The Red Door Inn

by Liz Johnson

  She flicked the light switch, blinded for a moment before she could make out the deluge from beneath the kitchen sink.

  18

  Seth jerked from a deep sleep at the sound of Marie screaming his name. Rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he rolled out of bed. As he stood, the world tilted, and he grabbed at the wall to hold it still. He yanked a T-shirt over his head and shoved his arms through the sleeves as he slammed into the door. Shaking his head, he grabbed the handle again and got it far enough open to barrel down the hall.

  “Seth! Jack!” Marie’s pitch rose, the words steeped in panic. “Help!”

  The hardwood floor shot ice through his bare feet, but he didn’t slow down as he neared the sound of her voice, which was coming from the kitchen.

  In the dark, he ran into one of the new dining room tables, grunting as the corner branded his thigh. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?”

  Light beneath the swinging door shimmered, dancing like a swaying chandelier.

  Barging in, he nearly tripped over Marie on all fours, sopping towels in her hands. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes matching the ever-growing flood.

  The wooden cabinets were already waterlogged, and the water would reach the appliances if he didn’t get it turned off. There wasn’t time to check if the water was coming from directly under the sink or spurting from somewhere within the wall. He had to get the main water valve shut off.

  Jumping over Marie, he raced through the mudroom and sailed down the back stairs. Frozen grass crunched under his feet, and he tried not to think about the searing pain in his bare toes. He raced around the side of the house to the hidden knob next to the spigot. By the time he reached it, his fingers were so numb he could barely grip it enough to turn it off.

  “Come on. Come on.” His words rose in puffs of white, chills making his hands shake. The main line refused to turn, and he looked around for anything to give him enough leverage to close it. “God, a little help here?”

  There. A trowel that Marie had been using to prepare the flower beds. He snatched it up and pressed the blade into a rivet on the handle, cranking it hard.

  Once it was moving, Seth turned it the rest of the way, breathing a prayer of thanks that he’d found just what he needed. Now to find out how much damage had been done.

  As he bounded back into the kitchen, Jack grunted at him from the floor beside Marie. Bags hung beneath his eyes, and his hair was a mess. But he looked almost like a child wrapped in a thick terrycloth robe.

  “I’m going to turn on a faucet to empty the pipe faster.” Seth slipped as he hurried past Marie and caught himself on the door. His trail to the bathroom was marked by wet footprints, and as he reached the warmest part of the house, the shivers settled in.

  He fought them as he ran the shower and the faucet full blast and scooped every towel he could find from the linen closet. His hands trembled as he entered the kitchen, but at least the rush of water from the blown pipe had slowed to a trickle.

  From her knees Marie pulled two dry towels from him and added them to her terrycloth fortress in front of the refrigerator. He tossed one to Jack, who snatched it out of the air.

  “Seth?” He turned toward Marie, her tone a warm coat to his freezing body. “You’re shivering. Go put on something warm and dry.”

  He shook his head and pointed toward the backyard. “The wet/dry vac.” He swallowed the tremor in his voice and tried again. “Let me just help get this cleaned up.” He stepped around her, but his foot caught on a pink backpack. He shook it off, his brain trying to figure out why it was sitting there.

  “Seth.” She stood. Placing her hand on his forearm, she nodded slowly. Where she touched him, his skin burned. She was nearly on fire. “You’ll get sick if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  He blinked hard several times. Her words jumbled in his brain, and all he could focus on was the outline of her hand on his arm.

  “Do what she says, boy.” Jack’s words sounded like gravel scraping against gravel. “I’ll get the vac.”

  Seth scrunched his eyes closed, running a hand down his face, except he could only feel the touch on his cheeks. His nose and hand were too numb to register the contact.

  Marie pointed to the pool and pulled the last two towels from his grasp. “Look. It’s not growing. You can go. We’ll take care of it.”

  He nodded and backed out of the room, following the trail of footprints past his room and down the stairs into Marie’s apartment. There he found just what he feared, water dripping from the ceiling and down the side wall directly beneath the kitchen sink. The leak was somewhere in the wall behind the cabinets and leaving a trail of spongy drywall.

  This could ruin Jack.

  Marie wiped her forearm across her face, pushing her hair out of the way and leaning on the mop handle with the other arm. Jack had gotten most of the water with the vacuum but had taken it outside to empty it and call the insurance company, leaving her to touch up the trails from the towels.

  As the sun rose, illuminating the room through the window over the sink, she bent over to wring the mop into the bucket. The water just kept coming up from the wooden floors—the pool was gone, but a water mark that spanned the entire width of the room remained.

  She cried right along with the floorboards for all the work that had gone into the now-ruined room. She cried for the misery etched into every line of Jack’s face as he paced, the phone pressed to his ear.

  And she cried because it could have, would have, been so much worse.

  If she’d left ten minutes earlier.

  Jack took a deep breath from his spot along the far wall of the dining room, and she peeked at him through the open door as her mop swung in his direction. “This is Jack Sloane. I need to make a claim.”

  “He still on the phone?”

  Seth’s voice in her ear sent tremors to her toes, warming every inch of her. “Yes. He’s been on hold for more than half an hour.”

  Seth’s frown pinched his features, wrinkling the straight line of his nose.

  “What do you think they’re going to say?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. They’ll send an assessor to see how much damage has been done. But I don’t know how fast they can get someone out here. I doubt the insurance company has a large office on the island.”

  “How soon do you think they’d pay out his claim?”

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t know. But it might not be soon enough.”

  He hadn’t bothered to step back, and the warmth of his body called to her in the still-frigid morning. Or maybe it was the aching reality of the Red Door that made her teeth chatter. Either way, she stepped toward him, keeping her voice low as Jack continued his conversation. “Did you find any other frozen pipes?”

  “No. Most of the pipes inside are insulated enough just by the house. And when the plumber and I put in new pipes in the bathrooms a few months back, we protected all the new ones along the outer walls.” He tugged at the cuffs of his sweatshirt and stared at Jack, following the older man’s stilted movements with dogged determination. “There must have been a weak joint under the sink.” He clenched his hands into fists and shook his head, a low sigh escaping.

  “You were working under the sink a few weeks ago. You don’t think it was that pipe, do you?”

  “I hope not.” When he looked at her for a moment, fear flashed in his eyes, sending a kick to her chest. Her breath disappeared at the pain in his features, her stomach tying itself into a knot.

  She pressed her hand to his. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  “We’ll find out as soon as the assessor gets here and we can dig around under there.” Uncertainty covered his words. If only there was something she could do to reassure him. Instead she could only distract him.

  “Are you feeling warmer?”

  His gaze jerked from following Jack’s stilted paces to her face. Slowly it dropped to the space between them. Then her knees. Then their toes, which
were almost touching. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

  Pushing his shoulder, she laughed out loud. His chuckle mingled with hers, a welcome noise after four tense hours. Shivers completely unrelated to the cold ran down her spine.

  She clung to that sensation, to the simple pleasure of his presence.

  Jack trudged toward them, his footfalls painful to her ears. He cleared his throat, and Marie swallowed the lump that jumped into her own. “They’re going to send out an assessor on Monday. Until then, we can’t touch anything.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Her words came out more of a cry than a question, so she tried again. “What can we do until then?”

  “Check for other damage. Get some fans blowing to dry out wet spots. Need to report all areas affected.” Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  “I’ve checked the laundry area, bathrooms, and any place with pipes in the walls, but it wouldn’t hurt to do another walk through,” Seth said.

  “Good.” Jack’s shoulders drooped. “And then we’ll have to find a place to stay, I guess.”

  Marie rubbed his shoulder with her free hand. “It’ll be okay.”

  He stared at her, and she knew the truth. She had no right to say such a thing. She’d made a promise that she couldn’t keep. If the insurance company failed to give Jack the money he needed, he would have an inn he couldn’t run and a loan he couldn’t repay.

  He needed money.

  She had money. More than enough to save the Red Door. Nearly a quarter of a million.

  Her mother’s will had been generous and explicit. Marie was to get everything that Claudia Carrington had brought into the marriage.

  But the strings attached to that money were too heavy.

  Her father’s name was on the bank account. And if she accessed that money in any way, he’d know. He’d track her down. His PI wouldn’t need more than an hour to find her, even in North Rustico, Prince Edward Island—population 637 residents, one drifter, and a herd of cows.

  Maybe the insurance company would come through with the money they needed in time.

  Dear Lord, let them give Jack enough money.

  Marie closed her eyes on the prayer, recognizing it for what it was. Her only hope.

  “Check the back bedroom?” Jack pointed to her. He didn’t expound on his direction, but their eyes grew wide at the same moment. All of the antiques were in that room. Thousands of dollars’ worth of furnishings and decorations would be ruined if a pipe had burst in there.

  Her mop splashed into the half-full bucket of water as she slid it out of the way. She ran down the hall, her stomach somersaulting. She slammed the door open and dipped and jumped to get a look around the stacks and crates.

  “How’s it look?” Seth sounded close, probably investigating in his own bedroom.

  “Good so far. I’m going to have to move some of these boxes to get a good look.”

  “Need help?”

  “I’ve got it.” There wasn’t really room for more than one person at a time. Especially someone Seth’s size. They’d have no choice but to touch. In spite of his flirtatious smile and her unruly butterflies, space was an appreciated commodity.

  Especially if she didn’t want to be rejected again.

  After nearly two hours, she’d looked behind every crate and moved every antique until sweat poured down her back and her hands stuck to every piece. All of it was safe. The walls were solid and intact, the floors dry.

  She took a breath, deep and filling. So unlike those first days on the island.

  Setting down the last box, she surveyed the room. Like a white flag, the paper still in the typewriter caught her eye, and she slipped between the stacks to reach it. As she bent to pull the page free, she bumped the lid of another box, sending it skittering across the floor.

  “Great,” she mumbled as she twisted to reach the errant piece of cardboard. Stretching her fingers until they couldn’t reach any farther, she caught the edge of the lid and yanked it back over the box. Before it fell into place, a flash of color caught her eye.

  The black and white photograph of the Red Door before she had a name. But when she did have a crimson entrance.

  A slow smile crept into place. Marie had almost forgotten about this second gift from Aretha. And she’d never shown it to Jack.

  Too bad guests wouldn’t be able to see how much work Jack and Seth had put into this home to make it shine even brighter than it had when it was first built. The original house should be on display.

  An idea, complete and clear, popped into her mind, and she jumped toward the door, calling for Seth.

  He stepped out of Jack’s bedroom, Jack trailing slowly behind him. “Did you find something?”

  Yes. But not what he was asking about. “No.”

  His eyebrows formed a V, his hands on his hips. “What do you need?”

  “Um . . .” Her gaze danced between Jack and Seth, worry sweeping over their faces. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  Jack could use a surprise, and not one like he’d gotten that morning. She’d wait and speak to Seth privately. If she could just get him alone.

  Nodding, she backed away. “Everything’s fine in here. No damage.”

  Jack heaved a sigh, a small weight removed from his shoulders.

  The two men walked away, and she tiptoed back through the maze to her Underwood. She squeezed into place before it and scrolled the paper past her last message to Seth, memories of sweet strawberry ice cream and his favorite spot on the island swelling in her chest.

  After a long moment, she pressed the keys, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure that no one had wandered into her haven.

  I have an idea. But it’s a surprise, and I need your help. Meet me at your favorite spot?

  M

  The far right line on the last letter faded into almost nothing, and she ran a hand over the old machine. “Hang in there, girl. I just need a few more notes out of you.”

  She sought out Seth in the dining room. When Jack’s head was bent over a copy of his insurance policy, she tugged on Seth’s arm and whispered, “I left you a note.”

  Two lines appeared between his brows, and he shook his head.

  “A note. Not about ice cream this time.”

  Seth’s mouth dropped open, but he nodded slowly, scratching at the scar on his chin.

  “What?” Jack looked up

  “Nothing.” Seth and Marie said it at the same time. Their gazes caught and held, until he looked down, and her eyes followed his to her hand. Which still rested on his arm. She jerked it back, but her smile didn’t flicker as his blossomed.

  Later that morning, Seth motioned to her to follow him to the antique room, but Jack asked her for help. Seth nodded toward the room and behind Jack’s back lifted his hands to mime typing with two fingers.

  She nodded and stole away from Jack as soon as she could. The message from Seth was succinct, the letters paler than the line above, but readable.

  What time?

  S

  She bit on her lip, steepling her fingers under her chin. When could they get away? When would Jack not notice them missing?

  A yawn cracked her jaw. They had to get some rest and find a place to spend the night. Preferably a place with running water.

  Aretha might take pity on them. It couldn’t hurt to ask. Marie could meet Seth after talking with Aretha.

  Today at 4. Bring hot coffee.

  The long line on the number was still faded, but the machine hung in there. And it made it through one more message from Seth right after lunch.

  Bossy much?

  And one final note before she left to beg Aretha for a dry place to stay.

  Yes.

  As he crossed the beach, balancing two cups of hot coffee and a bag of sweet scones from Caden’s bakery, Seth stumbled in the uneven sand.

  “Whoa there, Sloane.”

  He spun
at Marie’s voice, handed her a coffee, and wrapped his shivering fingers around his own paper cup. She smiled, hunching over the steam rising from the java and pressing her lips to the lid before tilting it back.

  He looked away, battling with himself over even agreeing to meet her out here. It was colder than a penguin’s playground. The afternoon sun even seemed to understand and had tucked itself away under a blanket of gray clouds.

  And he had no business spending any more time alone with her. Not after the debacle in the closet the day before.

  He’d been doing a good enough job of avoiding her. Except for a little flirting that morning. But he hadn’t been able to help it. The way her cheeks turned rosy and her lips parted when she smiled made him want to make her smile every day.

  And she’d kept her distance too. Something important had her willing to brave not only alone time with him but also the weather.

  He took the lid off his coffee and blew into the black liquid. Steam bounced back and warmed his nose for an instant. Pulling up his scarf and hunkering into his jacket, he frowned. “What’s this about?”

  She motioned to the rocks. “Want to sit down?”

  “They’ll be freezing, but we can sit on the sand.”

  She nodded, lowering herself to the ground and reaching for the white bag in his hand. “What’s that?”

  “Tell me what I’m doing out here first.”

  She scowled, but he held the bakery items over his head, out of her reach. She leaned in toward him, stretched out and close enough to touch. His skin lit on fire at her nearness, and he hated himself for craving her touch and knowing it would only lead to blinded eyes.

  When he dropped the bag in her lap, she backed off and dug in. “Strawberry and cream scones.” Her smile flashed, instant and brilliant. For a moment, the sun shone from her face. With her nose still in the bag, she said, “They smell like happiness.”

  Pulling one out and popping the end into her mouth, she handed the bag back to him. “Thanks.” The word was garbled around her scone.