Rose Harbor in Bloom (8 page)

“Annie’s grandparents and a family friend will arrive sometime today,” Jo Marie added for Mary’s benefit.

“Followed by a whole slew of relatives, most of whom will be spending Saturday night at the inn,” Annie explained. “But not to worry; they aren’t a rowdy group.”

“It’ll be a full house,” Jo Marie added.

Mary looked up quizzically. “It’s a family reunion?”

“My grandparents are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary,” Annie said, and then added, “I hope you get a chance to meet; I’m sure you’ll like them.”

“I’m sure I will, too,” Mary said, but not with a lot of enthusiasm.

“What amazes me is that after all these years, my grandparents are still deeply in love.” She enjoyed seeing all the sweet things her grandmother did for her grandfather. Every morning she set out his pills for him. And he helped her make the bed and washed the breakfast dishes. In the evenings, they sat side by side in matching chairs, and while her grandmother knit, her grandfather worked crossword puzzles. They supported each other, helped and encouraged each other, too. Annie felt it was an honor to be part of this celebration of two of the most loving people she’d ever met. They gave her hope that someday she might experience a loving relationship like theirs.

“Fifty years, you say? So they were married in the nineteen-sixties, right?”

“Right. They were college sweethearts, but then Grandpa had to drop out because of money.”

“They’re from Cedar Cove?”

“No, they’re from Oregon,” Annie explained, “but they were married here. Grandpa knew he was going to get drafted—this was during the Vietnam War—so he enlisted in the navy, and following his training he got word he was going to be shipped out. They didn’t know how long it would be until they saw each other again.”

“So Julie came to visit him at the naval base?” Jo Marie asked.

“Yes, and they decided not to wait for the big church wedding but to get married right then and there. It was one of the most romantic stories I’ve ever heard.”

“In this day and age of no-fault divorces, it’s wonderful to meet people who’ve managed to make their marriages work,” Mary said.

“It wasn’t always smooth sailing. Grandpa worked in construction. There were times when the economy was slow and he didn’t have a job for several months. But the hard times seemed to bring them together instead of splitting them apart.”

“That happens with a lot of families,” Jo Marie said. “Financial problems can put a terrible strain on relationships and marriages.”

“I agree,” Mary added. “I’ve seen it more than once myself.”

“Are you married?” Annie asked. She didn’t mean to pry, but curiosity got the better of her.

“No,” Mary responded, not adding any additional information.

Annie wondered if Mary was divorced. If so, this must be a painful conversation for her.

“I apologize if I was being insensitive, Mary.”

The other woman held up her hand, stopping her. “You weren’t. I think it’s wonderful your grandparents have shared fifty years together. I never married … I was tempted once, but that was years ago.”

A look of such intense longing flashed in the other woman’s
eyes that Annie had to resist reaching out and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It sounds as if you have wonderful grandparents.”

“I do.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting them,” Jo Marie said. She left momentarily and returned with a tray filled with breakfast pastries, homemade muffins, and sliced banana bread, along with thick slices of cottage bread and fresh sourdough.

Annie sat down and helped herself to one of the muffins. She was anxious to see her grandparents. They would show everyone what real love was all about.

Until this point Mary and Annie were my only two guests. Soon I expected to have a full house with Annie’s grandparents and an assortment of other relatives.

As I removed the breakfast dishes from the table, I saw Annie and Mary head back up the stairs. Annie had mentioned something about checking in with the florist about the table centerpieces and had gone upstairs to get her sweater and purse.

Mary followed at a much slower pace. She took four or five steps and then paused as though the effort had sapped her strength.

I paused just outside the kitchen, debating whether I should say anything. Mary seemed to feel my presence because she turned and glanced over her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she said, although she sounded out of breath. “It just takes me awhile.”

“You don’t need help? I’m happy to give you my arm.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll lie down for a bit and be good as new. I don’t have a lot of strength just yet, but I’m feeling much better than I did a few weeks ago.”

I was glad to hear it, but still I worried the stairs were too much for her.

After finishing up the dishes, I ran the dishwasher and glanced out the window to the yard, hoping to find Mark. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. To be fair, he hadn’t mentioned returning this morning, but I’d hoped to see him hard at work.

The phone rang, and I went into my office to answer. “Rose Harbor Inn.”

“Thought I should tell you I won’t be working on the garden today.”

“Oh,” I said, swallowing my disappointment. “I was just thinking about you.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say. “I apologize, but I’ve got other commitments, too, you know.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“I promise I won’t leave the lawn all torn up like that. I’ll have it tidied up before your open house.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but I would appreciate a timetable of when I can expect the project to be finished.” The frustration was back, although I struggled to hide it.

“Can’t do it.”

“The rose garden or the timetable?”

He muttered something I couldn’t understand. “The timetable,” he said, and didn’t sound the least bit amused by my question. “I already told you this project wasn’t a priority.”

Like I needed to be reminded.

“If you find someone else who can do the work on your timetable, you’re welcome to hire him.”

“Aren’t you Mr. Sunshine this morning?” I said, fighting down the need to reply in kind. “Really, Mark, there’s no need to be grouchy.”

He ignored the comment. “I’ll bring your plate by later.”

“Anytime.”

“See you.”

He disconnected the line, and I shook my head, wondering what burr was under his saddle. The man was certainly out of sorts. Disgruntled now myself, I went back into the kitchen and took the dishrag to the counter, wiping it down with the same force I used to scrub pots and pans. I’d hoped we’d made some headway these last couple of days, but apparently not.

Rover barked, indicating someone had approached the house. The one sharp knock told me it was Mark. He didn’t wait for me to answer the door, but opened it and took one step inside and went no farther.

“I brought back your plate.”

I noticed he didn’t mention a single word regarding the cookies I’d taken him.

“Did you enjoy the cookies?” I asked.

“Are you searching for compliments?”

“A thank-you or how-thoughtful-of-you wouldn’t be amiss.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm, disappointed as I was about his complete lack of urgency when it came to my projects.

“Okay, fine. Thank you. Now I need to go. I’m already late,” he said, one hand on the doorknob.

Rover sat on his haunches and looked up at Mark. I bit my tongue to keep from saying it wouldn’t hurt him any to scratch Rover’s ears. Then, without my saying a word, he bent down and did exactly that.

Rover lifted his chin and reveled in the attention. “He’s a no-good, worthless dog …”

I was instantly insulted. Rover was anything but worthless. “He’s a good boy,” I felt obliged to tell him.

“Worthless,” he reiterated, but I noticed that Mark continued to pet Rover’s ears and was clearly taken with my dog.

“Can you give me any indication of when you’ll be available to work on the yard?” It seemed to me nearly all of our conversations these days centered on my rose garden.

“Soon.”

“Tomorrow?” I pressed.

“Can’t say.”

My shoulders sagged with disappointment.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“That would be appreciated.”

Mark straightened. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ll do what I can to pretty it up for you, but it’s still going to be obvious.”

“Gotcha.”

He tipped his head to me and then left. The door clicked softly as it closed.

It would do no good to chide Mark or remind him that his original estimate had been a couple weeks of work. That had been months ago. It was hard not to be discouraged.

When I’m this out of sorts, I find solace by knitting. It wasn’t my habit to knit so early in the day, but trying circumstances called for it. I headed to my room and reached for my project. I sat in the chair in front of the fireplace and relaxed my shoulders.

As my fingers worked the yarn and I tugged away at the skein, I continued to think about Mark, detecting a behavior pattern that had emerged between us. Any time we worked through a barrier, like our most recent tiff, Mark would purposely do or say something that was guaranteed to set me off. It was one step forward and two, or sometimes three, steps back.

By all that was right I should fire him and get someone else. That had been my intention when he’d stalked away madder than
a hornet because I’d dared to enter the “danger zone” and use a stepladder to wash windows. We’d both slept on it, but I’d been the one to bring him a peace offering. And while he probably would never have said so, Mark had been happy to see me. I noticed how hard he struggled to hide that fact, though.

We’d mended fences, or so I assumed. Everything seemed back to normal, or about as normal as it ever was between us. And then this morning his attitude had made a complete turnaround. He’d been grumpy and argumentative and couldn’t seem to get away from me fast enough.

What was up with that? Frankly, I didn’t understand him. I jerked on the yarn so hard it tumbled out of the basket and rolled across the rug. Rover was instantly on the alert and picked it up in his mouth and brought it back to me.

“Good boy,” I said, and patted his head.

It was a low blow for Mark to suggest Rover was worthless. The only reason he’d said that was to irritate me. Well, he’d succeeded. I wondered what he’d say if he saw Rover now.

It was times like this that I really missed Paul. Every day there was something to remind me of all that I’d lost, something that seemed to land square over my heart: a hit, a bereft feeling, and a sense of confusion. I wasn’t one to fall victim to a pity party, but this thing with Mark was getting me down. My fingers continued to work the yarn, although I was hardly aware of the pattern. I should be paying more attention.

It almost seemed that Mark didn’t want to get too close. It wasn’t only me, but everyone. Whenever I mentioned to others that he was doing some work for me, he got rave reviews. Few, however, had anything to say about the man himself. He was an enigma for sure. A puzzle that both irritated and intrigued me. It seemed he purposely kept people at arm’s length. As far as I could tell, he had no close friends but plenty of acquaintances. He rarely
talked about himself. I couldn’t help suspecting if he had a deep, dark secret. I wondered if he was part of the Witness Protection Program or was in hiding, living on the run. I immediately dismissed those ideas as proof of having a creative imagination.

I refused to waste another minute on Mark. I finished knitting my row, set the project aside, and returned to the kitchen. Seeing that I had excess energy, I decided what I really needed was a brisk walk. It was still cool out, so I grabbed a sweater, thinking I would use this opportunity to return the book I’d recently finished reading to the library. I hoped to run into Grace while I was there.

The instant Rover saw me get my sweater he headed for the laundry room, where I kept his leash. He was more than ready for a bit of exercise. Thankfully, the library was pet friendly.

As I headed down the hill, my mind continued to whirl. I thought about Paul again. Truly, he was never far from my mind, and the conversation with Lieutenant Colonel Milford was front and center.

I wondered how it was with other widows. Did they continue to think of their husbands every day for years following their death? That was a question I would ask Grace. Did she feel as I did some days, that I was living only half a life? I knew I would never stop loving Paul.

When I arrived at the library I learned that Grace wasn’t scheduled to work until the afternoon. I left the book and collected another that had been held on reserve. The walk back up the hill to the inn was steep, reminding me that I needed to get into a regular exercise routine, possibly join the local gym or sign up for an aerobic swim class.

As I approached the inn, I saw a car pull up and park in one of the spaces allotted for visitors. The driver’s door opened, and out climbed a rather tall, fit young man who I assumed was in his mid-twenties, possibly close to thirty. He stood and looped his dark
hair around his ear before opening one of the back doors and helping an older woman out. I noticed right away how gentle he was with her, lending her a hand.

The front passenger door opened and an older man climbed out, and with his hands at his waist, he twisted left and then right as if to settle his bones.

This had to be Kent and Julie Shivers, the anniversary couple.

With Rover straining against the leash, I hurried my steps. “Hello,” I called out as I approached. “You must be the Shivers.”

“That’s us,” Kent said.

“Jo Marie Rose.” I extended my hand to Kent first and then Julie. “And you’re Oliver?”

“Oliver Sutton,” he confirmed.

“Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Julie said, and her gaze went to the inn. “What a lovely place you have here.”

“Thank you. I like it, and I hope you will, too.”

“Are the rooms ready?” Kent asked. “I could use a nap.”

“You napped on the way here,” Julie complained, frowning at her husband of fifty years.