The Rosewood Diary

by Teri Blake

  Quin closed the book and laid it aside. The diary had provided the farewell she hadn’t been afforded. Ryla had loved her. She hadn’t invited her here to tell her of the anger she felt, but she had shown her how hurt she’d been over Quin’s selfishness and chilly behavior. She’d been angry that Quin hadn’t been the sister she’d needed.

  There was also no question about how Ryla had felt about Paxton. She hadn’t loved him. The guilt over possibly taking another love from Ryla, even after she’d gone, lifted completely. That guilt had been nudging her toward returning to New York, but now it was gone. There was one less reason to go.

  Her bags sat by the end of the couch, waiting for her to catch a ride from Paxton. Her flight was tomorrow, but she wasn’t ready to go. For the last three days, she’d pulled the clothes she’d needed from her bag in the morning only to wash and replace what she’d worn back in the bag.

  She slowly stood and unzipped the bag, then went into Ryla’s room. The dresser and closet were empty and clean. The bedding had all been changed. All of the medical equipment was gone. It was like a completely different room with the exception of the bookshelf.

  “I promise I’m not staying for the wrong reasons.” She slipped the diary back in its place. She hadn’t really looked at the shelf outside of those diaries, books didn’t usually interest her unless they were art books.

  On the next shelf was a turquoise blue leather-bound book. Quin hesitated and touched the spine. The pages had no rippling like the other diaries. She opened the front page and in Ryla’s scrawling script were the words: This one’s for you. It’s time to write your story.

  She smiled as she set it on the bedside table, then put all of her clothes in the closet. She would have to return to New York to pack and sublet her apartment, but it wouldn’t be home anymore.

  She pressed open the first page and dated it.

  Dear Later Self,

  The opening felt right. Ryla would have approved.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Early morning sun reflected off the calm ocean waters shining shades of pink over the vast blue. A line of purple cut the horizon, sparkling brighter the higher the sun rose. Quin sipped her coffee in the upstairs window seat and glanced every few minutes at Paxton’s house. He’d be awake shortly, headed to work. She had to catch him before he headed off for the day.

  Finally, the corner of her eye caught the light coming on in Paxton’s kitchen. She caught a glimpse of a muscled arm filling a coffee carafe. If everything went as she hoped, life with him would be interesting.

  She set her coffee on the kitchen counter and stopped to check her hair in the bathroom mirror. While her hair had never mattered much to her, she wanted him to notice her as a whole, not messy hair or food in her teeth. She swished some mouthwash just to make sure all was good then headed for Paxton’s front door.

  After two knocks, he opened it. Most people probably looked sleepy that early in the morning, but he managed to look fresh. He wore scrubs and an unbuttoned flannel shirt that he must have thrown on when she knocked.

  “Morning.” She held up her hand in greeting.

  “Morning. You all packed?” He held the door open, then stepped aside so she could come in.

  She hadn’t been in his house except for the one evening when she’d needed a break from her parents. “I was…but then I unpacked.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I guess you’ve got five hours. I was able to get off with enough time to get you to the airport. Barely.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. The scent of fresh coffee filled the room.

  “What if I told you I don’t need a ride?” She bit her lip and prayed he would understand. She’d been fairly adamant about having to go back.

  “You found another ride? I wish you’d told me. I had to rearrange a few schedules to get the time. Our clients really appreciate consistency…”

  As she shook her head, he slowed, then stopped speaking completely. “I don’t need a ride. At all. I’m not leaving.”

  He finally raised his head and met her gaze head-on. “Not leaving? As in, staying here?”

  She nodded. “Not leaving except to get my clothes and sublet my apartment.”

  “So, you do still need a ride?”

  She hadn’t considered doing all that right away. As soon as she’d decided to stay, all thought of leaving had just melted away. “I canceled my flight. I thought, maybe, you and I could drive up there some weekend and take care of everything. Together.”

  He chuckled and his smile lit his whole fact. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. Does this mean I don’t have to see you long-distance?”

  She crept closer. “I guess that depends. Do you feel like next door is long distance?”

  He slipped his hand through her hair and let it comb through the length. “For now, no. Next door is perfect. A few months from now, maybe.”

  She stepped closer into his strong arms. “With Karla and her kids living in Rosewood, in a few months, I just might agree with you.”

  “I hope you’ll agree with me for other reasons than just wanting to get away from a couple teens.” He laughed.

  “Well, sure.” She snorted. “I’ve got Duggy to think about too. He likes to be the fastest thing in the house.”

  Paxton caught her lips and surprised her with a kiss that left her light-headed. “Well, we have to consider Duggy’s well-being.”

  “Always.”

  “I want you to know I’m falling for you, Quin. If that scares you, you should stop me now.”

  She shook her head, so thankful Ryla pushed her to come to Driftwood Bay and back home to Rosewood. And most of all that she pushed her to get to know her neighbors. “I’m not scared. I’m excited. I can’t wait to see what the future will hold.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  20 years later

  “Quin? Is Molly coming down?” Paxton called up the stairs. “Her eggs are ready.”

  Quin stared at her fifteen-year-old daughter in the mirror. She looked so much like Ryla that every time Grandma and Grandpa Morris saw her, they teared up. “Yes. She’ll be down in just a minute.”

  “Don’t forget the ketchup, Dad!” Molly called down.

  Quin flinched. No matter how many years passed, she couldn’t get used to ketchup-drenched eggs. Just like her Aunt Ryla, whom she’d never met.

  “Mom?” Molly pressed her hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to dance, and I don’t like being around so many people.”

  “Your father will be there. You’ll be down by the shore with the pretty lantern lights and the music. It’ll be lovely. There will be people there from other places, not just your school since the whole neighborhood is invited.”

  “There are a few girls my age staying at the Tidewater. Maybe they will come? I don’t want to see the girls from school.” She flinched.

  “Not everyone in your life will be your friend but give them a chance. It might mean you open yourself up to hurts, but it hurts a lot more if you never give anyone the chance.”

  “I know. You told me Aunt Ryla taught you that. It’s a hard lesson.”

  Boy, did she know it. Re-learning how to connect with people in her thirties had been one of the hardest, but most fulfilling, parts of her life. “I’m proud of you, Molly.”

  “I know. I was thinking about taking my sketchbook with me…” She widened her eyes pleading sweetly.

  Painting sunsets over the water was one of their favorite things, but there were times for creating art, and times for living life. “Not tonight. I promise we can take our easels down to the shore tomorrow. But tonight is your father-daughter dance and I want you to enjoy your time with him.”

  Paxton worked so hard to make sure that Quin could continue her artwork. She’d also worked hard, painting and forcing herself to reach out and make connections, all to make certain she provided what she could. The first year she’d stayed had been difficult for her, along
with helping Karla start the Tidewater Inn.

  “I was thinking, instead of the beach, maybe…we could paint the house?”

  They’d moved back into Rosewood when Karla had gotten on her feet a year after starting the inn. Paxton had sold his house and it had been home ever since. They still shared the room Ryla had lived in.

  “You want to paint Rosewood?” Quin couldn’t contain her shock. Molly had only ever been drawn to the water, just like Ryla.

  “Yes. I…love it here.” She smiled at the window. “When I think about my future…I always think of Rosewood House.”

  Hugging didn’t take the thought or effort it once did. She wrapped her arm around Molly’s shoulder. “Better go down and eat those eggs. I’ll be down to take a few pictures in a minute.”

  Molly sighed like the perfect teenager and headed down to join her father. Quin wandered to her bedroom where the one and only picture from her past still hung on the wall. When she’d first married, she’d painted the city as she remembered it from her window. All the gray, even with the subtle pops of color had made her so depressed that she’d almost painted over it. Paxton had argued that it was part of her life and she should keep it, so she’d hung it where only they could see it.

  On the bookshelf that still stood on the wall opposite the bed, was one of her most recent small paintings, of the sea just before dark. The purples and blues were welcoming to her very soul. On the third shelf now stood a long row of leatherbound journals, most full. Ryla’s three started the row and had been read many times. Her current volume was a supple brown. Next to it was a brand new one in Molly’s favorite color, a lavish purple.

  Quin opened her journal to the empty page following her last entry and uncapped her gel pen.

  Dear Future Self,

  Ryla would be so happy. Today Molly made all the questions and all the worries about keeping Rosewood House worth it. She loves it here. Her memories are all here—good and bad. The house remains, which means Ryla, her treasures and her memories, will be remembered.

  In case you read this later, Molly, I put Ryla’s sketchbook back where I found it. I thought you’d enjoy discovering it as I did. Ryla’s journals are welcome to you. I hope we have many, many full years together. But in case we don’t, because you never know what will happen, I want it in writing that I love you so much. Not just because you love art and many of the same things I do, but because you are a wonderful, complex, woman who both reminds me of Ryla yet is still completely you. Continue to be you.

  Rosewood will always be here for you, even after Paxton and I are gone. Today is the day of your father-daughter dance and the day I’ll give you your first journal.

  Leave your mark for your future self.

  * * *

  For Karla’s story, don’t miss Tidewater Summer coming May 2021.

  About the Author

  Teri Blake is the women's fiction and genre fiction pen name for Kari Trumbo.

  * * *

  If you're looking for compelling relationships and enduring friendships, look no further!

  Also by Teri Blake

  Don’t miss book two in the Driftwood Bay series

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  Tidewater Summer

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