Sea Glass Inn (13 page)

Having Danny there to help was wonderful, but learning to rely on Pam’s presence, to think of her as part of this new little family, was dangerous.

Pam was only there temporarily, and Mel would be foolish to expect more than a few weeks of her companionship. And Mel hadn’t even had a full week of living here alone before she had invited Pam to move in. How could she get back in touch with who she was when she couldn’t even live on her own? She had spent too many years with someone she let change the way she thought and acted and lived. Mel wouldn’t allow Pam, as strong and confident as she was, to dictate who she would become.

And now Pam’s influence would permeate the backyard. Every time Mel walked along the garden path or hosted a party in the studio, she would see Pam. In fact, every room in the house would have part of her on the walls.

“You don’t like kids, do you?” Mel asked when Pam came over and picked up a handful of stakes. Danny was still mowing the resisting yard, stopping occasionally to uproot a tough weed or shrub by hand.

Pam looked surprised by the question. “Well, I wouldn’t say… it’s not that I don’t like them, I just…”

Her voice faltered to a halt. Mel shrugged. What was she doing?

Picking a fight in order to push Pam away? She wasn’t sure if she was trying to keep Danny from being hurt by Pam’s reticence or if she was afraid of her attraction to Pam, her fleeting desire to see Pam as part of their family. As a mother, she’d always try to protect her son. But she would protect her individuality by being strong, not by pushing weakly at anyone who got close. Anyone she was
tempted
to let close.

She needed to have more faith in herself and in her newfound, hard-won independence. She changed the subject back to the work at hand.

“Why don’t you mark one side of the path. I’ll measure and mark the other side so the width stays the same.”

“Okay,” Pam said, bending over to push the first stake into the ground. “Danny’s a great kid,” she said as she walked forward a few steps and bent again to mark a curve in the path.

“I know,” Mel said shortly. She held the measuring tape in place with her foot and used both hands to force a stake into the hard soil.

Pam might be able to say the right things a mom would want to hear, but she couldn’t hide her desire to avoid interacting with Danny.

Mel didn’t understand why Pam seemed to reel between stiffness and an easy joking manner with Danny. Why she struggled so hard against her art, but produced such exquisitely beautiful paintings.

Pam was complex, hard to read. But one thing was simple for Mel.

Danny. Yes, he was getting older and would be on his own soon, but she was building a home for them as a family, a place where he’d always belong. Mel wouldn’t settle for any relationship, friendship or otherwise, in which Danny wasn’t welcome.

“He’s smart and funny and easy to talk to,” Pam said. Her back was to Mel as she created the left border of the path. Mel followed more slowly, measuring to accurately delineate the right side. She had to strain to hear Pam’s quiet words over the mower.

“I know,” Mel said again when Pam paused.

“You must feel proud about how you raised him,” Pam continued, apparently undeterred by Mel’s brief responses. “To see how well he does in school and in sports. And how much he wants to spend time with you and help out here.”

Mel thought she detected a wistful edge to Pam’s voice, but she didn’t respond to her comment. She didn’t want to know more. Didn’t want to find out whether Pam’s reaction to Danny had been caused by discomfort or sadness, rather than simple dislike of young people.

She shoved the last stake in the ground and stood to join Pam by the back gate. She looked at the outline of the path leading back to her patio. If she had designed it on her own, she would have made a direct line from the inn to the staircase leading to the beach. But Pam had given the walkway a free-form route. The gentle curves would still be easy to maneuver, but they fit more naturally into the rest of the planned garden than a straight line would have done.

“I like it,” Mel said as she walked back to the house along the grassy path with Pam right behind her. She had to admit Pam’s artistic eye was already improving the garden. And she’d be foolish to turn away a much-needed laborer. She’d control her growing interest in Pam and her unease with whatever had happened in Pam’s past to give her what seemed to be a conflicting longing and reluctance to be close to Mel and Danny.

“I appreciate your help,” she said as she handed Pam an edger.

“Danny and I couldn’t do all this without you, and the design you made for the garden is lovely.”

Pam looked at the garden tool and then back at Mel. “I do much better work with a pencil than with an edger.”

“I’m sure you do,” Mel said as she jotted down the measurements from the garden path. “But we’ll take what we can get.”

❖

On Thursday morning, Piper trotted halfway down the staircase before she leapt off it to explore the hillside leading to the beach. Pam rested her back against the gatepost as she lit a cigarette. She kept an eye on Piper’s progress through the brush, but her attention wandered occasionally to Mel’s newly renovated backyard. There was still a long way to go before the yard was complete and perfected, but Mel had made a good start. Pam had been surprised by Mel’s ability to make her vision come to life. She had merely sketched some ideas on a piece of paper, but Mel had turned the pencil drawings into a living garden.

The fountain and benches were missing, and the yard had a patchy, weedy look that would only be fixed by months of fertilizing or a complete re-sodding. Still, the gardens were outlined neatly and filled with shrubs and wild grasses. They were sparse and too symmetrical for Pam’s taste, but time would soften them. The path was completely finished in a geometric pattern that Mel and Walter had designed. It had taken Mel hours to finish, but Pam loved the stark mathematical precision and how it contrasted with the wavy outline she had created.

Most of all, though, she had enjoyed the feeling of hard work.

She and Danny had hauled wheelbarrows full of old brush and carved-out sod out of the yard while Mel painstakingly laid her paving stones and bricks in the loose sand. Pam had complained about the labor involved, but as long as she was sweating and working in the chilly drizzle, she didn’t have to worry about painting or creating. She just followed orders. And once she had gotten over her initial reluctance to be around Danny—something Mel had noticed and commented on—Pam had enjoyed working with the teenager. He had a typical young person’s aversion to work combined with seemingly boundless energy, and Pam found the combination energizing. They groused every time Mel assigned them a new task, but they met each one with a whirlwind of activity and determination. They were like balls of energy orbiting around the stable sun of Mel, and Pam found she enjoyed the release of constant activity.

Still, she avoided any sense of family Mel and Danny tried to offer. They’d invited her to eat dinner with them, watch a movie and relax in the comfortable new living room, but Pam had gone up to her room alone instead. Piper had chosen to remain with Danny, but Pam ignored the urge to join her dog and give in to the temptation—and illusion—of happy family life. The habit of avoiding people and closeness was familiar, an ingrained habit by now. What she hadn’t expected was the pull she felt toward Mel and Danny. Usually she could shut her door on any relationship that threatened to get too intimate. Why had she stood with her hand on the doorknob last night, so close to opening it?

Pam saw Mel step out of the back door and walk along the path.

She wished they didn’t have these barriers between them. Every time she saw Mel, whether she was wearing a robe or paint-splattered jeans or today’s neat slacks and peasant blouse, Pam had the uncomfortable urge to get closer, to touch her. If Mel didn’t seem so hell-bent on making this inn work, so determined to make a life for herself at the ocean, Pam would give in to her desire to seduce her. But Pam couldn’t sleep with Mel and walk away. Run into her in town or at the store and pretend nothing had happened. Mel seemed to be building forever here. Pam couldn’t offer that.

“Good morning,” Mel called as she got closer. “How do you think it looks out here?”

Pam straightened and stubbed out her cigarette in her ashtray.

“It’s great. Once you get the chairs and some flower arrangements set up, it’ll be a perfect place for a wedding.”

Mel smiled her thanks as she sat down. She handed Pam a plate covered with a napkin. “Ham and Tillamook cheese omelet,” she said.

“I thought I’d serve something local and hearty for a winter breakfast.”

Piper lost interest in her exploring and came to sit by Pam as she bit into the omelet. Mel picked a chunk of ham off Pam’s plate and fed it to the dog.

“This is great,” Pam said around a mouthful of eggs. “And it’s no wonder she always wants to be around you and Danny. You both keep feeding her scraps.”

“I saw the picture,” Mel said, instead of responding to Pam’s joking accusation.

Pam fed Piper a piece of melted cheese. “I thought it’d look good in the dining room,” she said casually. The moment she had seen the finished room, with its eggshell-blue paint and the Wedgewood dishes Mel had placed on the sideboard, she had known the exact picture that would complement Mel’s vision. She had gone home yesterday, pretending to be concerned about the contractor’s work, and had dug through the old paintings she had tucked in the closet in her loft. She had exchanged frames to match the warm wood tones of the sideboard and table Mel had sanded and stained. And she had hung the painting after she knew Mel was in bed. “Think of it as a housewarming present. And a thank you for letting me stay here for a few weeks.”

“Thank you,” Mel said, just brushing Pam’s shoulder with her hand before she clasped her arms around her knees. “It’s exactly right.”

Pam knew it was. She had seen the subject of the painting years ago when she and her partner had brought little Kevin to the beach for the first time. He had slept, snuggled tight against her in his backpack, while she’d sketched the young girl at the edge of the ocean. Diane had been angry because Pam had spent so much of their time at the beach capturing various scenes that caught her attention, so she had been forced to quickly get the outline of each image onto paper. She’d finished the paintings weeks later, in the privacy of her studio at home.

She remembered the layers of the painting—the actual girl standing on the beach, the first strokes of color on the virgin canvas, the resolution when she packed all her paintings into boxes and shoved them deep into the closets and nooks of her new, small home.

The girl had worn a blue sundress, makeshift and knotted at the shoulder. She’d stood with her back to Pam, holding the dress up and out of reach of the ankle-deep water that covered her bare feet. The juxtaposition of her innocent frailty against the powerful, relentless waves of the ocean had grabbed Pam’s attention. And once she saw the room Mel had worked so hard to perfect, she had immediately wanted the girl’s portrait on the wall.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said as she broke off a piece of cinnamon scone and ate it. Mel had definitely learned how to work with dough, and the pastry was tender and flavorful.

“I do, and it makes me feel guilty for asking a favor,” Mel said, looking toward the ocean and avoiding eye contact with Pam.

“A favor?” Pam repeated. She set her fork down. “I am
not
digging up any more sod. My hands are callused enough from last weekend.”

“Not a working favor,” Mel assured her. “I just got a call from one of the grooms. His mother has decided to come to the wedding. It’s great for him, but it means I need one more room…”

“Of course,” Pam assured her. “I’ll move back to—”

“I thought you could stay in Danny’s room,” Mel said in a rush.

“Just for a couple of nights.”

Pam had been planning to go back to her own house, even though the contractor and his workers would be finishing up their work over the weekend. She could handle their noise and dust for a short time.

She should avoid spending time with Mel in her private part of the house.

“It’s my first weekend with real guests,” Mel said in a confiding tone. “I’d feel better if I had some company with me. Someone I know.”

“Danny’s room,” Pam repeated. “That sounds fine. I’ll be here.”

On the morning of the wedding, Mel rearranged the chairs in the studio for the fourth time. She shifted the punch bowl a little to the left and fussed with the napkins for a few moments before she picked up her glass of scotch and went over to the window.

Walter’s nephew had replaced the windows, and she had spent the past three days scouring moss and cobwebs and dead leaves out of the room. She needed another few months, not a few hours, in order to really prepare the studio for company. But once she had put the string of colored lights along the ceiling and set out the rented tables and chairs, she’d stopped noticing all the chores she should have done and saw a reception room.

She felt the same about the guest rooms and the garden. Once they were filled with people and their luggage and voices and laughter, the inn seemed to absorb their energy and take on a new life. The house’s faults were somehow less noticeable. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ready for guests. She remembered the confusing ambivalence she had experienced as Danny had grown up, letting go with a mix of pride and sadness. Like Danny, the inn would always need her—to take care of repairs and upgrades, to finish the basic renovations she’d started such a short time ago. But she had learned most of the tasks required, and she was confident she could conquer whatever new ones were on the horizon. She had accumulated an impressive collection of tools, and she knew how to use every one of them. The initial phase was finished.

Her inn had grown up. She wanted to feel excited about having her first real guests and proud of how much work it had taken to get from ready for a wrecking ball to ready for a wedding. But, perversely, she felt sad as she faced yet another transition in a year crammed full of them and as she helped plan a wedding, a new start, while memories of her own broken marriage hovered in the background.