6
“This pizza is amazing.” Vienna popped a mushroom into her mouth and wound a strand of mozzarella across the top of her slice. “I would never have expected such culinary artistry from the looks of this place.” In truth, if she hadn’t spotted Mom’s car already parked in front of the rustic building with the garish neon sign, she’d have waited for her to arrive rather than venture inside alone.
“Another example of why it’s a mistake to judge a book by its cover. And speaking of books, you’ll never guess who stopped in at the shop today.”
“I’m sure I won’t. I don’t know a soul in town other than you and Charley. He’s back, by the way.”
“Wonderful news. We’ll have to pay him a visit next week. But you’ve met one other person.”
Vienna took a sip of water as she searched her memory. “Nope. During my walks on the beach, I’ve become acquainted with an acrobatic dolphin and a belching seal, but my contact with humans has been limited.”
“You met Kay’s brother today.”
She blinked. “The guy at Beachview B&B?”
“That would be him. Matt Quinn. You didn’t tell me you’d followed through on your idea to talk to Kay.”
“There was nothing to tell. It was a dead end. Her brother didn’t come across as very approachable.”
“Really?” Mom helped herself to another piece of pizza. “I thought he was most pleasant. Handsome too.”
Vienna stared at her. “Are you certain we’re talking about the same man? When I saw him, his hair was sticking out in all directions, his clothes were dirty, and a noxious odor was wafting from his direction.”
“The smell must have been from the plumbing problem he mentioned. But it had to be him. There’s no one else on the premises. Besides, his description of you was spot on. Including your eye color.”
Vienna stopped chewing. “He noticed my eyes?”
“Of course he did. Any man would notice your eyes. They’re the same vivid blue as your father’s. Anyway, Matt’s about six foot, dark hair and eyes, very buff. Sound familiar?”
“To be honest, I was too busy trying not to gag at the stink to pay much attention to his physical attributes.” Though the image of him she called up in her mind did fit Mom’s description.
“Your loss. If I were twenty-five years younger . . .” The corners of her mouth flexed.
Vienna sent her a skeptical look as she took another bite of pizza. “You told me you’d written men off long ago.”
“I did and I have. After you came along, I decided it would be you and me against the world. Men require too much energy, and I wanted to give you all of mine. By the time you were grown, I’d decided I liked the flexibility and independence of being single. But if I were a couple of decades younger, this guy might tempt me to change my mind.”
Vienna stopped chewing again. “You never told me I was the reason you didn’t have a boyfriend or go on dates while I was growing up.”
“You weren’t the only reason. Just the main one.”
“But I wouldn’t have minded. You didn’t have to sacrifice your personal life for me.”
Her mother laid down her pizza, wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, and reached across the table to touch her cheek. “Loving you was never a sacrifice, sweet girl. Don’t ever think that. I lived my life the way I wanted to, and I have no regrets—except for the mistakes I made raising you.”
What?
A piece of pepperoni slid off the slice of pizza in Vienna’s hand and plopped onto her plate as she gaped at her mother.
Since when had Bev Price harbored any misgivings about her child-rearing strategies? Or the appropriateness of her relentless and unsuccessful attempts to raise a spunky daughter who was willing to color outside the lines?
Mom’s lips curved into a wry twist. “Wisdom does come with age, it seems. Like realizing that part of loving is giving the other person what they need, not what you think they need. I wish I’d learned that lesson years ago.”
Apparently bombshells were on the menu tonight along with pizza.
“I don’t know what to say.” Vienna set her pizza down.
“You don’t have to say a thing. I should have waited to bring this up at a more appropriate time and place. But you know me. I tend to blurt out whatever pops into my head.”
“What prompted you to start thinking about all this, anyway?”
“I’m not certain.” Her expression grew pensive. “I expect all the changes in my life played a role. Retiring, moving here, opening the shop. Who knows? But it’s been on my mind for the past few months. I do know that some of my conversations with Charley played a role. Not that I ever mentioned anything specific about us, but his comments are often thought-provoking.”
“I remember that from past trips.”
“Well, as long as the subject has come up, I want you to know I’m sorry for trying to force you to become more like me instead of accepting that my personal philosophy of life wasn’t one-size-fits-all.”
Vienna’s throat tightened. “Your intentions were good, though.”
“That’s true. But the road that’s paved with those tends to lead you know where.”
Mom must not have been kidding a few days ago when she said she’d mellowed.
And since they were in apology mode, she ought to reciprocate.
“The fault wasn’t all yours. I’m sorry for all the aggravation I caused you—and for disappointing you.”
“Disappointing me?” Shock flattened her features. “Never! But I will admit you confused me. I assumed if I exposed you to new experiences, encouraged you to broaden your horizons and spread your wings, you’d soar. Instead, my strategy backfired. You became less willing to take risks.” She shook her head and raised her face toward the heavens. “Lord, I made a boatload of blunders.”
“But I turned out okay.” Vienna touched her hand. “And while we may differ in our approach to life, I never doubted your love. Why do you think I ran here when my world went into a free fall? Because I knew you’d catch me and encourage me and set me on my feet again.” Her voice caught.
“Thank you for that. It’s worth more to me than all the stock options and bonuses and perks those high-powered executive jobs offer.” She sniffed, dabbed at her nose with her paper napkin, and motioned to their pizza. “We better get ourselves under control and eat this or we’ll have a soggy mess on our hands, and that would be an insult to Frank’s masterpiece.”
Vienna picked up her pizza, took another bite, and steered the conversation back on track after their unexpected detour. “So why did the innkeeper’s brother come to your bookshop?”
“To check my bulletin board. He’s in the market for a contractor to do updates at the B&B.”
“It could use a few. From what I saw of the outside, the rumors about the condition of the place are true. Why is he handling the repairs?”
“Kay’s out of town.”
Vienna continued to eat while Mom filled her in on the details, waiting until she finished to comment. “So basically his sister ran out and dumped the mess on him.” No wonder he’d seemed frazzled.
“I don’t know if that’s the appropriate term under the circumstances, but he is planning to get repairs underway while she’s gone.” As Mom leaned forward and lowered her volume, a drop of grease dripped from the pizza in her hand to the table. “To be honest, I think he’s in over his head. Kay gave me the same impression. So I told him about your background, said you might be willing to lend him your expertise. I also threw out the idea of a barter—a room for advice.”
Share a roof with that foul-smelling, unfriendly man?
No thank you.
A conversation, however, might be okay.
“I guess I could talk to him.” Vienna pulled a napkin from the metal dispenser and scrubbed at the spot of grease on the table. “But I’m not keen about staying there. It would only be the two of us, and my first impression of him wasn’t pleasant.” An understatement if ever there was one. The man had been downright unsociable.
“He was very cordial to me. But I imagine dealing with sewage could sour a person’s disposition.”
True. And at least a plumbing crisis would explain the stench.
“I suppose I could give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Always a wise strategy. I think he’d appreciate your advice. And I assume there are locks on the guestroom doors, if you want to pursue the barter idea. You could also ask for references if you’re worried about his character. Staying there would be more convenient than driving back and forth from Bandon every day. Of course, there’s always a room for you at my place, if you want to reconsider. We may be more compatible than you think.”
That was possible. They hadn’t clashed much yet on this trip.
But living in close quarters could rock the boat on what so far had been a smooth voyage. Why take the chance?
“Let me think through the options. Do you want to text me this guy’s contact information?”
Mom pulled out her phone and tapped a few keys. “Done.”
“I’ll call him tomorrow.”
For the rest of their meal, Mom entertained her with stories of customers who’d stopped in at the shop, shared tidbits about various Hope Harbor residents, and offered suggestions for sightseeing outings.
As they finished, Mom wadded up her napkin and smiled. “This was fun. Much more pleasant than ordering pizza to go and eating alone at home. Maybe you can visit more often after you settle into whatever new job you take.”
“Count on it.” Since giving up weekends and working through vacations didn’t appear to be a prerequisite for success—or even a guarantee of job security—she wasn’t going to make that sacrifice again.
“Are we still on for church in the morning?”
“Yes. Shall I swing by and pick you up?”
“Why don’t I meet you there? I have to go early to help set up for the doughnut-and-coffee social afterward. I could wait for you in the vestibule a few minutes before the service.”
“That’ll work.” Vienna slid from the booth, and Mom fell in behind her as they wove through the small, packed restaurant toward the exit.
In the parking lot, Mom leaned over and gave her a hearty hug. “Drive safe.”
“You too. See you tomorrow.” With a wave, she continued to her car, settled in behind the wheel, and accelerated north on 101.
What a pleasant evening this had been. In fact, other than a few subtle clashes her first day in town after she’d insisted on staying elsewhere, Mom had been totally chill. No advice, no criticism.
And perhaps there was a lesson in Mom’s new mellower demeanor for her too.
After all, Mom didn’t bear all of the blame for their often prickly relationship. How many times had she been critical and judgmental in the past too? Dug in her heels and refused to even consider Mom’s suggestions? Shut her bedroom door—and shut Mom out? That had no doubt been as hurtful to Mom as Mom’s perceived disappointment and frustration had been to her.
She flipped on her blinker and passed a slow-moving car, peering at the bumper sticker on the small travel trailer it was pulling.
The tortoise wins the race.
She snorted.
The driver was certainly living that philosophy.
But slow and steady did have a certain allure after the harried life she’d led, even if that meant paring back her executive aspirations a tad. Like Zach Garrett, the owner of The Perfect Blend, had done. From what Mom had said over dinner, he’d left behind a high-powered job in Chicago and was happy and content with his new, lower-key lifestyle.
Or was there something about the laid-back vibe in Hope Harbor that insidiously undermined valid and reasonable ambitions? And if it did, would she fall under its spell if she stayed too long?
She frowned as she pondered, then dismissed, that concern. There was nothing here to compel her to stay. The town didn’t offer a single job in her field.
But this place did suit Mom.
Vienna flicked on her headlights as dusk deepened around her.
And if nothing else worthwhile came from her career disaster, maybe during her short tenure in Hope Harbor she and Mom could start a new chapter in their relationship, just as her mother had started a new chapter in her life by opening a bookshop after retiring from a decades-long career.
She could also use this opportunity to do a good deed and help Beachview B&B start a new chapter too.
Assuming Kay Marshall’s taciturn brother was more willing to communicate next go-round than he’d been during their brief, uncomfortable exchange this morning.
“Andrew? Why didn’t you answer that?” Paige ducked into the tent, letting the flap close behind her as his vibrating cell went still on the nylon floor.
No response.
She finger combed her damp hair, pressure building in her throat as she looked down at him.
In the fifteen minutes she’d been gone, he hadn’t moved a muscle. He was still lying on the sleeping bag, face to the wall, back to the door of the tent. Only the slight, steady rise and fall of his midsection indicated he was breathing.
A wave of despair washed over her, and her shoulders sagged.
She couldn’t go on like this. Couldn’t keep living in a borrowed tent, showering in state park bathrooms, cooking over a camp stove, depleting their meager reserves day by day . . . and watching her husband of six years give up.
Yet after three weeks of vagabond living, of wandering aimlessly, they were no closer to coming up with a plan for their future than they’d been when they’d set out from Portland, disgraced and disheartened.
And if they didn’t settle somewhere soon and find jobs, how were they ever going to dig themselves out of this mess?
Wrestling a surge of panic into submission, she crossed the tent, knelt beside the phone, and scanned the screen. “You have two voicemails, Andrew.”
No response.
“Andrew!”
“They’re probably spam calls.” His defeated tone did nothing to lift her flagging spirits.
“You want me to listen to them?”
“I don’t care.”
His response to everything these days.
Fighting back tears, she sat cross-legged on the floor, opened his voicemail, and put the phone to her ear as the first message from early afternoon played back.
“Mr. Thompson, this is Matt Quinn at Beachview B&B in Hope Harbor. I saw your ad at Bev’s Book Nook and would like to talk to you about a potential job. Please call at your earliest convenience.”
“Andrew.” She prodded him, a spark of hope flickering to life in her heart. “A guy called about a job.”
“I bet it’s a scam.”
“I don’t think so. He sounds legit.”
“Even if he is, nothing will come of it.”
“You don’t know that.” The frustration and anger she usually managed to contain escaped, sharpening her tone. “At least I’m trying. You wouldn’t even take the ad into the bookstore.”
Clenching the cell in her fingers, she put it on speaker and played back the message that had come in minutes ago.
“Mr. Thompson, it’s Matt Quinn again. If you’re not interested in my project, would you let me know so I can look elsewhere for a contractor? Thanks.”
He’d called twice?
That had to be an encouraging sign.
“Andrew, I think this is for real. It’s the same guy who left the earlier message. He must really want to talk to you.”
Several seconds ticked by, but at last he rolled toward her. “With our luck it’s probably just someone who wants a piece of siding replaced. That won’t pay enough to live on.”
“You have no idea what the job is.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Why not? We’re due for a break. This could be it.” She held out the phone, trying hard to control the quiver in her voice—and in her fingers.
His gaze dropped to her hand, and his eyebrows dipped into a V. “You’re shaking.”
“I’ve been shaking since the day this started. Take the phone, Andrew. Return the call. We need to pick a spot to land soon. I can’t get a job until we do, and our checking account is running on fumes. I’m tired of living in this tent, but we can’t afford an apartment until one of us is working. Please. Just see what he has to say.”
After a moment, he sat up, took the cell, and called the number.
Paige twisted her fingers together into a tight knot as she listened to his side of the conversation.
“Mr. Quinn, Andrew Thompson. I’m sorry I missed your calls. How can I help you?”
Thank goodness he’d managed to summon up the professional tone he reserved for customers instead of the dispirited one he’d used with her since the catastrophe had knocked their world off its foundation.
A long stretch of silence followed before Andrew spoke again.
“Yes, all of that work is within my capability. What’s your timetable on the job? . . . That could be problematic. I’m a one-person show . . . Yes, I’d be happy to. When would be convenient? . . . Yes, that will work. Let me jot down the address.” He made a writing motion, and Paige scrambled to pull a scrap of paper and a pen from her purse, scribbling down the information as he repeated it. “Got it. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.” He pressed end and set the phone down.
“That sounded promising.” She handed him the slip of paper.
“It would be if I had my old crew. He wants a whole B&B rehabbed ASAP.”
She bit her lip. “Maybe his timetable is more flexible than you think.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
“But you’re an excellent carpenter, and you also have a lot of other construction skills. Plus, you work hard and fast.”
“I’m not the one you need to convince.”
“If he agreed to meet with you, he must be open to adjusting his schedule.”
Andrew scrubbed a hand down his face. “Even if he is, he may not want to hire me once he hears my story.”
A drop of water dripped off her hair, leaving a dark splotch on the floor of the tent. “Are you going to tell him everything?”
“He’ll ask about my background and credentials, Paige. I’m not going to lie.”
“But nothing that happened was your fault.”
“I hired Jack as our business manager. I didn’t have business theft insurance. I didn’t keep a close enough eye on the books.”
“We never thought that kind of insurance was necessary. We were a small operation. Like a family. Jack’s credentials were solid. And when would you have carved out the hours to review financials? You already worked sunup to sundown.”
“I took care of the books until I hired Jack.”
“The operation was smaller then. It’s harder to run an office and do field work when you have a dozen employees and a mushrooming workload. I stand by my comment. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
He shrugged. “It’s a moot point now. The business is ruined, and any company that has illegal activities under its roof is tainted forever—as is the owner. At the very least, it suggests I wasn’t as conscientious as I should have been.”
“But we did everything we could to make it right. We sold our house and emptied our bank accounts to pay all the outstanding bills and meet payroll.”
“Matt Quinn may not care about that. His primary concern will be competence and reliability, and he’ll ask for references to verify those. I can give him the names of satisfied clients, but one of them could mention what happened. I’d rather he hear it from me than them.”
He was right. Deep inside, Paige knew that. Honesty was always the wisest route, even if it didn’t necessarily lead to the desired destination.
“Let’s hope he has an open mind.”
“I think it will depend on how desperate he is to get someone lined up fast.” He twined his fingers with hers, lines of strain bracketing his mouth and aging him far beyond his twenty-eight years. “I’m sorry, Paige. This”—he swept a hand over the tent—“isn’t the life I promised you.”
“It’s not forever.” She infused her voice with all the positivity she could dredge up. “We’ll get through this as long as we stick together.”
His chin dipped, and he ran his work-roughened thumb over the simple gold band he’d slipped on her finger the day they’d said “I do.” “I wouldn’t blame you if you dumped me.”
At his muted, ragged words, her pulse stuttered. “You can’t be serious.”
No response.
“Andrew.” She squeezed his fingers. “I promised to stick with you for better, for worse.”
“I bet you never expected the worse to be this bad.”
“No. I didn’t.” Why lie? “But we can start over. And Hope Harbor may be the place to do that. The fact that you got a call the very day I put up the ad seems providential.”
“Or a fluke.” He sighed. “But you’ve always been a lemonade-out-of-lemons kind of woman.”
Once upon a time, that had been true. Not so much lately. If he could see into the darkest corners of her heart where she tried to shove all her fears and worries, he’d know her usual sunny outlook was on shaky ground.
One of them had to remain upbeat, though, and despite her meltdown on the wharf today, she’d managed to do that during waking hours over these past weeks. Only at night did the demons of doubt infiltrate her mind and chase sleep away.
More so on nights when Andrew was distant in heart and spirit if not in body. When he turned away and left her feeling alone and abandoned despite his physical presence.
She angled toward him and touched his hand. “Let’s make lemonade together.”
“You’re better at that than I am.” He eased his hand out from under hers, stood, and moved toward the door. “I’m gonna take a walk.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he lifted the flap and disappeared outside into the fading light.
Silence wrapped around her like a shroud.
So did loneliness.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she choked back a sob.
Maybe her optimism was misplaced. Maybe tomorrow’s meeting would be a bust, and Matt Quinn wouldn’t hire Andrew. Maybe the timeframe necessitated by a one-man show would end up being a deal breaker.
But if they couldn’t get a break in a town with the name of Hope Harbor, where would they go from here?