The Guest House (20 page)

C
ooper saw the black Range Rover with rental plates as soon as he pulled down into the driveway of the cottage and a flash of dread bloomed in his stomach. If it had been any other style of car, he might have wondered whom it belonged to, but he knew too well of his brother’s fondness for the model. He was just grateful for the walk from the driveway to the front of the house, precious time to settle his shock before he arrived at the porch to find Hudson seated with Jim.

“We’ve been wondering when you’d get home.” Since Hudson’s back was to the driveway, it was Jim who spotted Cooper first, and rose to announce him. “Look who dropped in while you were gone, son!”

“So I see,” Cooper said stiffly, taking his time to climb the steps to the porch. As Cooper might have expected, Hudson didn’t rise, just turned slightly in his chair to watch his younger brother approach. He rested a sweating tumbler on the edge of the chair, a wedge of lime glinting behind ice cubes.

“Get you another?” Jim asked, pointing to Hudson’s nearly drained glass.

“Yes, sir. That’d be great.”

“How about you, Cooper?”

“No, thanks, Uncle Jim.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jim with a pleasant wave as he slipped back inside.

“And here I thought all you great writers drank your way through the day,” said Hudson, raising his glass.

Cooper kept his eyes level with Hudson’s, refusing to volley back the ball of his brother’s jab.

“What are you doing here, Hud?”

“What do you think?” Hudson rose and ambled past Cooper down the porch, gesturing to the guest house with his drink, its exterior surrounded now by scaffolding, a bright blue tarp covering its ridge. “Mom heard about you hiring those women and she’s worried you and Uncle Jim are being taken for a ride. She’s sure a male crew could get it done sooner. She’s impatient.”

“She’s delusional,” said Cooper. “We’re lucky to have a crew here at all. Every other crew was booked until the fall. Those women are good at what they do, Hud. As good as any male crew.”

“Yeah, well, you try and tell her that.” Hudson’s smart phone rang out an alert on the coffee table; he walked over to pick it up and studied the screen.

“So why didn’t Mom come herself if she’s so concerned?” Cooper asked.

“You know she hates to fly,” Hudson muttered as he read the incoming text message.

“You didn’t have to come,” said Cooper. “Jim and I have everything under control.”

“Yeah. I hear you’ve been a busy boy.” Hudson set down the phone and returned to his seat.

Cooper folded his arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s great you hired Lexi. I’m happy for you.” Hudson grinned suggestively. “Little Coop finally gets his shot.”

“Fuck you,” Cooper said low, glimpsing Jim’s advance through the screen.

“Here we are!” Jim stepped onto the porch, carrying a fresh gin and tonic.

Hudson leaned forward to take it. “Where’s yours, Uncle J?”

“Oh, no, I won’t stay,” Jim demurred, patting Cooper on the shoulder. “I’ve got some paperwork that needs my attention, and you two have some catching up to do, I’m sure. We’ll talk more over dinner. Seven o’clock sound good?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Hudson.

Cooper caught Jim’s gaze and sent him a wary look; Jim smiled apologetically before he disappeared inside.

“You heard the man,” said Hudson, pointing to the other chair. “Sit.”

Cooper did so begrudgingly. He considered his older brother a moment as Hudson scanned his phone again. He looked tired, Cooper thought, heavier than he’d ever seen him. He thought of the last time he and Hudson had shared this porch, these chairs. The last day of summer, ten years earlier. They’d been waiting for their mother to finish her annual tour of the house with the caretaker while their father sat in the car. Even then, they’d struggled to carry on a conversation and finally given up, filling the quiet with the sounds of their footsteps as they’d paced the porch.

Hudson tilted his glass and shook out a piece of ice, crunching down on it. “So what’s she like now?”

“Still talented,” said Cooper. “Still beautiful.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Kids?”

Cooper shook his head. Hudson squinted up at the house.

“We’re selling it, Coop. Like it or not, Mom wants it gone.” Hudson sighed. “What she’d
really
like is to see it burned to the ground.”

“I get that she wants it gone,” said Cooper, “but what’s the rush?”

“The rush is that summer is prime market. You wait until fall, you might as well wait till spring.” Another chime from the phone; Hudson leaned over to inspect the caller and decided to ignore it.

“The repairs will take what they take,” Cooper insisted. “She’s not being reasonable.”

Hudson cocked his head wearily. “And this is news to you?”

“So you’re saying she wants us to cut bait right now; is that it?”

“She doesn’t think it’s worth it to pay for the work on the guest house.”

Did his mother really? Cooper wondered. Or was she merely still stewing in her own overcooked juices, knowing that Edie Worthington, the woman who had held her husband’s heart for longer than anyone was aware, was overseeing the repairs? Knowing what he knew now, Cooper couldn’t help but suspect that was the reason for his mother’s renewed determination to sell quickly.

“You could talk to her, Hud. I don’t have to be back in Raleigh until the end of August. I’ll stay and supervise the work myself until then.”

“Wow, famous author
and
expert contractor. I never knew you had so many talents, little brother.”

“Just talk to her, Hud.”

“Forget it. I’m not wasting my breath. Mom’ll never go for it.” Hudson drained his drink and rose, his gaze catching on the guest house again and holding there long enough that Cooper wondered what his older brother might be thinking. His mind turned quickly to the memory of his argument with Lexi. He’d convinced himself that they could start fresh, a new book in more ways than one. Seeing his brother here now, Cooper knew that might not be possible after all.

“Why are you fighting me so hard on this, anyway?” Hudson asked. “The house is gone, Coop. Our family’s done with it. We have been for years now. Let it go. I have.”

His phone rang again. This time Hudson took the call.

Cooper descended the steps for the grass, stopping halfway down the lawn to turn and look back up at the cottage. As much as he hated to admit it, maybe Hudson was right. If all the house did was hold memories of regret in its walls, what was he trying to hold on to? The irony struck him: He’d come to a place mired in the past, hoping to find inspiration for his writing future.

Now who was the fool?

E
die glanced at the clock on her stove, hoping Lexi wouldn’t try for another run tonight. It was nearly eight. Selfishly, Edie wanted her daughter home for one more evening—one more chance for them to connect in the midst of all this change, all this drama. She hadn’t spoken to Owen since their tense pizza dinner; nor had she heard from Meg—surely her son and granddaughter were letting their own stews simmer. It was as it should be. Contrary to what she’d done earlier by giving Cooper the address to Lexi’s new house, Edie didn’t like to interfere with her children’s lives. It had been a source of disagreement between her and Hank for years—why else had Hank insisted that his distaste for the Moss family be drilled into his kids from the time they were able to sit up on their own? A lot of good it had done, of course. For all of Hank’s warnings, Lexi had fallen for Hudson and stayed there, stuck.

Guilt washed over Edie with fresh strength as she was reminded of the way she and Hank had reconstructed the story of that summer and all its pieces: the guest house, the carving, the moment when everything between her and Hank had changed.

•   •   •

H
ow long had Hank been standing there watching her that crisp morning? Edie would never know. She’d been so startled to see the words on the header—I
L
OVE
E
DIE
W
ORTHINGTON—
that everything else had fallen away. Tucker must have dug them into the wood in the night, in the dark, long after everyone on the crew had gone. She’d turned to find Hank standing in the doorway, his tool belt slung over his shoulder; she might have known he’d arrive first to the job site; he always did. She’d hoped for only a few precious moments to absorb the carving on her own, to try to understand why the sight of those four words filled her with such confusion.

It had been three weeks since the night of Tucker’s graduation party, three weeks since his vow to end things with Florence, and there was still talk of Florence’s arrival at summer’s end. Had Tucker known that they were scheduled to close up the walls in the next few days? Was this as close as he would ever get to making his feelings for her known? A part of Edie had wanted to feel something so much greater than she did to see those words, but in the days that had passed between that first day on her bike and this moment, the fierce curiosity she’d once had about Tucker Moss had shifted.

Hank cleared his throat. “Strange place to put a love note, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s romantic,” she defended, keeping her eyes fixed on the crooked letters, suddenly afraid that if she turned to face Hank she might burst into tears on the spot, and not even sure why.

“It’s easy to carve something into a piece of wood, Ede.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead and carve Missy’s name in one too, if it’s so easy?” she demanded, so incensed, so overwrought that she marched to their tool supply and rummaged furiously through the buckets until she found a chisel. “Here,” she said, returning with the tool and shoving it at him. “Go on then, if you think there’s nothing to it. Tell the world how damn much you love Missy Murphy and just get on with it!”

She wasn’t even aware she was crying until she’d felt the tears slip between her lips.

Hank reached out, took the chisel from her trembling hand, and set it down on a nearby sawhorse. Edie dragged her sleeve across her eyes.

“Do you know what you want, Edie?” he asked gently.

She sniffled. Why did he have to ask her that?

“Because I do,” he said.

She looked up at him. “Missy Murphy, right?”

He shook his head. She blinked at him through her tears.

“You don’t?” she asked.

“Do you want Tucker Moss? Because it’s pretty obvious he wants you.”

Was it? Edie wasn’t so sure anymore. He’d promised to stand up to his father, and still Florence’s name remained a fixture in conversation like a bird that had nested permanently in a nearby tree.

Looks like we’re both going to have to fight to get what we want, doesn’t it?

She closed her eyes.

“I’m so confused,” she whispered, but even as the words came out, she knew they were a lie. She knew exactly what—
whom
—she wanted; she’d known it that night at the bonfire, or maybe even before that. She opened her eyes slowly. The light in the unfinished cottage was watery with dawn’s blue mist, but she could see the darkening of longing in Hank’s brown eyes.

Her stomach dropped.

He came beside her.

“I don’t want to be with Missy, Ede. I’m not in love with her.”

“Liar.” She swallowed. “Every guy in Harrisport is in love with Missy.”

Hank grinned. “Seems to me every guy in Harrisport is in love with
you
.”

Edie would have disputed his claim had he not quieted her at that moment with a deep kiss. She reached up and threw her arms around his shoulders. He released her lips slowly.

“You listen to me, Hank Wright,” she said, still clinging to his neck. “You asked me if I know what I want. You really want to know? I want to
work
. I want to be a part of this crew, dammit. A
real
part. Not just your delivery girl. I want to nail boards and put up trim and measure studs and build forms and pour foundations and sheet roofs.” She stopped, needing to catch her breath; her heart was racing. “Bet you’re sorry you ever asked, huh?”

He smiled down at her. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that I waited so damn long.”

“Me too.” She reached up and finally touched the dark waves above his forehead, coaxing a wild curl back into place.

And it was then that they saw Sonny in the doorway, a smile splitting his sunburned lips before he began to clap.

•   •   •

H
eadlights swung through the kitchen, shaking Edie from the memory; Lexi had returned.

Edie drew in a fortifying breath, moved to the door, and held it open. “Done for the night?”

“I think so,” said Lexi, looking decidedly wearier than during her entrance the night before.

“Great.” Edie moved to the freezer and pulled out a box. “Now you can help me figure out how to make dinner.”

Lexi smiled. “Mom, it’s frozen lasagna. It’s not rocket science.”

“You’d be surprised.” Edie rinsed her hands and watched her daughter tear open the flap. “So how is it over there?”

“Good . . .” Lexi slid out the sealed dish. “I’ve already had my first visitor.”

Edie looked over to find Lexi delivering her a pointed look; she shrugged sheepishly. “He said he needed to see you.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“I didn’t want to pry.”

“Of course not.” Lexi put the lasagna into the microwave and set the timer. Slowly she turned back to Edie, considering her mother a moment before she said, “What really happened with you and Tucker Moss?”

Edie blinked, startled at the question coming so quickly after she’d just lost herself in the memory of it. Had Cooper said something? Had
Jim
?

“You know what happened,” Edie said. “It was never a secret.”

But Lexi wasn’t satisfied; Edie could see that at once.

“Who really carved those words into the guest house, Mom?”

“Your father. You know that story.”

“He didn’t, did he?” Lexi smiled, and Edie saw tears fill her daughter’s eyes. “It was Tucker Moss, wasn’t it?”

Edie turned away, unprepared for the rush of emotion that came with the question. The days of being back at the cottage, the hours in Jim’s company, had all been building to this moment. What a fool she was, thinking she could cover that carving twice in one lifetime. It had been revealed again for a reason; she understood that now.

Who was she to blame her daughter for never letting go of her hurt when she herself had gripped so tightly to her own lie for far too long?

Edie patted the table and the two of them sat down.

Her own eyes brimming now, Edie took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It all happened so fast,” she explained. “It was just your father and me in the guest house when the crew arrived, and of course they saw the carving as plain as day and they just assumed your father had done it—why wouldn’t they? I mean, there we were, kissing. So he went along with it. And so did I.”

“Even though Daddy knew Tucker had carved it?”

Edie nodded.

“So what happened?”

“I think you know by now.”

“No, I mean what happened with Tucker?”

Edie’s smile fell, a wash of regret straining her features. “He’d just come back from taking his friend James to the bus station, and I saw him across the lawn later that same morning. I didn’t know, but he must have heard the guys in the driveway teasing Hank, congratulating him. The way Tucker looked at me, the hurt in his face . . .” Edie’s voice broke. “I wanted to reach him to explain, but he wouldn’t see me. He never spoke to me again. Not once.”

Lexi stared at the table. “All this time we thought he broke your heart. But you broke
his
.”

“It was your father I was really in love with all that time,” Edie said. “I was so confused, so terrified to let myself feel that strongly for him, that I ran to Tucker, probably because I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t have worked between Tuck and me. He would never have been strong enough to stand up to his father.”

Lexi studied her hand in her mother’s. “Then why did you and Daddy lie to us?”

“Stories have a way of getting comfortable quickly in a small town; you know that. Especially when everyone thinks they know what happened. It was easier, I guess, for everyone to believe Tucker had wounded me. And I felt so guilty for hurting him the way I did,” Edie admitted softly. “His father fired us soon after that and brought in another crew to finish the guest house. Your granddad was furious. Your father was too—I don’t think he ever got over that. He blamed Tucker, but I didn’t. I knew Tucker would never do anything to hurt me. He wasn’t cruel, just weak.” She smiled. “It was Tucker who donated the money to restore the Grange Hall.”

“It was?” said Lexi. “I thought it was an anonymous donation.”

Edie nodded. “It was supposed to be but someone on the board spilled the beans. I’m only sorry I never got the chance to thank him. I suppose I didn’t know how. But I know it was his gift to me.”

Edie squeezed Lexi’s hands in hers. “We all make our choices, sweetheart. Good and bad. But you can’t let Hudson keep you from trusting your heart again, or making up excuses for why you can’t love someone else.”

Lexi wiped her eyes. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing?”

“I think you fell in love with the wrong person,” said Edie gently. “I think both of my children did. Now it’s time to open your hearts to the
right
one.”

“It can’t work, Mom. There’s too much the same. Too many ghosts, too much history.”

“That’s all it is: history. Cooper’s not the same man, and you’re not the same woman. Believe me, sweetheart,” said Edie with a peaceful smile. “It couldn’t be the same even if you wanted it to be.”

•   •   •

I
t had been Lexi’s idea to paint the nursery rhymes in Meg’s room. While Heather had pushed for detailed renderings of English gardens for their daughter’s fifth-birthday surprise, Lexi had reminded them all of Meg’s fondness for the well-worn Wright family copy of
Mother Goose
. And though Heather had voiced her displeasure (“This is ridiculous—she can’t even read yet”), Owen felt certain the familiar poems would provide comfort to his daughter as she grew up around them.

Now as he stood looking at the faded lines of sweeping lavender script, he felt a swift surge of regret. In the months after Heather and Meg had moved to the city, he’d made excuses to come up here, storing things in his daughter’s closet that he could easily have stashed in other parts of the house, but he’d wanted reasons to visit these walls, these words. Coming into this room had kept her there. Now he saw the sad irony of his fatherly intentions. He’d hoped the words might help her to grow; all the while he’d done everything to keep her a child.

“Dad?” He turned to see Meg in the doorway. She surveyed the cans of paint he’d brought up from the garage while she’d been out at the coffee shop with friends. “What’s going on?”

“I had all these leftover cans from a job. They’re great colors, pretty colors. I thought you could pick, you know. Change it up in here. Get rid of the nursery rhymes—”

“I like the nursery rhymes.”

He looked at her. “You do?”

“Don’t you dare touch them, Dad.”

He smiled. “I won’t touch them.”

She walked to her bed and sat down on the edge. “It’s not about my room, Dad.”

“I know it’s not.” He walked across the floor and sat down beside her, feeling the tears at the back of his throat. “I’m sorry I snooped through your phone. I had no right to do that.”

“I should have told you about Ty. I wanted to, but I thought you’d—”

“Freak out?” Owen finished for her.

Meg smiled, nodded.

“It’s hard, Meggie.” Owen reached for her hand and squeezed it, his eyes watering. “It’s like I have to lose both of you. And I’m not ready for that. Your old man’s just not ready to say good-bye to you too.”

“You’re not losing me.”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, sweeping her bangs to the side of her face. “In a way, I am. But it’s okay. It’s supposed to work that way. It just scares the hell out of me; that’s all.”

“What about me?” she said, her own eyes filling. “You don’t think I’m scared too?”

“What are you scared about?”

“You,” she said. “I’m scared that you won’t find someone else. That you’ll be alone.”

“You worry about that, huh?”

“Tons.”

“Tell me what I can do.”

“You can stop acting like I’m still a kid, like I can’t handle stuff.”

“I do that?” he asked.

She gave him the same impatient look she had given him when he forgot to eat his salad. “It’s like you don’t want to talk to me about what’s real. Because you think I can’t handle it or something.” The earnestness in her face was heartbreaking. “I can handle it, Dad.”