California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (63 page)

I’m a two-year-old having a temper tantrum. I’m not old enough to have a baby.

She couldn’t stop herself. Every time her breath began to slow, the list of things that needed to be done overwhelmed her and her sobs grew louder.

Even her mother’s gentle knock on the door couldn’t stop her.

The mattress dipped when Elizabeth sat down and wrapped her arms around Sarah. Sarah leaned into her mother’s warmth and let herself cry, just as she had when she was a little girl. Her mother stroked her head and whispered, “It’ll be okay. In a few months the hormones will settle down. You’ll feel better.”

I’ll never feel better.

“You don’t have to do things alone, you know.”

Why does everyone keep saying that?

Her mother’s voice soothed her. “You know, the last time Annie and I were at Costanoa Grill, Mandy said something about stopping by the inn to see if she could help you.”

“She came by,” Sarah said in between sobs. “She said she’d help. She’ll give me a list, but then what? And who’s going to do the work?”

“You’ll have to start looking for a handyman.”

“I’ll figure out the plumbing. How hard can it be? I don’t want a man around — any man.” Sarah started to cry again. “Men suck. They lie and tell you what you want to hear. Then when you need them, they go away like … Rick … and, well, you know what Daddy did to you.”

“Hush, sweetheart. Not every man is like Rick. As for your father, we were too young when we married.”

“That’s no excuse. He should have been better!” Sarah balled her fists.

Her mother laughed. “We all should be better than we are. But we’re human beings. With flaws.” She touched Sarah’s chest. “Even you.”

“I suppose. But I still don’t want a man in my life.”

“I’m sure that will change,” Elizabeth said.

“Not likely.”

“I understand how you feel, but give it time, okay? Things will be brighter in a few months. I promise you.”

“Okay.” Sarah got her trembling lower lip under control.

“Come eat.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Sarah raised her face. “And thanks, Mom. Sorry I was nasty.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Comes with the territory.” She sat back down on the bed. “I meant what I said earlier. You don’t have to do this all by yourself.”

Oh, but I do.

• • •

Once he left the inn behind, Hunter turned north on Highway 1. If he could find the cabinets he’d made at his parents’ house, it might ease his disappointment at not being able to live in his childhood home. Maybe Joe would let him use the shop to finish them. The anticipation of warm wood coming alive under his fingers brought a smile to his face.

He took the exit that led to Highway 17 North. With rain clouds threatening, there was no point in taking the longer, more scenic coastal route. Fortunately, traffic was light and he made good time until he got to San Francisco.

No matter what you did, there was no easy way through the city to Marin County. He joined the crawling BMWs, buses, and work vans on Nineteenth Avenue to the Golden Gate Bridge and over the entrance to the bay.

Even in January, sailboats dotted the water between San Francisco and Sausalito. His father had always told him sailing was the mature way to tackle the waves, but Hunter preferred the raw power of surfing.

He and his father had never agreed on anything.

Hunter pulled into the narrow driveway of his parents’ house on the hill. Yanking his overnight bag from the back seat, he climbed the worn gray stairs to the glassed house. The entryway had once gleamed, but now the patina of neglect showed through.

He used his key to get into the house, shouting as he came in. “Hi, Mom … Dad.”

His mother’s weak voice came from the front parlor. “In here, Hunter.”

No answer from his dad.

Hunter stuffed his keys into his pocket and went into the glass-plated living room. His mother was resting, as she almost always was, in a nubby tan recliner. A knitted afghan of some sort covered her thin legs. Her hair, which had been long and raven-black in his youth, was a short gray cap on her head now.

His father continued to leech the life from her.

“How you doing, Mom?” He kissed her dry cheek. His mom was only in her fifties yet her appearance made him think she was ready for hospice.

He settled himself on the nearby couch. Whenever he came home, he spent time with his mother. He loved her, but never understood why she put up with the infidelity and emotional abuse his father dished out. Whenever he brought the subject up, she told him things were the way they were supposed to be and changed the topic.

Once the cancer had arrived he’d stopped pestering her.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected,” she said. “Still in remission. Still feeling weak from the treatments. They told me it could take a year before I make progress.”

Unless it comes back.

The unspoken thought lay between them.

“I got a job, Mom. Laying sheetrock. Not much, but I’m hoping it will be more.”

“You could come back here. I’m sure your father could find something for you … something more fitting.”

“No thanks, Mom.” He stood. “Can I get you anything? I’m going to see if I can find those old cabinets I started to make before I left to go overseas. Any idea where they are?”

His mother appeared confused. “Um. No. I can’t say I remember seeing them.” Then her smile brightened. “Could you make me some tea?”

“Sure, Mom.” He walked back to the recently remodeled kitchen.
Mom never lacks for the material goods.

Somehow that didn’t give him a sense of satisfaction.

A few minutes later, he poured boiling water over Earl Grey tea in a flowered teapot. He idly watched squirrels chase each other up and down the branches of the live oak that clung to the steep rise in what passed as his parents’ back yard.

Even though he’d lived there for years, he’d never considered the place home.

“Here you go,” he said, placing the cup and saucer on a table near his mother. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay, dear.” His mother picked up the book she’d been reading — a romance novel judging by the half-naked man on cover.

Hunter walked down the stairs to the bottom half of the house, the last place he’d seen the cabinets before he left. He hadn’t been down here since he’d been released from the hospital.

In what had once been an open area sectioned into storage spaces, he was surprised to find a new room had been built. The door was locked, but the lock was flimsy.

Hunter took a credit card from his wallet and jimmied the door open.

A large mahogany desk anchored the room, flanked on either wall by solid bookcases and file cabinets. It had the ambiance of a successful attorney’s office, which, of course, was what it was.

But why had his father moved his office down here?

Hunter walked around the back of the desk and saw one of the reasons. A framed photo of what was probably his father’s latest mistress, held honorary position. From this angle, he could also see tastefully done nude photographs, probably of the same woman, hung on either side of the door.

Slamming the door with disgust, Hunter left. He didn’t bother to lock it. Let his father wonder.

Monday morning Sarah was at the inn early, ready to start cleaning wallpaper and prepping wood for painting. Her plastic bucket was filled with sponges, cloths, and detergent. On her second trip to the car she brought in the short ladder she’d purchased at a local hardware store the day before.

She’d just set it down when a twinge forced her to the floor. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She pressed her hand to her side as the pain subsided.

This can’t be normal.

Her doctor at the university had indicated everything was fine, but that had been over a month ago. The appointment she had Wednesday was her first with Dr. Hadiya Patel, The physician should be able to tell her what was wrong and give her a remedy.

As long as the doctor didn’t tell her she had to stay in bed for the rest of her pregnancy, Sarah would be fine.

The pain passed and she carefully hauled the bucket and ladder to the back bedroom, the one she intended to make her own. The sooner she got away from her mother, the better they’d both be.

The view from the back window showed her overgrown vegetation. The realtor had told her there was a kitchen garden, but Sarah couldn’t discern any space for vegetables. Maybe when Marcos and her mother were done pruning his vineyard they could find the inn’s garden.

Sarah groaned. Mandy was going to stop by today with plans for the kitchen. More money. She couldn’t really afford to hire kitchen help. But she’d never keep any guests if she didn’t. Her mother was right. Sarah couldn’t cook worth a damn. She’d have to hire a chef just to keep her baby fed.

She plugged in her iPod speakers, started the player, and cranked it up as loud as she could. Then she filled her bucket, set up her ladder, and got to work.

A few hours later, she’d completed the cornices and washed halfway down the walls. She stood in the middle of the floor and eyed the ceiling. It was going to be a bear to paint.

Maybe she’d been too hasty sending Hunter away.

Her phone chirped. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sarah. It’s Annie.”

Uh-oh. Her mother was at it again.
“Oh, hi. How’s David?”

“He’s doing well — staying out of trouble, thank goodness.”

Sarah smiled. She’d been really worried about Annie’s son, a kid she used to babysit, when he’d had problems with the law the previous spring. “That’s good to hear. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know if your mom told you, but John and I are getting married in June.”

“Yes, she did. Congratulations!”

“And we’d like to get married at your inn!” Annie’s joy sounded through the words. “You said you were planning on opening in June and we figured we could help you do it in style!”

“But I won’t be ready for a wedding! Don’t you want a white dress, flowers, and a wedding cake? I don’t have a chef. I can’t do a wedding.”

Annie laughed. “It’s not going to be a formal wedding. Just a simple celebration for our friends, like you and your mom. We can hire a caterer, so you don’t need to worry about a chef. And June will be lovely in your garden.”

Sarah glanced out the back window at the heaps of greenery again. The front gardens were in the same condition.
Lovely isn’t the word that describes them.

“It will be good publicity,” Annie continued. “Weddings can be real moneymakers.”

“I’ll think about it, Annie. I really can’t give you an answer now.”

“I understand, dear. It must seem overwhelming. I remember going to a holiday party at that house years ago. Some attorney and his wife owned it then.”

Sarah’s heart beat a little faster. “What happened to them?”

Annie paused. “I’m not sure. They left town suddenly. A scandal of some kind. I think someone was sleeping with someone — you know how that goes. I just can’t remember which one was unfaithful.”

Probably the husband.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter. The point I was trying to make is that it’s a big old house. Take your time. Maybe open a little more every few months. And Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be like me. Ask for help when you need it.”

The image of Hunter came to Sarah’s mind and she quickly banished him. She did not need a man.

“I’m sure I can handle it. I’ll let you know about the wedding. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Okay. Oh! Did your mother tell you I’m doing my first concert at the bookstore in March?”

“No! That’s amazing, Annie. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

Sarah hung up the phone and stared out the rain-streaked window. The older generation was taking the world by storm. Annie had her first concert booked and Sarah’s mother had told her the night before that she’d contracted with a firm in Oregon to create her line of organic lotions.

Sarah’s own plans had come crashing down around her with the pregnancy.

She squared her shoulders and patted her stomach. “We’ll have to figure out our dream together, little one.”

She moved the ladder to the center of the room and began on the bottom half of the walls.

It was a little after noon when Sarah broke for the lunch her mother had packed for her.

She definitely had to move out of her mom’s house.

Once she took a bite of the tuna sandwich on thick slices of multi-grain bread, she began to reconsider. There were benefits to letting her mom pamper her. Elizabeth had even included a few cookies from Gayle’s Bakery.

Sarah had finished cleaning up when her phone rang again. Sighing, she settled back into the chair and answered.

“Sarah?”

The voice made her heart crack all over again.

“What do you want?” She steeled herself.

“I was thinking about you,” Rick answered. “I wanted to know how you were doing.”

“I’m doing fine. So is the baby.”

“Oh.”

Silence thrummed the line as rain pattered against the outside walls.

“Look,” Rick said. “I know I’ve made a mess of things. I’m … I’m sorry. It came as a surprise, that’s all.”

“He or she is a child, not an ‘it.’ What do you want? You’ve already made it clear you don’t want me or the baby.”

“Sarah, I didn’t mean it the way you’re making it out to be. I just thought, since we were young, and had plans — ”

“And since our plans didn’t include an unplanned pregnancy, you wanted me to kill our baby.”

“Sarah.” There was a hint of frustration in Rick’s voice.

She didn’t care.

“I’m still the baby’s father, right?”

Sarah began to steam again. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else.”

“Then I’ve got some responsibility.”

Oh, no.
He’d made it clear what he thought about the pregnancy. He’d wanted her to terminate it. She wasn’t going to let him come back into her life, or her child’s. “I’m fine on my own. I don’t need any help.”

“Look, Sarah, I made a mistake. A big one. But I don’t want to walk away.”