A Dream Weekend: A Tale From Blythe Cove Manor

C
opyright
© 2015 by Lorraine Bartlett

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This story was originally published by Storytellers Unlimited in the Summer Magic Anthology and was titled Sweet Dreams.

F
or more information
on Lorraine’s books, check out her website:
http://www
.LorraineBartlett.com

I
t had not been just
a quiet ride from Albany, New York to the ferry dock in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, but a silent one. Paige Campbell hadn’t spoken a word to her husband of fifteen years, and he hadn’t said a word to her, either. Paige turned on her e-reader as soon as they’d pulled out of the driveway of what now seemed like their enormous and empty home, and hadn’t once let her gaze stray to the left side of the minivan where Alex sat behind the wheel.

The trip was nothing but an exercise in futility. The fact was they were headed for divorce, and a weekend stay in a high-end bed-and-breakfast in hoity-toity Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t going to eradicate the horrific tragedy that had torn their lives apart.

The square white envelope arrived two weeks before. At first, Paige thought it was a wedding invitation, yet as she opened it she couldn’t think of who among their family and friends might be heading for the state of holy matrimony. So she was surprised to find an engraved certificate for a free weekend at Blythe Cove Manor on Martha’s Vineyard. Paige couldn’t remember ever entering a sweepstake with that as a prize, and neither could Alex. She’d quizzed their friends and family, but no one admitted to submitting their names for such a contest.

Paige called the inn and spoke with its owner, one Blythe Calvert, and was assured that, yes, she and her husband had indeed won the free weekend at the two hundred year old bed and breakfast.

Paige had checked out the website and if the photos didn’t lie, Blythe Cove Manor was a lovely old inn that overlooked the eastern shore of the island. She’d studied the pictures of each of the rooms and hoped they’d be placed in one that overlooked the sea. Since they’d won some silly contest, it was more likely they’d be housed in the inn’s worst accommodation. Considering the state of their marriage, Paige would not have complained if she and Alex were assigned a room with twin beds. It had been a long time since they’d been intimate. She never expected the two of them to make love ever again. Sex—maybe. Love? Never.

“Looks like we got here right on time,” Alex said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice sounded rusty after so many hours without use, and yet Paige could detect a modicum of excitement there, too. Something she hadn’t heard in a long time.

Paige looked up to see that the line of cars on the dock was already snaking into the multi-decked ferry. Should she allow herself to feel that same sense of excitement? That would be a betrayal and she couldn’t bear the thought. What was the use anyway? The reality was, their lives were in ruins and nothing they could do or say would take back the worst year of their lives. Nothing could change what had happened. Nothing and no one could ever heal the wounds of loss they’d experienced.

“I’ve never been on a ferry before,” Paige admitted and turned off her e-reader.

“Neither have I,” Alex said and allowed the minivan to slowly roll forward.

When they got close to the boat, a workman held out his hand to collect the ferry pass that had accompanied the invitation to Blythe Cove Manor. Whoever had supplied the prize seemed to have thought of everything.

Alex drove onboard and parked the van. He cut the engine and turned to Paige. “What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can either sit here and stew for the forty-five minute ride to the island, or you can get out and go up on deck. I don’t intend to sit here, but
you
can if you want.”

Was that a challenge?

“It’s a beautiful day. Why would I want to sit down here in the dark and stare at the horrible little car parked in front of us for the better part of an hour?”

Alex shrugged. He grabbed the Canon camera that sat on the floor between the bucket seats and opened the driver’s side door. “Lock it up,” he said, as if she needed that reminder.

Paige stowed her e-reader in the tote behind her seat, grabbed her purse, and followed the man she’d once vowed to love and cherish so long as they both shall live—a promise she no longer felt compelled to honor.

Alex hadn’t waited for her and had forged ahead. Paige struggled to catch up to him, although she couldn’t have said why. It’s not like they valued each other’s company. It’s not like they conversed much these last few months. The love between them had evaporated and neither of them seemed inclined to try to resurrect it.

Paige trudged up the steel steps to the chilly open deck above. As she stepped into the bright sunlight, she was blinded for a few seconds. It was early in the season, just the first week in June, but those who were making the trip across the Vineyard Sound seemed as excited as though a holiday loomed. School hadn’t yet let out for most of the northeast, which was probably the reason for the timing of the prize they’d won. Another couple of weekends and the inn—or was it a B&B—would probably be booked solid until Labor Day. Still, there was nothing to keep Paige and Alex at home during that a three-day, two-night stay. Not now, anyway.

No sooner had they walked toward the bow when the ferry left the dock, starting out at a slow pace, but soon picking up speed. The wind was brisk, and Paige was glad she’d gathered her hair into a ponytail that morning. She no longer felt the need to even attempt to look attractive. What did it matter in the grand scheme of things?

Alex settled his arms on the teak rail at the bow, his gaze focused on the vast expanse of blue sea before them. Paige did likewise, wondering how soon they’d be able to see the island.

“Why did you bring the camera?” Paige asked.

Alex’s gaze was still fixed ahead of the big ferry. “I thought it might be time to make some new memories.”

That was a laugh. Paige wanted to hold tight to her
old
memories. She wanted to go back in time to the lives they’d lived before their world had turned upside down. She wanted no part of the present or the future.

There, she’d actually allowed herself to think the dreaded thought that had been hovering at the edges of consciousness for the better part of a year. The sense of surprise she’d felt just seconds before quickly settled down to acceptance. Yes, perhaps she’d known right from the time the police had phoned what her inevitable choice would be. She glanced askance at Alex, whose face was filled with lines that hadn’t been there a year before. The hair at his temples sported a bit of gray as well. Oddly enough, it suited him. It was the dead look in his eyes that often caught her off-guard, but then her expression mirrored his to the point that they might as well have been twins instead of husband and wife.

She wouldn’t say another word about the camera. She’d let him make new memories, if that was what he wanted. And she decided she’d try to be nicer to him during the next few days. It would be her going-away present to him … one way or another.

A
lex Campbell snapped
pictures of the ferry, its passengers and crew, and of the approaching island that seemed to glow in the afternoon sunlight as they approached. What he loved about digital photography was how easy it was to wipe away unsatisfactory shots with the press of a button. Of course, how many times had he cursed himself for wiping out so many mundane images the morning of the last day of his former life? But he’d made a point to clear the unwanted images away on a regular basis—just to keep the camera’s memory uncluttered. Before that last day, he’d led a very orderly life. Since then, he’d let go of a lot of the internal clutter in his life. It had been far too many long months, but he was finally emerging from the mental fog that had engulfed him for too long.

He’d made a decision during the drive to Massachusetts. It was time to start living again.

The ferry approached the dock and he looked around for Paige, but didn’t see her among the throng of people making a beeline for the stairs that led to the car decks. Perhaps she was already waiting for him in the van. He joined the line and trundled down the steps, but when he got to the van, he found the passenger seat empty.

The ferry docked and Alex had no choice; he had to move the vehicle. There were people parked behind it who would be irked to be held up from their weekend plans. Annoyed, he got in the van and started the engine. The cars ahead were already rolling forward and still there was no sign of Paige. His irritation began to ebb, replaced by growing concern. Where the hell was she?

Putting the van in gear, he followed the car ahead and drove off the ferry, but pulled over at the first opportunity. Switching off the engine, he was about to get out of the vehicle when he glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a solitary figure disembark from the ferry, just as the cars heading back to the mainland began to fill the car decks once again.

It was Paige, of course.

Alex sat there, waiting, and finally Paige walked up to the van, opened the passenger door, and got in.

“Sorry. I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t know how long a time it would take to get to the inn, so I figured I’d better go while I had the chance,” she said and buckled up.

“Better safe than sorry,” Alex agreed, and then, impulsively, reached out to lay a hand on her arm. Paige pulled away. Well, what had he expected?

Alex started the van, shifted to drive, hit the accelerator, and the van rolled forward once again.

Alex was sure Paige no longer loved him, and some part of him couldn’t blame her, but a bigger part was angry. That bigger part of his
soul
was just as angry at her. Angry that she’d written him off. Angry that she blamed him for something that was not his fault.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive her for that.

B
lythe Calvert looked
up from her position behind the front desk at the beautiful old inn the locals and visitors knew as Blythe Cover Manor. To her, it was simply home. The rambling old house had been in her family for more than two centuries—and sometimes it showed its age, like after a nor’easter hit and gripped the cedar shingles, wrenching them from the roof, or when one of the fireplaces would balk at digesting a load of firewood. But most of the time, the house embraced her with a sense of safety and security, as it had taken care of generations of her family.

The sound of tires on gravel drew her attention, and Blythe peered through the storm door to see a blue minivan pull up in front of the house. She watched as the couple exited the vehicle, noticing the disconnect between the man and woman. They approached the house, but not as a unit. It seemed as though an invisible brick wall had been erected between them. They entered the lobby, looking around but not, Blythe noticed, at each other.

“Hello. Welcome to Blythe Cove Manor. I’m Blythe Calvert, your hostess. You must be Alex and Paige Campbell.”

“We are,” the wind-blown woman said and forced a smile that did not extend to her eyes. She crept closer to the reception desk. “We’re not exactly sure what to do. We’re the couple who won this weekend trip—”

“Yes. We’ve had a chilly few days, but it should warm up later this weekend. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself during your stay.”

“Do you need a credit card to secure the room?” Mr. Campbell asked, even as he took in the antiques and bric-a-brac that decorated the eclectic lobby.

“No. As I explained to your wife when we spoke on the phone last week, everything has been taken care of.”

“Even the tax and so forth?” Mrs. Campbell asked.

“Even that,” Blythe assured them. She reached for a skeleton key that was attached to a scallop shell etched with the number six and handed it to Mrs. Campbell.

“Your room is down the hall to the left. We serve breakfast from six until nine o’clock. I can make a number of recommendations for dinner in town and would be happy to make the reservation, too. There’s a notebook in your room with all the information you need to make a choice.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Campbell said. He turned to his wife. “Let’s check out the room. We can bring in the rest of the luggage later.”

Was that a hedge in case they didn’t like the accommodations? Never mind. They’d be charmed—literally—about their room and everything else about Blythe Cover Manor.

The couple started off. “By the way,” Blythe called. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

Mrs. Campbell turned. “No.”

“Good. You’ll probably see our resident tabby while you’re here. Her name is Martha and she’s as gentle as a lamb.”

“Thanks for alerting us,” Mr. Campbell said.

“There’ll be sherry in the lobby this evening, and the luggage cart is just over there,” Blythe said and pointed. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Mr. Campbell nodded and turned away.

For a moment, the look on Mrs. Campbell’s face changed from bland indifference to sheer panic. The poor dear needed something, but Blythe was sure no one on Earth could have given the woman what she so badly desired.

Mrs. Campbell swallowed and the mask of practiced detachment fell over her features once more. “Thank you.”

Blythe watched them turn the corner and shook her head. This couple might prove to be a difficult one. Still, she had faith that Blythe Cove Manor would work its magic on them.

To save their marriage, it had to.

A
plaque graced
the door to Blythe Cove Manor’s room six. In gold-leaf calligraphy, it said:
Life holds special magic for those who dare to dream.

Paige handed the key over and allowed Alex to open the door. He stood aside to let her enter first. She took a step forward and paused in the doorway, a sudden smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She had smiled so seldom during the past fifteen months that the muscles needed to achieve the expression seemed rusty from lack of use. But the room was so charming Paige couldn’t help herself.

The walls were knotty pine, which could have made the space feel dark and foreboding, but instead felt warm and cozy. The gas fire, which was alight, added to that ambiance. The queen-sized bed was covered in a faded patchwork quilt where a fat tabby—no doubt Martha—had taken up residence.

“Paige,” Alex prodded.