by Milan Watson
“It’s a pleasure. I’ll be on my way now and remember to thank your daughter for me.”
“Will do. Just one favor I ask of you. Try and come back someday to tell me how it all turned out.”
Sarah smiled and promised to do just that. She climbed behind the wheel of the grey sedan and started driving. Without forethought of where she was going, she headed north.
It was past midnight; Sarah was bone tired and promised herself she would halt in the next town. She had been driving all day and only stopped twice for gas and food.
After she crossed the Vermont state line and started taking to smaller roads, she ceased noticing where she was. She was now either in New Hampshire or Maine. Either way, she was stopping.
There was only a little USA left north of her, and the plan was to put distance between herself and Savannah, not to leave the country. A sign welcomed her to Blue Hill. She had never heard of the little town before.
Somewhere she had to find somewhere to sleep. As she drove into town, there was a diner still open. Its neon lights flashed invitingly, even if the ‘O’ was out and it flashed ‘PEN’.
She came to a stop and climbed from her sedan. Her body was sore from sitting all day cooped up behind a steering wheel. She took her time stretching, fully extending her legs and back; both were stiff and strained.
As she walked into the diner she noticed a tray full of apple pie on the counter. She debated on ordering two or three slices when a voice piped up behind her, “Hello! What can I get you? Kitchen’s closed but coffee’s on.”
Sarah turned to find a waitress smiling as she held a pot of coffee. She almost drooled. “Yes please,” she all but pleaded.
The waitress reached over the counter for a cup and handed it to Sarah after filling up. “Are you expecting someone?” she asked, no doubt finding it odd that a woman would arrive alone at a diner so late at night.
“No, I just came into town.” Sarah took a large gulp of coffee. “I hoped someone here would be able to tell me where I can find a motel for the night.”
“Oh dear,” the waitress replied. “I’m Macie, honey. It seems to me you have a bit of problem. We have some or other convention going on in town this weekend, everything’s booked up.”
Sarah felt her courage slip. “Great, that’s just great.” She couldn’t stop the words that started tumbling from her mouth. “I’ve driven all day just to decide to stop in the one town where there isn’t lodging for me. Just great!” She swallowed the last of her coffee and handed the cup back to Macie. “How far till the next town?”
“Honey, you have some more coffee, I’ll be right back.” Macie filled her up and, remembering how she had looked at the pie, placed two pieces in a plate and shoved it in front of Sarah.
She then disappeared into a door, with a sign indicating ‘STAFF ONLY’.
Sarah didn’t know if Macie felt sorry for her or if she wanted to get away from the crazy lady with verbal diarrhea; either way, she started eating her pie.
A few minutes later Macie came back smiling.
“I just spoke to Gladys. She’s a friend of mine that owns Oak Cottages out at Peter’s Point. She said a couple of the guys that were staying there had to return to New York on urgent business earlier this evening. She has a bed for you, you can head on over.”
She explained how to get to Oak Cottages, and ten minutes later Sarah was back in her car; heading down a very dark road to Peter’s Point.
She knocked on the door of Oak Cottages just before one a.m., hearing waves crashing against the rocks down by the beach. The sea breeze was cool and refreshing after a long hot day on the road. Sarah wondered vaguely what the view would be like in daylight.
When Gladys opened the front door to her she was relieved to have found a place to spend the night.
The woman noticed her tired eyes and weary movements. “Welcome, dear, I take it you’re Sarah?” Sarah nodded in agreement. “Well then, let me show you to your room. We can sort out the paperwork in the morning; you’re half dead on your feet already.”
Gladys led her up the stairs to a bedroom on the first floor. She wished Sarah a goodnight and firmly closed the door behind her. Sarah placed the briefcase of money and her purse on the small writing desk. She headed to the bed, promising herself a little lie down before taking a shower. Exhausted, her eyes fell closed as soon as her head hit the pillows.
Sarah woke from the sun’s rays through the window playing on her skin. In her weary state she hadn’t even thought to close the curtains.
She tried to remember where she was, but foggy sleep still haunted her mind. She gradually drifted awake and the past two days flashed through her mind like a slide show.
Running out on her wedding, selling her car, driving all day and most of the night and ending up in Blue Hill, Maine. A smile slowly teased at the corners of her life. Pride. That was what she felt. She had walked out on everything and everyone she knew, and she had never felt more happy or proud of herself. In the last forty-eight hours she had shaken off all the expectations and responsibilities of being a Rothman and, for the first time, she could just be.
She could feel the cool autumn chill on the morning air and loved the freshness it brought. Slowly getting up, she sauntered over to the window.
The view took her breath away. Oak Cottages was built on an outcrop of land, overlooking the Mount Desert Narrows. Gulls cried in the distance, and she saw little boats bobbing on the sea. She smiled to herself, thinking about staying in Blue Hill.
After a leisurely shower, she strolled downstairs and followed the scents of bacon frying, soon finding herself in a large farm style kitchen. Gladys was at the stove, juggling several pans with a juicer buzzing behind her.
“Good morning,” Sarah greeted her.
Gladys turned around, and Sarah felt as if she was meeting the woman for the first time. She had a vague recollection of arriving last night, and being welcomed and shown to her room by a kind lady before she passed out. Gladys reminded Sarah of everyone’s favorite aunt. Her auburn hair had a soft curl and just touched her shoulders. She wasn’t overweight at all, but the few extra pounds she carried gave her an aura of comfort and softness. Her eyes were a doe brown with a few lines etched there from smiling.
She smiled at Sarah with a pan in hand. “Hello, sleepy head. You sleep well? Looked like you needed it last night when you arrived.”
“Yes, thank you. I was driving all day yesterday. I think if that kind lady at the diner hadn’t called you, I would’ve been happy to sleep in one of the chairs right there.” Feeling at home, she closed in to the stove to peer over Gladys’s shoulder. “That looks amazing!”
On the gas burner there were a variety of pans, all sizzling away with bacon, mushrooms, fried tomatoes, eggs, sausages and what looked to be bananas frying in syrup.
Gladys let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t be a better hostess this morning, but I have twenty-six people that will be in for breakfast in thirty minutes and Lila just phoned in sick, again! There is coffee in the dining room; you go enjoy some of that, and I’ll have breakfast ready in jiffy.” Gladys quickly flipped the strips of bacon to allow the other side to fry. Mumbling in a softer tone she went on, “It’s high time I find someone more reliable to help out around here.”
Sarah had always enjoyed helping the Creole cook in their kitchen back home, even though her mother always said that cooking was for paid servants and not debutantes. Surveying the amount of food that still needed to be cooked on the counter behind Gladys, Sarah reached for an apron hanging next to the fridge and started chopping more mushrooms.
At the sound of chopping, Gladys turned around. “Oh no, dear, I didn’t mean for you to help, I’m just complaining,” she explained hastily. “Don’t mind me; it’s just Lila’s been very unreliable over the past couple of weeks. I always manage to cope; I just don’t know why I hired her, is all.”
“It’s no problem, I don’t mind helping.” Sarah’s stom
ach growled in response and she added laughingly, “Especially if I can have some breakfast when we’re done.” She slid the mushrooms into a bowl and started slicing tomatoes.
Gladys laughed a throaty sound. “Of course you get breakfast, you are a guest! Which leads me to remember, we should still sign you in? I didn’t even get your name last night?”
Sarah smiled and wiped her hands on her apron before holding them out towards Gladys. “Sarah Rothman.”
Gladys took her hands in her wrinkled own and squeezed. “Welcome to Oak Cottages.”
Sarah enjoyed the simple acquaintance; it wasn’t like introducing herself in Savannah, where everyone knew who the Rothmans’ were, and immediately they set their own expectations of a Rothman on you. She was certain Gladys didn’t even know about the Rothmans of Savannah. She started humming along with Gladys as they worked together on finishing breakfast.
After breakfast was served and all the guests left for the Convention in town, Sarah sat down to a leisurely meal on the front veranda overlooking the Mount Desert Narrows. The water seemed clearer here. The small waves were doing a slow dance with the shore. With centuries of practice, it slowly gained ground and gently receded. This was where she was meant to be.
Peace settled over her like a large warm blanket. She would stay in Blue Hill. Until it was time to go back.
She started making a mental list of things to do. Even if she planned to be away for quite a while, this wasn’t a holiday. Without access to her credit cards, she needed to be realistic. The money left over from selling her car and buying the new ‘old’ car would be enough to accommodate the basic necessities for a few months, but she didn’t have anything with her. Not even a toothbrush.
Hank gave her a fair price at such short notice but nothing close to the actual value of the Porsche. She’d need to go to town, get some clothes and basics. Then she had to find a job, not something flashy, something that paid by the hour, allowing her to still have free time.
During the long drive she had decided that she was going to start painting again. She’d need to budget in some paints; canvasses and an easel. She also didn’t want a job that put her in the spotlight; so she could rule out the diner. In small towns everyone knew their favorite waitress.
She needed to speak to Gladys and find out what her rates were. Being a tourist accommodation spot, it was likely that if she stayed here, her money would run out in under a month, so she needed to find cheaper accommodation.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Gladys set a glass of orange juice down in front her, along with manila folder. “Fresh juice and your bill,” she said with a smile. “The room you are in is open for a few nights yet if you’d like to stay longer.” She sat down in the chair opposite Sarah and gave her a questioning look.
Sarah thanked her and opened the folder. The rates were more than reasonable compared to big city standards, but still nothing she could afford for more than a couple of weeks. “Could I maybe stay for a week, and then we’ll take it from there?” she enquired as she signed the bill.
“Of course you can, dear. The convention people are leaving in the morning, so it will be just the two of us until next weekend.” She sighed contently. “I always prefer having guests than staying alone in this big place.” Gladys folded her hands in her lap as she gazed over the water. “I never get tired of this view.”
“It’s lovely; it has a certain peaceful melancholy about it.” After sitting in companionable silence for a while enjoying the view, Sarah stood up, draining the glass of orange juice. “I’ll just grab my purse and pay upfront for the week. I’ll be heading into town, so I’ll only be back later this afternoon.”
THREE
SARAH strolled through town taking in the lovely sights and sounds of Blue Hill. The small town fascinated her. People greeted each other on the sidewalk, waved to folk in vehicles. Everyone probably knew everyone.
She’d already managed to procure the clothing items needed for her stay. None of the designer suits and dresses she was used to. She had indulged on casual jeans and cotton shirts; her mother would have a slight heart attack. Next on her list was the drug store for toiletries. As she opened the door, a little bell chime went off.
“Be right with you,” a muffled voice came from an open doorway in the back.
She grabbed a basket by the door, and browsed through the aisles, placing items she needed in the basket. Once she had retrieved everything on her list, she moved towards the cashier, a lady in her early thirties with a toddler on her hip.
“Hi there,” she said in way of greeting as Sarah unloaded her basket. “Haven’t seen you in here before?” She asked it unapologetically, with small town curiosity. Ringing the items up, she tried to keep the toddler from grabbing them out of her hands. She looked at Sarah and probed again. “Are you one of the convention people?” The toddler grabbed a bottle of shampoo and started chewing on the top.
“No, I just came into town last night.” Sarah couldn’t help but smile at the toddler who believed all his teething woes would be cured by chewing on the bottle cap.
“Oh dear.” The lady realized what was happening and tried to pry the bottle from his hands. “Let me get you another one, this one is covered with drool.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sarah laughed and gently pulled the bottle from the toddler’s hands while making funny faces. He gave a little laugh and his mother stopped his hands just in time from grabbing another item.
After Sarah paid, a thought sprung to her mind. “Is there perhaps an art store in town?”
“Oh yes, we have a little one down the way of the harbor, quite a few artists come round these parts to paint. Are you an artist?”
“No, I just like to play around a bit. Thank you and goodbye.”
Leaving the store Sarah couldn’t help but wonder why she felt a twinge of disappointment at saying she wasn’t an artist. All her life that was exactly who she wanted to be, but her mother passed her love for painting off as a frivolous waste of time. She was to become nothing but the perfect wife, the perfect wife to Grant.
No else knew of her dream to paint. She knew she was quite good at it, with a sharp eye for texture and depth, and the combination made her paintings striking yet touching. She’d never had the time to hone her talent or the freedom to discover what she was capable of. As decided during the long drive, she would take the time in Blue Hill and explore her capabilities. This was something she felt she had to do. Not in secret as she did back home, sneaking away with her paints and easels. She would be able to do it freely.
Finding the art store quite easily, she managed to get all the supplies she needed to start out. She got a fright when it came to the bill; she had always just swiped her credit card with her allowance on, and this was the first time she had to work sparingly with her money. After the clothing, paying Gladys and the art supplies, there wasn’t a whole lot left. She’d need to find work soon.
Sarah got back to Oak Cottages late afternoon and went upstairs to store her purchases in her room. The sun was starting to set through the window and it gave the room a soft glow. The four poster bed with its beautiful quilted bedspread looked inviting. The room was painted a welcoming soft butter yellow. It was a shame she couldn’t afford to stay here longer.
After unpacking her new wardrobe and amenities she went in search of Gladys, finding her in the kitchen sitting at the large island table in the middle with her head resting on her arms. Sarah pulled out a chair, which made a soft scraping sound on the wooden floor, startling Gladys.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you were asleep,” Sarah swiftly apologized.
“I wasn’t, not really. I was just hoping to gather enough energy to start cooking dinner.” She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms. “I always wanted my own establishment, it’s just some days it’s a lot of work, and my body doesn’t enjoy the physical parts such as cleaning as much as it used to.”
“I take it Lila still hasn’t s
hown up for work?” Sarah inquired.
“No, and I don’t think she’ll show up tomorrow either, because then we need to dress down the bedrooms in the house and the cottages, and replace all the linens.” Gladys got up and opened the fridge door. She took out baby potatoes, asparagus and more vegetables.
A thought came to Sarah’s mind. “How about I help you out until the convention guests have left?”
“But you are a guest yourself; surely I can’t expect that of you,” Gladys replied, flabbergasted.
“You’re not expecting it, Gladys, I offered.” Sarah gently touched Gladys’s elbow in a show of support. “It’s not like I have anything else to do, and I like helping in the kitchen.”
Gladys looked past Sarah out the window and thought for a moment. “Alright, I’ll accept your help, on one condition.” She looked at Sarah with a beaming smile. “You get two nights’ stay on the house.”
Sarah laughed. “That’s fine by me.”
The two of them worked in companionable silence preparing dinner. Their actions synchronized as if they had cooked together before. Cooking became a dance of anticipating each other’s movements. Sarah loved it, the simple camaraderie. She enjoyed being useful, knowing she was making a difference in someone’s day, even if it was just helping to cook dinner. She wasn’t looking forward to making beds, but then all jobs had their downsides.
Dinner was enjoyed by the guests and could be called a raging success. Sarah smiled as Gladys accepted the compliments graciously, and then made her way back to the kitchen. She stacked the dishes, wiped the counters and scraped off the few plates that had leftovers on them. She had just finished packing the dishwasher when Gladys surprised her with a glass of Port.
“You deserve this,” she said as she handed the glass to Sarah.
“Thank you, Gladys. Dinner was wonderful.” Sarah took a sip of fiery liquid that warmed her from the inside. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
Gladys sat at the kitchen island and started following the rim of the glass with her finger. “I was a big fan of Julia Child; I watched all her television shows, read all her cookbooks. I was determined to be the greatest female chef this country had ever seen.” She sighed softly. “Then I met George.”
