I didn’t expect Grandpa John to pick me up and twirl me around like he did when I was a girl. After all, I’m a professional woman, a CPA, and I now stand five feet seven and weigh—more than I should. I did expect a huge smile and bear hug, because he’d invited me to Sea Side, Maine, from my home in Dallas, Texas. Grandpa asked me, not my parents, aunt, uncle, or cousins, to help him transition from his rambling two-story Victorian home to a retirement apartment. But instead of greeting me, he huddled in the back of the group.
“Grandpa, is this a welcoming committee?” I motioned to the two African American women, a dapper gentleman, and a woman clad in black who brandished a sign with my name, LADESSA NOLAN, printed on it.
The middle-aged lady with blunt-cut blond bangs and straight shoulder-length hair inserted herself between me and my grandfather. “We’re from the Happy Days Retirement Village. I’m Betty Boyd, the activities director. When John wanted to meet your flight, I asked if anyone else wanted to go for an outing, and here we are. What color is your luggage?”
“Burgundy, with green ribbons.”
Betty nodded to the other man in my welcoming entourage. “Trent Sharp will get your bags.”
I wriggled past the black-clad woman and grasped Grandpa John in a fierce embrace. He was a head taller than I, still bald, with the same round face, chocolate-brown eyes, and a small scar on his right cheek, but he appeared deflated, diminished.
He placed his lips by my ear. “Ladessa, I need help. Don’t leave before we talk.”
“I won’t. May I sleep in the front bedroom?”
Grandpa led me toward the double doors. “I don’t live at home. I’m in a Happy Days apartment.”
“Well, why? Uh, when?” I stuttered, wondering why he asked me here if he’d already moved.
“Sold the house. You’ll live in the apartment over the garage. House is rented until year’s end to Logan Hernandez, a newspaper reporter. Have you heard of him?”
I shook my head. “You sold the house?”
“I did.”
“What about your things? Your furniture?”
“In the garage. That’s mine until the end of the year.”
“Your things are in the garage?” These announcements perplexed me.
“Had space because I sold the car.”
“You sold the car?” I sounded like an echo, repeating each of Grandpa’s surprising statements. “I guess I’ll rent a car.”
“No need. Saved you a bike. You love riding bikes.”
The incongruous idea mystified me. Grandpa wanted me to ride a bike? In Maine? In October? I struggled to comprehend these revelations.
Trent Sharp, a well-groomed man who resembled movie star Pierce Brosnan—the older version with the silvery hair and nice tan—returned with my bags. Betty resumed her role as Mother Hen.
“Thank you, Trent.” I detected frostiness in her tone when she acknowledged Sharp. She patted her oversized tote. “Does anyone need anything before we go? Tissue? Band-Aid? Lozenge? Hand sanitizer? If not, load up.”
Grandpa John and I waited as Mr. Sharp used his nasal spray for two loud snorts before heaving my bags into the van.
Mr. Sharp moved beside me and placed his hand on the small of my back. “Lots of luggage. Didn’t realize you were moving here, my love. Thought this was a visit.”
I flinched at his familiar touch. “Fall weather in New England zigzags from warm to freezing cold, so I prepared.”
He flashed me a white, toothy smile and moved closer. “Ladessa, we have shops in Sea Side, or I could take you on a shopping spree. Shall we set a time?”
Before I responded, Betty shoved Sharp toward the passenger seat. “Keep me company up front and stop annoying the young woman.”
Grateful for Betty’s intervention, I slid into the back with Grandpa and the two other women. “Betty didn’t introduce us. I’m Ladessa Nolan.”
“My daughter and I both know you. You attended our church when you stayed with your grandparents. I’m Mary Rollins.”
“Mrs. Rollins, of course.” I squeezed her hand. “We called you Mary Christmas, because you told us you were born on Christmas Day.”
“That’s me. Mary Christmas is an easy name for children to remember. Please, Ladessa, call me Mary. My husband served the congregation as associate minister for eighteen years. He’s gone to his heavenly reward. Our daughter was supposed to be a December baby. Noelle means Christmas gift, but this contrary girl stayed put until January.”
“Noelle?” I peered at the elegant woman who offered a conspiratorial wink.
I remembered Noelle, my partner in crime when we skipped church and used our offering to buy doughnuts at the corner store. Noelle hadn’t eaten many sweets lately. Her svelte form reminded me of a runway model or a yoga instructor. I bet she could manage tree pose and sun salutations, and place her palms on the floor without bending her knees. I sat straighter, hoping to look a few pounds thinner.
“Do you live at Happy Days, Noelle?”
Noelle’s rich laughter made me smile. “No, seniors only, no youngsters allowed. Mom does hair and nails for the residents and plays piano for special events, so she gets a break on the rent.”
Mary patted my hand. “It’s a nice place for your grandfather, Ladessa. He won’t have to worry about keeping up with house maintenance or remembering to pay his bills.”
I filed that information with tonight’s other bewildering events. Was Grandpa having memory problems?
The van’s sharp turn caused me to bump into Noelle. “Ladessa, I’m here to beg you to work at Tea by the Sea. Our manager, Georgina, extended our breakfast hours, and we’re shorthanded. Georgina is Evie’s granddaughter. I’m sure you remember Evie. She was the original owner of the shop. When your Grandpa heard about the business needing another waitress, he suggested you.”
“I did waitress there once, but …”
Grandpa squeezed my shoulder. “Big festival in October, and my friend needs help. Working will keep you busy.”
“You think I should wait tables again?”
“Georgina would appreciate it, and the change might be good for you.”
Bewildered by Grandpa’s encouragement for me to waitress, I turned to Noelle. “Do you work at Tea by the Sea?”
“Yep. I’m a baker.”
“So, I’m working at the tea shoppe?”
Noelle nodded. “We open at seven, and early-rising New Englanders will be waiting by the door.”
“I took three months off to help Grandpa move and to record his memories for the family. I don’t need an interim job.” I twisted my body toward Grandpa, but he rested, eyes closed, with his head against the seat’s back.
Mary stroked my hand, which I’d balled into a fist. “Your grandfather has suffered several upheavals. Major changes can overwhelm us, can’t they?”
This rhetorical question required no answer, so I didn’t give one. I struggled to quell my resentment that these people knew more about what was going on in my grandfather’s life than I did. And why would my grandfather arrange a job for me? I’d waitressed as a physically fit teenager. But how would my thirty-year-old body respond to standing all day, carrying trays, cleaning tables, and biking to and from work?
Noelle chatted about my future in Sea Side. “All businesses gear up for pumpkin month, and Tea by the Sea expects record sales. Crumpets are my signature offering.” She lowered her voice. “Now, weren’t you the one who dragged me from church to indulge in decadent pastries when we were kids?”
Noelle’s companionship provided a bright spot in my evening. I’d dreaded returning to Sea Side, where my heart had been broken ten years ago, because I still bore the scars. But when Grandpa called me, I reconstructed the Norman Rockwell–style community from my childhood memories, not the college years when I’d suffered the roller-coaster, heart-squeezing pangs of love freely given but not returned.
Soon Betty maneuvered the van into a parking spot and issued a command to disembark.
I linked my arm through Grandpa John’s. “Want to show me your new place?”
“Not now, sweetie. I’m tired. Why don’t you bike out here tomorrow?”
“Okay. You’re not going to check to see if I have a nickel behind my ear?” I tilted my head so he could perform his magic ritual.
He appeared confused then recalled the ceremonial habit. “Uh-oh. I’m fresh out of nickels, Ladessa. Noelle offered to drive you to town.” He entered the doors labeled HAPPY DAYS without turning to wave goodbye.
Noelle sensed my mood and drove in silence until she reached the beautiful Victorian that had been my grandparents’ home.
“Thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Are there uniforms for the waitresses?” Maybe I could delay my start date until properly attired.
“Wear jeans. And don’t fret. Diana, the other waitress, will help you,” Noelle said. “On the wardrobe front, we’re getting October shirts promoting Punkin’-Chunkin’ Month tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid to ask what that means. See you in the morning, and thanks again for the ride.”
After I unloaded my bags, Noelle beeped the horn and drove away.
My first hours in Sea Side dumbfounded me. I’d be living in a garage apartment, not in the Nolan family home where I’d spent summers from my birth until my college years. I had a job as a waitress. My grandfather lacked the clarity he’d always possessed. And some reporter lived in the home I loved.
Scenes shared with my sister in the beautiful house reeled through my mind. We readied fishing gear on the porch, watched seagulls dip and soar, baked brownies, and sang show tunes with Grandma. We flew kites with our cousins, decorated bikes for the Fourth of July, primped for church, and then returned for the week’s best meal, Sunday dinner.
Tears snaked down my cheeks. Could Grandpa John’s change be a delayed reaction to Grandma’s death? He’d whispered for me not to leave him until we talked, and then he’d sent me away. Grandpa wasn’t the robust, cheerful man I’d idolized in my childhood. His eyes didn’t twinkle.
I wrestled my suitcases up the outside garage steps and wondered what other surprises awaited me. Then the stairs creaked, and someone shone a light into my eyes. The brightness blinded me.
“Who goes there?” Chuckles followed the question, but the brilliant light remained unwavering.
“I’ve always wanted to say that,” said a second voice.
I sheltered my eyes. “It’s been said. Now would you please lower the light? I have permission to live in this garage apartment.”
“We’ve been expecting you. My pal, Will Tomlinson, is a Sea Side short-timer, and I’m Logan Hernandez, featured reporter for Maine’s finest newspaper. Have you heard of me?”
“No, I haven’t.” The speaker’s cockiness stoked my annoyance after his spotlighting joke. “I’m Ladessa Nolan, a doggone good CPA for Mullins and Hancock. Have you heard of me?”
“Ignore Logan and come join us for a slice of pizza. Delivered minutes before you arrived.” That voice, warmer and more personable, must belong to Will Tomlinson.
Curiosity about the state of my grandparents’ home trumped my good sense. Anyway, this was Sea Side, and perhaps the obnoxious reporter could explain why he inhabited my grandfather’s beautiful house while I bunked in the garage apartment.
“I am hungry, and pizza sounds great. I’ll be down after I stow my bags.” I flipped the switch, and when the lights blazed, I offered a prayer of thanks for working electricity. I rolled my luggage to the bedroom, brushed my teeth, checked to make sure my eyes weren’t red from crying, and headed to the house I loved.
The aroma of cheese, pepperoni, sausage, and onions elicited a rumbling from my stomach. I accepted a large slice and noted familiar family furniture in unfamiliar spots. The navy-and-white striped sofa where I’d read Number the Stars and Dear Mr. Henshaw sat against the far wall. In place of the game table where Grandpa and I clashed in chess, Battleship, and Monopoly stood a card table with a computer. A metal bookcase replaced my grandma’s glider, and pictures of our clan on the beach, at cookouts, sailing, and hiking were nonexistent.
The renowned reporter led the way to the kitchen’s familiar oak trestle table. “Ladessa Nolan, doggone good CPA, what brings you to the little town of Sea Side?”
“If you’re a good investigator, I’m sure you know.” I regretted my snarky comment when I bit into the pizza and the cheese burned my mouth. The pain served me right for being mean-spirited. “Sorry.”
Logan’s dancing brown eyes betrayed amusement, not chagrin, and an alertness that told me he might be good at his job.
Will Tomlinson’s taller, lanky frame reminded me of a scarecrow dancing in the wind, but his nice cheekbones and friendly openness invited trust. His preppy attire of slacks and collared shirt contrasted with Logan’s tight jeans and fitted T-shirt that showed off hard-earned muscles.
I allowed the pizza to cool. “I should ask you two that question. Logan, Will, what brings you to a coastal town in autumn?”
Logan, not the style of reporter who listened more than he talked, answered. “Will is jumpstarting a business development, bringing bigger stores and maybe some cottage industries to Sea Side. He’s lining up backers and fighting city hall to get permits. I’m here to cover local fall festivals in Maine, and I’m chasing a big story on a topic I’m not at liberty to disclose.” He offered a devilish grin.
“Too important to share with peons?” I instantly lamented my comment and muttered another apology. If I spent much more time around Logan Hernandez, I’d have to put a rubber band on my wrist to pluck each time he annoyed me. I maintained my best behavior through two more slices and chitchat with the interlopers inhabiting my grandfather’s house.
When Logan offered more pizza, I demurred. “I need sleep. I’m waitressing at Tea by the Sea tomorrow.”
Demonstrating his good manners, Will rose before I stood. “Logan and I will see you there. Tomorrow is the punkin’-chunkin’ demonstration, and Sea Side will be elbow to elbow with tourists and inquisitive townsfolk.”
I groaned, dreading my first day as a waitress after ten years. On the bright side though, I wouldn’t have time to worry about my grandfather’s mental state or grieve over the changes in the home where I’d spent happy childhood days.