The Guestbook

by Andrea Hurst

  June 30, 2007

  We woke up to the most spectacular view of the Sound and the mountains. It made all the exhaustion from our wedding day just fade away. The sunrays filled the wonderfully romantic room, and the gourmet breakfast delivered to our door made our first morning as husband and wife a serene and exceptional experience. Thank you for your kindness.

  Billee & Rex Winston

  With eyes closed, Lily imagined the bride in her white lace negligee stretched out on the canopy bed, her hair mussed and spilling over the apricot satin pillowcase, a flush of happiness on her face. She saw the bursting colors of the sunrise peering over the snow-peaked mountains, reflecting vividly in the misty waters of the Sound. And there was her grandmother, carrying a silver tray graced by a bud vase filled with a single long-stemmed red rose. China plates garnished with fresh mint and orange nasturtiums held a succulent quiche, ripe strawberries, and steaming coffee. The soft knock on the door by Margaret would send the bride scurrying to fetch the tray to share with her husband.

  The scene faded, and with it Lily’s spirits. She recalled her own wedding night with Brad at the upscale five-star hotel in Palm Springs. Two nights only. Brad had work to do, after all. No roses, no romance, only, “Lily, I think that little black swimsuit would be more appropriate, and watch the desserts, it’s starting to look a little tight on you.” For God’s sake, she’d worn a size three when they married.

  He always knew just what to do. Back then it had seemed endearing; he was teaching her, taking care of her. Broad-shouldered, dazzling smile, and heart-stopping golden brown eyes, he’d been hard to resist. Now she could see he was just trying to mold her into the image of perfect wife he wanted, right down to her suit size and the color of her hair.

  Tears welling up, she turned the pages filled with happy memories and love shared, hoping somehow she’d find in this book the secret to the life she was missing. These people knew how to be happy.

  Saturday

  This place is so peaceful even the birds nest on it.

  Geneva, age 8

  The little girl had drawn a picture of a bird’s nest in the peak of the roof. So sweet. How she wanted a little girl of her own. Each entry ended with almost the same sentiment:

  A beautiful, memory-making weekend. Thank you.

  ~Paula

  The familiar emptiness pressed down on her heart. She’d always longed for someone to share special moments like these with. A book filled with happy memories from other people. At least it was possible for some. But for now, and she must remember, by choice, she was alone, and it was time to find an attorney. She had her grandmother’s memories to keep her company; maybe they would work their magic on her life too.

  Chapter Six

  To create a muted, fog-like effect, Ian added a watercolor wash in a pale gray over his newest painting. The raven, large and perched off center, stared back at him with his cocked head and piercing yellow eye. The black creature guarded the entrance to a distant land, where fields rolled gently towards a great sea. Only the raven knew the depths to which a person must delve within his own soul to find the coveted password–the key to this hallowed place where one’s deepest dreams and desires manifested themselves upon the misty air, fulfilling the longings of the heart.

  Ian scrawled his signature in the bottom corner and stepped back to assess the finished painting. Ravens were revered in certain cultures, considered messengers from the gods. He stared into the yellow eye, searched for the wisdom that would lead him through the gates and down to the sea. For a moment, he reflected on the metaphor. His own heart was so guarded, the happiness he sought was locked away, and a mysterious scavenger held the key but was unwilling to reveal the secret password. For Ian, ravens had always represented death and decay, but this raven held some ancient wisdom, some knowledge yet to unfold that would restore him.

  Outside his studio in the old refurbished barn, romping through his Grandfather John’s yard, Jason was playing with the dog. It was a wonder how well that young boy had healed after losing his mother. He should follow his son’s example. Jason was as bright and playful as any seven-year-old; perhaps it was a blessing that his memory had faded over the last four years, and as youth can do, he moved on, finding simple pleasure in the skidding of rocks along the water’s surface or chasing his grandpa’s big black dog, Gretel.

  The door of his studio slammed shut and Jason skidded in. He was tall for his age. Sandy blond hair fell across his forehead, framing his dark eyes.

  “Dad, Dad, you gotta come out here. Gretel is chasing a baby bunny.” The boy reached for his dad’s coat, “C’mon, hurry.”

  “Ok, Jason, calm down. We’ll go get that silly dog and bring her home.” Ian tossed on his blue down parka and followed his boy outside.

  Jason started running across the yard. “She ran across the field toward Aunt Maggie’s old house. Follow me.”

  The field was damp and muddy from the constant pounding of winter rain, and their boots made a sloshing sound as they crossed.

  “Gretel,” Jason yelled at the top of his voice. “Come home.”

  Ian chuckled to himself. In the distance, he could see the dog had abandoned her pursuit of the rabbit and was making her way up the steps to her once favorite place–the porch at Maggie’s farmhouse. The dog remembered the luscious treats and warm reception from her old friend and still wandered back occasionally, waiting for Maggie to return. Unlike a child, you could not tell a dog that her loved one had gone to heaven. It was hard to imagine the kind old woman, with her twinkling eyes and generous spirit, was not there anymore. Those fresh-made dog biscuits she had concocted were not only Gretel’s favorites, but were in high demand by pet owners throughout the island.

  Ian walked across the stone path. “Come, Gretel, she’s not there anymore girl.” He reached over and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Yeah, we know, we miss her too.”

  All heads went up and were taken aback when the front door opened and a young woman peeked out to see what was going on.

  Ian stammered, “Excuse us, Miss…”

  “Lily.”

  Jason took the lead. “Grandpa’s dog, Gretel, was chasing a bunny and I didn’t want her to hurt it so I got my dad to help me catch her but she ran over here. This is my Auntie Maggie’s house, what are you doing here?”

  Ian laughed. “Whoa, Jason, take a breath.”

  “I quite understand, Jason,” Lily said warmly. “I wouldn’t want to let a baby bunny get hurt either.” She made eye contract with Ian, then reached out to shake Jason’s hand. “I’m Lily Parkins, and who are you?”

  “Jason McPherson, and this is my dad, his name’s Ian.”

  “Well nice to meet you both, Jason and Ian. I guess we’re going to be neighbors for a while.”

  Ian stared at the tall, attractive woman. Something was so familiar about her. Those sad blue-green eyes, he’d seen them somewhere. Then it hit him, it was her, the woman on the ferry, the one who had almost knocked him down. He could not forget that face. A raven’s caw cut the air; an omen.

  Jason cocked his head and stared at Lily. “We’re not really neighbors. My Gramps lives here and we visit on the weekends. Except in the summer, we live here almost all summer. The rest of the time we live in Lahomish, on the other side of the water, and my dad is an artist and I know how to paint too.”

  “Jason, buddy, let’s not tell Lily our whole life story. I think it’s time we head home and let Lily get on with her day.”

  Lily bent down and met the boy’s eyes. “Jason, sometime you could come over and tell me more about your painting. And I could make some of my killer chocolate chip cookies for you and your grandpa too.”

  Ian looked into Lily eyes–she meant every word. Something inside him shifted, melted ever so slightly; a light, long out, flickered.

  “Jason, say goodbye to Lily, we got to get going.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Lily. I’ll be back and bring some of my drawings too,” Jaso
n said.

  Lily, smiling broadly, looked up at Ian. “I’ll look forward to it, Jason.”

  Ian longed to look back at the farmhouse as they walked, but he willed himself to look straight ahead. Lily never did say what she was doing there. It was possible his grandfather knew her story, not that he was really interested. The last thing he needed right now was another distraction with the art show deadline looming over him. Her eyes told a story he was not sure he wanted to know.

  Chapter Seven

  Lily watched Ian’s tall, slim body move easily across the moist field back toward his house. Dark, tussled hair curled over the back collar of his flannel shirt. He looked so…earthy was the word that came to mind, solid. Not at all like Brad. This was not a way to be thinking right now; another man in her life was not what she needed. The damp chill was starting to set in as the sun took refuge behind some slate-gray clouds. She sighed; a warm body beside her, a soft touch would be so nice. “Ahh,” she whispered in the air.

  The boy was running ahead, chasing the black dog as they neared the back door porch. Wood smoke curled up from the chimney and reminded her to try again to start a fire. Both boys—well Ian was definitely a man—had a sadness that hung over them like the murky fog starting to roll in over the water. She rubbed her arms to warm up as she turned and hurried up her steps. The wood, paper, and matches awaited her not-so-deft hands; she wished she had asked Ian to show her how to start a fire...in the wood burner, that is.

  Despite the chilly day, Lily watched an elderly woman wearing a baseball hat and a down vest traipsing across the muddy front yard, heading right for her front porch.

  “Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” called the old woman as she rapped on the front door.

  Lily opened the door to find a spry-looking woman with electric blue eyes holding a bundle of kindling wood.

  “Can I come in? You must be the granddaughter we all heard so much about. I’m your neighbor, Betty. My sister, Shirley, and I live right next door, so if you need anything, you just wander over and ask. We wanted to give you a little time to settle in before we came calling. Well, at least I did. Shirley wanted to stomp right over the day you arrived.”

  Shaking the rough and calloused hand Betty had extended, Lily replied, “Good morning. I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Betty walked in as if she lived there and laid the kindling by the fireplace. “Thought you might be needin’ some of this kindling with the weather still being so cold. Your wood’s been settin’ out there a long time and might be a bit wet.”

  Lily looked with dismay at the kindling and the fireplace. She was embarrassed to let this obviously very competent, self-assured woman, who had to be more than twice Lily’s age, know that she had never lit a fire before in her life. The only heat source she knew was the thermostat. And thank goodness this old house had one. “I’m so happy you came by, Betty, and thanks for the sticks, I mean…”

  “Kindling,” Betty piped in. Her bright blue eyes noticed Lily’s longing glance toward the thermostat. Quickly assessing the situation, Betty said, with a gentle diplomacy, “Just roll your sleeves up and I’ll give you a lesson in fire starting. Be sure you start by opening the flue up inside here.”

  Betty pulled up the metal latch. “Real important, Lily, you gotta open up that flue first so the smoke goes outside.” Betty wadded up some old newspapers sitting next to the hearth and set the balls of paper into the stove. “Then you take the kindling and make like a grid out of it like this.” She began to arrange the wood. “Leave plenty of room for air to circulate, but make sure it’s a tight enough grid to catch fire. You’ll get the hang of it with a little practice. Here, you try it. Can’t rely on that propane tank all winter and spring, or you’ll be broke before you know it.”

  Lily stacked some thin slivers of wood in place, and as Betty coached her, she set a few small logs on top. Betty handed her the long matches. “Light the side edges and get the fire going.” She leaned over and blew a bit of air onto the flames to get them to rise.

  The pungent smell of wood smoke started to fill the room. Lily stood back and admired their work. She loved the crackling sounds as the flames leapt up over the logs. Already the room was feeling toasty from the roaring fire. “Thanks, Betty, for the Fire Building 101 lesson. Now, how about a cup of coffee and a snack?”

  “Coffee’s great, but no food for me. Got lots to do today, no time to eat. Plumbing’s leaking again and that darn front step is rotting out.”

  Lily poured some coffee and sat down at the table with Betty. “Did you have to call a plumber and a carpenter?” Lily asked.

  “Heck no,” Betty answered, “I do all that myself. Got my tools in the basement and two good hands. That’s all I need.”

  How different her new neighbor was from any woman Lily had ever met in Los Angeles. She tried to guess Betty’s age—probably late 70s—and she still had more energy than Lily had ever had in her entire life. “I am so glad you came by, Betty. I don’t know many people on the island yet.”

  Betty gulped a mouthful of coffee. “Well, Lily, your grandmother knew just about everyone in these parts—and was loved by them, too. You’ll be meeting folks soon. They’ve all heard so much about you from Maggie, they’ll be wanting to meet you themselves. My busy-body sister will probably be over here talking your ear off as soon as she manages to wake up and get all her make-up on. And then there’s John next door over yonder. He’s a good egg.”

  Lily fried up some bacon to make a breakfast sandwich. “Betty, are you sure I can’t interest you in a small breakfast?”

  “Alright, I think I will. That smells too good. It’s not often I eat anything so fancy, I’m too lazy to cook for myself. Shirley’s the one who usually makes a big fuss over cooking.”

  Lily served the breakfast and sat down at the kitchen table. She watched Betty bite into her bacon sandwich with gusto. The older woman’s face was weathered but radiant, lit by sparkling eyes and a kind smile.

  Swallowing, Betty continued, “I used to see you on your visits over here. I remember you running outside with your grandma, chasing those seagulls, laughing and having a good old time. Shirley wasn’t living here back then, she came back to the island after her husband died, let’s see…about twelve or thirteen years ago. We both adored your grandma.”

  “Sounds like you knew my grandmother pretty well.”

  “You betcha.” Betty smiled while she gobbled down more of the bacon and egg sandwich. “Pretty feisty lady that one. Almost single-handedly she turned this place into a B&B after having to sell the café when your dad left. No easy job either, after all those darn taxes just kept going up. It’s those tourists running around up here, buying summer places, kicking the property values up. But Maggie had the right attitude; she took what looked like a problem and turned it into a constructive solution.”

  Lily sighed. “I wish I could have helped. I regret not taking the time to get to know Grandma better. I thought about her often enough, but my marriage was so demanding and I kind of lost myself in it somewhere.”

  Betty patted Lily’s hand. “Well, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Now, if I can at least learn to build a fire, there’s hope for me yet. That’s of course if Brad, my soon to be ex-husband, doesn’t show up and try to drag me back to LA.”

  “Give yourself time girl, and don’t go borrowing trouble,” Betty said. “I’m sure you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, just like your grandma. It’ll all work out.”

  Betty took her plate to the sink and washed it off. “Well, I best be going now. Just holler if you need anything,” she said heading for the back door. “And thanks for the breakfast. You needn’t have bothered, though. I’m just fine with crackers in the morning.”

  Lily sipped her coffee. With an example like Betty to follow, she could not fail. Lily quickly did the dishes and sat down to make a list of things to accomplish today. Top of the list was to try chopping
some more kindling with the axe she’d found in the shed.

  She zipped up her jacket and grabbed the heavy gloves she’d found in the hall closet. “I’ll do some chopping and carry in a load to start a fire. Lily Mitchell…no, Lily Parkins…country girl! I like the sound of that.” She pushed her hair up under a warm cap and headed outside.

  Roosters crowed in the distance. Lily remembered her grandma saying roosters did not have the sense to know the time of day. She inhaled the sweet scent of saltwater. The morning dampness penetrated her heavy jeans, permeating to the bone. Kneeling, she balanced the small chopped hardwood on its side and began to slice off small pieces with the ax. It felt good to be focused on a simple task. Tomorrow, she might call her mother and get some names of attorneys.

  Chapter Eight

  Out of her bedroom window, Lily saw the mail truck pull up and deposit something in her box. 9:00 AM, right on time. She tied her shoes, grabbed a sweater, and headed outside. A priority mail packet from an attorney in Los Angeles was waiting for her. Just what I need this morning, something to spoil my breakfast. There was a plain white envelope with no return address on it addressed to her. She brought the mail inside and opened the anonymous one first.

  Don’t get too comfortable in the house, it doesn’t belong to you.