love for a short time. “I can’t make this decision with you here. You’re a distraction to me.” She wanted it to sound silly, but it didn’t execute that way.

  “Good. I’ll check back on you later.” He brushed his lips over hers and left her to deal with the rest of the paintings and Ryla’s last words, but mostly her heavy decisions.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The supple cover of Ryla’s last diary caught Quin’s eye every time she entered the room. Her art show had gone well, and many of the paintings sold. Since she hadn’t been able to find a heart research foundation to donate to, Quin had started a fund to help Karla pay her mortgage while she was getting her house ready to become The Tidewater Inn.

  Ryla had written in her diary that if she could go back and do anything over it would be to reach out to friends and neighbors, not send money to foundations. Putting the art money aside to help a neighbor seemed like the best way to follow Ryla’s wishes after the fact.

  Quin’s boxes were packed and ready to be shipped. All that was left to do was to book her flight back home, but she’d put that off too. Duggy nosed a wooden ball around the carpet, distracting her. Nothing else needed her attention at that moment besides the diaries. Part of her wanted to savor them once she got home. But Ryla had never been to New York. Her voice wouldn’t be the same there.

  There were only about ten pages left to read. Quin picked up the book and ran her fingers over the embossing. The bumps and grooves were pleasing to her fingertips. Almost no time at all left to spend with her sister. The entries had probably taken Ryla a long time to write, especially the last ones, but Quin would read them in mere minutes. The injustice was a mirror of the rest of Ryla’s life.

  Quin settled on the floor and watched Duggy race around for a minute. If his bunny mind could remember Ryla, it didn’t seem like it. He’d moved on. A piece of her wished healing would come so easy for her. But if it did, then life wouldn’t be cherished as much while people were alive and well.

  She pressed the book open and creased the page. The obvious urgency in the uncustomary messy handwriting had stopped her at that spot days before. A change had happened that had made Ryla need to get her words out so quickly she hadn’t cared about her letters or legibility.

  Dear Quin,

  The pain that had stabbed her so harshly when she’d opened the books before gave way to a heart-rending longing to go back and do life over. To include her sister more. To reach out more…to not be so selfish, as Ryla had claimed. Because a solitary life can be selfish for the reasons Quin had done it.

  I know you’re coming now. Just a few more weeks I have to fight. I’m so tired. I’m tired of the late-night wake up for meds. I’m tired of fighting with Paxton about telling one of you about my life and everything that’s happening. Just so you know, I still don’t plan to tell you everything in person. I just can’t. I don’t have the strength…or the time.

  Here’s what you need to know. When I was about thirteen or so, I started to have weird heart rhythms. The doctors called it arrhythmia, but I don’t. It’s hard to spell and sounds clinical. I’ve grown to hate going to the doctor. At the time, the doctor told Mom and Dad to watch me and keep me out of sports. That was about it.

  Fast forward ten years. I did what I was told, but I also kept away from other people. I had this sense that I wouldn’t live a full life, so why bring others into it? That was a mistake. I wish I’d had more people close by me. Instead, I’ve been surrounded by mostly strangers the sicker I get. But, back to age twenty-three… I went back to the doctor for my annual check-up and they found the rhythm had changed. A lot.

  All the appointments sort of blur together at that point. I was so scared I honestly don’t remember much. I should’ve written it down. That appointment was what prompted me to start writing these diaries again. I had to leave something behind. Something that mattered.

  Years went by and though I reached out to Mom and Dad, they seemed to think I was blowing everything out of proportion, and they didn’t want to come b
ack here. Looking back, I wish I’d just come right out and said, “I need you here” but I didn’t. So, that’s on me.

  I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to use the big medical words and have you rush here to see me out of guilt. I wanted you to come see me because you wanted to. So I never said anything. Manipulative? Perhaps, but I needed to feel loved.

  Tears coursed down Quin’s cheeks and she moved the diary before she could destroy Ryla’s writing with her tears. Because of her, Ryla had spent years feeling unloved. She’d responded to texts faithfully, but when the texts had slowed, she hadn’t reached out. She hadn’t wondered enough. It was no surprise Ryla hadn’t wanted to tell her; she’d thought Quin didn’t care.

  Paxton has been a total pain, but he’s cared for me. I know that he does this for all of his patients, but he’s very good at getting to the heart of things and saying what needs to be said. Whether I wanted to hear it or not. Jury is still out on if I listened or not.

  I don’t know what the next few weeks will bring, but I know I’m getting close to the end. I can feel the cold in my fingers and feet and it never goes away. From this entry on, I will treat each time I can write as a gift. That being said, Quin, know that I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m so envious of your talent and I know you will be great. Please, don’t be like me. Don’t be an island. Live and love. There’s life beyond Driftwood Bay and Rosewood House. It’s yours if you want it, but don’t hang onto it just because of me. You have my blessing to do with it what you want.

  For Mom and Dad, I love them too. I know they weren’t perfect, and I blamed them for a lot. Fact is, my life has been a series of choices. I see that now. Only someone seeing their life as a whole can really look objectively at everything. There are things I would go back and change, but I’m thankful for the way they raised me. I have regrets, but they are few. For that, I’m thankful.