Hometown Ties

by Melody Carlson

  “I think you were smart to nab him while you could. And you’re right, I do need to focus on my painting.”

  “How’s it coming?”

  “It’s coming.”

  Janie could tell by her tone that it was still not coming easily. “Hey, I found some great glass tiles today.”

  “Where at?”

  “That new home-decor store that just opened in town. It’s a pretty cool shop.”

  “Bridgeport Interiors?”

  “Yes. That’s it. Anyway, I might go back to look at a few things again. That woman has a good eye.”

  “That woman?”

  Janie laughed. “Yes. In the excitement of finding great tile, I forgot to get her name, but I’m pretty sure she’s the owner.”

  “Her name is Bonnie Boxwell,” Marley said in a flat voice, as if she was trying to convey something beyond identification information.

  Janie’s memory clicked. “Oh. Is that the same Bonnie—Paul’s friend Bonnie?”

  “That’s my guess. If you were talking to the owner, that is. Abby just told me that Bonnie Boxwell opened a shop called Bridgeport Interiors.”

  Janie glanced at her watch now. “She should be here any minute now.”

  “She’s coming to your house?” Marley sounded shocked. “What is she, your new best friend?”

  “No, of course not. But she seems like a nice person. And I didn’t get her name. Maybe she’s a partner.”

  “Maybe.” Marley sounded skeptical.

  “Even if she is Bonnie Boxwell,” Janie continued, “does that mean we all have to hate her? This is a small town, and she seems nice—and I’m not sure I want to start making enemies. And her shop is really great. I want to go back there.”

  “So why is she coming to your house?”

  “To measure for tile.” Janie looked out the front window to see a silver Jaguar pulling up in front of her house. “And I think she’s here.”

  “Hide your men,” Marley teased.

  “Yeah, right.” Janie glanced out to see Mario unloading a bag from the back of his pickup. “Talk to you later.”

  “Let me know if it’s her.”

  Janie said good-bye and went outside to greet her visitor. “I’m sorry,” Janie said as she stuck out her hand, “I never really introduced myself. I’m Janie Sorenson.”

  “Bonnie Boxwell.”

  Janie nodded to distract herself from this disappointment, then pointed toward the house. “This was actually my parents’ house,” she explained, “where I grew up. But they both passed on, and it was time to do something with it. When I first started renovations, I wasn’t planning on moving back here.”

  “Moving back here?” Bonnie questioned. “Where from?”

  “New York.” Janie sighed. “Specifically Manhattan. I had a lovely apartment.” Now, for the most part, Janie wasn’t sorry for uprooting her life. But she occasionally experienced flashes of longing—unrealistic flashes, she reminded herself.

  “What made you move back?”

  “Lots of things. My husband passed on. It was time for a change.”

  “That’s a pretty big change.”

  “How about you?” Janie asked as they stood outside on the scruffy lawn. “I’m guessing you moved to Clifden from somewhere?”

  Bonnie laughed. “Yes. I needed a change too. But I only moved here from Portland. I’m wondering if that was a big mistake, though.”

  “A mistake?”

  “It’s hard to break into a new town, you know, making friends. Especially when you’re single. Don’t you find it to be a challenge?”

  “Well, I was lucky in that I already had some friends here.” Janie knew it was time to change the subject again. “Anyway, as far as this house goes, I originally thought I would fix it up and sell it. So I’ve had a split plan, because at first I was trying to be economical and expedient. But now, well, I like things nice.” She peered up at the old ranch house, which was sorely in need of some exterior work too. “But I’m getting worried that I might be attempting to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, as my grandmother used to say.”

  Bonnie laughed. “I’ve never heard that saying. But here’s what I think: Our homes should be a reflection of who we are.” She studied Janie. “And you seem like a very classic and stylish woman. Why shouldn’t your home reflect that?”

  Janie nodded. “Thanks. I did bring a fair amount of furnishings and things from my Manhattan apartment. Most is in storage, although I did start setting up my living room, just because I needed a place to relax in. Right now I’m working on my bedroom.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  So Janie started showing Bonnie her house. “My parents really hadn’t done anything with it over the years,” she admitted. “But the wood floors were in pretty good shape, so I had them refinished.” Even as she said this, she felt guilty, since it was Abby who had helped in that part of the renovation. “But now I wonder if that was a mistake,” she said quickly, probably in effort to hide her real feelings.

  “A mistake?”

  “Well, the oak seems a little … I don’t know … expected.”

  Bonnie nodded.

  “If I’d known it was going to be my house, I might’ve splurged for something a bit more exotic.”

  “It’s not too late.” Bonnie’s blue eyes lit up. “Something like rosewood or mahogany could really make a statement.”

  Janie looked at her arrangement of oriental carpets and furnishings in the living room and shook her head. “You’re probably right, but the truth is I’m getting so sick of dust and waiting, I should probably just leave well enough alone.”

  “You could always switch it out later,” Bonnie suggested.

  “Yes.” Janie nodded. “Later.”

  “Your furnishings are lovely,” Bonnie said as she ran her hand over the leather sectional.

  “Thank you. I worried they were a bit uptown for Clifden.” Janie chuckled.

  “From what I hear, Clifden is changing.”

  “I think you’re right. Anyway, these were my things—what I was used to—and some of them had been in my husband’s family.”

  “Like this lamp?” Bonnie pointed to the Tiffany.

  “Yes. And some of the carpets.”

  “Your husband’s family had excellent taste.”

  Janie nodded. “Yes, and I’m sure his mother would turn over in her grave if she knew her Tiffany was in this little ranch house.”

  “Do you want any suggestions?” Bonnie was standing over by the window.

  “Sure.” Janie nodded with a bit of uncertainty. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Some rearranging of this room.”

  Janie frowned. “Well, good luck with that. I had a tough time figuring out how to place that sectional.” Her friends had helped her to move the bulky pieces around and around the living room space. None of the options had come out quite right.

  “Did you consider breaking it up?”

  “Breaking it up?”

  “The sectional pieces.”

  Janie shook her head. “Wouldn’t that look weird?”

  “Not if you do it right.” Bonnie grinned. “Do you trust me?”

  Janie felt a rush of panic. What if Abby unexpectedly stopped by, like she often did? How would she react to seeing “the other woman” rearranging Janie’s furnishings? Furnishings that Abby herself had helped to put into place?

  “I have an idea,” Bonnie said. “Why don’t you go do something else? Unpack something or go shopping or whatever it is you need to do to make your house a home, and leave me to my own devices in here.”

  “But I—”

  “I’ll do it for free. And if you don’t like it better, I’ll put it all back.”


  “I—uh—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say yes.”

  “But it’s so much work. These pieces are heavy and—”

  “I have furniture slides in my trunk, and I noticed a nice piece of manpower in your driveway. Maybe he could give me a hand.”

  “Mario?” Janie said weakly.

  Bonnie nodded. “Yes. Mario will do just fine.”

  Janie remembered Marley’s warning—lock up your men—and gulped.

  “Now, run along, Janie. I have work to do.” Bonnie was literally pushing Janie out her own front door. “I noticed you eyeing some things in my shop earlier. Why don’t you go have another look around—and keep in mind that if you’re a design client, you’ll get an additional ten percent off.”

  Well, that did it for Janie. Worried that Abby might drop in, she decided her best escape might be to do just that—escape!

  Chapter 11

  Abby

  As Abby walked away from the bank, she wasn’t sure whether to feel confident or desperate. On one hand, Leslie, the loan officer, had been encouraging, talking about low interest rates, business loans, and government grants. But when she asked Abby about collateral and down payment, she seemed a bit concerned when Abby came up empty-handed. “So what do you actually have to bring to the table?” Leslie peered curiously at her. “I mean besides your dream, which I’ll admit sounds like fun. But we’re a bank. We need something more concrete. I assume Paul will partner with you? We’ve done a number of building loans with him so—”

  “I want to do this separate from Paul.”

  “Oh?” Leslie’s thinly plucked eyebrows lifted.

  “I do have a nice chunk of savings,” Abby admitted. “But I thought I would need most of it for supplying the house and doing some updates.”

  “And that’s good. We always appreciate adding value to property. But you do understand you’ll need a substantial down payment, don’t you?”

  Abby nodded. “I’ve done the math. I might be able to come up with ten percent—”

  “You might need more than ten percent. I’ll have to run the numbers, and you’ll need to provide me with some information.” She slid some papers across the desk. “You’ll need to fill out this paperwork.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we’ll see what we can do.” Leslie stood then, which Abby took as her hint that this meeting was over.

  “Thank you for your time.”

  Leslie smiled and shook Abby’s hand again. “We’ll both do our homework and see where it takes us.”

  As Abby had smiled back, she sensed that Leslie thought Abby was never going to be able to pull something like this off. Abby drove away doubting herself. But then she reminded herself about Jackie’s encouragement.

  “I’m single,” Jackie had reminded Abby as they ate lunch together at The Lighthouse. “And I manage all right.”

  “But you got in when prices were lower,” Abby pointed out. “If I could purchase our house at the price we originally bought it for, I’d have it made in the shade.” She sighed.

  “Don’t forget that everything was less back then,” Jackie said. “You would’ve charged less for rooms, and it would all be a wash.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “The main thing to keep in mind is that if you really want to do this—if you know that you’re willing to roll up your sleeves and do the hard work, you will succeed.”

  “So is it really hard work?” Abby didn’t like to judge people, but Jackie was even more overweight than Abby. Although Abby always managed to get her housework done, she often felt lethargic at the end of the day.

  “Oh, I have a girl help with the beds and the laundry,” Jackie admitted, “but it’s pretty much an endless job.” She smiled. “But I love it. My guests and my cat are like family. I can’t imagine my life without them.” Then she had launched into a story about a couple staying at her inn that very week. “They’re both retired archeologists and have been on digs all over the world. The stories they tell are fascinating.”

  Abby nodded. “Yes, that’s the part of this that interests me. Meeting new people. And I love to cook and decorate. Really, running a B and B seems like just my sort of thing.”

  “I have a good feeling this is really going to happen,” Jackie told her as they were parting ways. “You and I will partner and help each other out, and it’ll be such fun.”

  Abby felt bone tired as she drove through town. And yet she felt strangely driven, too. Leslie had confirmed that her old house was indeed about to go into a short sale. “I can’t tell you what that price will be. But I can tell you a short sale is a lender’s attempt to get back what was financed.”

  Abby didn’t tell Leslie that she had been a previous owner of the house of interest, or a co-owner. And Leslie, new in town, wouldn’t know this unless she did some research. Abby doubted she would. The good news was that, as Abby recalled, the buyers had put down more than ten percent, and they had purchased the house in a market on its way down.

  Abby continued driving through town and out on the old beach road until she pulled up in front of her mom’s little bungalow.

  “Hi, Mom,” she called as she went inside. Like her mom, Abby seldom knocked before entering.

  “In the kitchen,” her mom called over the whir of what sounded like a blender.

  “Margaritas?” Abby said hopefully.

  “Even better.” Mom held up a tomato. “Salsa. My friend Elsie just dropped off a bunch of lovely tomatoes, peppers, onions, and garlic, and I thought nothing sounded better than some fresh salsa.” She opened the processor, dipped in a tortilla chip, and handed it to Abby. “What do you think?”

  “Needs a little more zing.”

  Her mom nodded and reached for a chili pepper. “Elsie warned me these are extra hot.”

  “Maybe you should use rubber gloves,” Abby warned. “I got a bad skin burn once.”

  Her mother used a paper towel to protect her hand, sliced open the pepper, removed the seeds, then chopped up a small portion and dropped it into the processor. She set it to whirring again. “Try that,” she said as she handed Abby another chip.

  “Needs more lime juice,” Abby told her.

  “You’re right.” Her mom cut open another lime, juiced it, and poured it into the mixture, giving it another quick whirl. “How’s that?”

  Abby dipped another chip, tasted it, then nodded and smiled. “Perfect. A little bit sweet, a little bit sour, and hot.”

  “Too spicy for Paul, though.”

  “Probably.”

  “Why don’t you run over and invite Marley to join us outside?” her mom said as she dumped the orange-red mixture into a large handmade ceramic bowl.

  “I want to ask you about something first.” Abby reached for the blender carafe and took it over to the sink to rinse.

  “What?” her mom asked as she scooped some vegetable scraps into her compost bucket.

  “I want to buy our old house back,” Abby said.

  Her mom looked curiously at her. “Is it even for sale?”

  Abby explained what she’d heard about the short sale and repeated her conversations with Jackie as well as the loan officer.

  “I know you’ve had that bed-and-breakfast dream for years,” her mom said as she dried her hands. “But is it something that would be better off remaining a dream?”

  “I don’t think so.” Abby washed off a knife. “I need something to do, Mom. Something that makes me want to get up in the morning. You have your arts and crafts. Marley has her painting. Janie has her house remodel. And Caroline …” She sighed. “Caroline has her hands full with her mom.”

  “I heard about her escapade on the fishing boat.” Abby’s mom chuckled. “Can’t wait to see tha
t story in the paper next week.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Caroline is waiting with bated breath.”

  “So do you have enough in your savings to swing it?” her mom asked.

  “I might have enough for the down payment, but it would take all my savings, and then I wouldn’t have enough to outfit the inn and do some painting and fix-ups.”

  “Where does Paul stand in all this?”

  Abby avoided her mom’s eyes, looking down at the linoleum floor, which was in need of a good mopping.

  “I figured as much. He never really did like that house, Abby. When you kids wanted to buy it from us, we actually discouraged him.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I told him you kids needed a fresh start, a place completely your own. And your father told him that the house needed a lot of repairs and—”

  “That’s for sure. That house was a money pit.”

  “But I think Dad’s warning worked like reverse psychology. The more we talked down the house, the more Paul seemed bound and determined to buy it.”

  “Well, I wanted it too,” Abby admitted. “And back then I actually had some influence on my husband.”

  Her mom didn’t respond to this. Instead she found another hand-thrown ceramic bowl and dumped the bag of tortilla chips into it. Then she picked up the phone. “I’m calling Marley.”

  Abby sighed. Really, why had she thought her mom would have any interest in this project? Sometimes her mom was just as pessimistic about Abby’s abilities as Paul was. She felt a wave of jealousy as she listened to her mom cheerfully chatting with Marley, asking about the painting and acting like they were new best friends. “Okay, honey, see you in about ten minutes.” She hung up and turned to Abby. “That Marley, she insists on making margaritas.”

  “Well, that’s nice of her,” Abby said in a grumpy tone.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just that no one, including you, seems to believe in me. No one in my family, anyway. Jackie seems to think I can do this. And the bank gal was willing to look into it. Even Marley encouraged me to check it out.”