A Gift for All Seasons (19 page)

April grabbed a brochure from beside the computer on the registration desk and fanned herself.

So. Anyway. That part of things was going great. The man was considerate and attentive and oh-so-eager to please. And—when he let his guard down—funny. He was even talking more, praise be. But his being clearly dead-set against her being around his daughter...that needled. Not for the obvious reasons, though. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to protect Lili—that was one of the things she found so appealing, for goodness’ sake.

But.

It was also pretty clear that as long as he refused to let her into that part of his life—the most important part, as it should be—she had no hope of becoming a
real
part of his life. The sex was great, she loved the sex, she was more grateful than she could say for the sex...but that wasn’t a relationship.

And it was quite obvious that Patrick was deliberately keeping this thing between the sheets—or inside a sleeping bag—so they
wouldn’t
develop a relationship.

Which is what was worrisome. Not to mention roused some very strong suspicions that Patrick was denying himself far more than he was denying April.
That’s
what made her want to slap the doofus six ways to Sunday...even as it strengthened her resolve to stick it out, to work with what she was given—in this case, sex—until she saw that speck of light through some chink or other in his armor that showed her the way inside.

All in good time,
she thought, breathing deeply as Todd, who along with his partner, Michael, now lived in the house’s downstairs back bedroom, plugged in the vacuum cleaner to do one final sweep before the day’s guests arrived. Already they’d proved themselves godsends, their conscientious attention to detail earning April’s undying respect. Not to mention gratitude. Minutes into their interview, she’d known that she and the pair of thirtysomethings—one a musician, the other a watercolor artist—had been destined to be together. However, Todd in particular was both uncannily intuitive and empathetic, which meant hiding anything from the brawny blond was an exercise in futility.

In fact, pale brows now hiked over hazel eyes riddled with concern. And she had no doubt about what. Although she’d said nothing to either of them about Patrick, they’d seen her with him enough—and knew enough about Patrick’s situation by the sheer dint of living in the same town—to draw a conclusion or six.

“Everything okay?” Todd said, pretending to rearrange the vacuum cord, move furniture that didn’t need to be moved.

“Couldn’t be better,” April chirped. “You get the goody baskets up in the rooms yet?”

“An hour ago, and you, honey, are a terrible liar. Pardon me for saying this, but you look like you’re about to fall over.”

She sort of laughed. “Would it help to say at least it’s a good tired? But it has been a lot busier than I expected for barely getting our doors open.” And at least he hadn’t zeroed in on her musings. Bad enough that her cousins both read her like a billboard. Leave it to her to hire employees who were every bit as bad. Or good. Whatever.

Todd wagged his head. “Didn’t Michael and I tell you from the beginning, anytime you want to take some time for yourself, we’re more than happy to inn-sit? And since we’d both very much like to hang on to this job for more than five minutes, we’re hardly going to do anything to screw it up.”

“Ohmigosh, you think I don’t trust you? No, that’s not it, not it at all. It’s...”

“You’re not ready to leave your baby with some stranger. I know. Only putting it out there. As an option.” Finally he turned back to the vacuum. “Especially if you ever expect to get some alone time with your strapping young man. Just saying.”

The vacuum roared to life before she could respond.
Creep,
she thought, her eyes stinging.

She felt her cell phone buzz in her pocket—her mother. To get away from the noise she went into the office, shutting the door behind her.

“Just checking to see how things were going,” Mama said. “Although I imagine it’ll be slow at first, until word gets out.”

April could never quite tell these days whether her mother’s comments stemmed from genuine maternal support or latent passive aggression. Not that it was any secret Mama expected the venture to fail. You know, because the economy was so shaky, and it was rare for a new business to make it past the first year, blah-blah-blah. Which begged all manner of eye rolls, considering what April’s father had put her mother through. Then again, she supposed one could be an enabler and still have full cognizance of what you were enabling. And heaven knew if anyone understood how few ventures actually thrived, it would be her mother.

“Actually, things are going really well,” she said, walking to the window to gaze out over the now more-or-less recovered front grounds. “I’ve already got bookings through January—”

“Really?”

“Really. And the restaurant’s taking off, Mel’s doing a fantastic job with that.”

Oh, and by the way? I’ve taken a lover....

“Did you get the pictures I sent? Of the house and grounds?” she said after swallowing down the giggle threatening to erupt.

“Um, yes. We did.”

“So what did you think? Gorgeous, huh?”

After a long pause, her mother said, “I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have recognized the place. Blythe’s very talented, isn’t she?”

“She is that. And the room done up in greens and blues? That’s where I thought you and Dad could stay when you come for Christmas—”

“April, honey...nothing’s changed. About how I feel, I mean. You can’t wallpaper over the memories, no matter how hard you try. And besides, I thought you said you were booked through January.”

“No, I said I have bookings through January. There are still openings.” She fisted her hand, feeling her nails bite into her palm. “And I’m holding that room for you.”

“Why in heaven’s name would you do that?”

“Because...”
Oh, just say it, for heaven’s sake
. “Because I’m an eternal optimist who still believes that one day her mother will stop letting a dead woman control her?”

She heard Mama suck in a breath. “You have no idea, the things she said to me, to all three of us—”

“No, I don’t. And frankly, I don’t care. Not that she hurt you, I don’t mean that, but because she’s
gone,
and the house is
mine,
and I want you to be proud of me for what I’ve done with it. To at least support what I’m trying to do as much as you used to with Dad! After all, considering what I gave up for you, it’s the least you could do!”

April slapped a hand to her mouth. Why she’d chosen now to come clean, she couldn’t say. Actually, yes, she could, since now she
knew
what she’d given up. And she didn’t only mean the deliciousness of a rough-fingered caress across her sensitive skin, the feel of being wrapped in a man’s arms, or orgasms so intense they achieved out-of-body-experience status. Of kisses that went on forever, negating the need for words. No, what she’d given up was being able to give of her whole self, to hold and touch someone
else,
to give someone
else
those out-of-body experiences. To heal the pain in someone’s eyes, even if only occasionally—

“April! What on
earth
are you talking about?”

She lowered her trembling hand, her other gripping her cell phone so hard her fingers started to cramp. Yes, she’d willingly married Clayton. Willingly stayed with him, too. And she had cared for him. Deeply. But the truth—a truth Clayton probably understood even more than April, at that point—was that she really had agreed to the arrangement solely out of gratitude. And that, had she known then what she knew now, she wasn’t sure she’d make the same choice.

“I married Clayton as a favor,” she finally said. “Or I should say, to repay him for his.”

Even over the phone, she could sense her mother going very still. “I thought... I’m sorry, honey, I don’t understand. Are you saying it was a marriage of convenience?”

“Yes.”

A long silence preceded, “For whom?”

“Both of us.”

“Because...” Her mother sucked in a sharp breath. “Because of everything he did for us when your father was so ill.”

“Partly. And we
were
friends. But only friends.” She paused. “It never struck you as odd that Clay was so much older? That we weren’t, um, exactly on the same social level?”

“Oh, please. Rich, older men take trophy wives all the time. And you were—still are—a knockout. And as long as you were happy...oh, dear God. Were you?”

“He was good to me. To the best of his ability.”

“Meaning...?”

“He was sick when I married him,” she said quietly, deciding not to get into the other, especially since she had no proof. Nor was his sexual preference germane, when all was said and done. “That was my favor to him, as a gift to his mother. But Clay was a sweet, kind, very generous man, and I obviously benefitted far more than I could have ever imagined. Although I truly didn’t marry him for his money. Not for me, I mean. But...” She sighed. “But I knew if I did he’d make sure you and Daddy were taken care of.”

It didn’t dawn on April until much later that in all likelihood Clay would have seen to her parents’ well-being anyway, even if she’d refused his proposal, simply because his heart was that big. As was his bank account. That the sense of obligation had been entirely in her head, not his. But at twenty-one, she didn’t know that. Didn’t know him. More to the point, she didn’t know who
she
was, or what she really needed. And once she’d made that promise...

“I had no idea, honey,” Mama said. “I really didn’t.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark, but it seemed best. At least at the time.”

“And now...” Her mother spoke slowly, as though a few things were beginning to make sense. “And now you’re finally doing something for yourself.”

Even though she knew Mama was talking about the inn, April was glad her mother couldn’t see her blush as the image of Patrick’s want-you-now gaze shimmered in her head, as she suddenly craved his touch, wanted to touch
him,
so badly her womb cramped.

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” she said, calling out, “Yes?” to the knock on the door.

Todd poked his head inside. “The Eddlestons are here. If you’re busy I can take care of them—”

“No, no, I’ll be right there.” Then, to her mother, “Guests are here, I need to go. I guess we’ll talk later?”

“Absolutely,” Mama said, sounding subdued. And still a little floored. “April?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, baby. You know that, right?”

Her eyes swam. “Of course I do. I love you, too.”

But as she hung up, she wondered...was she still denying herself? That for all she was grateful for what she did have with Patrick, for all she understood and respected his need to be cautious, did at least part of her impatience, or annoyance, or whatever it was stem from her once again accepting an okay-for-now relationship as, well, okay?

Definitely something to ponder.

Smiling, she greeted the Eddlestons, a pair of no-nonsense retirees from Baltimore whom April immediately pegged as birders, with their sensible shoes and camera/binocular cases hanging around their necks. Signed them in. Swiped their credit card. Gave them keys to their room.

Realized, as she led them upstairs, that Patrick wasn’t the only one holding back. Only what if by giving Patrick whatever emotional space he seemed to need, she was unwittingly sending the message that she wasn’t entirely willing to move forward, either? That she really was fine with a fling?

It was all so confusing, she thought as she ushered the couple into the corner bedroom with an en suite bath, done in Blythe’s signature eclectic style in tans and rich reds, with the occasional purple “pop.” When did
committed
cross the line to
suffocating?
How was she supposed to let Patrick know she wasn’t going anywhere without making the poor guy feel trapped?

“Oh, isn’t this lovely!” Mrs. Eddleston said, setting down her camera case on the antique writing desk before plodding to the window to take in the river view, the water gone a deep crimson in the setting sun.

“Thank you.”

“And this is your own house?”

“Now, yes. It had been my grandmother’s. My cousins and I spent our summers here, when we were children.”

“And you loved it,” Mrs. Eddleston gently said.

“I did.”

“I can tell.” The white-haired woman turned back to April, her wrinkled face aglow from the sun—and something that clearly came from within. “Did I see something on your website, that you host weddings, too?”

“We haven’t actually done one yet, but we plan to.” April grinned, even as her heart twinged. “Thinking about renewing your vows?”

Chuckling, the older woman poked her husband, who’d come to stand beside her, squinting like Mr. Magoo as he cleaned his glasses. “Wouldn’t this be perfect for Lisa’s wedding?” When he grunted, his wife gave him an indulgent look, then said to April, “Our granddaughter. Her boyfriend’s planning to ask her to marry him at Christmas, although she doesn’t know it.” She chuckled. “We’re not supposed to, either, I suspect, but her mother is so excited she couldn’t keep it to herself.”

And if April was going to get all
verklempt
every time somebody got married under that gazebo she was screwed. “I have brochures about our wedding services, if you’d like to take some home with you—”

“Oh, that would be perfect, dear! Thank you!”

“I’ll let you settle in then,” April said, smiling as Mr. Eddleston made a beeline for one of the two wing chairs facing the flat-screen TV, hovering over the fireplace across from the canopied bed. “The dining room opens at five-thirty, you’ll find tonight’s menu on the desk. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. And we’re very informal, no need to dress up!”

She left the couple to it, smacking aside her cloudy mood as she trooped back downstairs to check on Mel and her new assistant, Sylvia, in the kitchen.