The Inn at Rose Harbor

  Chapter 4

  I got everything situated with the bank so that I could accept credit card payment from my guests. I’d meant to take care of that earlier, but had put it off because so many other things required my attention.

  I was back at the inn within a couple of hours after one quick stop at the grocery store. I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the breakfast I intended to serve the next morning.

  My one guest, Joshua Weaver, didn’t return that afternoon, but he’d left his things in the guest suite, so I assumed he would show up in due course. Because I was new to all this I wasn’t quite sure how much or how little I would be expected to entertain.

  According to the reservation book the Frelingers had left me, a second guest was scheduled to arrive at some point this afternoon or evening. Abby Kincaid. I readied a second room, fluffed up the pillows, and made sure everything was prepared. If I were to stay at a B&B, this was exactly the type of room I would choose for myself. I found the lavender walls inviting and comforting. The room had a queen-size canopy bed with lots of embroidered pillows, and at the foot of the bed was what my grandmother would have called a hope chest. I’d already checked inside and found extra blankets. The window seat was similar to the one in my own room, overlooking the cove with an excellent view of the marina where the watercraft gently bobbed in the slate-green waters.

  Satisfied, I walked down the stairs just in time to see a vehicle pull into the parking area reserved for guests. Several minutes passed but no one came to the front door. Glancing out the window, I saw that my visitor was still seated in her car. My guess was that she was uncertain she had the right address. I was half-tempted to venture outside and reassure her she was at the right house.

  If it hadn’t been raining, I might have done just that. However, I wasn’t eager to get wet and the afternoon was quickly growing dark. I turned on the gas fireplace and returned to the kitchen and slipped on my apron. I’d decided to bake a chicken potpie for dinner. While at the grocery store I’d picked up a roasting chicken, which I deboned, setting the meat aside.

  After making a white sauce, I added poultry seasoning, chicken broth, plus several fresh veggies before stirring in the meat and leaving it on the stovetop to simmer. I was just getting ready to measure out the flour for the pie crust when the doorbell rang.

  After quickly rinsing my hands, I hurried for the front entrance.

  A woman who looked to be in her early thirties stood on the other side of the threshold, a suitcase by her side. Her dark hair was sopping wet, as if she’d been standing in the rain, which I couldn’t understand because it was a short walk from the parking area to the porch.

  “Hello,” I greeted warmly. “You must be Abby Kincaid.”

  She nodded and offered me a weak smile.

  “Come in, come in,” I urged, ushering her in from the porch and out of the rain.

  Abby walked into the foyer and glanced around, her gaze darting from one area to another. “I was here once, years ago,” she explained. “That was before the Frelingers bought the house and turned it into a B and B.”

  “Oh, you must tell me what it was like,” I said, eager to learn what I could about the history of the house. I knew that it’d once belonged to a prominent Cedar Cove family headed by a banker, which was somewhat ironic since I had given up my position at a bank to take over the house. The house had fallen into disrepair and the Frelingers had purchased it, refurbishing it from the basement to the attic and then turning it into a B&B. That, however, was the extent of my knowledge.

  “A … friend of my mother’s knew the owner. Everyone in town loved this old house. It’s quite a bit different now.” Her gaze continued to roam over what she could see of the downstairs.

  From what I knew, the Frelingers had made extensive repairs and had changed all the electrical wiring and plumbing, adding updates from room to room. Mr. Frelinger had done much of the work himself. Clearly he was a master craftsman who had managed to save the period details while modernizing the house.

  “So you’re familiar with the area?” I didn’t mean to appear overly inquisitive. Not knowing the town all that well myself, Abby might be able to enlighten me on its history.

  “I was born and raised in Cedar Cove, but I … I haven’t been back in several years. My parents moved away shortly after I graduated from college and, well, there wasn’t any reason to return.”

  “So it’s been awhile,” I said conversationally.

  “More than ten years.”

  I thought to ask her about friends, class reunions, and such but held back. She seemed edgy, uneasy, and I didn’t want to add to her obvious anxiety.

  “Would you like to fill out the paperwork before I show you to your room?” I asked, leading the way through the kitchen to my office. “I have you down for three nights, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Abby said and hesitated. “I might … I hope to leave early, but I don’t know what your policy is on that.”

  “It’s no problem.” I knew that some hotels charged a penalty for early departures, but as of that moment I didn’t plan to. Because I was still getting my feet wet in this business I was willing to be more flexible.

  “I’m in town for a wedding,” she volunteered. “My older brother … I think Mom and Dad had just about given up hope that Roger would settle down and marry. We’re all so happy for him and Victoria.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Abby handed me her credit card. I quickly took down the information and set it aside. “Would you like me to show you your room?” I asked.

  “Please.”

  Abby paused on the way toward the stairs and looked out over the lights of the city.

  “It’s lovely here at night,” I told her. “And the view during the day is even better.”

  “I know … I always loved the view of the cove from this street.” She reached for her suitcase and followed me up the staircase to the room down the hall from Joshua Weaver.

  “There’s only one other guest,” I told her. “You’ll probably meet him at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look overly interested in meeting anyone. After bringing her to the room and showing her where to get fresh towels and an extra blanket if she needed them, I returned to the kitchen and assembled the chicken potpie.

  Once I got the pie in the oven I realized there was enough to feed an army. No need for me to eat alone. I set the oven timer and climbed back up the stairs to Abby’s room. The door was closed so I knocked lightly.

  “Just … just a minute.”

  I stood in the hallway for several moments before Abby unlocked the door. She held it only partially open. She didn’t meet my gaze but I could see unshed tears glistening in her eyes. Rather than embarrass her, I quickly said, “You’re welcome to join me for dinner, if you don’t already have other plans.”

  “Oh, thank you, that’s thoughtful. My family doesn’t know I’m here … I came in a day early, but I … I’m not the least bit hungry.”

  A day early and she hadn’t told her family. That seemed odd, especially since she was in town for such a joyous occasion.

  “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you, but everything is fine.”

  The door was already halfway closed and it was clear she wanted to be alone. I respected that, since I’d felt that way myself many times in the last nine months, and was determined to leave her be until morning.

  Still, I remained curious. Abby Kincaid had flown in from Florida, which was about as far away from Cedar Cove as a person could get while remaining in the continental United States. She appeared to be happy for her brother and his bride, but she didn’t seem pleased to be in town. She’d mentioned that it’d been over ten years since she was last in Cedar Cove, but surely there were school friends she’d want to see.

  The timer dinged and I brought the pie out of the oven. The crust was a perfect golden brown and the sauce
bubbled up from the slits I’d made in the top. I left it on the counter to cool while I washed up the few dishes I’d dirtied.

  One of my favorite spots in the B&B was a three-sided shelter across the driveway from the house. At one time there’d apparently been an outbuilding there, a much smaller residence I suspected. All that remained of the original building was the three walls, a roof, and a fireplace.

  The Frelingers had turned it into a cozy space for sitting with chairs and stacks of wood for a fire. The rain had stopped and the night stars were out. I felt drawn outside. After I ate my dinner, I tucked my arms into my coat and ventured outside to the alcove.

  Everything was ready for a fire to be lit in the stone fireplace and so I struck the match and watched as the paper immediately caught. Soon the kindling was crackling. I propped a small log on top and then settled into the chair and placed my feet on a stool. I had a blanket with me, and I spread it across my lap.

  How peaceful it was. If I closed my eyes I could almost pretend that Paul was sitting by my side. This was how I’d dreamed we would spend our evenings, sitting together in front of a flickering fire that was warming us. We would discuss our day and find something to laugh about. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed with anyone as much as I did with Paul.

  His quick-witted comments were what I enjoyed most about him. He had such a wonderful sense of humor. He wasn’t the kind of man who would ever be the life of the party; his humor was dry and subtle, little comments he made on the side, most of the time under his breath. I smiled at the memory.

  I rested my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes. I missed him so. A hundred times a day, even now, all these months later, I continually thought of him. Would it always be like this? I wondered, and guessed that it would. Paul would always be a part of me. It would have been our first anniversary this week and already I was a widow.

  Well-meaning friends told me that in time I would love again, but that wasn’t my expectation. I could imagine someday reaching a feeling of contentment again. Eventually this ache I carried with me like an extra layer of skin would gradually ease away. But fall in love again? I sincerely doubted it was possible. As for finding true happiness, experiencing joy again, that, too, remained a question that only time would answer.

  The fire crackled gently and the warmth wrapped its way around me like a soft hug. Sitting there quietly, I mulled over the last couple of days and my first two guests at the inn.

  In my dream that first night at Rose Harbor Inn, Paul had come to me and said I would feel alive again. I could see that he was right. My first two guests had arrived and both seemed to be carrying their own burdens. Perhaps I recognized it because I, too, carried a heavy load.

  I thought about Abby sitting upstairs struggling to master her emotions over something, I knew not what. Joshua, too, appeared anxious, which was no surprise given the circumstances of his visit.

  With my eyes closed I murmured a silent prayer that Abby Kincaid would find whatever it was she needed during her time in Cedar Cove and that Joshua Weaver would as well. While I was at it, I said a prayer for me—that the joy and contentment that had once been mine would return.

  “Jo Marie.” Abby said my name, stirring me from my reverie. I think I must have been half asleep.

  “Yes?” I said, looking up.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Not at all, I was wool gathering,” I joked, smiling up at her. “Would you care to join me?”

  Abby hesitated and then sat down on the wooden chair next to mine. But she sat close to the edge, without relaxing against its back. She seemed wary, as if it might be necessary to flee at any moment.

  “I … I saw you here from my window upstairs … you looked so peaceful.”

  Peaceful. In an instant I knew she was right. I did feel at peace. This was something new for me. It seemed impossible that in the depth of my grief I could find peace. The two words seemed like an oxymoron, seemingly contradictory. Not so, I’d discovered.

  “I … I didn’t pack toothpaste,” Abby said as if this were a small tragedy. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten it.”

  “I’d be happy to lend you mine for tonight since the stores are all closed, but I don’t have any extra. There’s a pharmacy on Harbor Street that will be open in the morning.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders sagged as if that was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Thanks, I’ll walk down in the morning then,” she said.

  “I left a slice of chicken potpie out for you in case you changed your mind.”

  “No thanks, like I said I … I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “Well I hope you’re hungry in the morning.” I had big plans for my first official breakfast. I’d assembled the casserole earlier. The recipe said to let it rest overnight in the refrigerator. I planned to serve it with fresh fruit, home-baked muffins, fried bacon, and orange juice. I also had steel-cut oatmeal, if anyone was interested.

  “What time is breakfast?”

  I told her and then she quietly returned to the house; I mentioned I’d be close behind her.

  And yet, lulled by the flames, comfortable and at peace, I wasn’t sure how long I remained by the fire before turning in. I savored the warmth, thinking about the new life I was about to settle into.

  Chapter 5

  Abby Kincaid grabbed the sheet and tugged it over her shoulder. She forced her eyes closed but they quickly flew open. Shadows danced across the walls, taunting her. This was what she’d feared most about returning to Cedar Cove. Already the demons were at play, choking off her breath and any possibility of sleep.

  The moon was full and bright, making it even more difficult to relax. Abby sat up and looked out over the cove. Moonlight shimmered across the water’s smooth surface. At any other time she would have lost herself in the beauty of the scene before her. Not tonight though. Not tonight.

  Abby had to sleep. It’d been days, no, weeks since she’d had a full night of uninterrupted rest. Her eyes burned and still her mind refused to stop spinning. Dreading her return to Cedar Cove, she’d fretted nonstop over her brother’s upcoming wedding. She would give anything to have found an excuse to stay away. But how could she? This was her brother. Her entire family was planning to attend the wedding. Aunts and uncles … cousins, too, many of whom she hadn’t seen in years.

  Why, oh why, had Roger fallen in love with a woman from Cedar Cove? Abby had yet to meet her future sister-in-law, although she’d spoken to Victoria a couple of times on the phone. She seemed like a perfectly fine young woman. A gentle, kind person … and if she knew about the tragedy that hung like a dark cloud over Abby’s life, Victoria had thankfully never mentioned it.

  Although they were little more than strangers, her future sister-in-law had asked her to participate in the wedding, which Abby had agreed to do, albeit reluctantly. She would serve the wedding cake.

  The only flaw that Abby could find in Roger’s bride was the fact that she had chosen to be married in the last place on earth Abby ever wanted to see again.

  She hadn’t been in town twenty-four hours and already the temptation to pack her bags and return to Florida was stronger than ever. The fact that she’d been forced to arrive an entire day early complicated everything. Somehow, in her reluctance and nervousness, she’d made a mistake when booking her reservation. For her arrival date, she’d meant to put in Friday, arriving in time for the rehearsal and dinner. The wedding was early Saturday evening, and then, of course, the reception would follow. She’d purposely not chosen the motel her family had booked, prefering to remain away from the hubbub of activity. Her return was booked for the earliest flight out Sunday morning. She planned to be in and out of town as quickly as possible.

  Here and gone.

  No such luck.

  By the time she realized that she’d booked her arrival on Thursday rather than Friday it was too late and too expensive to change her flight dates. All the seats were gone for the
Friday flight. Although she hated the thought of it, arriving on Thursday made more sense. Abby had gritted her teeth and flown in early. Just what she wanted least—an extra twenty-four hours in Cedar Cove.

  She hadn’t told her brother or her parents about her mistake. It was probably better this way, in case she did run into anyone she knew from back then … before Abby had caused the death of her best friend and watched as the town of Cedar Cove sat in judgment of her.

  For more than ten years, Abby had managed to avoid returning to her hometown. Eventually even her parents had found it necessary to move away. Oh, they’d used a convenient excuse, careful not to lay blame at her feet. But Abby knew the truth even if they were too generous to admit to it. No one needed to spell it out for her. Her parents hadn’t been able to face their friends, or the Whites … especially the Whites.

  Her father claimed he’d accepted early retirement from the shipyard, the largest employer in Kitsap County, and shortly afterward her parents had settled in Arizona. Her brother was already living in Seattle by the time of the accident, a corporate executive at Seattle Best Coffee. Of all the women he’d dated over the years, why oh why couldn’t he have fallen in love with a woman from Seattle or Alaska … or Timbuktu? Anyplace other than Cedar Cove.

  Well, there was no help for it. Abby was here now, like it or not. Here and miserable and afraid, so very afraid. A counselor she’d talked to years ago had suggested she confront her fears. Good advice, she supposed, as those fears were currently front and center. She’d run away from them for so long and now the awful memories were nipping at her heels, keeping her awake with the nightmare she’d spent the last fifteen years trying to forget.

  It’d all started out so innocent, so fun. Abby and Angela had been best friends all the way through high school; Abby’s mom had nicknamed them “The A Team.” BFFs for sure. Angela was the best friend Abby had ever had. They were both on cheer squad, both in soccer, both in drama classes, and were practically inseparable all through high school. It was more than being best friends though. Angela had been the one person in the world Abby felt free to share anything and everything with, knowing she’d never be judged. They could talk for hours, and often did. And oh how they could laugh.