Laura Abbot (7 page)

“There you are,” she said. Then she turned to Laurel. “I didn’t have a chance earlier to tell you how pleased we are you decided on Belleporte for your shop.”

“Thank you. I can’t think of a better place.”

“If the good will of the community means anything, you should be quite successful.” Maureen smiled warmly. “I enjoyed visiting with you earlier.”

“Likewise.”

“If you’ll excuse us—” Maureen took Ben by the arm “—I promised Ellen you’d walk her home.”

His mother’s timing was flawless. Laurel’s ever-so-slightly raised eyebrows signaled more question than accusation.

Ellen was
not
the woman he wanted to walk home, but what could he say without seeming rude?

Laurel’s smile looked forced. “Remember, you’re welcome anytime to inspect the cottage.”

“I’ll come by soon. Good night, Laurel.”

Steering him through the crowd, his mother whispered in his ear. “Before you leave, could you locate Mikey—I mean, Mike? He was hanging around that Ingram boy tonight, and he makes me nervous.”

Ellen stood by the door watching their approach expectantly. He felt a twisting in his gut. Ellen was a nice person, but she stirred no romantic impulses. Period.

“And, honey, could you stop by the house tomorrow or the next day? I’ve received some paperwork from the Veterans Administration. That government legalese is incomprehensible to the ordinary person.”

He sighed inwardly. Whatever adrenaline rush he’d experienced when he’d seen Laurel had effectively been squelched. His mother hadn’t done it on purpose, of course, but she’d served up a timely reminder that with his many responsibilities his life was not his own right now. If he could manage it, and he wasn’t sure he could, he needed to keep his distance from Laurel. Anything else would be unfair to her.

Winnetka, Illinois
Late February

K
ATHERINE
S
ULLIVAN DIDN’T
know when she’d felt so good. Liberated, actually. She surveyed the half-empty walk-in closet with satisfaction. After so many years, she was tired of having clothes, jewels, furs—
things
—define her. Tired of endless golf games and charity benefits. Tired of having to live up to the expectations of others. Especially Frank.

Oh, she’d loved him. But he’d been a difficult man to live with. She had quietly prided herself on making the necessary accommodations to keep him happy. But, then, that’s what wives in her generation did. Kept themselves attractive, sublimated their own needs and talents, and smoothly ran a household around their husbands’ schedules and social obligations.

She slipped two fur-trimmed jackets off hangers and added them to the pile on the king-size bed. Ball gowns, cocktail dresses and beaded jackets lay in a heap beside rows of designer shoes and bags.

Frank had been dead for almost a year, and though at first she had felt helplessly adrift, in the last few weeks it was as if sunshine had displaced the gray of her soul. And in that light, the seed of an idea had sprouted, gradually taking root and growing stronger day by day.

She
had a life. Not Frank’s definition of her life. Or her daughter’s. Hers. Finally. And she was going to claim it.

Flinging open the pale-green brocade curtains, Katherine looked out over the immaculately landscaped yard sloping toward Lake Michigan. Whitecaps surged in the wind. Wild. Free. Just like she felt.

She could predict what her friends would say. “Katherine’s bizarre behavior is a reaction to her grief” or, “Poor Katherine, do you suppose Frank’s estate was that small?” She smiled to herself, triumphantly aware she didn’t care what others thought. She planned to advance way beyond “When I’m an old lady, I shall wear purple.”

The only place she had ever truly been able to be herself was at Summer Haven—years ago. Even before Frank. It made perfect sense to begin her new life there. The giddy high of possibility dizzied her, and she turned away from the window and sank into the dressing table chair, studying her reflection in the mirror. The years—and expensive cosmetologists—had preserved her better than most. Her naturally white hair smoothly waved back from her high forehead, and her complexion remained soft, the wrinkles evidence of character. Her eyes, brown with hints of green and amber, were the same as those of the little girl who had built sand castles on the beach below her father’s happiest monument to success—Summer Haven. She tilted her head in wonderment. Where had the time gone? She didn’t feel old, despite the evidence in the mirror. How could she possibly be nearing seventy-five? It didn’t make any sense.

But what did make sense, now that her life was no longer dictated by her often demanding, though charismatic husband, was doing what she wanted in whatever time remained to her.

In the distance, she heard the front door chime. Greta, her housekeeper, would answer it. Undoubtedly it would be her daughter Nan, who checked on her nearly every day, as if she were senile. Not that she didn’t appreciate Nan’s solicitude, but she still had a will of her own, thank you very much.

“Mother!” Nan burst into the bedroom. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Quite the contrary. In fact, I’m simply beginning to exercise it again. Why?”

“John just called. A friend of his who’s on the board told him you’ve resigned from the country club.” Nan pulled a chair close to Katherine and sat down, leaning forward in concern. “Surely it’s a mistake.”

Katherine pivoted to face her daughter. “Not at all. What do I need the club for now?”

“But your friends…your bridge foursome…”

Katherine tried to hide her amusement. How could Nan know she despised the vacuity of the fashion-obsessed women in the bridge group? “I won’t be needing the amenities of a club membership.”

Belatedly, Nan looked at her mother’s bed. She jumped to her feet and rifled through the satins, silks and velvets. “What’s all this?”

“Discards for the hospital auxiliary thrift shop.”

“Discards?”
Katherine recognized the symptoms. Nan was working herself into high dudgeon. She held up a silver-gray chiffon gown with a sequined jacket. “Why, this is your Versace.”

“Yes,” Katherine replied. She knew she shouldn’t be taking such delight in her daughter’s distress.

Nan fondled a mink cloche. “Daddy gave you this one Christmas.” She flung her arms wide in bewilderment. “You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” Katherine said, unable to refrain from smiling.

Nan sank onto the bed. “Mother, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Darling, I’m better than I’ve been in a great long while.” She fingered her wedding band before continuing. “I loved your father. I hope I made him happy. I didn’t always agree with him, as you know all too well, but he was a very forceful individual. Early on in our marriage, I had to make a decision. To bend to Frank’s will or oppose him. I’d promised to love and obey. If I wanted our marriage to last, there was only one choice. I made it gladly. At least at the time. He’s gone now. Maybe I let him protect me too much. Pampering can be easy to get used to. It can also be suffocating. Limiting.”

“You’re worrying me. What are you trying to say?”

“I’ve made some plans. I didn’t want to tell you until I had everything arranged because I knew you’d try to dissuade me.”

“What plans?”

“Unless you and John want to buy this house, I’m selling it and moving permanently to Summer Haven.”

Judging from Nan’s slack jaw and wide-eyed expression, Katherine couldn’t have shocked her more if she’d said she was taking up residence in a bordello. “That’s crazy,” Nan finally managed to say. “You need to be here, close to family. You’re…you’re an old woman.”

Katherine smiled acerbically. “Thank you for that timely reminder. It’s precisely because I’m an old woman that I’m doing exactly what I want to do for a change. Living
my
life, for as long as I can.”

“But Summer Haven?”

“Why not Summer Haven? My happiest, most productive days have been spent there. And you don’t have to worry about a thing. Greta is moving with me, and your son Jay’s nice young friend Ben Nolan is helping me with the financial arrangements for transferring my bank accounts and that sort of thing.” She rose from her chair and joined Nan on the bed. “Please.” She picked up both her daughter’s hands and clasped them firmly. “I’m not crazy. I’m more alive than I’ve been in a long time.” She sought her daughter’s eyes. “I need this time in Belleporte. And I need you to understand.” Katherine saw the flicker of pain in Nan’s eyes and knew that she, too, was remembering. “The house here goes on the market next week.”

“There’s no talking you out of this?”

“No possibility at all.”

Nan studied her mother, as if hoping to find a crack in her determination. Finally she slumped and merely said, “I’ll miss you so much.”

Katherine embraced her firstborn. “I’ll miss you, too, but I’m hoping you, John and Jay will be frequent visitors.”

“Just like always,” Nan whispered against her mother’s ear.

In her heart, though, Katherine knew nothing was going to be just like always. That was the exciting part. How many women her age seized the opportunity for a new beginning?

A
FTER WEEKS OF FOG
, bone-chilling temperatures and occasional snow, March blew in like an obsessed hausfrau—sweeping the brilliant sky clear of clouds and scrubbing the trees clean of dead leaves. Invigorating, Laurel thought as she walked briskly along the windswept beach. She inhaled deeply, then spread her arms and ran for a hundred yards or so. She’d been cooped up far too long, even though progress on The Gift Horse kept her energized. Arlo was nearly finished with the modifications to the downstairs, and the painters should wind up their work within the week. Then the fun would begin—stocking the shelves.

In the last few days, shipments of merchandise had started to arrive. Opening the boxes, she’d felt like a pampered child at Christmas. So many beautiful things. She hoped her customers would think so, too.

Ads had been placed in the Michigan tourism guidebook, as well as in the regional newspapers. She had established her account with major credit card providers and, with Brian Nolan’s help, secured a tax identification number and set up her bookkeeping system.

Brian didn’t fit the stereotype of an accountant. On first acquaintance, he seemed more fun-loving than serious. But as soon as he started to work for her, he became all business. He was already worth his retainer in what he’d saved her in time and expense.

Ben had been by several times after the Twelfth Night party to check on the progress Arlo was making, but he’d never once come by himself. Nor had she experienced anything like the response he’d given her that night on the beach when they had kissed, or the look he’d given her on Twelfth Night. Had she imagined the whole attraction thing?

She had to face facts. Ellen was the most likely explanation for his keeping a polite distance.

Laurel slowed, then stood panting on the beach, letting the fine, cold mist off the breaking waves bedew her face. She’d been naive not to expect a handsome man like Ben to be spoken for. It made sense. But why had he kissed her? That part didn’t make sense. She should know better than to get her hopes up where a man was concerned. Had her experience with Curt taught her nothing?

She couldn’t really fault Ellen, who had been particularly welcoming, inviting Laurel to supper once and another time to the movies in Lake City. She was generous and fun, the kind of friend Laurel could have confided in. Except whenever Ellen mentioned Ben, Laurel heard the skipped beat in her voice.

Laurel pulled down her stocking cap over her ears and began jogging back toward town. A couple of times Ben had brought his sister Megan to the store. Laurel was immediately drawn to her infectious personality and appreciated the girl’s genuine curiosity about the merchandise. On her second visit, Megan had tentatively asked if Laurel needed any part-time summer help. “I can do better than that,” Laurel had responded. On the spot she’d offered Megan a job—part-time until school was out and then full-time over the summer.

Ben had drawn her aside. “Are you sure? She’s just a kid.”

Recalling the look on his face, Laurel chuckled to herself as she dodged the runoff from a breaking wave. It was as if Ben had said,
Another of your impulses?
Yet she already knew hiring the teenager was one of her soundest decisions. Megan had started coming in voluntarily after school to help sort stock, even though she wouldn’t officially be on the payroll until the first of April.

At Megan’s suggestion, Laurel had even engaged Mike Nolan to move boxes on Saturdays. Later in the spring, he’d tend to the lawn and plantings.

But had it been a good idea to surround herself with Nolans? Or had she subconsciously been ensuring that she’d see Ben? Because no matter how much she tried to talk herself out of it, she had by no means lost interest in him.

The pounding surf dinned in her ears, reminding her that you couldn’t force nature. Either there was something between her and Ben or there wasn’t.

And despite evidence to the contrary, she was convinced there was.

B
EN FOUND
the dark interior of the Rathskeller oddly soothing, despite the volume of conversation from nearby tables. While he waited for Jay Kelley, in town briefly from Chicago, he absently studied the collection of steins aligned on a shelf behind the bar. The pub was a Lake City landmark, the first place locals frequented when they were old enough to buy a drink, carving their initials and dates into the worn tables to mark the occasion. He and Jay had been no exception. It seemed like a long time ago.

Ben sighed. Now they were adults, weighed down by responsibilities to their families. It was a different world from their carefree adolescent days, and his recent trip to Grand Rapids to visit Bess had demonstrated that all too clearly. She was getting nowhere with Darren, who refused to admit his drinking problem, much less do anything about it. Frazzled and weepy, his sister had fallen apart when she’d confided in him.

There was one big difference between him and Jay, though. His friend didn’t have money worries.

He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, and on top of everything else, he was having a tough time keeping away from Laurel Eden. Every time he saw her, he wanted to take her in his arms and stare into her dusky eyes again. Willpower was killing him. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. Actually, he didn’t even want to.

“Hey, Ben, why the long face?” Jay slipped in across the booth from him. “We’re celebrating, remember?”

Ben worked up a smile and shook Jay’s hand. “I was waiting for you before beginning the party. Happy birthday, pal.”

“Thanks. Seems appropriate to be spending it here. Nobody in Chicago goes as far back with me as you do.”

Ben chuckled. “Are you sure you want me to remind you of the past?”

“Hmm. Maybe some things are better left to the mists of time.” Jay signaled the waitress, pointed to Ben’s beer and held up two fingers. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So tell me, are you getting my Granny Sullivan settled?”

“Your grandmother is a rare lady. I expected her to be more or less clueless about relocating to a different state, but she’s sharp as a tack. She’s squared around with insurance, driver’s license, bank accounts—all that kind of stuff. Naturally we’ve made amendments to her trust based on her Michigan residence and the sale of the Winnetka property.”

Seamlessly, the waitress removed Ben’s empty and set two more beers on the table. “It’s the strangest thing,” Jay said. “She’s been like a kid looking forward to this move.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Go figure. I mean, who would have thought she’d give up that suburban lifestyle she enjoyed. Especially at her age.”