Bella sits on the mudroom step watching the dogs lap up the cold water from bowls she’d set out for them in the fenced yard after a few minutes of play. Well, the puppies had played. The big guy just lies in a dappled patch of shade watching them. Something tells Bella that he, too, has had his fill of this Monday, though there’s no end in sight, with the blazing sun still high overhead.
The midwestern heat and humidity have indeed swept across the Great Lakes and now smother the Dale like a wet towel. Her only reprieve had been a short trip in the air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned supermarket.
At least Max is happy, two doors down at Misty Starr’s cottage, keeping cool courtesy of the window air conditioner in Jiffy’s room. Predictably, when Bella had called over there to check on him at lunchtime, Max had asked why he couldn’t have an air conditioner. Oh, and a puppy and a Playbox.
Single parenting is challenging on a good day. This particular day is shaping up to be, well …
It isn’t a bad day, all things considered, but she’s had better ones. Every time she believes she’s settled on a plausible explanation for the Sam – or not Sam – sighting, her logical inner self intervenes, and things go topsy-turvy all over again.
Why would a stranger who happens to look just like her late husband have been hanging around Millicent’s building on her wedding day?
There are no coincidences.
All right, then she supposes it makes sense if he was Sam’s ghost, haunting his childhood home the way Nadine supposedly hangs around Valley View – not that Bella’s ever actually glimpsed the resident spirit.
And not that a ghost makes any sense whatsoever, under ordinary circumstances.
But if Sam was going to visit Chicago from the Great Beyond, his mother’s wedding day would be a logical time to do so, wouldn’t it?
Even if he was driving an unfamiliar, beat-up Subaru?
How does that make sense, under any circumstances at all?
And … Kevin Bacon?
If Sam wanted Bella to know he’d been with them this weekend, why wouldn’t the message have been ‘golden car’, or even ‘airport’?
Earlier, she’d tried to call Millicent, intending to ask her …
Well, she isn’t quite sure what she wanted to ask. She just feels the need to share what’s gone on with someone who knew and loved Sam. Maybe Millicent had noticed the golden car parked in front of her building, or maybe she’ll be able to solve the Kevin Bacon clue.
Unfortunately, her phone had gone right into voicemail. Bella had left a brief message apologizing for calling her on her honeymoon and asking her to return the call.
She doubts that’s going to happen. There’s probably no phone service on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. Even if there is, who checks voicemail on their honeymoon?
It’s probably best to leave Millicent out of this, anyway. She’s come a long way from her initial assumption that Lily Dale is run by a cult that’s holding Bella and Max against their will, but she might be disturbed by the notion of her son’s spirit sending messages through a psychic.
‘Kevin Bacon,’ Bella mutters yet again, in case saying it aloud will somehow trigger a memory. ‘Kevin Bacon?’
It’s a question, and she sits, head cocked, listening as if someone – Sam? Spirit? – might answer it.
The only response is a burst of laughter and splashing off to her far right.
Turning, she sees a couple of kids diving into the roped-off area at the small beach. If Max were here, he’d be pestering her to go over for a swim. She recognizes one of the boys as the bully who’d picked on Max and Jiffy when he’d been in their first-grade class.
‘Bella?’
It’s Drew, calling her from inside the house.
‘I’m out here!’
The screen door creaks open and Drew steps outside. He’s wearing his scrubs and looks handsome as always, if perhaps as overheated and weary as she is right now.
So much for the care she’d taken in her appearance this morning. She’d long since swapped her summer dress for a tank top and shorts, removed the makeup that had melted off her face, and pulled her sweat-dampened hair off her neck in a plastic clip.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I never expected to be gone this long. First, I had that emergency, and then it was nonstop patients all morning.’
‘It’s no problem.’
He bends to give the hound a pat as the puppies scamper in to sniff his shoes. ‘Looks like I left these guys in good hands.’
‘We’ve all been keeping each other company. How’s the hamster?’
‘He’s going to be fine.’
‘Thank goodness. I’m sure his owner is one relieved little girl.’
‘And one sleepy little girl right about now,’ he says around a deep yawn. ‘But who isn’t?’
‘Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while? I’m happy to take care of the pups.’
‘That would be nice, but I have to see more patients starting in about …’ He checks his watch. ‘Half an hour. I really just came back to get the dogs out of your way. I’ll bring them back to the animal hospital with me.’
‘They’re not in my way! And why the animal hospital? You can’t take them to your place?’
He shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve still got a full house. The foster for Sprout and Twixie fell through. Janet’s trying to find someone else to take them.’
‘Sprout and Twixie? Are they the orphaned kittens?’
‘Yes.’
‘Those are the cutest names.’
‘Well, they’re the cutest kittens. Here, I’ll show you.’ He pulls out his phone and scrolls quickly to a photo, leaning in to show her. ‘Can you tell which is which?’
‘Twixie has to be the one with the caramel- and chocolate-colored coat and little pink nose,’ she guesses, trying not to be aware of how close their faces are. ‘And Sprout must be the orange tabby guy with the bright green eyes?’
‘You got it.’ He scrolls to another photo, and then another. ‘Adorable, aren’t they?’
‘So adorable.’
‘I don’t suppose you’d want to—’
‘Hey!’ She steps back and looks up at him. ‘Are you trying to brainwash me with cute kitten photos, Dr Bailey?’
He grins. ‘Absolutely, Ms Jordan. I can just see these two romping around here with Chance and Spidey, can’t you?’
‘Absolutely not. I’ve got my hands full with two cats, Max, and running this place. But nice try. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
‘You’ve already done more than your share. I’m sure Janet will find someone. Anyway, I really did come back here to take the dogs off your hands, not saddle you with more of my menagerie.’
‘Why don’t you leave them here for now? It’s better than putting them into a cage, isn’t it?’
‘Kennel. And a lot of dogs feel safer in confined spaces. It’s in their canine DNA, going back to ancient times when they were den animals.’
‘Does the kennel have bars?’
‘Yes, but they won’t mind it.’
Yes, they will. The puppies are in their glory, chasing a butterfly that flits around the blooming vines. The big guy is taking a well-deserved rest, lying on his belly in the grass with his long white nose on his paws. He meets Bella’s gaze with those soulful hazel eyes, and she leans over to pat his furry brown head.
He’s been through so much. They all have. She can’t bear to think of them locked up in a cell.
‘Please let them stay here, Drew. The mudroom offers plenty of confinement and it’s familiar to them now, and they love being outside, and … I kind of love having them here. It’s a nice distraction from … everything.’
‘You won’t love it in the middle of the night when you have to get up with them every few hours.’
‘Oh … I … I mean … I guess I thought …’
It’s not that she hadn’t realized what their care entails. Somehow, she’d just assumed that Drew, too, would be staying over.
Apparently, he isn’t interested in doing that again. Why would he be? He has his home, and she has hers, and that brand of change isn’t afoot at Valley View, dammit, no matter what Pandora’s guides are claiming.
‘I’m used to it,’ she tells him with a shrug. ‘I had a newborn baby, remember? And Chance’s kittens. I had to feed them around the clock, too.’
‘Well, I can’t let you do that. Although … I, uh … I don’t want to presume anything, but … if I stayed over again tonight, then I could take care of them?’
‘Yes!’ she says quickly – too quickly. ‘That would be great! Good. It would be good,’ she amends, and shuts her mouth, feeling her face grow even hotter than it is.
This is about Drew dutifully taking proper care of the animals he rescues, not about his wanting to spend more time with her.
No matter how nice it had been to climb the stairs with him last night instead of watching his taillights disappear into the dark.
He smiles. ‘Good. Then I guess I’ll get back to work, and see you later?’
‘Sounds good. I bought some chicken I can grill for dinner.’
‘It’s too hot to stand over a grill, Bella. I’ll stop and pick up something for all of us on the way back.’
‘Sounds good,’ she says again.
Actually, it sounds great – all of it. Drew here, morning, noon, and night.
She could get used to this, though she shouldn’t.
Darn Pandora and her guides and her assumptions. And Candace and Tommy and theirs, as well. Bella will set everyone straight first chance she gets.
‘Is it too hot for this, too?’ he asks, leaning in to put his arms around her.
‘Not at all.’
His kiss is somewhere between a quick, see-you-later smooch, and something that’s … well, hot. In the best way, and now she can’t quite remember the reason why she shouldn’t get used to this.
With Drew gone and the dogs back in the mudroom, Bella returns to the day’s chores. But after folding a heap of guest towels fresh from the dryer, and unloading the clean dishes from the still-steamy dishwasher, she’s drenched in sweat. She pours a big glass of ice water and is guzzling it when she hears the front door open and then close.
Her eyes go to the stove clock, and she sees that it’s twenty past two. She wasn’t expecting the guests to return until the afternoon sessions are over.
But the footsteps don’t continue up the stairs, and someone rings the silver bell on the registration desk. Bella gulps a last sip of water and grabs a couple of paper towels to blot the persistent perspiration from her neck and hairline as she hurries out of the kitchen.
In the entry hall, she finds a young woman peering at the leatherbound guest registration book that lies open on the tall desk. She’s wearing khaki capris and a sleeveless pink blouse with a designer logo beneath the left shoulder. Her highlighted blonde mane falls just above her shoulders in one of those cuts that’s meant to be styled daily – layers that are shorter in back with angled points at her chin.
Cute, if a bit too high maintenance for Bella’s taste – though in this moment, with her own damp hair plastered to her scalp, she’s hardly one to judge.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks.
The woman looks up and gives her a once-over. She seems a bit taken aback.
‘Are you … you’re … you’re not …’
‘I’m the manager here.’
‘Oh, then you are.’ The woman’s smile strikes Bella as a little forced. ‘I saw your vacancy sign, and I’m looking for a place to stay.’
‘For how long?’
‘I’m not sure. A night, maybe two? I’m kind of desperate. I really need to get off the road for a bit.’
‘We’re pretty booked,’ Bella hears herself say.
‘Tonight? Then the sign is a mistake?’
No, but Drew was planning to stay again, and Bella is selfishly reluctant to give away his room.
But it isn’t his room, she reminds herself. It’s a vacant guest room, and she’s responsible for filling them.
‘I do have a vacancy tonight,’ she admits. ‘We had a last-minute cancellation, so if you want it …’
‘I’ll take it for tonight.’
‘Great.’
‘Great.’ The woman opens her tan leather purse.
Bella notes her shellacked fingernails, painted in an intricate glittery pattern, and the gold metal designer logo dangling from the zipper pull.
A lot of people are into luxurious salon treatments and prominently featured brand names. Bella isn’t one of them. Though if she were feeling more presentable about her own bedraggled appearance in this moment, she probably wouldn’t be feeling so prickly toward her impeccably coiffed visitor’s.
She goes around behind the desk and opens a file drawer. There’s a row of folders labeled with individual guest room names, sorted alphabetically. Apple Room, Doll Room, Gable Room, Jungle …
Wait a minute. The Gable Room is vacant this week for Grant Everard’s visit. He prefers it, tucked away in a quiet corner of the third floor, one of the few with a private bath.
‘One night, you said?’
‘If that’s all you have available, that’s fine.’
‘It is, if you don’t mind a room with a damp spot on the ceiling? The roof leaks sometimes.’
‘It’s not raining, so that’s probably fine. I’ll take it.’ She doesn’t ask about the nightly rate, merely pulls out a credit card and hands it over. It’s not plastic, but made of sturdy metal, engraved with the name Polly Green.
‘I’ll need to see your ID, too.’
‘Oh, sure.’
She flashes a driver’s license long enough for Bella to confirm that her name matches the card, and that she lives in Boston.
Bella pulls an envelope from the Gable Room file. Handing it to her visitor, she explains that it contains the code that unlocks the door to Valley View after hours and another for the guestroom, along with a parking tag, and an information packet with breakfast hours, house rules, amenities.
Scanning those, the woman asks about air conditioning.
‘We don’t have it, unfortunately,’ Bella says, wondering if – or perhaps hoping – it’s a deal breaker.
It is not.
‘It’s OK. I’m used to that.’
‘In Boston? That’s where you’re from?’
‘It’s where I live now. I’m from all over. Army brat, now army wife. Military housing doesn’t always have A/C, even in hot climates. Am I all set, then?’ She tucks the flap into the envelope and puts it into her purse.
‘Yes. And if it does rain, there’s a plastic bucket in the cabinet under the bathroom sink to catch the drips.’
‘Sounds good.’
Really? She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d take something like that in stride. Bella asks where she’s parked.
‘In the lot by the playground. I wasn’t sure where to go. I’ve never been here before. I’d never even heard of it.’
‘How’d you find it?’
‘I’m on a road trip – driving cross-country, you know, Boston to LA. I saw a sign and thought I’d check it out. Just for the day, you know, walk around, and see what’s what. But then I spotted your vacancy, and figured I might as well stay. It’s a fascinating place.’
‘That it is,’ Bella agrees as Polly heads out the door. ‘Make sure you move your car to one of our reserved spots and leave the pass on the dashboard. And if you need a hand with your bags, I’m happy to help.’
‘No, I’m good. Thanks, Bella.’
Only after the door has closed after her does Bella realize that she’d never told Polly her name.