The Guestbook

by Andrea Hurst

  She leaned over the railing, remembering to breathe deep and relax. Ghosts and bad memories. Maybe she’d made a mistake coming here. The ocean’s salty scent moved on the breeze, accompanied by squawking seagulls. For just a flash of a moment, she could see herself in the yard with her grandmother, holding the crusts of bread up for the birds to scoop down and pluck from her fingers.

  She turned towards the door. Panic caught in her chest, and the tears she thought were cried out threatened another appearance. “Lily, get it together. You can do this. Now go inside.”

  The soothing smell of old wood and lilac greeted Lily as she pushed open the thick oak door. Her eyes lingered fondly over her favorite room, the parlor. Her grandmother’s loving presence was everywhere. With a rush of enthusiasm, she laid down her belongings and started to inspect the rooms of her new home. Her new home. Everything was still the same as she remembered: antique sofa and loveseat, oval mahogany table and matching china cabinet. Balancing on a lower shelf, the old white ceramic horse still stood proudly, peeking through the glass doors. The oil painting over the fireplace, with its bright rose and yellow hues, warmed the room. She gingerly touched each picture, vase and figurine. She could almost hear Grandmother Maggie calling. “Lily, my little pony, come inside. I’ve baked cookies and they’re getting cold.” She could smell that sweet, warm chocolate even now.

  The kitchen was grander than she remembered. The last flicker of sunlight streamed through the large west windows, encouraging the dormant herbs in the clay pots on the sill to blossom. The counters had been retiled in white with a kelly-green trim. There were copper faucets, and pots and pans hanging on an oval rack over the huge six-burner stove made of chrome and pale yellow ceramic. On the shelves were glass mason jars filled with beans, grains, teas, and even miniature rosebuds. Bouquets of dried rosemary, garlic, and lavender hung like trophies of the past spring’s garden harvest. Along the tops of the white cabinets was an assorted collection of rose-patterned China teapots.

  This kitchen was a place she could cook and bake in a way she had always dreamed of. It was ready for a loving touch and a master’s hand. She remembered Jude’s words about missing Grandma Maggie’s baked goods. She could bring Jude some samples of her own muffins and cookies to sell at the café. A smile spread across her face. She was a master chef, at least she was confident of that. That was one thing she could thank Brad for. Her cooking had to be the best to impress his business contacts, so he had sent her to the finest schools and been a merciless taskmaster. Her smile vanished at the thought of his name. Not here, not now, I will not let thoughts of him ruin this moment.

  She retrieved her suitcase and contemplated the steep staircase leading up to the bedrooms, and was half tempted to just curl on up the sofa for the night. But a warm bed sounded well worth the climb. At the top, she dropped the suitcases on the landing and wandered down the hall to choose a bedroom.

  The room that had once been her grandmother’s was at the corner of the house, and that was where she would sleep tonight. Its dormer window had always been a favorite place to play. Her old room was just past it, but she’d always felt so safe and happy in her grandma’s room. She entered and noticed immediately that the room had been redone in a rose décor. Many of the old items were still in place, as if her grandmother would suddenly walk out from the bathroom and say, “Why, Lily, how good to see you after so long.” To her dismay, the old poster bed was gone.

  The room was now furnished with an ornate, queen-size brass bed and a lovely antique, marble-topped dresser. Lace curtains framed the magnificent picture window with a breathtaking water view. The wood floors glistened, covered here and there by pale rose-patterned antique rugs. Lily sat down in the rocking chair situated in a corner and rocked back and forth in a lulling fashion. Although it looked a bit different now, it still held her loving presence. She remembered snuggling in bed with her grandmother and listening to the wonderful stories Maggie would make up just for her.

  All those years they’d been apart, and now here she was…alone. No one was here for her, but Brad sure as heck wasn’t alone tonight. She kicked off her shoes and fell face down onto to the bed, burying her head in the pillows. The tears came hard. She cried for the lost years and dreams, her fading youth, and ending marriage. Then she climbed under the warm quilt in the brass bed and blessedly fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Ian unpacked the Volvo station wagon and got his son, Jason, settled in the den with Grandpa John. The cold island wind whipped through the single-pane windows; he reminded himself to replace them next summer. He stared out the kitchen window. He was sure he’d seen lights go on next door at Maggie’s place. It could have been Mary getting things cleaned up. It was still hard to believe sweet old Maggie wasn’t right next door and going to tap on their door any minute with a plate of steaming hot cookies. He stepped out on the back porch and noticed there was a car in the driveway next door too. But it was too dark to see whose it might be.

  No more distractions; it was time to paint. The wood stove had heated up his studio, and he was on a tight deadline to complete the pieces for his art opening next month. He scrutinized the unfinished piece on the easel, a bald eagle swooping down across a snow-covered mountain range. Lifting a brush, he began to paint a Buddhist temple in the foreground. The deep crimson walls were a striking contrast to the stark white of the jagged mountain peaks.

  His mind wandered back to the ferry and the woman who’d walked right into him; the crimson flush that had filled her face and framed an amazing pair of hazel eyes. It had been hard to break his own stare, but she’d hurried down the stairs and out of the door so fast, for a moment he thought he’d seen a phantom. It had been awhile since a woman had made any real impression. He had his young son, Jason, and Gramps; that was enough… His grief took the rest of the space in his heart.

  He dipped a small brush into gold and touched up the roof of the temple and the light in the eagle’s eye. With a step back, he observed the painting carefully, waiting for a title to surface in his mind. “Golden Flight” would work. Just two more and he could start planning their placement and assist the gallery with the guest list. Another hot cup of coffee would keep him going all night, but it was getting late and it was time to put Jason to bed.

  When his wife, Denise, was alive, there were days when he didn’t even say goodnight to his son. He wished he could go back and make up for the time he missed. Being a single parent for four years really turned his life around. For the better, in some ways. The longing for Denise gripped his heart. In the early days after the accident, he was sure he was having a heart attack. Grief takes many forms, the doctor had said.

  Gramps and Jason were playing Scrabble, and his precocious son was winning.

  “Give your old gramps a break, kid,” Ian said placing his hands on Jason’s shoulders.

  “Dad, don’t look over my shoulder, I’m concentrating.”

  Ian joined them at the dining room table and watched with amusement. His grandfather was obviously doing whatever he could to make sure Jason won, not that Jason needed much help.

  “Hey, you two, is this game going to last all night? How about some sleep?”

  Neither looked up as they concentrated on the letters before them. Three generations gathered around a table. It did not escape his attention that they were all males.

  Chapter Four

  Dawn’s light eased through the lace curtains, chasing away the dark shadows of the previous night. Lily took in the rose-themed décor of the bedroom. Morning made everything more real. Grief clung to her like a heavy coat, invaded every cell, and permeated every thought. She realized it was not Brad she was grieving for; it was the dream of a happy marriage, her lost identity… Who was she if not Brad’s wife? The sadness weighed on her heart. For a split second she questioned her decision to leave him.

  Lily wrapped herself in a terrycloth robe that was in the closet, probably for guests to use. Her warm
socks from the night before served as slippers. She smiled to herself, not an outfit Brad would approve of. Certainly he’d made it home by now, and the thought of him having to make his own breakfast gave her great satisfaction. That, and her being gone, would certainly add to his foul mood. Not her problem…not anymore.

  She wandered into the bathroom. Her eyes felt puffy, and her hair badly needed washing. A familiar icy fear crept up her spine… What was she going to do now? She turned, ready to retreat back to the bed, but her eyes caught on a small, hand-painted wooden plaque. A single figure sat in a rowboat, oars in hand, navigating the crashing waves. Carved across the bottom were the words, “Pray to God, but row to shore.” It was so like her grandmother to have something like this. “I should do a bit of rowing myself, and some prayers wouldn’t hurt either,” Lily said out loud as she ran her fingers over the carving.

  She turned on the shower, dropped her clothes on the tile floor, and stepped in. The steaming water relaxed her tired muscles and washed her dark thoughts down the drain. The herbal scent of the shampoo reminded her of running through her grandmother’s garden as a child, carefree…happy. Lily took the large rose-colored towel and dried off quickly to stay warm. She put on her old jeans and her favorite gray sweatshirt with the soft inner lining, then slipped her feet into woolly slippers and headed for the stairs.

  The faint scent of coffee drifted up. Am I dreaming? Is that cinnamon rolls I smell? She headed down the stairs, following the blissful aroma. At the kitchen door, stood a plump, middle-aged woman with curly black hair, cooking and cleaning up in her kitchen. “Hello?” Lily said.

  The woman turned to face her with gentle eyes and an affectionate smile. Taking both of Lily’s hands in hers she exclaimed, “Hi there. I’m Mary Gibson, Betty’s niece. You must be Lily. I saw your car in the driveway last night and couldn’t wait to see you. You’re just as lovely as your grandmother described you.”

  “Betty…?”

  “My aunt who lives next door.”

  Lily pinched herself to be sure she was awake. There was coffee brewing, cinnamon rolls in the oven, and a cheery, rosy-cheeked face happy to see her. She couldn’t have dreamt it better.

  “How nice to meet you, Mary. You look a bit familiar.”

  “Ah, that’s right, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you around here. We used to play together as kids when I was visiting my aunts.” She puttered around the kitchen, taking out the rolls to cool, laying out fresh cream and juice on the kitchen table.

  “Why don’t you have a seat before your coffee gets cold?”

  “I think I will. Everything smells divine.”

  Mary continued, “You probably don’t remember the nice old ladies living next door, my great-aunts Betty and Shirley. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them real soon. They know everything going on in this island, and they’ll be more than happy to catch you up.”

  Mary brought over thick ceramic mugs with steaming coffee and hot rolls oozing sweetness. “How about I catch you up a bit?”

  Lily sipped her coffee, admiring the view from the large picture window. A low fog rested gently against the Olympic range. Shades of pink and crimson reflected off the fog from the rising sun and were mirrored by the waters of the Puget Sound.

  “Delicious,” Lily managed to get out between bites of the oozing cinnamon roll.

  “I’ve been the official caretaker here since Maggie died. I just come in, tidy up, keep an eye on things.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Lily said, licking a gooey piece of dough off her finger.

  Mary sipped her coffee. “You know, a lot of people will want to meet you. They just loved Maggie.”

  Lily reached over and gave Mary a hug. “I couldn’t have asked for a better welcome.”

  “Well thanks,” Mary said. “I see you slept upstairs last night? Not sure if you’ve seen the innkeeper’s quarters downstairs yet. Your grandmother had it built when she opened the inn.”

  “Did you work for my grandma?”

  “Sure did,” Mary said, taking another sip of coffee. “Cleaned the rooms, washed the dishes, even helped with the baking sometimes.”

  “I wish I could have seen it when it was open.”

  Lily closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she called? Life with Brad had taken over everything. “I am your family now,” he told her, implying that her own family was to be left behind. Which wasn’t that difficult at the time, being distant from her mother anyway. She’d never even heard from her dad. But her grandma, if only she had taken the time.

  “It was a grand place, always booked up with guests and weddings. Your grandma could really bake. And those brownies!”

  “Any idea where the recipe for the brownies is?” Lily asked.

  Mary rose and took some of the dishes to the sink. “I know she kept a recipe box around here somewhere. If you want, I could help you look.”

  Lily took her plate and cup to the sink. “No need, I’ll get to it later today. But I need to know where my grandmother lived.”

  “No problem.” Mary dried her hands and turned to Lily. “Follow me, I’ll show you the innkeeper’s quarters.”

  Mary led them through the living room and down a short hall to a locked door. The answer to where her grandmother had slept was: downstairs. Mary pulled a key off her keychain. “Here’s the key. I’ve been keeping it locked because she still has some personal items in there. I packed up most of her clothes and items you might want to go through. They’re up in the attic.” She pushed open the door. “I’ll just leave you alone here to get comfortable while I finish cleaning up the house.”

  Walking into the room felt like stepping back in time. Her grandmother’s old four-poster bed dominated the room with its rich apricot duvet cover and lace pillows. She had wondered why that bed hadn’t been upstairs, now she knew. The mahogany nightstand with the fluted legs supported a cream-colored porcelain lamp. There was a large dormer window with a cozy built-in seat that was sprinkled with overstuffed satin cushions. Lily curled up by the window and gazed out at the herb garden. Most of the plants were dried and wilted now, but the rosemary still retained its deep green color. A lone sparrow splashed in the rain-filled birdbath. The rocky paths moved through the dormant vegetable garden and out to the orchard of apple and pear trees. Tall cedars circled the property, creating quiet seclusion and a dramatic backdrop. She hugged her knees and leaned back against the wall. It seemed unbelievable that this was all hers now.

  Lily inspected the musty-smelling closet; a few coats and sweaters remained behind. The private bathroom had a large old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Spending time here, in this house, would allow her to learn more about her grandmother. Missed years, missed love. Her mother had kept her estranged from Maggie for almost twelve years, and then when she’d married, it seemed too late to contact her.

  Mary popped her head into the room. “Anything I can get you or show you how to use?”

  “As a matter of fact, Mary, could you show me where the thermostat is? It’s pretty cool in here. And point me in the direction of a good market.”

  “Sure thing, right this way.” Mary pointed to the temperature controls for the up- and downstairs. “Right now, the upstairs guest rooms are closed and only heated a few days a week to keep the mold from setting in. There’s chopped wood and kindling behind the shed.”

  Mary buttoned up her coat and headed for the front door. “Oh yes, there’s a brochure in the office alcove off the kitchen if you want more information on the inn. And as far as markets go, I put a few things you might need in the fridge, but the Cascade Market is back out on the main road. Just turn left and go up-island a few miles, you can’t miss it.”

  Lily walked her to the door. Mary threw her arms around Lily in what her grandma used to call a bear hug. “You just call me now if you need anything. I’ll be back to check on you in a few days.”

  Lily watched Mary seem to disappear down the driveway. Perhaps she’d been an apparition after a
ll. She turned and faced the house. “What should I do first? Unpack? Shop?” Her options were unlimited as long as it didn’t cost a lot of money, and the sense of freedom made her momentarily giddy. Then the fear returned, this time taking residence in her stomach. “And after I do that…then what?”

  ✦✦✦✦

  Water had drenched Lily’s tennis shoes and was seeping into her socks by the time she made it through the muddy yard to her car and back a few times. “Waterproof boots are a must!” She unloaded the Honda through the back door that led to the kitchen, carefully wiping off her muddy shoes on the bristly welcome mat before she brought everything into the innkeeper’s quarters. This would be her new residence, and that suited her just fine. After her clothes were hung, she headed into the kitchen and carefully tucked her knives into a drawer.

  She better let her mother, Katherine, know where she was. The thought of calling her and hearing, “I told you so,” did not encourage her to pick up the phone. After three rings Lily was ready to get this over with in a voicemail, but her mother picked up.

  “Lily, is that you?”

  “I’m sorry it took so long to call back. I’m on Madrona Island.”

  “Are you alright?” her mother asked. “I see your grandma’s attorney reached you after all.”

  Lily contemplated how much to tell her. She really needed an ally right now. “I suppose you want to know what happened with Brad?”

  “If you want to tell me.”

  “This isn’t like you, Mom, treading carefully.”

  “Lily, I assume you’ve had about enough of someone pressuring you and I—”

  “Are you implying Brad pressures me? Are you?” Lily held her finger over the end call button.