The Time in Between by Kristen Ashley
“Nothing else, Cady. But if there is, I’ll give you a call and we can do some regular meets to go over progress. You back at the inn?”
This was an issue I’d had prior to returning.
Magdalene was a tourist town with all-year tourist trade, though part of the year due to weather was not as fruitful as other parts.
We were heading into summer, one of the fruitful parts. So I’d actually had to delay my return because the suite had been booked at the inn and now it was open for two and a half weeks. Somewhere to lay my head when I didn’t have to pack up and move to another room after a day or two.
But finding accommodation wasn’t easy considering most places had had bookings for months. Walt gave me his estimates of when the studio would be done, but with the roof, window and foundation work having to happen before he got into anything on the inside, that estimate was two months away. If they were delayed, and they would be delayed, it would be more.
So now I had bookings at the inn for two and a half weeks, moving to an Airbnb for two weeks, then moving to a bed and breakfast with an open cottage at the back for a week and a half, after that, back to the suite at the inn for a week. I was working on where to go after that and it would seem to be a safe bet that I’d need to tack on at least another week or two.
It would not be fun packing up and moving around so much only to end that going somewhere that would still be a construction zone for months.
But in the end, it would be worth it.
And if worse came to worse, I could just go home to Denver for a visit.
“Yes, back at the inn,” I told him. “But I’ll be moving around. It was hard to find space for a long period of time with the season almost on us.”
“I hear of anything semi-permanent that comes up, I’ll let you know,” he shared.
“That’d be nice.”
We shook and I walked out, not taking in the view or the workers or my fabulous new fence and gate.
I walked right to the gate, opened it, went through, closed it and got in my rental.
I sat in it thinking that I needed a car, this being my ploy to stop myself from thinking about something else.
To say the renovation of the lighthouse was going to dig deeply into what Patrick had left me was an understatement (not that it would dig that deeply, that was just how solid Patrick had left me).
Just the fence would give many people heart palpitations.
When Pat heard about the state of the place (and I’d showed around pictures), he’d lost his mind (on top of losing his mind that I was moving across the country at all, much less doing it to live close to, “those two fucking, fucking assholes,” this said loudly and Pat didn’t talk loud . . . or curse, not very often).
I stared unseeing at my beautiful new gate thinking that it had been good I’d been unable to obtain the suite at the inn in order to return, making my visit home a long one. It lessened the impact of the blow (somewhat) of the news I’d delivered.
Kath and Shannon, particularly, behaved like my move was a betrayal.
Mike had practically been apoplectic and used much harsher words when referring to Coert and Caylen and my future proximity to them.
I didn’t blame them for these reactions.
At the very least I should have been open about the decisions I was making. That said, even explaining to them why I’d done it the way I had, they didn’t realize that their heated and inflexible belief that I was doing the wrong thing made my sharing moot. We would never have agreed and it would have made the process even more painful than it already was.
In the end, it was the lighthouse that did the work.
Like it was the magic it was, even with the state of it, the photos (especially with the tulips) couldn’t help but win everyone around.
The kids came first, the younger ones beside themselves that visiting Auntie Cady meant going there. And Verity had been thrilled, considering Magdalene was only about a six-hour drive from New Haven. It meant she had family close. It meant she had me close. It wasn’t easy going home for the weekend from Connecticut to Colorado. But it would be to hop a flight up to see me (and me to do the same to see her).
The adults eventually followed suit, but only when I told the men I’d keep them abreast of everything that had anything to do with the renovation and when I told the women they could help me decorate.
On this thought, to keep my mind off Coert, I tossed Coert’s card into my bag, grabbed my phone and got out of the car to take pictures of the fence on both sides as well as the gate.
I texted the photos to the guys and gals and got back in my car.
I’d just turned around outside the gates and was about to drive down the lane when I pulled off to the side and idled in order to take a call.
Kath.
“Hey there,” I greeted.
“Oh my God! That fence is sublime.”
Kath.
My sweet Kath.
Coert had come to the lighthouse looking for me, knowing I was there, getting my phone number, and just her voice made me feel better.
Her excitement helped that feeling even more.
“You have to see it in person,” I told her. “Sublime doesn’t cover it.”
“Totally. And guess what?”
“What?” I asked, feeling my lips curve up.
“After you left yesterday, we had a family discussion, and with you and Verity both out there, we thought it’d be awesome to come for Christmas. So we’re all coming. All of us. We’re trying to figure out who’s going to sleep where and finding some space so you aren’t covered in thirteen people, but everyone’s excited. We can’t wait.”
They couldn’t wait?
“Oh my God, Kath, that would be amazing!” I cried.
“I know!” she cried back.
I immediately started strategizing.
“Okay, well, some of the kids can sleep in the family room on the second floor, but we’ll have to be creative about getting showers in because there’ll be only one in the house. And two couples could definitely do the studio. That’s quite a big space. And Daly and Shannon and the kids could be in the loft over the garage. It’ll be a close fit but we can get air mattresses. And if Verity and Bea are good with it, they can take the downstairs living room. I’ll make sure the couch is a pullout. I don’t know, but I think we can make it work so everyone can be together.”
“We’ll book some rooms somewhere close, just in case,” Kath replied.
“Good plan,” I agreed.
“And just to say, definitely that soft green blend of tile for your bathroom. It’s utter perfection,” she told me.
I was not surprised at this abrupt subject change. I’d been sending her ideas that Paige had sent me and all the women were excited to help, but Kath was throwing herself into it with unadulterated glee.
“I totally agree. I fell in love with it and tried to see if I’d fall out, but I just couldn’t.”
“That shield mirror she found is inspired too. All those fancy edges. Fabulous.”
I grinned. “It’s like we have one mind.”
“Get her to order it,” she commanded. “And I cannot wait to see it all come together and then see it in person.”
“Me either, sweets.”
And suddenly I felt like crying.
They were coming out for Christmas.
They didn’t like what I was doing. They were worried about me. But just like Patrick’s kids, they were supporting me regardless in every way they could do it.
“He came to the lighthouse,” I blurted, my voice hoarse, the words seeming yanked from me.
I didn’t want to share but I’d already moved forward with life-altering plans that altered everyone’s life, not just my own, doing this very soon after we all lost Patrick. I knew I’d hurt them, Kath especially, so I shouldn’t do it again.
But more, I couldn’t do this on my own.
I didn’t have her near but the way we were, she was never
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“Somehow he knows I’m here. While I was in Denver, he came to the lighthouse looking for me.”
“Which one?” she asked quietly.
“Coert,” I told her.
“Not the one I’d pick,” she muttered.
I pulled in a deep breath because he was not the one I’d pick either.
Caylen would be difficult, but I’d had a lifetime of him being an ass. Mom and Dad both loved me, but they were hard on me. They had expectations of me that hurt when I couldn’t fulfill them and they didn’t back down (or Mom didn’t).
But Caylen had always been just an ass.
Coert, however . . .
“It’s not like you’re not out there for just that, babe,” she said.
“I know but I’m not ready.”
“You know the right way, Cady,” she replied.
I did.
My parents had taught me. Patrick had taught me the same. And I’d watched Pat, Kath, Mike, Pam, Daly and Shannon teaching it to their kids.
Don’t procrastinate, especially on the things that were the hardest.
Get them done and out of the way.
“Regardless of what happens, you both need to establish the lay of the land,” she decreed.
This was true.
“So he knows you’re there. Seek him out, share you want to talk, ask him out to lunch . . . or whatever,” she suggested.
Ask him out to lunch.
The very thought terrified me.
“Okay, you’re right, I . . . he knows I’m here, I shouldn’t hide. I should let him know that I know he knows I’m here and that I’d like to have the chance to explain things so maybe we could get a coffee or something,” I planned.
“Like you have anything to explain,” she grumbled.
“Kath,” I warned, not wanting to go there.
She hadn’t been there. She’d only heard the stories.
She didn’t know.
They thought Coert was the two-faced villain in that tale of woe.
But he was just doing his job.
And I was just being the me that I used to be.
He’d done his best to do right by me.
There was just no “right” in the way all that went down.
“Okay, right, it’s a good plan. Time has passed. Wounds hopefully healed. You’ve both grown up. Life is life and what happened, happened, and you’ve both matured, moved on. Go ask him to coffee,” she encouraged.
“I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Girl, I’ll be on a plane by nightfall if you don’t.”
That was Kath and she wasn’t being dramatic.
It still surprised me, at the same time it warmed me down to my bones, all that Patrick had given me. The girl in a Sip and Save where he got his coffee on his way to work that he was always kind to. The girl he found wailing like a lunatic at the side of the building and sat with her on the dirty sidewalk next to stinking dumpsters and listened.
And then did something about it.
I had been a damsel in distress often back then, the distress part being all my own doing.
He’d also pulled me out of my bent to be just that.
Oh yes, he’d given me a lot.
“Since I’d love for you to come for a girlie weekend when things start shaping up, let’s not waste the frequent flier miles right now,” I returned. “I’ll call.”
“You better.”
“I’ll call.”
“You better.”
“I’m hanging up now,” I warned her.
“So am I. Order the tile and mirror. And if he’s a jerk, then he’s a jerk, Cady. It’s just proving what your family already knows. Let him be a jerk and then move on and make that lighthouse a masterpiece, and he’s what he’s actually been for nearly two decades. History. If he’s not then . . . well then, we’ll see.”
We’d see.
We’d see . . . what, exactly?
What did I want?
Forgiveness?
A second chance (that thought gave me a shiver)?
And what might Coert want (except the biggest probability, nothing to do with me)?
I didn’t ask any of that.
I said, “Right.”
“Love you,” she replied.
“Love you more.”
“Love you most.”
“Love you more than most,” I parried.
“Shut up and go deal with the sheriff.”
God.
Deal with the sheriff.
“Okay, Kath. Speak soon.”
“Yeah, babe. ’Bye.”
“’Bye.”
We hung up and I stared at the lane in front of me, any courage I had coming through my bond with Kath starting to dissipate immediately now that the connection was lost.
I hit the button to slide down the window, stuck my head out and looked back at my lighthouse.
Only then did I have it in me to put the car back in drive and head to town.
Unfortunately by the time I made it into town and found a parking spot outside the sheriff station, all the nerve had totally left me.
Therefore I found myself sitting in my rental, staring at the building, trying to pump myself up to do something, anything. Get out of the car, walk in and ask to speak with Sheriff Yeager. Or just grab my phone, his card, punch in his number and tell him I’d heard he’d come out to the lighthouse and I’d like him to meet me somewhere for coffee.
At the very least, if he knew I was there and this showdown was behind me, I could finally go to a shop or restaurant without worrying about him seeing me.
The problem was, that didn’t seem like very good motivation to endure the showdown.
No, there seemed about five million better reasons to indefinitely delay the showdown.
It was on this thought that I jumped in my seat and swallowed a scream when knuckles rapped on my side window.
I turned my head to see an attractive male hand disappear only to be replaced by the attractive face of Coert Yeager.
It was a sad fact that many men aged well.
And it was an absolutely dismal fact that Coert aged better than any man I’d ever known. Even Patrick, who was handsome at sixty-five and retained vestiges of that even into his eighties, giving that to all of his sons, didn’t have the staying power of handsomeness that Coert had.
I’d seen it in the pictures the private investigator took.
But having it right there beside me blew my breath clean away.
“Roll down the window, Cady,” he clipped, his angry voice also making me jump and alerting me to the fact his face was not only still beautiful, it was furious.
This was not starting well.
I should leave.
I should start the car, pull out and leave.
I turned the key enough to give the car power and hit the button to roll down the window.
“Not a good idea, casing a sheriff station,” he declared before the window was fully down.
I took my finger off the button leaving it a third of the way up.
Casing a sheriff station?
What was he talking about?
“I—” I began but I barely got that out.
“Figured when your PI disappeared that somethin’ was up, looked into it, saw your sugar daddy bit it. Shoulda known you’d make your move after the old coot was out of the way, but Christ, didn’t think after all this time even you could be that screwed up.”
I struggled to breathe, my chest moving cumbersomely in an effort to force down oxygen.
Your sugar daddy bit it.
Sugar daddy.
Bit it.
Make your move.
God, old coot.
And he knew about Patrick’s PI.
Of course he would.
Of course, of course, of course.
He was a police officer. This would not go unnoticed.
Damn!
“He wasn’t my—”
I didn’t get any further with that either.
“Have no clue what’s in your head, you movin’ out here. Then again, I never had any clue how your messed-up mind worked. But for the record, I don’t like it. And on that record, I’ll state plain I don’t wanna see you. I don’t wanna hear from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I can’t imagine what would give you even that first hint that I’d ever wanna have you even a shadow in my life again, but just to make absolutely certain you’re with me on this, I don’t want even a shadow of you in my life again. If that means you abandon the lighthouse, folks’ll deal. We have before. And that would be my choice, you getting the hell out of town, as far as you can go, and staying there. But if you stick around, Cady, you do it avoiding me. All that needed to be said was said. There’s no going back even if I wanted to. But just to make certain we’re clear, I irrevocably do not.”
I stared through the window at him wondering if he could see me bleeding.
“Confirm we’re clear,” he ground out.
He could not see me bleeding.
Then again, the last time he’d shredded me, he didn’t see it either.
“We’re clear,” I whispered.
And with that, just like Coert, he didn’t nod, he didn’t say farewell. He straightened and sauntered in his hulking way (even if, still, his frame was far from a hulk) to the steps to the sheriff station and in.
Not looking back.
I started the car.
I took pains to check my mirrors then turn my head to make certain that, backing out onto busy Cross Street, I wouldn’t hit anyone.
I then drove the three blocks to the inn.
I parked in their lot at the back. I got out. I went up to the lovely White Pine Suite with its fireplace and delicious soaking tub and scrumptious gray sheets under its crisp blue and white paisley comforter with its shock-of-color red toss pillows and let myself in.
I went right to that bed and fought picking up the phone to call the front desk and ask them to send up two bottles of their very good Syrah.
Instead, I called Kath.
“How’d it go?” was how she greeted me.