A Home by the Sea (16 page)

 

L
ATER
,
ENSCONCED BENEATH
a down comforter on Jilly's sofa bed in an attic room overlooking the harbor, Grace listened to wind rattle the old windows.

The house creaked and settled. She could almost feel the sadness in the old rooms and the shadows that lingered at its grimy windows. The Harbor House had been a local landmark as long as she remembered, but a string of uncaring owners and speculators had left its beauty just a faded memory.

But no matter. They would change all that.

And in the summer, with the harbor full of yachts and pleasure boats, the view would be heart stopping. Grace held on to that golden image as she slipped down into sleep.

 

T
HE DREAM CAME SLOWLY
.

Grace tossed, dimly aware of the shifting images. In that odd way of dreams, she stood on the steps in front of the Harbor House, wearing the same night gown she had loved as a girl. In the dream, she watched a magnolia tree grow up, rich white petals opening to a brilliant sky. She watched a blanket appear, hanging from the tallest branch of the tree, intricately knitted, with cables and a dozen stitches in the style of intricate Guernsey sweaters Grace had always loved.

The cables shifted and seemed to move, almost as if alive. The deeply textured bands looked like walls or fences. Lace panels and eyelets soared like golden wings, crossing a stormy sea.

The sense of weight and meaning grew stronger. Grace felt the wind grow icy, grabbing at her hair. The blanket shook in the wind and all of its intricate stitches moved too, shadowed and restless. She reached out, trying to hold the borders and cables just as they were, but the thick stitches crumbled in her fingers, scattered like ashes.

The wind rose to a howl. She tossed back and forth, trying to block her ears.

“Wake up.”

The blanket melted in her hands, dropping at her feet. There it rose and fell, still alive, lifting and twisting wildly.

A hand gripped her shoulders and shook her hard.

“Grace,
wake up.
Something's wrong.” It was Jilly, her voice hoarse. “I think—I think the building might be on fire.”

G
RACE SAT UP
with a start. Jilly's Samoyed puppy was barking furiously, his paws on the bedroom door. He scratched, wildly trying to get out.

“He's been that way for the last five minutes, totally frenzied. I hated to wake you since you were dead asleep.” Jilly zipped up her thick sweatshirt and held up a heavy, long-handled flashlight. “The electricity's off again. And I smell something funny. Acrid and a little oily, like something's burning.” She tossed a down jacket to Grace and then pulled on her boots. “Come on. If this place really is on fire, we need to get out.”

Still groggy, caught up in the fading images of her disturbing dream, Grace shrugged on the jacket and followed Jilly to the door.

Jilly put her hand on Duffy's back, calming him. “Sit,” she said sharply. “Sit, Duffy.” The dog strained against her leg, alert and restless, but finally sat down as she ordered.

Jilly took a deep breath and gripped the heavy flashlight. “Okay, let's do this.” She opened the door, bending to keep one hand on the puppy's back as
they moved down the narrow stairway, lit only by the beam from her flashlight. The air smelled musty, and now Grace caught the odd smell that Jilly had described.

There was no sign of fire or any smoke as they reached the second floor and checked all the rooms. Duffy was growing more restless, pulling and straining forward against Jilly's grip. “Duffy, heel,” Jilly ordered. At the first floor they turned, moving back through the front room, a nearby storeroom, and into the kitchen. No smoke, but the burning smell was intense.

Suddenly Duffy tore off across the kitchen, throwing his body against the back door. Jilly looked back at Grace, her face pale. “I guess we'd better go see what's making him crazy.”

Grace didn't particularly like the idea of exploring in the darkness. She didn't like thinking about what could put a puppy into such a frenzy. But it had to be done, so she nodded.

She moved closer, right behind Jilly as she unlocked the back door and pushed it open. The access street behind the Harbor House was shadowed and Jilly flashed the light quickly, trying to hold Duffy's straining body as she checked her Wrangler, parked behind the rear entrance. Nothing moved in the garden across the road, barren now in winter. There were no other cars and the lights were off in the shop next door.

Something continued to bother Duffy. He growled, staring down the alley.

The sound of a banging door froze them in their tracks.

Jilly flashed her light to the small building between the two houses. As wind gusted up the alley, a door opened and then banged shut again. “The fuse boxes are in there,” Jilly said softly. “The wiring is really old. Our electric and gas meters are in there, too. I think we'd better take a look.”

Grace wasn't thrilled about the idea, considering how agitated the puppy was becoming. But if there was some kind of a wiring problem or an electrical short, they needed to handle it fast. As the two women walked down the back wooden steps, the oily, acid smell grew much stronger. Oddly, the puppy seemed calmer now, restless but no longer straining to pull free from Jilly's grip. He barked, nudging Jilly's leg, as if he had done his job as a guardian and expected to be praised.

Wind tossed Grace's hair, blinding her for a moment as she stared up into the branches of the big tree that grew over the driveway from the shop next door. Something about the twisting horizontal branches made her think of her odd dream. Was it supposed to mean something?

“Come on.” Impatiently, Jilly shone the flashlight back into the darkness at Grace. Then she vanished into the storage shed that housed the electricity. Shivering from cold, Grace leaned over her shoulder,
watching Jilly open the old-fashioned fuse box. As she did, smoke swirled out and the odor of burning oil and scorched metal became intense. One of the fuses was black, and two others were covered with oil. When Jilly raised her light, they saw two rusted cans of machinery oil overturned above the box. Dark liquid had oozed down the fuse grid. There were ridges where the oil had caught fire, probably sparked by contact with the fuses. Fortunately, the lower rows of fuses appeared intact.

“Good dog. Good boy, Duffy. You're in for a serious steak dinner today. Such a smart and brave boy,” Jilly crooned.

As the dog pranced happily, Jilly closed the fuse box and glanced around the small storage area. It had been cleaned recently. There were no signs of dust or any damage to the worn wooden floor. But two more rusty oil cans had been pushed into a corner.

Jilly looked at Grace and shrugged. “It could have been worse. I think an electrician goes to the top of our to-do list. I also think I'm going to have a chat with whoever has been in charge of maintenance for these two buildings,” she said grimly. “They won't be working for us, that's for sure.”

 

A
FTER TWO RESTLESS
hours Grace gave up trying to sleep. It was freezing in the house without heat and she couldn't even read without electricity. But the residents of Summer Island were early risers, so
Grace walked down to the convenience store. She sent two text messages to Noah, bought coffee to go and grabbed a box of doughnuts for Jilly, who had a sweet tooth the size of Montana.

By the time she got back, Jilly was up, talking on her cell phone. Jilly took the coffee from Grace with a smile and a sigh of thanks, still talking. “Yes, I have the directions.” Duffy pranced at her feet and it was clear that the two had just returned from a walk.

“Okay, great. I'll see you in an hour.” Jilly closed her phone and pulled a hand-knitted scarf from the pocket of her jacket. “Not mine. Caro knitted this one for me last year. I keep trying, but I just can't figure out where the blasted needles go. So sue me.” She closed her eyes in bliss, taking a last drink of her coffee. “Even cold coffee is good first thing in the morning. Thanks for going, Grace. Sorry, but I have an appointment scouting a new organic farm for local produce. I'll be gone a couple of hours. I called and whined, so the electrician said he could be here about eight. Would you mind letting him in?”

“No problem. I'll visit Granddad when you get back.”

Jilly moved as she spoke, packing a notebook and a file folder in her big leather bag. “Caro and Gage are coming over later, but I didn't want to ask them. I think Caro had a hard night last night. She doesn't talk about it, but I'm pretty sure this pregnancy may be more difficult than she's telling any of us. Why
don't you see if you can get her to talk about it with you? I'm having no luck at all.” Jilly leaned down and scratched Duffy behind the ears. “Ready to go, big guy? Ready for a drive? Ready to smell some organic bok choy?” The puppy trotted in excited circles, clearly thrilled to go anywhere with Jilly.

“By the way, Gage wants to talk to the electrician about that fuse box. He said that he would drive you to the hospital after that.”

“I've bothered them enough. I'm going to find the keys to my grandfather's truck today and drive myself. You go on. Organic bok choy should never be kept waiting,” she said.

 

T
HE ELECTRICIAN ARRIVED
on time, wonder of wonders. Grace remembered him from high school. He'd been good in science and chemistry and had gone off to college in Seattle. Now he was back on Summer Island, taking over the family business from his father.

As they caught up on old times and mutual friends, Grace watched him expertly examine the scorched fuse box. He gave a low whistle when he saw the black oil marks. “Good thing this baby shut down. That could have been one nasty fire. The fuses and box look up to code, but I wouldn't trust living with this in my own house. You need commercial breakers here. And whoever left those old cans of lubricant oil on the top of that ledge should be kicked in the head a few dozen times.” He stared
at the box and shook his head. “Now about that estimate you want. After I check the house over, I can give it to you in two ways. One is the bare basics, just to get your power running again. The other is the safe way, but it's going to cost a lot more. Only a complete overhaul will guarantee this kind of thing doesn't happen again.”

Ka-ching.

Grace could hear the cash register racking up repair costs. “I'll take both estimates and discuss them with my friends.” It was false economy to patch up the problem and then wait until it happened again, probably in the busiest time of the summer, but there was a limit to their repair budget.

A car door slammed out in the alley. She heard Caro calling something to Gage.

Grace leaned around the door and waved her hand. “Over here. The electrician is looking over our little problem.” Grace prayed that it would indeed be a little problem and not the first of many surprises that would turn their dream house into a nightmare.

 

W
ITHOUT ELECTRICITY
, it was very cold inside, even when the sun finally broke through the fog. Grace insisted on bringing down blankets for Caro. But Caro refused to sit down. Instead, she moved from room to room, poking in every closet, looking behind cabinets and under shelves.

Then she stood at the big picture window, watch
ing whitecaps race across the curve of the harbor. “Jilly was up early.”

“Wholesale produce was calling her name.”

Caro shook her head. “I'm worried about her. She's running on fumes. You should have seen her earlier this month. She refuses to rest and even though she works with food all day, I don't think she's eating enough.”

“When was Jilly ever calm?”

“This is worse. There's something she's not saying. When she thinks I'm not watching, a wistful look crosses her face.” Caro leaned forward suddenly, rubbing her back and wincing. “Back pains. I read about this in the pregnancy books, but I kept thinking it wouldn't happen to me,” she said drily. “Anyway, about Jilly. Her line of gourmet foods is growing faster than she expected, and there are a thousand details for her to manage. I told her she needs to hire a manager back in Arizona, but she wants to control everything herself. For Jilly,
delegating
is a four-letter word.” Caro's eyes narrowed. “Maybe you can talk to her, Grace. She won't tell me anything.”

Grace coughed to hide a sudden laugh. They were back to their old roles, with her as the intermediary. A decade had gone by, but some things never changed. “I'll do what I can.”

“She'll talk to you,” Caro said firmly. “And I think we could really make a go of this place, but I don't want Jilly biting off more than she can chew. I
know she's always had the energy of two people, but she can't go on this way forever. If we aren't careful, this lovely dilapidated old house could turn into an albatross.” Caro gestured out at the electrician's truck and smiled grimly. “As we've just seen.” She turned, one hand on her round stomach. “Of course, I don't want you to say anything obvious to her. Jilly's way too smart for that. Just promise me you'll probe a little. You two were always close.”

“Deal.” Grace saw lines of strain around her friend's eyes. “Something else is wrong, isn't it, Caro? Let's have it.”

“Oh, don't mind me. I'm just feeling silly and weepy today. Gage is going back to Afghanistan in nine days, and I can't seem to think of anything else.” She bent her head, moving her hand gently over her stomach, as if to reassure the baby and herself that everything would be fine after Gage left. “Meanwhile, my grandmother's had a case of nerves ever since your grandfather went into the hospital. The two of them keep up this ridiculous act as if they aren't involved in a serious relationship. If you ask me, it's high time the two of them got married.”

This was no secret to Grace. She was perfectly aware that Morgan McNeal and her grandfather had been seeing each other for some time. But they were always discreet, both holding on to their separate lives. She had tried to discuss it with him once, but he denied it was serious.

“I agree. But my grandfather could have a long way to go to a full recovery.”

“One day at a time.” Caro took a sharp breath and sank down in the nearby chair.

“Caro, what is it?”

Grace's friend took another quick breath. “Just an occasional twinge. It's my back. The doctor says the baby is riding very low now.”

“That's all? There's nothing wrong, is there? Because if there is, you need to discuss it with Gage and your doctor.”

“I was just in for a whole day's worth of tests. So far, everything looks fine, but we're waiting for the last results. Stop looking so upset. I'm in good health with no major vices. Everything will be fine. Women give birth to babies every day, right? There's no reason for me or you to get bent out of shape. It's going to be fine,” she said firmly.

Grace was certain that her friend was trying hard to believe that, trying not to worry about her husband returning to a war zone. “If there's anything I can do to help, Caro, just name it.”

“If there is, I'll ask. Now enough of this gloomy talk.” Caro sat down on the sill at the front window. The paint was still chipped but now the glass gleamed from their labors.

Her gaze seemed to move over Grace's shoulder. “This room is going to be beautiful in summer, with splashes of color from yarn on the wall and the smell of Jilly's baguettes and chocolate croissants
coming from the kitchen. I'd been thinking about a yarn store for Summer Island for months. At the same time, Jilly had been thinking about putting a café in here. Suddenly, there we were, talking to a Realtor and looking at wallpaper books.”

She rubbed her neck. From inside a big quilted bag she pulled out bamboo needles and a half-finished purple glove. “When all else fails, grab your needles.”

And Caro knitted fast, the way she had before her hand had been hurt in an accident the year before. She had always been the fastest knitter Grace knew, and effortless cables and ribs flowed beneath her needles. With each stitch, the tension in her shoulders relaxed. Her breathing became calmer, steadier.