My Way Home (St.Gabriel Series Book 1) (St. Gabriel Series) (39 page)

“Absolutely, but I’m the one who heard the voices. So we make a good pair, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.”

Surprised

My whole life had been in preparation for running The Lake Lodge—I believe that. There was nothing about the job I didn’t love.

I loved meeting new people and having something to do with them leaving with another memory to add to their lives. Our guests were like family. We took them to the Independence Day fireworks and the parade, which was only a seven that year. It was following a pretty tough act though. We sat with them on the porch, eating homemade ice cream and talking about the island and the history of the lodge.

I loved answering questions about St. Gabe, recommending places to see, and listening to the excitement of guests who came back from a long day of exploration. We took all of their pictures before they left and added them to our scrapbook. I could fill volumes with stories about our guests.

I loved standing behind the front desk, checking in The Lake Lodge visitors and telling them what time breakfast would be served in the morning. I loved planning the meals and cooking for a crowd.

Race had set up a computer system for guest bookings, but we still kept an old fashioned paper register that guests signed when they checked in. It was the same register with
Cammy and Race Coleman, St. Gabriel
Island
, written on the first line of the first page. I loved looking at that register and reading the names and where our guests had traveled from to stay with us.

I even liked making up the beds and getting the rooms ready for the next check-in. When clean towels were hung and the pillows fluffed, I would stand in the doorway and imagine how the guests would feel when they walked into the room for the first time.

And I loved answering the phone and saying, “The Lake Lodge on St. Gabriel Island, how can I help you?” Booking another room for another date on our calendar filled me with a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. But as much as I loved wearing all my hats, our trial two weeks with our family made it clear we needed more help.

I had advertised for a front desk clerk, but none of the respondents wanted to come for an interview when they found out where The Lake Lodge was. The college-age young people wanted to be downtown where the action was, and the older workers didn’t want to walk or ride a bike five miles to get to work every day.

We did eventually get a call from a man who said he’d be right out for an interview. He showed up drunk, crashed a rented bike into the front gate, and then peed on the roses before he staggered up the hill toward the lodge. Race saw him from his study window and cut him off at the pass. We did not offer him the position.

So Marni, Sara, Race and I managed the front desk from eight in the morning until eight at night. The rest of the time, we put out a sign with a phone number for emergencies. It was fun being the boss and making the rules. And the rule at The Lake Lodge was,
This is not brain surgery. We’re just running a lodge, so let’s all try to relax and enjoy life.
Most of our guests understood the rule completely.

Another call did come in inquiring about the job. It was from Jeremy. He came out to the lodge and Race planned to sit in on the interview. I told Jeremy to take a seat at one of the tables in the library and we’d be right in. When I had Race alone, I reminded him, “This has nothing to do with our daughter.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Race said and grinned.

I took Race’s hand and we joined Jeremy at the table.

“You already have a job, Jeremy, why do you want to work for us?” I asked.

“I’m ready for a change. And I like it out here.”

Race smirked at me and then he asked Jeremy, “Have you thought about what The Willows Inn is going to do without you?”

“There are plenty of people who want that job. Plus, I have seniority and the best shifts. The other employees will snap up my hours. I’m not going to leave them in a lurch.”

“What about the ride out here?” I asked.

“I live in an apartment in the center of the island. It’s almost the same distance it was for me to ride downtown.”

It was really a formality. I had liked Jeremy the moment I first met him at The Willows Inn, and I had seen him in action. And just between you and me, I had thought about trying to recruit him before we opened. But I knew I couldn’t do that without it appearing that I was meddling. And clearly, I am a woman who tries not to meddle.

Jeremy was perfect for the job. He knew how to run a front desk and brought some young blood to the place. Hiring him gave us all some time back, for more work mostly but also for some sunsets and some yabberbashing. The best part was that we found Jeremy and Race shared a love of books. I would find them both in the library and Race was doing what he does best, teaching.

When I first met Sara
and she was describing summers on the island, she said, “There’s a lot of coming and going.” And once it was reopened that was the case as well at The Lake Lodge. The north side of St. Gabriel Island must have been a little bit in shock.

More guests came and went and our eight rooms were booked for most of the summer. Frank flew in from Alaska in his Cessna and took Sara to Chicago for three days. When she came home, I could see in her face she was breaking her promise. And our Gabey friends, who would rarely have ventured out to the north side of the island before the restoration, stopped by often as did Celia and James Alexander.

Our lives were full and, despite the sometimes hectic pace, Race and I were closer than we had ever been—we were in it together. We both got up early each morning so that he could write and I could get to the business of running the lodge. Sara and I baked and made breakfast for the guests, then I helped Leah make up the rooms and worked in the garden.

The goal was to still have time each day to enjoy summer on the island. That was the goal. More often than not, Race would end up watching the front desk on Jeremy’s day off and running into town or to the mainland to do errands. I didn’t usually finish with the cooking and cleaning until the afternoon, and the garden was still waiting.

We did go into town and stayed at a bed and breakfast for my birthday. It was fun to be tourists for a couple of days. Race gave me another framed picture. It was one of me with Cat and the girls, and it was in an antique frame he bought at Harper’s Antiques.

That night I was brushing my teeth and thinking about what Mr. Browning said, “…old age is best.” I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Look at you. You’re fifty, you’ve been blessed with tremendous family and friends, you’re in love with your husband, you own a lodge and you live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. You’re a blessed woman, Cammy Coleman.”

“Who are you talking to?” Race asked from the bedroom.

I walked out of the bathroom and dove onto the bed next to him and said, “Not a ghost.”

We laughed, and I had a moment of contentment that was so intense I can still remember how it felt.

When we got back from our jaunt into town, Sara and Marni were waiting for me.

“Welcome back. Tomorrow it’s our turn. Race said he and Jeremy would hold down the fort and we can have you for the day,” announced Sara.

“Have me for what?”

“Girl fun,” answered Marni.

And it was fun. We went shopping and then to Meaks Deli. Lila Meaks had prepared us a picnic lunch, which we took up to Grayson’s Meadow where we spent the afternoon painting.

Marni had never painted before and we discovered her artistic base is that of a colorist. She used the paint as though it was an extension of her hand, no, her eye. Most people are timid to put the first stroke on a clean canvas, not Marni. There was no hesitation. She slapped the paint on like a child whose vision hadn’t yet been ruined by someone telling them a tree should always look like a tree when you draw it. But as you took in her abstract interpretation of the meadow, you could see in her bands and dots of brilliant, fluid color what she was seeing, and you could tell exactly what part of the landscape she was looking at.

Sara’s paintings are vibrant. She finds the color and proportion as she builds her layers and it seems that the light just shows up. It’s so unrestricted, unplanned to me and yet her landscapes look like a photograph, gently out of focus. I can look at one of Sara’s paintings and immediately feel more at peace. Sara has a draftsman base that allows her to see proportion and scale accurately and transfer them to her canvas. She is also a bit of a colorist, which brings her paintings to life.

And then there’s me. I carefully sketch my plan on the paper before even a dab of watercolor is loaded onto my brush. My artistic base is that of a designer. Give me a coloring book and crayons and I’m perfectly delighted to stay in the lines.

“What’s left to eat?” Marni yelled from the rock she was sitting on.

Sara rummaged through the bags and yelled back, “A pickle and half an oatmeal cookie!”

“It’s time for dinner, ladies. I’m starved,” announced Marni.

So we packed up and headed into town. We were coasting down Fort Hill, laughing at Sara’s version of “Copacabana” when I saw someone sitting on the ground in the middle of an alley that we passed. I slowed down and recognized the red three-wheeled bike.

“Hey, you guys, hold up!” I turned my bike around and found that it was Lucy, and she was crying.

“Lucy, what’s wrong?” I looked down and saw her knee was scraped and bleeding.

“They took it.”

“Who took what?” Sara asked.

“My money. Those boys.”

We got her up and called the police. Chief Vernon showed up with Mitch. Lucy refused to go to the Medical Center to have her knee taken care of, so we all went back to her house. On our way, I called Race and he rode from the lodge and got to Lucy’s before we did. We sat Lucy on her sofa and Mitch gave us a first aid kit from his bike pack, and we cleaned up her knee and bandaged it.

Soon after, George pulled up in the dray. When he stood in the doorway, Lucy immediately jumped up, ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. George held her tight and then walked her back to the sofa. He sat down and Lucy climbed into his lap. She looked tiny as he cradled her like a baby and hummed in her ear.

Race, Sara and I looked at each other and then at Vernon. He tilted his head toward the front door and walked outside. We followed.

Vernon told us, “Lucy is George’s younger sister.”

I looked at Race. “Did you know?”

Race shook his head. “No.”

I looked at Sara. “I didn’t know,” she said.

I asked Vernon, “Knowing George or not knowing him, should I say, I’m not surprised he didn’t tell us, but you knew, other people know, right? How is it no one has said anything?”

“Gabies don’t tell each other’s business.”

I had wanted to believe that St. Gabriel was in a bubble and that all the ill and evil that creeps in the world didn’t come past the shores of the island. After what happened to Lucy, someone as innocent as a child, I realized that beauty can cover up truth. When Lucy was calmed down, Vernon asked her, “Do you know who it was?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to show us?”

Lucy got up and marched out the door and didn’t stop until she was standing in front of a young man, maybe eighteen, working in a t-shirt shop. She pointed her finger inches from his nose. Then she walked to another young man who was sitting on a stool beside the counter and did the same thing. They were immediately arrested and taken off the island. Lucy is one of the bravest people I have ever known.

Beverly Rivers

Jeremy came into the lodge kitchen and caught Marni, Sara, and me doing absolutely nothing.

“Cammy, a Beverly Rivers is on the phone, and she wants to talk to you,” said Jeremy.

“The Beverly Rivers?” Marni asked Jeremy.

“I don’t know. Who’s ‘the’ Beverly Rivers?”

“The singer,” answered Marni.

Jeremy gave her a blank look.

“Not your generation, buddy, barely mine and Marni’s,” said Sara.

“Whoever she is, she talks like she knows Cammy.”

“Do you know Beverly Rivers?” Marni asked me.

“It’s a long story.”

“Not that long,” said Sara, who knew the whole story.

I went to the lobby and picked up the phone. “Hello, this is Cammy.”

“Cammy, hello, this is Beverly, Beverly Rivers.”

“Hi, Beverly, how are you?”

“I’m smashing and you?”

“Really good.”

“It’s been a while since we had a chat. I bet you’re surprised I sussed where to find you and rang you up.”

“Yes, I have to admit I am.”

“Well, I was intrigued when you told me you were going to run a lodge on an island and I stored it away, St. Gabriel Island, The Lake Lodge. My husband and I are looking for someplace to take a last-minute family holiday, and I thought of you. We looked St. Gabriel Island up on the Internet and it looks terrific.”