CHAPTER 10

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THE AIR HAS a bite to it and the sky is darkening for a storm. Vivian wraps her cardigan tightly around her chest as she deadheads clusters of marigolds, pansies and geraniums. They might get a few more flowers if the frost holds off.

Dean sits on the garden bench. He did offer to help. Todd jokingly suggested he could mow the lawn. “Are you able to get assistance around the house?” Dean asked. Todd shuffled inside to make tea. He doesn’t like being made to feel old, either.

“Frank didn’t want a funeral. He asked for his ashes to be scattered at a viewpoint in the mountains,” Dean tells Vivian. She examines the limp brown petals in her gloved hand. “He also wanted everyone to come to the Inn and have a good time but not call it a celebration of life, because that makes it sound like a funeral.”

She sighs as she looks up at the clouds. Even in death, Frank has failed to keep things simple. Gathering above her are the black beginnings of another almighty downpour, another highway slide, another mess to clean up.

“It’s on Friday. Will you come?”

“No. Frank never liked funerals.”

“But it’s not ...”

“His lawyer no doubt told him if he didn’t provide any instructions, people would organize a funeral. He’d have been perfectly happy simply blowing away on the breeze.”

“You knew him better than I did but it’s important to say goodbye to old friends. And it’s an opportunity for me to introduce myself to the community and let them know what’s happening with the Inn.”

“What is happening with the Inn?”

“Nothing. For now. But they should know it has changed hands. I’m waiting to hear more about the business development you mentioned.”

Vivian points her pruning shears at him. “You will be the first to know. It is worth the wait, I promise.”

She leaves the shears on the wrought iron table and sits beside Dean. He leans away from her, very slightly.

“I wanted your advice on another matter.”

The first drops of rain fall and Dean looks anxiously at the sky. He’s in short sleeves, hairs raised on his exposed forearms.

“I didn’t make the connection before, that Frank’s manager, Giulia Reid, is Curtis Reid’s wife. One of the regulars mentioned it to me and then I remembered his name from all the media coverage of the mill explosion.”

Vivian bristles at the sound of their names. Her home is her sanctuary. Todd should have told Dean she was busy when he showed up on their doorstep.

“Why did Frank hire her? You’d think she’d drive business away after what her husband did.”

“Beauty blinds a lot of men.”

Dean frowns. “Were Frank and Giulia ... a thing?”

Vivian shrugs. “Technically she’s still married.”

“Is she bad for business?”

“I have no idea, Dean. I haven’t seen Frank’s books.”

The drops fall more heavily. Dean stands and hovers beside the bench, waiting for an invitation to enter the house, but Vivian has no intention of continuing this particular stroll down Memory Lane.

“So, will you come to Frank’s send off?” The raindrops collect on Dean’s shirt, forming dark patches.

“I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t think it’s what Frank would’ve wanted.”

Vivian’s wool cardigan offers more protection than Dean’s shirt. It isn’t long before Dean makes his excuses and exits through the side gate.

“What are you doing? Come inside!” Todd yells through the rain as he approaches her. “Where’s Dean? I made tea.”

Cars are parked all along Main Street. Vivian hasn’t seen it so busy in years. She inspects them as she walks by: Kirk George’s F150, Pam’s red Corolla, dinged on the passenger door, Len Sampson’s classic blue Chevy pickup, Liz’s Rav4 with a sticker on the bumper. “If you can read this, you’re TOO CLOSE!”

She looks up and finds herself under the shadow of the Inn’s veranda that stretches across the sidewalk.

“Vivian, you came!”

Dean strolls out of the main entrance, both doors wide open letting out the noise of the gathering inside. He’s wearing a black shirt and pants, black leather shoes. She remembers; Frank’s non-funeral.

She pushes her palm forwards defensively before he can take her arm and lead her anywhere. “I’m not going in. I just wanted to ...”

Dean rests his hand against one of the veranda’s thick supporting beams. “I understand. It’s hard, losing people.”

He doesn’t understand at all. Silence lingers awkwardly between them, both looking for a way out. Beyond the open doorway, a loud voice rises above the rest and a peal of laughter follows.

“I should get back inside. You’re more than welcome to join us if you change your mind. Thanks for coming.”

He disappears into the dark building that holds the town’s secrets. She had been proud of the Inn once. However run down, it remained a central piece of Stapleton’s history. Now it makes her sick.

She turns away from it and walks right into another piece of the past she would rather forget. Mary is blocking the sidewalk in her mobility scooter.

“Surely you haven’t come to say farewell to Frank?” Vivian asks incredulously. Mary knows too much and hasn’t forgiven either of them.

“I heard the Inn was under new ownership. I thought I would introduce myself.”

Vivian steps delicately off the sidewalk and squeezes between two parked vehicles. Mary’s words follow her.

“Did you know it’s the seventh month in the lunar calendar?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“In the seventh month, the dead come to visit the living.”

“Fascinating,” Vivian mutters. She’s relieved when she hears the whizzing of Mary’s scooter, but it stops almost as soon as it has started.

“It’s the end of your era, Vivian. Frank is gone. You’re not doing so great yourself from what I hear.”

Vivian turns and glowers at Mary, then regrets giving her the attention when she sees the smirk on her face.

“Out with the old. In with the new. Maybe it’s time you made peace with the past, while you still can.”

Vivian ignores her, tightening her grip around the top of her cane. She resumes her slow march down the street. She looks back only once, when she hears Dean introducing himself and welcoming Mary inside.