by Gayle Roper
At first the idea of living with Aunt Cassandra had sounded cool. She loved to visit SeaSong, and whenever she stayed the night, Aunt Cassandra treated her like one of her special guests. She served her the same gourmet breakfasts, put the same chocolates on her pillow each night, and gave her the blue bedroom decorated like a girl’s fairy tale bedroom. In short, Aunt Cassandra made her feel like a princess.
Well, that was then; this was now. She pushed the swing again. Now she was expected to work for her keep.
“Help Brenna with those beds, Jenn, please.”
“Table five needs some more coffee, Jenn. Remember to smile, please.”
“Pull the towels out of the dryer and fold them before they wrinkle, please, Jenn.”
Like saying please made the orders palatable.
Mom might have run off with Dad for a year, but one thing about Mom: She never asked Jenn to do housework. That’s what the cleaning lady was for.
But at SeaSong, Aunt Cassandra treated Jenn like she was the cleaning lady. One day she even made Jenn clean toilets! Toilets! Why the woman even bothered to hire Brenna when she had Jenn to kick around was one of life’s mysteries.
A car pulled up at the curb, breaking into Jenn’s sad thoughts. A man and a woman climbed out, and Jenn turned her head away.
“Oh, John, look!” the woman said as she stood at the curb. “It’s even more beautiful than its pictures. I’m so excited.”
Paying guests, and happy ones at that. Just what Jenn needed. She jumped off the swing, leaving it shivering and squeaking on its chains. She rushed to the front door, only to stop short at the sight of the registration desk and the door beyond it. Aunt Cassandra had a telepathic feel for arriving guests and would be coming through that door any second. Making a quick decision, Jenn turned, raced down the front steps, passing the new guests coming up as she ran down.
The woman, all cheer and goodwill, smiled at Jenn as they passed. “Hello.”
Jenn ignored her. She was in no mood to be pleasant and innkeeper-y. She raced around the side of the house, in the back door, through the kitchen, and up the back steps to her room. Sanctuary. She glanced at her CD player. She wished she had the nerve to put on some really wild, hard rock and crank it full volume. That’d show Aunt Cassandra what she thought of her and her interference and her sacred SeaSong. Instead, Jenn threw herself on her bed—Aunt Cassandra’s bed—and had a good cry over the wretchedness of life.
She cried a long time.
Five
AS DAN DOUBLE knotted the laces on his running shoes, he peered out one of his windows. Nice Saturday morning. Sunny, brilliant blue sky. He wondered what the temperature was. If he were going to stay here any length of time, he’d have to get a thermometer to hang outside the window. Granted, he could use the Weather Channel either on the TV or on-line, but nothing beat the real thing.
For want of the real thing, he flicked the TV on and learned the temperature, at least in Atlantic City, was fifty-two. Not bad. Not bad at all.
He grabbed his ratty running sweatshirt, the one that read NO BRAND in large letters and I REFUSE TO WEAR THEIR NAMES UNLESS THEY WEAR MINE in smaller letters. He slipped outside and walked around the side of the building to the backyard to do some stretching exercises. As he walked, he glanced up at the line of windows that formed the enclosed porch where later that morning he and the other guests would be served a full breakfast. None of that continental breakfast stuff for SeaSong. Cassandra Marie Merton served full breakfasts all year long.
Thinking about her brought a thoughtful frown to his face. Last night when she’d literally run into him, her face had been taut with hurt, her huge hazel eyes blinking hard to hold the tears at bay. Not that he blamed her. He’d heard what the girl—spoiled, nasty kid—had said.
“Of course you don’t understand. How could you? You’re just a dried-up old maid!”
Talk about hitting below the belt, especially when the beautiful Cass was anything but dried up.
He wanted to hug her, to comfort her, to tell her—what? He tried to think of something to say that would help her feel better, something that would take that haunted look off her face. Nothing had surfaced. He was as dry as an abandoned well.
He’d grimaced slightly, trying to remember the last time he offered anyone comfort. Another waterless well. Was it a matter of his not knowing how to comfort or a matter of being too busy too long to even notice when someone needed it? Neither option said anything positive about his character.
When the distraught Cass disappeared into the back of the house, the part he assumed was for the family, he turned to the girl in the swing and glared. If he couldn’t make Cass feel better, he could make the girl feel bad. He was more than surprised when the girl gasped at his expression and her face crumbled. She dropped her head to her knees to hide from him.
Feeling as though he’d kicked a puppy, albeit one with a nasty bite, he drove off to his solitary dinner. Several times while he ate, his mind wandered from the book he brought along to the scene on the porch, but it wasn’t the kid’s distress he saw. It was Cass’s. The same vision continued to plague him when he wandered aimlessly down the boardwalk, when he came back to his room and watched an old Clint Eastwood cowboy movie on TV, when he lay in the haze between sleeping and waking.
Each time he wished he’d been smart enough to help. Even now in the fresh light of a new day as he clamped first one knee, then the other to his chest, he tried to think of what he might say the next time he saw her.
Just ignore the kid. She’s just jealous and spiteful.
Oh, yeah. Beat up on the kid. That’d impress Cass.
Pay no attention. She’s too blind to recognize true beauty when she sees it.
He grimaced. A bit over the top, but didn’t women love compliments? And he really meant it about the beauty part. Just looking at Cass was a pleasure. He rolled his head around on his neck, knowing he’d never say anything about how beautiful she was. He hadn’t the courage. Still, there had to be something comforting that wouldn’t embarrass either of them. He just needed to think harder, though why he was worrying about her was anyone’s guess. He barely knew her. Who had time for such nonsense?
You’ve got nothing but time, another voice muttered. Nothing but time stretching as far as your imagination can see.
And just like that, the panic opened up again, this time in the form of a giant chasm gaping at his feet, huge, yawning, bottomless. A cold sweat drenched him, and his breath came in gasps.
So I have nothing but time, he told himself as he took deep, steadying gulps of the cool morning air. So what? I’m just on a prolonged vacation. That’s all.
He didn’t believe himself. Vacations were supposed to be fun times, not days spent in an agony of uncertainty and fear, feeling useless and powerless. He put his hand out to support himself against the sycamore tree, waiting for the panic to pass, praying for it to pass.
The back door flew open. He jumped, looked up, and blinked in surprise as Cass Merton rushed out in a pair of running shorts and shoes. Her hair was pulled carelessly back in a ponytail. Her sweatshirt read Out of My Way; I’m Running.
She began stretching without noting him lurking behind the sycamore, and as he watched her, the black void at his feet slowly disappeared. His feet rested on solid ground again.
Her face was clear of last night’s hurt, but there were violet stains under her eyes, as if she’d passed a sleepless night.
“Good morning,” he said.
She stopped dead, her arms over her head, and gave a little bleep of alarm. As she lowered her arms, he noted that her left hand ring finger was bare. No hulking husband? Hard to believe.
“Sorry.” Dan held up a hand as he came out from behind the tree. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stopped in the center of the small courtyard behind SeaSong.
“Good morning, Mr. Harmon.” She gave him a stiff smile, and her cheeks reddened. Probably embarrassed as she remembered last night
.
“Do you run regularly?” It was inane, but it was all he could think to say. The comfort well was still dry.
“I try for four times a week.” She smiled again, more naturally this time. “Sometimes I even make it, like this week.” She bent at the waist to adjust a sock. “It’s summer that gives me difficulty.”
“A full house and a load of work?”
She nodded. “But it’s hardly something I can complain about.”
They pulled their feet up behind them, touching their heels to their bottoms, stretching their thigh muscles. There was something pleasant about warming up with her, about finding her an exercise enthusiast like himself. Somehow the vision of her running off in one direction and him in the other seemed foolish.
“Where do you like to run most?” he asked as he released his foot.
She shrugged. “The high school track.” She pointed to the south, and Dan could make out the school itself rising above the trees a block away. “The boardwalk, though not in high summer. Too crowded.”
“Where are you heading this morning?”
“I think just over to the track. I’ve still got a lot to do for breakfast, and Brenna’s not due until seven-thirty.”
Cass started an easy jog toward the high school, and Dan fell in beside her. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Brenna’s the girl on the porch?” he asked
Color stained Cass’s cheeks again. “No. That’s Jenn, my niece.”
He nodded. “Fifteen?”
“Sixteen. And a drama queen if ever there was one.” Cass gave a rueful smile. “The funny thing is that I used to be her favorite aunt.”
“But not anymore?” It was more statement than question.
“Not since I started imposing discipline. She and her brother, Jared, are living with me this year while their parents, my brother Tommy and sister-in-law Rhonda, are on overseas assignment for Tommy’s company.”
“Where are they?”
“Saudi Arabia.”
“Ah.” There was a moment of silence where all he heard was their breathing. “My brother and sister-in-law live overseas too.”
Cass glanced up at him. “Where?”
“France. They’re missionaries.” He waited for the usual start of disbelief. Most people he knew couldn’t fathom someone being a missionary.
“Really? How wonderful!”
He blinked. She’d surprised him.
“You must be proud of them.”
Dan nodded. He was proud of Andy. It took a lot of courage to adopt another country as your home, to adapt to another culture, to raise your kids away from their heritage and homeland, away from family and friends.
“How long have they lived in France?”
Dan did some quick math. “Eighteen years.”
“Where?”
“A little town called Cognin.”
“Is it a picturesque little town?”
“I don’t know.”
Cass looked at him in surprise as they crossed the street, heading for the baseball diamond and the track beyond. “You don’t know?”
Dan heard something he couldn’t quite define in her voice. “No, but it looks pretty in their pictures.”
“Haven’t you ever been to visit?”
Dan shook his head. “Too busy.”
“To visit your brother?”
This time he identified the disbelief and censure without any trouble.
“What do you do for a living that’s so demanding?” she demanded.
“I conduct due diligence on companies.”
“You do what?”
“I vet companies to see if they’re safe for my clients to invest in.”
“And vets can’t take vacations?”
“I’m not a vet.”
“Or maybe you’re not successful enough to afford the trip.”
He turned, ready to defend himself, but he saw she knew very well that he wasn’t a vet and that he could afford the trip. After all, he was paying for the most expensive of her rooms indefinitely. He relaxed.
“Who’s the pretty girl at SeaSong with light brown hair that she wears in a pony tail? Big brown eyes? She was behind the registration desk when I arrived.”
Cass looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “The brothers do that.”
He frowned. “What brothers? Do what?”
“My brothers. Change the subject when it gets too hot.” And she took off around the bases of the ball diamond.
He raced after her, but he never quite caught up. She stepped where home plate would be if the field were prepared for a game. “Yes!” She did a little dance as he jogged in place beside her. “I always wanted to play on the boys’ team in high school, but my family, especially the brothers, didn’t want me to.”
“How many brothers?”
“Four, and all older.” She grinned at him, a delightful, impish curve to her mouth. “They didn’t want me to play because they knew I was better than they were.”
“A little cocky here, aren’t we?” he asked as they jogged off the baseball field.
She shrugged. “I can’t help it if I’m good. And the girl at SeaSong is Brenna.”
“Ah. She was making a phone call when I saw her, or at least almost making one. And I could swear she was about ready to cry.”
Cass grabbed at a clip holding her hair back on the side and reinserted it to catch a piece of soft blond hair that had fallen on her neck.
“Ready to cry, huh?” She looked thoughtful. “I haven’t figured Brenna out yet. You know how you find these kids who are much too smart to be doing whatever job they’re doing?”
Dan nodded. He’d used a couple of bike messengers in New York who were like that—brilliant kids who for some reason didn’t want the responsibility of a regular job.
“That’s Brenna. She’s worked for me since the middle of August when the summer kids began disappearing to return to college. She showed up at my door one morning, said she was new in town, and did I need a chambermaid. She’s reliable and willing to do anything I ask, and she never complains. But something’s wrong. Or at the very least, something’s not right.”
They stepped onto the track, and Cass began to run in earnest. Her long legs ate up the ground, and Dan dropped back to watch her.
“I bet you love to beat the boys, don’t you?” he yelled to her.
She slowed and glanced over her shoulder. “Any time I can.” And she was off again.
She was one of those women who obviously loved physical activity, not because it was fashionable or healthful, but because it was fun. He bet she was accomplished in several sports. Yet she didn’t move like a jock. She had a grace that made her movements smooth and flowing, a pleasure to watch.
Maybe being unemployed and shiftless wouldn’t be so bad if he could follow her around all day.
Shiftless. Ah, dear Lord, I can’t stand the thought!
As they walked briskly back to SeaSong, they were both puffing pleasantly. Dan was used to slowing his gait for women, but Cass had no trouble keeping up with his long strides. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion, and wisps of hair had fallen free to cling to her damp neck. He had trouble keeping his eyes off her.
They stepped up onto the curb at SeaSong, and Cass stopped. Dan pulled up too.
“Hey, Mr. Carmichael,” Cass called as she waved to an old man standing in front of the battered house next door.
Mr. Carmichael looked up from his study of the scraggly yews fronting his decaying porch. “Cassandra,” he said with no enthusiasm.
“Ready to sell yet?” Cass asked.
“Never.” He pointed his finger at her. “And never to you, missy.”
Cass grinned. “I love you too, Mr. Carmichael.” But as she turned away and walked toward the back of SeaSong, she sighed.
Dan looked at her, intrigued. “Do you really want to buy his house?” It was small and ramshackle, far beneath the glorious standards of SeaSong.
“I’d like to renovate
it.”
Dan stepped back and studied the house next door again. It was the equivalent of a dirty, wizened street person with its peeling paint, missing porch spindles, and ragged lawn. He hurried to catch up with her. “But it’s a disaster.”
“Now. Still, it’s better than SeaSong was when I got it.”
Dan looked at the beautifully painted and landscaped SeaSong. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely falling down.”
“You certainly hired some very capable people to make the transformation. SeaSong’s beautiful, both inside and out.”
She stopped and faced him, hands on her hips. “Why do you say that?”
“That SeaSong’s beautiful?” he asked, lost. “Because it is.”
“Not that.”
He knew from her tone that he’d stepped in a mess, but he couldn’t figure out what he’d said that upset her. “You mean my comment about hiring capable people?”
She nodded, her eyes narrowed at him.
Surprise jolted through him. “You actually did all the work yourself?”
“With occasional help from the brothers.”
Dan was afraid his face showed too much amazement, but he couldn’t help it. He looked up at the roof, the high windows, thought about the beautifully restored woodwork in the library, his sleek, modern bathroom and beautiful bedroom.
“Except for the roof,” she qualified, obviously trying to be completely truthful. “I don’t do roofs. Or plumbing or electrical wiring. But painting, plastering, sanding, varnishing, decorating—all me.”
He looked at the third floor with its scalloped shingle siding. “Impressive.”
She followed his line of vision. “Cherry picker.”
“What?”
“I rented a cherry picker for the painting, both general and the detailing.”
He got vertigo just thinking about it.
She looked at him and apparently read his look of distaste for the task as disbelief. She shook her head in such a way that it was obvious she found him wanting. She gave a sad smile and a halfhearted wave. “See you at breakfast,” and she was gone.
But he didn’t see her at breakfast. All he saw were Brenna of the big brown eyes who smiled politely as she poured his coffee and Jenn, the drama queen, who wouldn’t look him in the eye. After polishing off the delicious warm grapefruit sweetened with brown sugar, the egg casserole laced with cheese and ham, and the freshly baked scones with lemon curd and clotted cream, he wandered back to his room. He stood in the turret and stared into space. Now what should he do with himself?
