Girls of Summer (Shelter Rock Cove - Book #2)

by Barbara Bretton

  So there she was, almost thirty-five years later, sitting in front of a drafty old house on the Maine coast, praying the owner wasn’t about to back out of the deal. She wanted that house more than she had ever wanted anything before in her life. She wanted to live some place where people had been happy, where a family had fought and loved and pulled together when the going got rough. She knew the Galloways and liked them. She knew the stories and the legends. She knew the kids and the grandkids and the ones who had moved on and, God help her, she envied them their good fortune.

  She might have grown up as a doctor’s daughter with all the privileges that entailed, but the Galloways had grown up with something neither her money nor her education could buy: a real family.

  * * *

  Claudia was upstairs in the room she had once shared with John. The room was empty. The floors had been swept clean. All six windows were open to the ocean breeze that swept across her garden, carrying with it the mingled scent of roses and the sea. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting that unique combination imprint itself deep within her memory. To her it was the smell of love.

  “Hello!”

  She opened her eyes, startled from her reverie by the sound. Her heart lurched forward and she placed a hand against her chest as if to halt its progress. An old woman’s gesture, from a time and place long past.

  The walk-through wasn’t until eleven o’clock. She had intended to slip in and out without seeing anyone.

  “Claudia, it’s Ellen Markowitz. I’m afraid I’m early for the walk-through.”

  Of course. The only other person in Shelter Rock with that accent was Annie’s husband, Sam.

  “I’m upstairs in the master bedroom,” Claudia called from the landing. “Come join me.”

  Ellen looked so young and uncertain, standing there in the doorway. Not at all like the competent doctor with the white coat and take-charge attitude. Claudia reached out her hand.

  “Don’t you look lovely,” she said, drawing the young woman into the room. “So slim and elegant in those beautiful trousers.”

  Ellen’s checks reddened very slightly. “I apologize for showing up early, Claudia. If you’d like to be alone, I—”

  “Of course not,” said Claudia, brushing away the thought. “I’ve been alone here for more years than I care to count.”

  “It’s a wonderful house.”

  “I wish you had seen it in its day. I’m afraid I haven’t kept it up the way it deserves.”

  Ellen tilted her head and took a long, deep breath of the perfumed breeze. She looked at Claudia, who nodded.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s something very special.”

  “It must be hard,” Ellen said softly.

  “It is. My children have been urging me to sell for years.” The thought of change terrified her, and she clung to what she knew like a drowning woman. When it’s time for me to move, I’ll let you know, she had informed them, and not one single day before.

  She didn’t tell them about the nights when she made a wrong turn going from bedroom to bathroom and nearly tumbled down two flights of stairs. She didn’t tell them about the day she left the gas on under a pot of soup and went off to Cappy’s with Roberta. Instead, she buried the scorched pot in her garbage pail, then bought a night-light, but not before she thanked God from the bottom of her heart for sending her home early with a headache before a fire broke out.

  Who would have imagined that a tiny patch of ice by her mailbox would be, quite literally, her downfall? She had hurried down the driveway to pop a Christmas card in the box before Jeannie the mail carrier arrived, and she was just about to raise the flag when she heard the sound of a car horn and she turned to see who it was. She must have moved slightly, even though she had no memory of doing so, because one minute she was standing there by the mailbox and the next she was flat on the snowy ground with the remains of her independence scattered around her.

  Oh, she had fought the good fight. Her beloved John would have been proud of her. Despite her children’s urgings, despite her dear friend Warren’s persistent badgering, she refused to put her home on the market. After one particularly grueling round of physical therapy, she had even turned on her daughter Susan and accused her of trying to score points at the real estate office where she worked. Susan didn’t speak to her for weeks after that.

  It was the second fall, a tiny tumble down the last two basement steps that changed everything. She agreed to move temporarily to an assisted-living facility while she recuperated from a second hip operation, and the weeks passed and then the months and one day she woke up and realized she would never move back home again. The truth was the idea of being alone in that big house scared her now. After so many years of living alone and coping with whatever came her way, Claudia Galloway had lost her nerve. She no longer trusted her body to do what she asked it to do without mishap. It was time.

  And now she was strolling through the empty house where she had lived a very full life with the lovely young woman whose own dreams would fill the rooms before the day was over.

  “I knew it was a big house,” Ellen said as they stepped out onto the front porch, “but I’m not sure I realized exactly how big.”

  “I’m sure it won’t stay this empty for long. Now that you and Hall are—”

  “Excuse me?”

  The poor child looked shocked. “I’m sorry,” Claudia said. “I thought you and—”

  “No.” She plunged her hands deep into the pockets of her trousers and fixed Claudia with a steady gaze. “You thought wrong.”

  “I’m—I’m so sorry. You two made such a lovely couple yesterday at the christening party. And Susan told me this morning that you—”

  She stopped abruptly at the look of horror on Ellen’s face and quickly regrouped. It was crystal clear that her nosy daughter had been wrong and there was nothing whatsoever between the two physicians.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope you’ll forgive my mistake. I would blame it on my age, but I’ve always said more than I should.”

  “No apology necessary,” Ellen said, that stricken look still lingering in her eyes. “It’s already forgotten.”

  * * *

  Claudia made some excuse about not wanting to be there when her daughter arrived for the walk-through because she didn’t want Susan to think she was checking up on her. They both knew it was a polite way to escape what had become a very uncomfortable situation.

  No sooner had her Chrysler vanished around the corner than Susan’s SUV appeared at the opposite end of the street. Ellen was beginning to think she was trapped in some kind of Yankee version of a French farce except for the fact she wasn’t laughing.

  “You’re getting cold feet, aren’t you?” Susan said as she climbed the front steps to the porch.

  “What makes you say that?” And they said New Yorkers were blunt? Mainers put them to shame.

  “All first-timers get cold feet. It comes with the territory.”

  She sighed. “Not exactly cold feet, but I will say this house looks a lot bigger than I remembered.”

  “It’s huge,” Susan said. “I warned you that you were taking on a lot of house for one person.”

  “How did your mother manage this place all those years? She must be a human dynamo.”

  “She had six kids, remember. Child labor laws don’t count if you’re family.”

  They talked about cleaning services and snow removal and landscapers. They checked the heating system, the cooling unit, all of the appliances. They ran water in each of the sinks, flushed all three toilets, inspected the basement for surprises. Susan checked the list she had sticking out of her tattered notebook. “I think that’s everything. Next time you walk through that door, you’ll be the new homeowner.”

  Ellen took a last look at the huge expanse of empty space, then stepped out on the front porch while Susan locked up.

  “I think I’m having an out-of-body experience,” she said when Susan joined
her. “I can’t believe I’m about to buy a house.”

  “You won’t regret it,” Susan said as they walked down the driveway toward their cars. “I’m sure your financial adviser has told you everything you need to know about the benefits of home ownership.”

  Ellen just smiled. This was more than buying the roof over her head, more than another deduction on her income taxes. Susan had grown up in that house, in the middle of a loud and loving family, and she had gone on to create a loud and loving family of her own. She couldn’t possibly understand how deeply Ellen envied her.

  They chatted for a few minutes at the foot of the driveway, then Ellen glanced at her watch. “I’d better head for home. My next-door neighbor is supervising the movers.”

  “Go,” Susan said. “I’ll see you at Ed’s office at one.”

  Ellen grinned. “I’ll bring my checkbook.”

  “Good girl,” Susan said. “That’s what we like to hear.”

  Ellen breathed a sigh of relief as she slid behind the wheel of her car. Forty-five minutes and not one single reference, veiled or otherwise, to Hall.

  Finally the day was starting to look up.

  * * *

  Deirdre prowled around the flower shop while Annie phoned for a tow truck. The store was an explosion of color that made her head spin. Hollyhocks. Larkspur. Pale gray roses and deep velvety red American Beauties. Delphinium. Bird-of-paradise on the coast of Maine! The magnificent blooms vied for space with lush greenery, one-of-a-kind toys, framed watercolors, note cards, quilts, handwoven scarves in shades of amethyst and sapphire and pearl, small alabaster and soapstone sculptures, stained-glass pieces, handmade lace that begged you to drape it across your naked body. Deirdre was flung instantly into a blissful state of sensory overload. Stanley seemed enchanted by the scent of lilacs and freesia in the air. He stood in the middle of the store, nose pointing toward the ceiling, and then sniffed lustily.

  “A Hyundai,” Annie said, glancing over at Deirdre, who nodded her head. “Massachusetts plates... oh, for heaven’s sake, Jack, I’m sure Scott will find it with no trouble.” She hung up the phone. “You’d think he was searching Manhattan for it.”

  Deirdre forced herself to turn away from an exquisite sculpture of a man cradling an infant in the crook of his powerful arm. “Your store is incredible, Annie. Not too many places offer both roses and pieces like this.”

  “That’s one of mine,” the woman said with an understandable note of pride. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it.”

  Annie quickly pointed out two more of her pieces scattered in among the flowers, plants, and stained-glass lamps. “I’m usually in my studio in the morning,” she said, “but we had to adjust our schedules today so Claudia could get to the closing. My husband is watching the babies while I open up.”

  Deirdre nodded as if she knew who Claudia was.

  She offered Deirdre a cup of coffee, which she accepted with almost pathetic gratitude.

  “Delicious,” she said, taking a big gulp. “I just might live.”

  Annie poured herself a glass of milk. “I suppose you’re here to help Ellen with the move.”

  “What move?”

  Annie laughed. “Very funny. Do you need more sugar?”

  “I’m serious,” Deirdre said. “Ellen’s moving?” That would explain why she hadn’t been around.

  “Today.” Annie looked just the slightest bit less sunny than she had a minute ago. “You really didn’t know?”

  “Not a clue,” Deirdre said as Stanley sidled up to her for a head scratch. “Is she leaving town?”

  “Actually, she bought my former mother-in-law’s house.”

  “You’re kidding.” Talk about a small world.

  “You probably saw it. It’s the big white frame house on the hill. It overlooks the beach near the marina.”

  “You’re in luck, Stanley,” she said. “Sounds like Aunt Ellen will have plenty of room for you.”

  Annie had one of those faces that displayed her emotions like a highway billboard. She was clearly beginning to wonder if she had a lunatic on her hands.

  “We love each other to bits, but we’re not a close family,” Deirdre offered by way of explanation for her lack of up-to-the-minute data on Ellen’s life. “There’s a married sister, a doctor sister, and a spontaneous sister. Guess which one I am.”

  “Got it,” Annie said, her smile returning. “I’m sure Ellen will be glad to see you.”

  “Oh, she’ll be glad to see me. It’s Stanley I’m not so sure about.” Actually she wasn’t all that sure Ellen would be that glad to see her, either, since Ellen was the type who waited to be invited before she showed up on your doorstep, but that was probably way more information than the poor woman needed to hear.

  “Stanley’s definitely a lot of dog,” Annie said, offering her hand for his sniff of approval.

  Deirdre asked about her children and was listening, with unabashed delight, to the story of how Ellen delivered both of Annie’s daughters when the front door jingled.

  “Scott!” Annie’s smile widened, “Thanks for getting here so soon.”

  Deirdre turned around and saw a tall, muscular male form backlit in the doorway.

  “I found the Hyundai,” Scott said in a distinctly Massachusetts accent much like her own. “All I need now is the owner.”

  “And that would be me,” Deirdre said, stepping forward.

  He turned and before she could say another word he was out the door and heading across the street to where she’d left her car.

  “Is he always like that?” she asked Annie.

  “Afraid so. He’s a great mechanic, but not much when it comes to conversation.”

  Or manners, either, she thought, but wisely kept the opinion to herself. She thanked Annie for the help, then, grabbing Stanley’s leash, hurried after Scott the moody mechanic.

  He was peering under the hood when she reached the car.

  “It won’t start,” she said.

  He mumbled something.

  “It began acting up yesterday afternoon when it stalled out twice at stoplights.”

  No response.

  “So what do you think is wrong?”

  He fiddled with something grubby and metallic. “What do you think is wrong?”

  “You’re the mechanic. You tell me.”

  “How did it sound?”

  “It didn’t. It wouldn’t start.”

  “When it was trying to start. Did the engine catch?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did it try to turn over?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re not making this easy for me.”

  “Am I supposed to?”

  He looked up at her and for a second she thought she saw the beginnings of a smile. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I really wasn’t paying that much attention to the car this morning. I was too busy trying to smuggle Stanley out of the motel without getting caught.”

  “I take it Stanley’s not your husband.”

  “This is Stanley,” she said, gesturing toward the dog. “Better than most husbands I’ve known.”

  It was probably the best straight line she had ever put out there, and he didn’t even bite. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or deeply impressed.

  He lowered the hood. “I’m going to tow her into the shop. Give me a phone number where you can be reached, and I’ll call you when I know something.”

  “You can call me at my sister’s,” she said and recited Ellen’s number. “That’s where I’ll be until you get the car fixed.”

  “Hope you two like each other, because it’s going to be a bitch to get parts.”

  “It better not take too long because I have to be in Bar Harbor this weekend.”

  “Vacation?”

  “Work.”

  “Waitress?”

  “Musician.” She paused a second, then decided what the hell. “I’m a harper.”
She use the term preferred by those who played the Celtic harp.

  “You play the harp?”

  “Somebody has to.”

  He grinned and she found herself smiling back at him. “You don’t look like a harpist.”

  “Right,” she said, leaning against the side of the Hyundai while Stanley sniffed the unfamiliar smells all around him. “And you’ve seen enough harpists to know what we’re supposed to look like.” She had been working very hard on both angelic and ethereal.

  “You look more like a blues singer than a harpist.”

  “You’re good,” she said. “I spent ten years of my life singing the blues.” In many more ways than just the obvious, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “I’m waiting for the punch line.”

  “That is the punch line,” she said. “I sang in every smoky, forgettable bar from Bangor to Key West until I finally got it through my thick skull that it wasn’t going to happen for me.”

  A moment of silence, please, for her dead career.

  Scott the Mechanic wasn’t big on sentiment. “Yeah, well, this car isn’t going to happen if I don’t get her back to the shop.” Just like that he turned and started doing whatever it was that had to be done to hook the car up to the tow truck.

  Most people would have asked how she made the jump from blues singer to harper. It wasn’t exactly your normal career track, not even for a musician. Clearly even Stanley had more intellectual curiosity than this auto mechanic. Good thing he had his name embroidered on his shirt pocket, or he’d have trouble remembering it.

  Now, that was going too far. For all she knew he could be a rocket scientist turned auto mechanic. The Northeast was littered with former scientists and engineers whose companies went belly-up when the stock market went sliding downhill. Scratch an adult-ed teacher or real estate agent and you just might find an MBA who was looking for a steady paycheck.

  He looked like a mechanic, though. A little rough around the edges, but in a sexy kind of way. His hair was too long for fashion, too short for a political statement. He wore a beat-up Timex on his left wrist. The crystal boasted a long diagonal scrape. No wedding ring. A silver Saint Christopher medal hung around his neck. He had mechanic’s forearms, muscular and well-developed, the kind you got from hard work, not daily visits to the local Gold’s Gym clone. She could imagine him in one of those smoky bars she used to sing at. He’d be a Sam Adams type. No glass for him. He’d drink straight from the bottle. He’d be leaning against the wall, eyes narrowed slightly against the cigarette haze, his attention wandering until she took her scat on a small stool in the center of the tiny circle of stage and started to sing for him. Then he would climb up into the tow truck and drive off without her.