Rose Harbor in Bloom by Debbie Macomber
I wished dressing myself had been as easy as decorating the table. The business suits I’d worn while working for the bank were too dressy, too off-putting for someone who owned a B&B. But my usual jeans and bib apron were too casual. I was going for a look that was professional but at the same time welcoming. After changing clothes two or three times, I’d finally settled on a white skirt with a matching jacket. The blouse was pink silk, with pearl buttons. Rover had watched me quizzically when I asked him for his opinion. Frankly, he was no help whatsoever.
Rover was napping in the laundry room, the refreshments were out, and the drinks were ready to be poured. All I had to do now was wait for my guests to arrive. I nervously paced from room to room, checking and rechecking to be sure all was in order. Oh, how I wished I had scheduled this for later in the year, summertime or even autumn. Peggy Beldon from The Thyme and Tide had encouraged me not to wait, though, claiming that if I put it off until I was satisfied, then it would probably never happen. Instinctively, I knew she was right.
I’d made several small changes to the inn since taking it over from the Frelingers, the previous owners. Mark had built me a new oak mantel for the fireplace and done a lovely job. He’d replaced the railing on the front porch steps, too, and changed a couple of the light fixtures. He knew enough about electrical work and plumbing to make basic repairs, and I’d called on him a number of times.
I had come to love Cedar Cove. Although I’d lived in this town for only five months, it felt like home. I’d made friends and enjoyed becoming part of the business community. And I loved this inn. I’d found a certain measure of peace here.
A car rolled into the driveway, interrupting my thoughts. My first guest had arrived. Right away, I recognized Olivia Griffin, who had brought along her mother, Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes. I had to smile. I’d met Charlotte twice now, and both times she’d carried her knitting with her. She had it with her now, too.
Charlotte and her husband, Ben, had stopped by to introduce themselves shortly after I’d moved into the inn. We’d shared tea and the special scones she’d baked. While we chatted, she brought out her knitting and barely looked down as her fingers wove the yarn around the needles. As I recalled, she’d been working on a pair of socks for her son, Will.
I opened the door to welcome my friends.
“Are we the first ones here?” Olivia asked, looking very much the distinguished judge that she was. I hadn’t gotten to know her as well as her friend Grace, but I hoped we would have the opportunity, given time. She possessed the grace and style of a Jacqueline Kennedy or an Audrey Hepburn. I imagined she made a striking presence in the courtroom.
“I’m pleased you could make it,” I said, as I held open the door. Thankfully, the overcast skies from that morning had cleared, and the day, while cool, was sunny and bright. We’d had several days of sunshine, which wasn’t the norm, and I was grateful.
“Mom and I were looking forward to seeing the inn. Church got out a bit early, so we went to brunch at Justine’s restaurant. It seemed silly to take Mom back just to turn around a few minutes later to pick her up again.”
“Please, don’t worry. Your timing is perfect.”
“I’ve come to see what you’ve done with the place,” Charlotte said, looking around and nodding with approval. “I like the new sign and the name you chose: Rose Harbor Inn. Clever, seeing that your surname is Rose. Heard Mark Taylor made it for you.”
“Yes, he did. He’s done quite a bit of work for me.”
Charlotte looked over the table and fingered the crocheted lace tablecloth I used. “Good man, Mark. He’s done work for Ben and me, and always charged us a fair price.”
Talking about Mark gave me a twinge of guilt. I’d meant to check up on him this morning, not that he’d appreciate it, but time had gotten away from me and it had slipped my mind.
“I see you changed the pillows in the living room,” Olivia commented, glancing into the room.
“I rearranged several of the guest rooms, too.” Mark had helped me with moving furniture as well. As we spoke, I realized how big a role Mark had played in my life and that of the inn.
“I’m looking forward to seeing the rooms,” Charlotte commented.
Right away, Olivia glanced at the staircase. “Mom, you need an elevator. You shouldn’t be climbing stairs at your age.”
“Fiddlesticks. I can take the stairs.”
“Mom.”
Charlotte raised her hand in protest. “I’ll take them one at a time and go slow. I didn’t come to inspect the kitchen; I want to see what Jo Marie has done upstairs.”
Seeing that her mother was determined, Olivia capitulated. She took her mother’s arm and led her toward the staircase.
Sheriff Troy Davis and his wife, Faith, were the next to arrive. Sheriff Davis and I had both attended a charity auction and had bid against each other for a blue vase I thought would go perfectly in one of the guest rooms. He won, and later thanked me for bowing out. The vase was a gift for Faith. I hadn’t met Faith, so we took a few moments to chat and exchange pleasantries.
Jack Griffin, the judge’s husband, showed up in a battered fifteen-year-old Ford. He took the porch stairs two at a time and seemed to be in something of a rush. He wore a long raincoat and looked every inch the small-town newspaper editor he was. To complete the picture, all he needed was a felt hat and a pen and pad, which no doubt he had tucked away inside one of his coat pockets.
“Olivia here?” he asked, even before I had time to greet him.
“She’s upstairs with her mother.”
“Thanks.” He started toward the stairs, stopped, and looked back at me. “By the way, you’ve done a great job with the place.” His eyes fell on the table and the display of cookies.
“Those cookies look great,” he said, as if he was a man lost in a desert who spied an oasis.
“Help yourself.”
He shook his head, although clearly tempted. “Olivia will have my hide if I break this diet. She’s on this healthy-eating kick.” He walked over to the table in order to get a better look. “Peanut butter is healthy, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“According to Olivia, oatmeal is high in fiber,” he added.
“Right again.”
He chuckled, took one of each, and set them on a plate. “You can’t eat much healthier than this.”
“No, you can’t,” I agreed, enjoying his reasoning process.
Just as he was about to eat the first of the cookies, Olivia came down the stairwell. “Jack Griffin, what are you doing?” she asked.
He looked terribly guilty. “It’s peanut butter, and the other one is oatmeal.” He hesitated and glanced down longingly at the plate with the two cookies. “That’s good fiber, right?”
“Go ahead,” Olivia said, shaking her head in mock disgust. “I’m not your keeper. The choice is yours.”
Jack sighed, and after a moment, he set the plate down with both cookies untouched. “You can’t love a woman more than this,” he told me.
I smiled and noticed a taxi pulling up to the front of the inn. A taxi? Oh, my, had I completely lost it and booked a guest who was due to arrive this Sunday? I’d purposely not accepted reservations for this date, but perhaps I’d overlooked one.
The cab door opened, but I didn’t recognize the occupant right away. When I did, I had to take a second look to be sure I was seeing right.
Mark Taylor.
I’d never seen him in anything but jeans or work clothes. This afternoon, he wore slacks and a white shirt, and his hair was parted on the side, wetted down, and combed. He appeared to have shaved, too.
This was Mark? I stared at him, hardly knowing what to think.
He had some trouble getting his crutches out of the taxi. Once he did, he leaned heavily on them as he made his way to the steps. I held my breath as he started up them.
“Mark,” I cried, slamming open the door and rushing to help him. “What are you doing here???
“I thought I was invited. You left an invitation.”
“Of course you’re welcome; it’s just that I didn’t expect you to actually come.” As I recalled, he’d made a rather brusque comment about the idea when I’d first mentioned holding an open house.
“Let me help you,” I said, my hand on his arm. I was afraid he’d lose his balance on the steps with those crutches. He hadn’t had much time to get accustomed to using them.
“I don’t need help.”
“Of course you don’t, but I’m here just in case you do.”
He surprised me with how agile he was. Before I knew it, he was up the steps and on the porch. I held the door open for him. My mind stumbled over what to say. I’d been so stunned to see him that I sounded as if he wasn’t welcome. He was, of course.
He looked a bit wobbly by the time he was in the house.
“Would you like to sit down?” I asked.
“Might be a good idea.”
I motioned toward the living room. He must have great upper-body strength, because he managed the crutches just fine. Sinking into the sofa, he parked the crutches down on the floor in front of him so they weren’t a hazard to others.
More visitors arrived, and for the next two hours I was busy giving tours and answering questions. I’d put a guestbook out earlier, and by the end there were at least fifty names entered. Most visitors came and went within a few minutes.
I was exhausted when the second-to-last person left.
Only one person remained.
Mark.
He hadn’t moved from the sofa, although I saw he was involved in conversation with a number of the townspeople.
“Any cookies left?” he asked, and while it was a casual question, I knew he was interested in the leftovers.
“A few. Want some?”
“I think I’ve already eaten more than my fair share.”
“Would you like to take the rest home?”
His grin was huge. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I started to package up the few remaining cookies, probably a dozen or so in three different varieties.
“Come sit,” he ordered. “You’ve been on your feet for the last two hours without a break.”
He was right. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until the open house was over. All at once it felt as if I’d run a marathon. I let Rover out of the laundry room, and he immediately wanted to go outside. Once he was back, I literally fell onto the sofa next to Mark.
“You did a good job. People were saying how much they liked what you’ve done with the inn.”
“Thanks.” I noticed that he didn’t mention his own role in the changes I’d made. That was modest of him, seeing that he was the one responsible for the vast majority of the changes. I’d painted several of the guest rooms, rearranged furniture, purchased a few new things, but Mark was responsible for plenty, including the shutters I’d added to the windows.
“You clean up well,” he said, looking over at me.
A compliment? From Mark? I hardly knew how to respond. “You, too.”
He grinned and ran his hand over the top of his head and down his forehead. “Been a long time since I wore this shirt. Can’t even remember when I last had it on. A wedding, I think.”
I knew so little about him I found this a prime opportunity to ask him a few subtle questions. “Your wedding or someone else’s?”
His eyes narrowed. “Someone else’s.” He looked away. “One of the reasons I decided to show was to find out if you’re okay.”
“What makes you think I might not be?”
He chuckled softly. “You mean other than the fact that you nearly bit my head off when I asked you a couple of innocent questions?”
“I did? When was that?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Told me to mind my own business and stalked off like someone had lit a fuse under you.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. No offense meant.”
He shrugged as if it wasn’t any big deal, although he’d clearly been worried. “I don’t have many friends, and I’ve sort of gotten accustomed to you.”
I wasn’t sure he meant that as a compliment, but I decided to take it as one. “Thanks. You, too.”
“Anyone comment on the fact the yard is torn up?”
“No one.” Although it was fairly obvious that work was being done in that area. “As a matter of course, I mentioned that I hoped to plant a rose garden with a gazebo.”
“Did you happen to say that I was the one who got behind schedule and it’s all my fault?”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, maybe not, but you sure came down hard on me.”
I suppose I had. “I was disappointed, Mark.”
“I know. I’ll make it my top priority as soon as I’m back on my feet.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Somewhat to my surprise, he didn’t appear eager to be on his way. “Have you taken any pain pills lately?”
“No?” He made it a question, as if he wondered why I would be asking. “You have a reason for wanting to know?”
“I thought you might like to have a glass of wine.”
“With you?”
“No,” I teased. “With Rover.”
He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged as if he didn’t really care one way or the other. “I guess I could.”
“Red or white?”
The decision appeared to be too much for him. “You choose.”
I opened a bottle of pinot noir from the Willamette Valley in Oregon and poured us each a glass.
For the next half hour we sat and talked. Truth was, I did most of the talking. Mark never did have much to say. After a glass of wine, I was half tempted to tell him about the letter. Painful as the subject was, I decided against it.
Instead of having him call a cab, I drove Mark back to his house and got back in time to see that Mary Smith had returned to the inn. Without a word to me, she went straight to her room.
Chapter 33
Mary woke bright and early Monday morning. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in more weeks than she could remember. She sat up in bed and, yawning, raised her arms above her head. Looking out onto the cove, she noticed it had started to rain. After four glorious days of sunshine in a Pacific Northwest spring, a downpour should be expected.
A sense of contentment filled her. The opportunity to actually see the daughter she’d given birth to had been an unexpected gift. But to be able to speak to Amanda face-to-face had been above anything she had hoped for or imagined. She had George to thank for that.
At the thought of him, her spirits plummeted, and all the happiness drained from her. The joy diluted with the reality that once again she would be leaving him. As tempting as it was to remain in Seattle, that was impossible. Impractical. To do so would be completely and utterly selfish of her, and she couldn’t do it, couldn’t put him through this ordeal.
She loved him—yes, of course, how could she not?—but Mary wasn’t about to saddle him with her health issues. He wanted her to stay, and they’d argued, but in the end she had succeeded in convincing him the only practical thing to do was for her to return to New York. Her doctors, medical records, and home were all there. To interrupt her treatment program now would be foolish and possibly dangerous.
George hadn’t made the argument easy. When he’d grown weary, he’d requested one thing, that she let him drive her to the airport. She’d capitulated simply because the fight had gone out of her. With regret, she’d canceled the car service.
She was the only guest at the inn, and she’d warned Jo Marie she didn’t have much appetite for breakfast. Toast and orange juice were all she requested. Even then, all she managed was a single slice of toast and a few sips of juice.
Now she waited for George to arrive. How foolish of him to drive all the way into Cedar Cove in order to drive her to Sea-Tac Airpo
“Let me get your suitcase for you,” Jo Marie offered when Mary came down the stairs. She’d taken care of her bill over breakfast. Her flight out wasn’t scheduled until noon, so she had plenty of time.
“Thank you.”
Jo Marie had been a good host. Mary had felt welcome and had been allowed to set her own boundaries. She valued her privacy and appreciated that the innkeeper hadn’t been overly friendly or inquisitive.
Within a couple of minutes, Jo Marie came down the stairs with the suitcase as if it weighed next to nothing. Mary was glad for the assistance.
“Did you enjoy your stay?” Jo Marie asked.
“Oh, yes, very much.” These few days in Cedar Cove would carry her the rest of her life. She’d had an opportunity she never expected to be repeated and would cherish the memories.
“I’m sure it will be good to get home, too,” Jo Marie added. “There’s something so comforting about returning home, isn’t there? That sense of familiarity.”
Mary smiled and didn’t add a comment. Her New York condo was only a shell. Over the years she’d added a few decorative touches, but it’d never felt like a real home. It was where she slept and stored her things. Most of her meals were take-out or delivered; she never had been interested in cooking. Meals were a necessity but often rushed as she grabbed a bite between meetings. At night she was too worn out to enjoy her dinner.
George’s vehicle pulled up in front of the inn, and her heart immediately gladdened at the sight of him. She watched as he climbed out of the car and made a dash for the porch, looking to avoid getting soaked. Knowing there was every likelihood she would encounter showers in Seattle, Mary had packed her raincoat. She put up the hood and walked onto the porch, pulling her suitcase behind her.