If Ever I Fall (Rhode Island Romance #1)

by Sophia Renny

  “You’ve been her neighbor for a long time,” Willa said, keeping her tone neutral, uncomfortable and unfamiliar with showing emotion.

  Collette paused outside an open doorway. She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed at her eyes. She gave Willa a wobbly smile. “Twenty-five years. We moved next door right after we got married. My ex-husband and me. Pauline took me under her wing when I needed her advice. She was a wonderful lady.”

  Hesitantly, Willa placed her hand on the older woman’s arm. “Thank you for being her friend and for watching out for her. I… I wish I could have known her better than I did.”

  Collette wadded up the tissue and stuffed it back in her coat pocket. She straightened her shoulders and sniffed. “She never blamed you for that, Willa. It was that brother of hers. Your father… Ah, well, water under the bridge, she used to say. Here’s her bedroom. I put fresh sheets on the bed this morning.”

  The bedroom was almost as cluttered as the living room. There were clear, well-trod walkways from the door to the bed and from the bed to the bathroom. The bed itself—a wooden four-poster antique monstrosity—took up most of the floor space. Matching nightstands, a dresser and a wardrobe occupied the remainder. The walls were done in the same dark panels as the living room. Heavy drapes blocked the one window.

  “I vaguely remember this bed,” Willa said. “She would read me stories here sometimes. But the room was different then. Lighter. Warmer.”

  “It was summertime. She would’ve had the windows open.”

  Willa shivered. “Did she…?” She couldn’t finish the question.

  “Pass away in here? No. She was in the hospital. She had a stroke, but it was pneumonia that got her at the last.”

  “You said there are two bedrooms upstairs?”

  “Yes. But it’s too chilly up there, hon. Those are just for the summertime.” Collette heaved a deep sigh, her eyes scanning the room. “It is a little depressing in here. The winter makes this house seem dark and cold. It was meant to be just a summer cottage.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll make us a pot of tea. That’ll warm us up.”

  Willa glanced at her watch. It was only six-thirty in the evening, but it felt much later. She’d been up before dawn to catch a direct flight out of San Francisco.

  Her aunt’s home did feel dark and cold and it smelled musty. That only added to the tired, depressed feelings that assailed Willa as she followed Collette into the kitchen.

  The moment she stepped into the kitchen, her spirits lifted. She remembered this room. She remembered sitting in that breakfast nook in the corner while her aunt baked delicious things. She remembered the pale blue appliances, the yellow linoleum floor, the white cupboards and countertops, the pretty flowered curtains above the porcelain sink. Taking up the entire width of the far wall was a massive built-in cabinet. She guessed it was either oak or walnut. The lower portion was split into four sections of drawers. Open shelving framed a center cupboard in the upper portion; the cupboard had pretty stained glass doors.

  She’d enjoyed spending time in this cozy room. She latched on to that memory, unaware until that very moment that she’d been questioning her impulsive decision to move here since stepping inside the house.

  Maybe she could rig up some kind of cot and sleep here in the kitchen…

  As if reading her thoughts, Collette said, “You don’t have to stay in this house for the winter, you know. Your aunt had an apartment built above the garage five years ago. It was designed for year-round use.”

  Willa paused in removing her coat. She gave the other woman a puzzled look. “Why did she do that?”

  “Because she wanted to. She had the same tenant since the apartment was built, but Stacy left back in October. Got married. Moved to Vermont.”

  “I see. Was my aunt…struggling financially?”

  “Not at all.” Collette moved about the kitchen, filling a kettle with water, opening a cupboard to retrieve a tin canister. She pried off the lid and poked her finger inside. “Do you want chamomile or peppermint?”

  “Chamomile would be lovely.”

  Collette shot Willa a crooked grin. The older woman had removed her coat and knit cap, revealing a mop of curly silvery blond hair above a cheerful broad face that hinted at Slavic ancestry. Polish, perhaps? Willa wondered.

  “Listen to you,” Collette said. “You sound so educated and proper. Your aunt told us about how wicked smart you are.”

  Willa turned away before Collette could see her grimace. She hung her coat on a wooden peg next to the back door before walking over to the breakfast nook. She slid her hand slowly across the wooden surface that was worn smooth from years of use. Then she sat down on one of the cushioned benches. She watched Collette as the other woman set out coffee mugs and spoons. “I like your accent,” Willa said.

  Collette gave her an offended look. “What accent? I don’t have an accent.”

  Willa felt her face turning bright red.

  Then Collette hooted with laughter, her own cheeks flushing rosy red, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ha! I fooled ya,” she teased, adding an even thicker layer to her accent. “You should see your face. I’ve gotta share that one with the girls.”

  “The girls?”

  “My best friends. Audrey, Mercy and Shirley. I’ve known Audrey and Mercy since grade school. I met Shirley a few years ago through a volunteer program at the public library—that’s where I work part-time—and brought her into the group. We’re all the same age. Shirley’s divorced, like me. She lives in Cranston. Mercy’s married, has two kids in college. She and Don live in North Kingstown. And Audrey’s single and lives in Providence. She lived in the city—New York—for the last thirty years. Moved back here about a year ago.”

  The tea had finished brewing while Collette had been talking. She filled the two mugs and brought them over to the table. “That’ll do ya. Do you want milk? Sugar?”

  “This is fine.”

  Collette scooted onto the bench across from Willa. She wrapped her hands around her tea mug, her smile touched with sadness. “I used to come over here every afternoon that I wasn’t working. Your aunt loved her teas. Her father was British you know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about my family’s genealogy.”

  “Not to worry. Pauline had it all written down. She liked to show me her photo albums. The older she got, the more she talked about her childhood. Her mother was French-Canadian. She came to Rhode Island when she was sixteen to work in a textile mill in Woonsocket. She met your grandfather at a dance.” Collette took a sip of her tea. She rolled her eyes. “Pauline told me that your father was embarrassed that his mother was what he called low class. She was a factory girl. Your grandfather came from the British upper class. Pauline said your father couldn’t wait to move away after he graduated from high school.”

  Willa gazed into her tea, avoiding the other woman’s searching eyes. “I’m glad she kept track of our ancestry. Sometimes I’ve wondered about it.”

  Collette leaned across the table, compelling Willa to look at her. “Listen, hon,” she said, giving Willa a straightforward look. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, I can be pretty blunt with my speaking. My ma calls it ‘brassy’. The older I get, the less I care about people being offended by what I say or do. I can tell you’re not used to that. That’s why I’m warning you. The girls are just the same. Well, Mercy can be a bit of a prude. She can’t help it; that’s how she was raised. But give her a couple of glasses of wine, and she’s a little devil.”

  Willa was startled by her own laughter; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed about anything. “Thanks for the warning,” she said. “You’re right. I’m not used to that. I don’t think I’ll mind. But let’s agree not to speak about my father. It’s too soon.”

  “Fair enough,” Collette said with a smile, looking relieved. “Good. Now. You were asking about Pauline’s financial situation. I have all
the paperwork over at my place. We can go through that tomorrow. But she was doing just fine. About six years ago she thought she might move to one of those assisted living places. Then she changed her mind and had the apartment added in case she needed to hire a live-in caretaker. But she was in pretty good shape right up until she had her stroke. I think deciding to stay here kept her going. She loved this neighborhood.”

  “How long did she live here?”

  “Technically, it’s been her home since she was born. It was the family’s summer cottage. She and your father were born and raised in Providence. Her father gave this place to her as a wedding gift.”

  Willa frowned. “I thought she’d never married?”

  “She was engaged. Her fiancé was killed in a boating accident a week before the wedding. She moved in here anyway. I don’t think she ever got over his death.”

  “You mean… She was alone all those years?”

  Collette grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. Not from the stories she shared with me. Your aunt was a beautiful woman. Like you, if you don’t mind me saying. There were men in the picture through the years, but she told me that her independence was very important to her. I don’t think any man could match up to her fiancé. He was her soul mate.”

  Willa’s sudden yawn startled both of them. “I’m sorry,” Willa said, covering her mouth. “It just hit me how tired I am.”

  “It’s been a long day for you. Did you have something to eat on the plane? I put a chicken casserole in the fridge.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Willa stood up from the table. “I’d like to see the apartment. Would you mind showing it to me now?”

  “No problem. You might as well bring your overnight things with you. I’m guessing that you’ll want to stay there. When spring comes, I’ll help you get this house opened up and aired out.”

  Bundled up in her coat once more, on the verge of exiting the house, Collette turned to Willa and said, “You don’t remember me, do you. But I remember you. You were a funny kid. When all the other kids in the neighborhood were playing outside, you’d be sitting on the front porch, lost in your books.” Her mouth quirked in a reflective smile. “Your aunt had a hammock strung between the two silver maple trees in the backyard. I could see you from my kitchen window. You’d just lie there sometimes, so still you were like a statue, just looking up into those trees. It was almost like you were counting all the leaves on the branches or something.”

  “I was.”

  “No kidding!” Collette laughed, looking a little awestruck. “I think that hammock’s still around. You’ll have to dig it out this summer.”

  Willa felt her features relax, a vision of lounging on the hammock beneath the shade of those beautiful maple trees capturing her thoughts. “I will definitely do that,” she said, hearing the wistfulness in her own voice.

  Collette cocked her head to one side. “You know, Willa. I was kind of surprised that you decided to move here without seeing the place first. And in the wintertime, too. You chose the worst time of year. But I guess if you’re looking to escape from something, or to discover something about yourself, this is just as good a place as any.” Leaning forward, she gave Willa a quick, impulsive hug. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  Chapter Two

  When Willa returned from her walk, she noticed two familiar cars parked in Collette’s driveway. Mercy and Shirley were visiting. She paused at the bottom of the outside staircase that led to the apartment above the garage, distracted by a fluttering of movement visible through Collette’s living room window.

  There was Collette, banging on the window, waving her arms in a frantic motion, urging Willa to come over.

  Willa’s heart skipped a beat, panic chasing her steps as she rushed towards Collette’s house. Had something bad happened? It was hard to tell from Collette’s expression; the woman looked like she was having some kind of fit the way she was jumping up and down and flinging her arms about. Behind her, Willa saw Mercy and Shirley in an equal state of commotion.

  “What’s going on?” Willa asked in a gasping voice as she flung open the front door. “Is everything okay?”

  Collette, Mercy and Shirley turned to face her. All of them spoke at the same time. Between the laughter, the hollering, and the happy dances around the living room, Willa couldn’t pick out a coherent string of words from any of them. She pressed her hand to her chest and sat down on the edge of the couch. At least no one was hurt.

  The relief she felt at that moment made her realize just how much these women had come to mean to her in the three short months she’d known them. They were her friends. She’d never had friends before. Colleagues, yes, casual acquaintances, yes, but never this. This was a brand new emotion, and she didn’t know what to do with it. So she sat and watched and waited until the women had calmed down enough to speak in logical sentences.

  “I got a phone call—”

  “The home show people called Shirley—”

  “Remember that contest we all entered—”

  Willa raised her hand in a stopping motion. “Can just one of you talk, please? It gives me a headache when too many things are thrown at me at once.”

  “Oh, right,” Shirley said. “Sorry, hon.” She looked at Mercy and Collette for permission before continuing. “You remember that contest we entered at the home show last month, right?”

  Willa frowned, recalling the day in early March when she and the girls had gone to the Rhode Island Home Show. Mercy had been looking for ideas for a kitchen remodeling project. Shirley was looking for her next husband. Collette and Audrey had agreed to go because it was “something to do on a Sunday”. Willa hadn’t wanted to go at all; she usually wasn’t comfortable in large crowds or places where there was too much light and color and noise. She’d reluctantly agreed to go only after Collette pointed out that Willa was a homeowner now with a house that needed repairs. It would be a good opportunity to scout out some remodeling contractors.

  “I don’t remember entering a contest,” she said.

  “You didn’t. We did,” Collette said.

  Willa scanned their expectant faces. “Did one of you win something?”

  Mercy clapped her hands together. “You did!”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Each of us filled out an entry slip and put your name down,” Shirley explained. “But we wrote in our own phone numbers, just in case.”

  “You didn’t have a phone yet,” Collette pointed out.

  “Okay. So… What did I win?”

  They all began talking at the same time again, but it was Collette’s voice that overpowered the others. “A friggin’ home renovation, that’s what,” she crowed. “The whole house!”

  “What?”

  “And that’s not all,” Mercy said. “You’re going to be on a TV show!”

  Alarm shot through Willa’s body. She looked around the room, searching in the corners. “Is this a joke? Are you recording this right now?”

  Collette plopped down beside her on the sofa and set her hand on Willa’s knee. “No, hon,” she said in a soothing tone, recognizing Willa’s anxiety. “It’s not a joke. Let me explain. Quiet, Mercy,” she scolded when Mercy began to chatter. “We’ve made Willa upset. Let’s all calm down now.”

  Mercy and Shirley sat on the loveseat across from the sofa. Shirley gave Willa an apologetic smile. “Sorry, hon. We’re just so excited for you.”

  Willa took a deep breath and released it slowly. In her mind she pictured blue sky and a lighthouse. Gradually, she felt the anxiety ebbing. “I’m good,” she murmured. “You can finish talking now.”

  “This is what happened,” Collette said in a soft, measured tone. “The big contest at the home show was a total home remodel. All of the premium show sponsors contributed. But the biggest sponsor is the HOME channel. They’re filming the project for this new series. What’s it going to be called again, Shirl?”

  “I didn’t catch it, I was that ex
cited. Something Rossetti? Two brothers. General contractors, I think.”

  “Did you write anything down?” Collette asked with forced patience.

  “Oh, right.” Shirley dug into her jeans pocket, retrieving a folded note. She nudged Mercy. “Get my reading glasses from my pocketbook, will ya?”

  “When are you going to face the facts and get bifocals,” Mercy grumbled good-naturedly as she walked over to the entryway table to fetch the glasses from the side pocket of Shirley’s purse.

  “After I marry my next husband,” Shirley retorted, fluffing her shoulder-length, bottle-red hair. Once the blue-framed glasses were in place, she held the paper at arm’s length in front of her and read, “Veronica. Monday. Three o’clock. That’s when the TV series field producer is coming to meet you,” she informed Willa, peering at her over the rim of her glasses. “She’s driving up from New York to see the house and to review everything with you.”

  “I don’t want to do this,” Willa said.

  “Willa—”

  “I didn’t enter this contest. You girls did. Why don’t you have one of your houses done instead?”

  “Think, Willa,” Collette implored. “Pauline’s house needs some major work. This is something you needed to do anyway.”

  Willa stood up from the sofa and stalked across the room to the fireplace. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “On my own time,” she muttered. “And not on television.”

  The three women remained seated, watching her as she paced back and forth. After a couple of minutes, Mercy said, “We don’t know all the details around this, hon. You can meet with the producer and have all your questions answered. If you don’t like their plans, I’m sure you can back out.”

  “I don’t have her number anyway,” Shirley added, reading over her scribbles. “Or her last name. So there’s no way to reach her.”