“Good. That makes me feel better. I don’t think she’s smoking, either.”
“I agree. I haven’t smelled it on her clothing or hair.” Annabel tilted her head. “Is that what you wanted to talk with me about?”
“No …” Carley took a deep breath. “Annabel, I’ve decided to run a B&B here this summer.”
Her mother-in-law was at the stove, pouring boiling water into a teapot. Her back stiffened, but she didn’t speak.
“I’m going to have two bedrooms with private bathrooms added in the basement. I’d like to start having guests in June.”
“Guests.” Annabel brought the pot to the table and sat down. Her mouth had tightened into a thin line.
“Annabel, I need a way to make money and stay home with the children, and this is the perfect way to do it.”
“The house is not a hotel.”
“Well, it’s big enough to be one.” Carley bit her tongue and counted to ten. It would not help if she became confrontational.
“Carley, it’s always been a home, not a place of business.”
“Renting out three rooms isn’t really turning it into a business. It’s not like I’m setting up shop, tearing down walls and installing windows full of mannequins in girdles and bras—”
“I doubt that the zoning laws would allow you to do that.”
“The point is, the people who stay here will be tourists on short-term stays. They’ll come because of the beauty of the island.”
Annabel folded her hands on the table and drew herself up as straight as a judge. “I strongly oppose this, Carley. This house has been a private family home for decades. It has weathered the Great Depression and any number of family problems without being opened to the public.”
“I understand how you feel, Annabel. It kills me to disagree with you. But it’s necessary.”
“Russell and I have offered to help you financially. We’ve asked you to move in with us.”
“Yes. I do appreciate your kindness. Of course in an emergency, I’d be grateful to have to rely on you both. But we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. I have to find a way to work, to support myself and the children. Besides, Annabel, this is something that appeals to me. I think I might really enjoy it! I love people, I love cooking—”
“The house is hardly set up for guests.”
“True. I’ll need to have some work done. I’ve spoken with Wyatt. He’s going to find a contractor for me.”
“You’ve already spoken to Wyatt about this?” Annabel’s tone was indignant.
“Well, yes,” Carley answered, trying not to be apologetic. “We sort of ran into each other on Centre Street and I told him what I was planning, and he offered some advice.” Her mother-in-law was beginning to tremble slightly and her face had gone pale. Annabel was heartily furious, but holding back her fury. “I’m sorry to upset you, Annabel. Please understand I’m doing the best I can.”
“I think we disagree on what ‘the best’ is,” Annabel commented coldly. She rose without bothering to pour the tea she’d made. “This has come as a blow to me, Carley. I need to go lie down. Please excuse me.”
Guilt thumped down in Carley’s belly like a twenty-pound weight. Annabel had never been so adamant before, so bitterly disapproving. But they were, after all, family, Carley thought, and they would get past this, she was sure.
Head high, she let herself out the front door.
Carley walked home without noticing the snowmen smiling in the yards or the birds swooping down to the feeders on the neighbors’ lawns. She was sad about Annabel’s disapproval, excited about Wyatt’s positive reaction, hopeful about running a B&B, worried about Cisco’s extreme thinness, frustrated because she couldn’t talk to her parents or Sarah or Sue because they were at work, and generally confused and overwhelmed.
This much was clear: Her future, at least the immediate future, was simply this: She was alone. She was widowed. She needed to make money. She needed to protect her daughters. The B&B might not be what Annabel wanted, but Carley was convinced it was the only option that made sense for her.
She’d just entered her house, hung up her coat, and kicked off her boots when a knock sounded at the door and Vanessa came in, wrapped in a glamorous faux fur.
“Hi, Carley!”
“Oh! Vanessa. Hi!” Guilt slammed Carley hard. She had promised not to tell Vanessa that Maud was “seeing” Toby. A headache tapped at her temples. “Umm, want some tea?”
“I’d kill for some. I’ve spent all morning in a committee meeting, and I’ve got another one this afternoon.” As she talked, she pulled off her handsome leather high-heeled boots and thudded her feet up on another chair. “I don’t know how I let it happen, but I’m chair of the hospital summer fund-raiser, and you know that’s insane, plus I’m co-chair for the library’s fund-raiser.”
“You’re a saint.”
“I’m a sucker.” Vanessa looked around. “I thought Maud’s boys would be here …”
Carley headed toward the stove, hiding her face from Vanessa. “No, I’m not babysitting for them much anymore. I think Maud’s made other arrangements.”
“Carley. Have I offended you?”
Carley turned, startled. “Oh, Vanessa! Of course not! How can you ask?”
“You haven’t phoned me for ages. We haven’t been getting together like we always do.” Vanessa slipped off her coat and hung it over the back of a chair. “What’s going on?”
Carley closed her eyes, wondering how to have an intimate conversation with this beloved friend and still keep Maud’s secret, which she wasn’t even sure she should keep. “Oh, hell, I don’t care about calories, I’m going to make some Godiva hot chocolate with whole milk. Want some?”
“I’d love some.”
Carley bustled around, searching out the container from the high cupboard where she’d hidden it from herself, pouring the milk, stirring steadily.
“There’s a flu bug going around,” Carley said. “Toby must be crazy busy.” Oops, she ordered herself. No talking about Toby.
“He is,” Vanessa agreed. Automatically she got out the little rose-covered tray Carley kept next to the stove and set it with napkins and spoons and Carley’s prettiest mugs. “Cookies?”
“Sure. There’s shortbread in the tin.” How pleasant this could be, just like always, except that Carley’s heart raced around inside her, up to her throat, down to her stomach, skipping and thudding with nerves. She hated this. Maud had put her in an indefensible position; she was betraying Vanessa with every moment that she didn’t tell her the truth.
“Your hands are shaking,” Vanessa observed as Carley poured the hot chocolate into the mugs.
Carley sighed. Vanessa took the pan away from Carley and finished pouring the steaming fragrant dark liquid.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Carley sank into a chair. “It’s just—it’s just that I’ve decided to open a B&B. I’m sure I can make a good amount of money. I’ve talked with Wyatt about it, and he agrees. But I just told Annabel my idea, and she’s completely against it. She’s offended by the very thought.”
Carley couldn’t help it, she began to cry, but she wasn’t crying about Annabel, she was crying because she was such a traitor, such a shit, aware that Vanessa’s husband was sleeping with Maud and not telling her. She hated this situation!
She felt even worse when she felt Vanessa’s arms fold around her in a consoling embrace. “Oh, hon, I didn’t realize. I knew Gus made some bad investments. Toby did, too. I think everyone has.” Vanessa grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped Carley’s tears. “Carley, you should have told me. I can loan you some money.”
Carley was speechless with misery. Oh, God, this was horrible, she couldn’t do this, she had to tell Vanessa, it would break Vanessa’s heart, but at least then only her husband would be betraying her, not her husband and both of her close friends!
“Oh, Vanessa. You’re so generous. I’ve got to tell you something—”<
br />
“Mommy?” Margaret came in the door, her cheeks red from the cold. Carley blew her nose heartily but she couldn’t speak. Margaret stood stock still, staring at her. “Mommy, you’re crying!”
Vanessa picked Margaret up and held her on her lap. Her black hair was held back with a blue headband that matched her blue and white snowflake sweater. Vanessa’s hair was as dark. They could be mother and daughter. “Hi, cutie-pie. Don’t worry about your mommy. She burned her tongue on her hot chocolate. Would you like some hot chocolate?”
Margaret drew back. “I don’t want to burn my tongue.”
“Oh,” Vanessa laughed, “aren’t I silly? It’s not hot now, honey. Look, here’s my cup. I’m going to dip my spoon in, and you can dip your fingertip in the spoon and see how warm it is, not hot, but nice and warm.”
Carefully, Margaret touched the liquid. “It’s warm, not hot.”
“Want to taste some of mine?” Vanessa held out her cup.
Margaret took it warily and brought it slowly to her lips. She took a sip. “It’s good. Thank you, Vanessa.”
“Your mommy made it. How’s your hot chocolate, Carley?”
Carley took a drink. “Perfect.” She sent Vanessa a smile of thanks.
Vanessa gave Carley an affectionate smile. “Listen, I think a B&B is a fabulous idea! You love to bake, you make delicious bread, you love people, you have all these rooms, and you’ve got a dynamite view. You could make quite the tidy sum.”
“Oh, Vanessa, I’m so glad you think so.”
With Margaret nestled on Vanessa’s lap, Carley couldn’t tell Vanessa about Maud and Toby. Perhaps this was good, Carley decided, as she and Vanessa began to talk about other things, town scandals, school events. After all, it was possible that Maud’s affair would end. Married people sometimes needed a fling, and perhaps that was all it was for Maud. Perhaps it would be better for Vanessa if she never knew about it.
Besides, it was really between Toby and Vanessa. It was Toby who should tell her if anyone did.
16
• • • • •
Wyatt recommended a contractor named Hugo Pineda, and Russell grudgingly admitted that if Carley was going to go ahead with the B&B plan, Pineda was as good as any to do the work. Both Russell and Wyatt went through the basement with Carley and the contractor, specifications were drawn up, and the Historic District Commission approved the plans. A contract was signed, and in the middle of February, the renovations began. It was a slow time for builders, and Hugo was glad for the work.
While Hugo hammered away in the basement, Carley ordered new beds and mattresses for the bedrooms. She dug through the trunks in the attic for hand-embroidered bed linen and hand-sewn quilts. She talked with other innkeepers, got her certification of registration with the state, bought a date book and register, and paid a local computer guru to put up an attractive website. She brainstormed with her daughters and they officially named the B&B: Seashell Inn. She got a credit card machine and learned how to use it, and just in time, for reservations began to come in for June, July, and August. The first time she saw the reservation blinking on her website, she nearly had a panic attack. This was real. This was happening!
When Hugo had finished the major renovations on one basement room, Carley whizzed in with her paints and brushes and curtain fabrics. Years ago, when she and Gus had first moved into this house, they had worked together to repair and refresh various rooms of the big old house. They’d wallpapered and painted and hammered and caulked. Soon they had two guest rooms ready on the second floor, for Carley’s parents and her sister and Sue, or Gus or Carley’s college friends, to stay in when they came to visit. Annabel had gladly babysat Cisco while they worked. Carley carefully drew her brush across the new molding on the sunny little ground floor bedroom, remembering those days with satisfaction. Gus would approve of this, she was sure. He would want her to do whatever she could to keep the house.
The renovations kept her so busy she didn’t have much time to visit with Maud or Vanessa—not that Maud ever had time to stop by these days. Not that Carley had any desire to hear the latest lovers’ update from Maud. Perhaps that little fling was over and done with. She hoped so. Her mother-in-law didn’t stop by as often, either, and when Annabel did see Carley, she held herself aloof. Fine, Carley thought. Can’t be bothered. But she missed Annabel’s warmth and humor; she was sorry to upset her mother-in-law. At least both Annabel and Russell were still involved with their granddaughters, taking them out for pizza, attending Cisco’s recitals and Margaret’s kindergarten play.
Kevin moved out, much to the girls’ disappointment, in March. Hugo began work on the window at once. A few days later, he called to Carley, “Come see!”
The room was a glowing jewel. The half-moon window gave the space the air of a medieval chamber. Its mullioned windows divided the garden into a dozen small oil paintings of flowers, sunshine, green grass, and the room was dazzling with light.
“Hugo, you’re a genius!” she cried.
“It’s true,” he agreed. “I am.”
• • •
The basement rooms were ready. All Carley had to do was organize the furniture. She had to go to the Cape to buy accessories and necessities—fresh bath and beach towels, lamps, soaps, tissues, bed linens. She was looking forward to that shopping trip, eager to turn all three rooms into perfect retreats of peace.
She was just checking her calendar to see which day she should go off-island when Cisco exploded into the kitchen.
“I hate you!” Cisco screamed.
Startled, Carley stared at her older daughter, quickly checking for signs of injury. Cisco was in a full-blown tantrum, her face splotched with anger, her eyes streaming with tears.
“Cisco, honey.” Carley went toward her child. “Cis, what on earth has happened?”
“You have happened!” Cisco screamed. “You with your great big enormous bones! Your monster swimmer’s shoulders! You’ve ruined me! Why did you ever have to give birth to me?”
Madame Fourier must finally have told Cisco the terrible truth: Cisco could never have a career as a ballerina. Like Carley, she was tall, with wide shoulders and, increasingly, a real bosom.
“Cisco.” Carley tried to embrace her daughter but Cisco shoved her off. “You need to calm down, Cisco. You’re working yourself into a state.”
“Into a state? You want me to calm down? My life is over and you want me to calm down!”
“Cisco, your life is not over.”
“The life I want is over. My dreams are over.”
“You’ll have new dreams. I promise you, you’ll have new dreams—”
Cisco dropped to her knees. Her shoulders shook. “I don’t want new dreams. Oh, Mommy, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me take ballet? Why did you let me go on believing I could be a ballerina?”
“Darling, when you started ballet, you were just a kid, like Margaret. Neither of us could guess you’d come to love it so much.”
“You could guess I’d look like you.”
Carley knelt next to her daughter. Reaching out, she took Cisco’s hand. “You look like me, true, but not exactly like me, Cisco. You’ve got a lot of genes mixed up inside you, we all do. You have your father’s black hair and eyes. For all I knew, you’d end up with narrow shoulders like Auntie Sarah. The point is, you may be too broad-shouldered for ballet, but you can still dance—”
Cisco shook her head violently. “I’ll never dance again.”
“Oh, honey, that would be terrible. You love to dance. Didn’t Madame Fourier suggest something else—modern dance, for example?”
“No, she didn’t! Because the truth is, I’m an Amazon, I’m an ostrich, I’m a giraffe!”
“Cisco,” Carley laughed. “Come on. You’re hardly—” Cisco pushed up off the floor. She seethed with anger. “Go on, laugh at me. Laugh at me because I’m too hulking to ever be a ballerina. You must have been making fun of me all along! Everyone must have been laughin
g at me to think that great big huge Cisco could be a ballerina! I wish I’d never been born!”
Carley reached out for her daughter. “Cisco, my darling—”
“Don’t touch me! I hate you! You’ve ruined my life!” Cisco ran from the room.
Carley’s heart ached. But what could she do? Everyone saw dreams die, that was part of what growing up was about. When Carley was very young, she wanted to grow up to be a horse, not a cowgirl, but a horse. When Sarah was Cisco’s age, she’d wanted to be a NASCAR driver. It was heartbreaking, but Cisco would survive. She would find other dreams. And Carley was glad this particular dream had met its end. Maybe now her daughter would eat.
17
• • • • •
Carley would have spent more time fretting about Cisco’s broken heart if she hadn’t been so overwhelmed with the way summer was spinning toward her.
Finally the day came to set up the rooms. One Sunday in April, she invited Lauren and her husband Frame and their three children, and Wyatt and his girlfriend Angie over to move furniture and, in return, enjoy a luncheon feast. The men carried chairs, end tables, antique writing desks, old paintings, and framed maps of the island down to the guest rooms. They screwed in curtain rods and hung draperies. They set up the new bed frames and mattresses. Carley and Lauren sailed crisp white cotton sheets over the beds, and Margaret tenderly unwrapped the exquisite new soaps. Even Cisco, still furious with her mother, found herself unable to resist the excitement and joined in to help. They hung thick new towels on the racks, arranged seashell-shaped soaps in the azure soap dishes, folded feather-soft afghans over the arms of the chairs.
When they were finished, Lauren stepped back, folded her arms, and asked, “When can I move in?”
Carley laughed. The rooms were gorgeous, tranquil and dreamy. “They do look inviting, don’t they?”
“You have a gift for this,” Lauren told her.
With a lift of her heart, Carley thought: maybe I do!
• • •
Summer Beach Reads Page 46
