“I’ve got you covered,” he said as he looked outside toward the end of the dock, seeming pensive, worried. Leala had told me about his job being threatened, and I felt for him.
“Moo milk!” Tuck said, his smile wide. “Sadie, Moo milk.”
A happy warmth flowed through me with how he spoke my name. I grabbed the milk from the fridge, poured it into a mug, and stuck it in the microwave. “Conner, you can leave Tuck in here with me. I know you have to get going.”
“Thanks,” he said, “but last night Leala asked me to bring him out to her when he woke up, since he was asleep when we got back.”
Mama’s words about Leala having separation anxiety rang through my head, and I smiled at the accuracy, even though I understood why Leala was the way she was. I put the cap on the sippy cup, pretended to let Moo hold it, then handed both to Tucker.
“Tank you.”
“You’re welcome, Tuck. And Moo.”
Connor gave me a smile before heading outside. I heard “Noni!” float through the door before it squeaked shut, and I went to the pantry to grab two onions and a dozen cherry tomatoes from their bins for the tarts. I opened the spice cabinet, and as I eyed the dried herbs that Leala had organized yesterday by alphabetical order, I wished I had fresh herbs. My gaze drifted from the bottled spices out the window, narrowing on Buzzy’s yard. He had to have an herb garden.
Even though he’d given me permission to make use of his garden, I still felt a little like I was planning a great heist as I preheated the oven, grabbed the kitchen shears and a small bowl, and headed outside to forage.
I stepped onto the patio and took a deep breath of the fresh, albeit humid, air, of the lake magic, scented with pine and possibilities. Rippling water glittered and glistened. I fought the urge to sprint down the dock and dive into the water and just float. Float all my troubles away.
“It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?” Iona asked, smiling at me from one of the padded Adirondack chairs, where her mug was perched on a sturdy arm.
The patio was still in shadow, the sun not quite high enough to cast its full light behind the cottage. With the bowl cradled in my arms, I stepped over to her. “It really is.”
She looked out at the water. “The morning after a storm tends to be the most beautiful.”
I knew she wasn’t talking about the weather. “Hopefully the worst has passed.”
“Damage done is damage done, but careful rebuilding can lead to something stronger than before, something that can withstand the storms.”
“How do you rebuild?” I asked, suddenly unsure. My mother had wished me away from the place I loved most in the world. From the people I loved most in the world. And worse, I had gone.
“Start with the foundation, shore it up good. You’ll find your way after that. You have to trust the process.”
The foundation. Our family core. Mama, Leala, me.
My mind went back to the mandala, to those twisted hearts.
After all this time, was it possible to open up our hearts to each other again?
More than anything, I wished we could.
Wished it with my whole heart.
* * *
Breakfast had been served and cleaned up, a harder task than usual with Tucker under foot. Bree had kept him entertained by playing peekaboo for a while, but eventually she, Teddy, Nigel, and Iona headed for town.
Uncle Camp had returned from the hardware store and was busy on the front porch with a sander, scuffing off loose paint from the rails. My head was spinning with all there was to be done today, but I was determined to do it quickly so I could get out there to help him.
Leala and Tuck headed upstairs to start our housekeeping chores, where I planned to join them after I made a call to the cable company to add internet service to the cottage. I popped into Mama’s office to use the phone and felt only a twinge of guilt as I pretended to be her when I spoke to the cable company representative and scored an appointment tomorrow afternoon for the internet installation, a small miracle.
I couldn’t imagine Mama would stay angry with me for long once she discovered what I’d done, not with her enthusiasm for my work, which I’d be sure to play up when she found out. I’d asked the rep to change the account settings to automatically withdraw monthly payments from a new checking account—mine. I would cover the entire internet and cable bill for its contractual obligation of a year, at which time there would have to be a conversation about whether to keep the internet or cancel it. By that point I hoped Mama would have learned to love the internet and all it could do for the business, because she needed its help if the stack of bills on her desk was any indication.
I flipped through a few of the statements to see if any other than the electric bill was overdue and found her truck payment was also late. Noise from overhead tore me away from further inspection of the stack as guilt set in that I wasn’t pulling my share of the housekeeping duties.
Snatching up the phone, I quickly dialed the number on the electric bill, pressed the appropriate key specified for payments, and paid the amount in full. I did the same for the truck debt. I’d come back later to check the rest of the bills—if Leala didn’t beat me to it.
I could hear a murmured conversation between Leala and Tuck as I pulled open the door, looked both ways, and tiptoed out, closing the door behind me, as if Mama were here and might catch me in the act. I rounded the corner to head upstairs and came face-to-face with Will, who was coming inside, a bucket in hand.
“Hey,” he said, his brown eyes full of warmth.
I’d forgotten he’d be back this morning to continue his renovation work. Happy that I hadn’t tripped when I saw him, I stuck my hands in my pockets, then pulled them out again and clasped them together. “Hi.”
Awkwardness swirled around us, invisibly holding us in place. In my head, all I could hear was my mama noting the way I looked at Will, and I forced myself to maintain eye contact, though all I really wanted to do was look at my feet. I tried to ignore completely how she’d announced to him and all gathered that I loved him.
While it was true, I’d never told him so. All I wanted to do right now was melt into the flooring and roll away with my embarrassment.
“Camp sent me text messages last night, keeping me updated about Susannah’s condition. I’m glad she came through her procedure without any troubles. How’s she doing today?”
“She’s doing well. The doctor said she should be able to come home on Wednesday, barring any unforeseen complications. Leala and I are going to see her tonight, after Connor gets off work. You know, so he can stay here with Tuck. Mama’s made us promise to run the cottage while she’s laid up.”
I was rambling, oversharing like Mama. I stuck my hands in my pockets again and gave in to the need to look downward, away from his face, his eyes, and the strong urge to step into his arms for a long hug.
His bucket was full of tools for laying tile. Notched and smooth trowels, sponges, and some doohickey that looked like the tooth extractor Hermey used on Bumble in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
Now even my thoughts were rambling. Where was Leala when I needed her most, to save me from this mortification?
“So you’re staying,” he said. “That’s good to know.”
I glanced up. Bright spots of hope shined in his eyes, and it was impossible to look away. “I’m staying until she’s strong enough to take over running the cottage again.”
I didn’t even want to guess how long that would take or why the hope in his eyes filled me with hope, too. Hope for what? Whatever we had was long over, but even as I said the words to myself, I knew I didn’t believe them. Whatever we’d had so long ago was still there, sitting on my heart, silently waiting for me to acknowledge that it had never gone away. It had faded, perhaps, but never died. Since being near him again it had flared to life, bright and proud and wanting to be shouted to anyone who’d listen. I forced myself to tune it out.
He shifted the bucket to his other
hand. “I was wanting to talk to you.”
I inwardly cringed. Last night he’d wanted to give me an explanation as to why he’d cut me loose, but now that he knew I’d loved him … I didn’t think I could sit through the conversation. The last thing I needed was for him to realize that I loved him still. Despite the heartache. Despite the desertion. The love was still there, lying dormant, waiting to be watered to come fully alive again.
“About the guest rooms,” he added, easily reading me.
“Oh?” I perked up. “What about them?”
“I was thinking to hire on a few extra hands to get the job done by Thursday. That way the rooms can be rented out for the festival.”
“Okay. Sounds good to me.”
He held up a hand. “Before you agree, it’s not covered by insurance. It’ll cost extra. You might want to run the numbers by Susannah. She’s been concerned about overages.”
“Have there been many overages?”
“Some,” he said. “The plumbing all needed updating, and tile’s more expensive than the linoleum that was in there—things like that aren’t budgeted by the insurance adjuster.”
Bracing myself, I asked, “How’re you being paid?”
“The insurance money covered almost everything up front. I’ve been running a tab for the overages.”
A tab. Have mercy. As I thought about the bills on Mama’s desk, I waged an inner battle. “How long will it take you to get the rooms done on your own, doing what you’ve been doing?”
“Sunday or Monday. I was cutting it close, working overtime at Susannah’s request. But I missed out on most of last Friday, because Camp wanted the cottage quiet for Susannah when she came home, and then she had me take this past weekend off.”
Right. So she could keep us separated.
Casting aside the churning sense of betrayal, I said, “So either we hire extra help or the rooms aren’t finished for the festival.”
“Right.”
“Could you finish one room in time? On your own, I mean.”
He studied my face, searching for something I wasn’t sure he found. “Tight timeline but I think so.”
I hadn’t come across Mama’s checkbook during my quick look at her desk, but I could only imagine how low the balance was. While I didn’t mind paying any overages from my own account, I was pushing my luck where her finances were concerned. Mama didn’t like handouts. I didn’t want to cause her more stress when she came home from the hospital to find a whole renovation crew had invaded her home—and then risk her getting anxious about how she was going to pay for the extra labor. She needed to stay calm, which would have been a lot to ask even before her heart had become a concern. “Focus on one room. It’s better than none.”
He nodded. “Then I better get to work.”
I pointed upstairs. “Me, too.”
We stood, unmoving, looking at each other as if not wanting to stop. Finally, I forced myself to move toward the steps, away from him, away from the past, away from wishing for things that were impossible.
Chapter
18
Leala
By five o’clock, I was ready for a three-day nap. Bone-weary exhaustion had planted me on the top step of the front porch, where I’d been painting a newel post for fifteen minutes. If anyone had noticed my lack of progress, they didn’t comment. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if moss had started to grow on my shoes.
The brim of a bucket hat hung low over Tuck’s eyes as he sat on the thick grass along the edge of the walkway. He dipped a clean paintbrush into a pail of water and swished it across the bluestone pathway, his designs wild, carefree, and temporary. He looked up and exclaimed for at least the hundredth time, “Mama, I paint!”
Fighting a yawn, I smiled. “You’re doing a great job, too.”
Unlike me.
I’d hit the proverbial wall just after three. Tuck had once again skipped his nap, and he’d been clingy as Sadie and I had tackled the chores throughout the house, including dusting and vacuuming all the common areas, cleaning out the fridge and pantry, taking two reservations for next month, fielding calls from neighbors offering well-wishes for Mother, accepting more deliveries of flowers, and helping Uncle Camp paint the porch.
Connor was due back at six, and then Sadie and I would head to the hospital to see Mother, which was bound to be emotionally draining. I was in desperate need of a second wind.
“Bee, I paint!” Tuck cried.
He’d started calling Bree “Bee” this morning, which was a sight better than “Owie,” which he had been calling her most of yesterday. It was as if he, too, had stopped seeing her scars after getting to know her.
“Can you paint a dog?” she asked him.
She sat alongside him on the grass and had been out here with us since returning from town earlier, keeping him occupied with water painting and dandelions and bumblebees.
I had been so grateful I could’ve cried.
For my part, keeping Tuck entertained throughout the day had been a lesson in creativity and humility. He had helped dust rooms by plucking a feather duster and rolling his tiny self under the beds, out of reach of my hands. He’d helped clean bathrooms by unrolling toilet paper and piling it in the bathtubs. He’d helped collect laundry by emptying the linen closet of clean towels and sheets. He’d helped put fresh flowers in the guest rooms by filling vases with dirty bucket water.
At home we had a set routine, but here it was a free-for-all, and I was feeling like I was doing a lousy job as a mom since it seemed all I’d been doing was redirecting, correcting, corralling, protecting, reprimanding. It weighed on me, bogging me down.
If I needed a moment to myself at home, I could leave Tuck in the living room, propped in front of the TV to watch his favorite shows. Or on the floor to play with his favorite toys. Here, I couldn’t leave him alone for a second. It was too risky with people coming and going, with no childproofing in the cottage whatsoever, and, of course, the threat of the lake, where one wrong step could lead to tragedy. He could float and kick like a pro but always had floaties or a life vest on while in our pool at home. And there were no toys here except for Uncle Camp’s jacks and Moo, who was now in the washer after taking a swim in one of the toilets.
“I can!” He loaded his brush with water, splashed the stone, and watched it darken as the water absorbed. He pointed at the creation. “I do!”
Teddy had gone off to the hospital to visit Mama, and Iona was inside with a new book to read but kept popping onto the porch to check our progress and smile at Uncle Camp, which was all kinds of adorable. Sadie was painting spindles at one end of the porch, and Uncle Camp was doing the same on the other side.
“What a cute doggy,” Bree said, studying the splotch of water with great intensity; then she reached out to tickle him. “He’s gonna get you. Woof, woof.”
Tuck fell backward, giggling.
Nigel, who’d been lounging in the shade, his belly to the sky, rolled over and looked around like he’d missed something important, and I couldn’t help laughing at his befuddled expression.
Uncle Camp set his paintbrush on the rim of the can, stood, stretched, then plopped down in a rocker. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and ran it across his head, then along the back of his neck. He kicked out his legs, stretching them as far as they could go. “My dogs are barkin’.”
“It’s no wonder. You’ve been out here since eight this morning,” Sadie said as she dragged her paintbrush down a spindle. “You should go inside, get cleaned up, take a rest, and then maybe take Iona out to dinner.”
A slow smile spread and he said, “Sounds like a fine plan to me.” Picking up the sweet tea pitcher from the table next to the chair, he glanced around. “There was a day I’d have had this project done by noontime.”
“Only noontime? Not ten or eleven? You slacker,” Sadie teased.
Humor twinkled in his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not Superman. But noontime. That was doable.�
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“Show me another man your age that does half of what you do,” Sadie said. “I dare you.”
“I double-dog dare you,” Bree added.
“Woof, woof!” Tuck barked, and we all laughed.
Laughing felt good. It loosened some of the tightness from my shoulders, eased some of the heaviness off my chest. “It would probably help if I didn’t take twenty minutes on one post.”
Uncle Camp’s glass of tea dripped with condensation as he smiled at me over its rim. “You take your sweet time.” His eyes twinkled. “Someone used to tell me how it was better to do a job right than have to do it over.”
I smiled at him. That someone had been me.
Sadie laughed as she butt-scooted to the next spindle, then dipped her paintbrush into a paper cup half-filled with white paint. “Remember how long it would take Leala to brush her teeth in the morning? I’d be half-done with breakfast by the time she came downstairs.”
“Good oral hygiene is important,” I said with faux outrage as I jabbed the paintbrush in her direction. “And you can laugh, but which one of us has never had a cavity?”
She rolled her eyes. “You. Shoot.” She looked down at her hand.
“What?” I asked.
“Splinter.” She picked at her palm.
I set my brush down and motioned her over. “Let me see.”
“It’s fine.”
“Sadie Way.”
Uncle Camp chuckled and Sadie sighed but she scooted over to me and held out her hand. I gasped. “That’s got to be an inch long.” The splinter had pierced deeply in her palm with only its tip sticking out. “I’m going to need tweezers.”
“I’ll get ’em.” Uncle Camp rose slowly from the rocker. He glanced at Sadie’s palm when he passed by and whistled low.
“I see?” Tuck said, stepping up next to me. He leaned in and his eyes grew big. “Owie? I kiss!”
Sadie smiled as she held out her hand. He gave it a noisy peck.
“Bettah?”
“Yes!” Sadie said. “It doesn’t even hurt.”
The Lights of Sugarberry Cove Page 19
