After All (Cape Harbor #1)(2)
Carly had scoffed at the idea, but Simone had refused to relent. “It would take too much to get the inn ready,” Carly had said, but Simone reminded her that there was someone out there who could do the work; all she had to do was pick up the phone.
It had been years since she had opened the doors of her once-famed inn, letting strangers stay in what she considered her home, to enjoy views she loved so much, and eat the food she happily cooked for them. Losing the last piece of her life had been too much to handle. Many thought her mourning period would cease after a few months, a year tops, but when the mayor came to visit and found the door locked, even he knew Cape Harbor had changed forever. Even he couldn’t change the mind of his lifelong friend.
She hated the deafening silence that her home now harbored, but the people who visited all held memories she longed to forget. For as long as she could remember, her house had been where her son’s friends had stayed. Where they’d spent time together. Every day after school, the kids would bombard her kitchen, seeking fresh-baked cookies before doing their homework. She’d never minded that her home was full of children—whatever kept them safe while their parents were at work. Once they were older, they’d come after work, on the weekends, and at every holiday . . . until the day everything changed.
She stood and went back to the window. From here, she couldn’t see the wharf but could hear the activity going on at the end of the channel. Despite everything, she loved knowing people were hard at work on the docks, helping the fishermen bring in their daily catch and making sure their boats were in the best shape to handle whatever nature would throw their way.
The sun rose. She felt the rays trying to burst through the window. It would be a warm day, one that would surely draw visitors out to the water. The laughter of others would carry through to her kitchen, making her smile until memories flooded her mind again.
Soon, the tourists would be here, clogging the streets and the waterway and having a good time. Still to this day, her phone rang with people asking if she was open and accepting reservations. When Simone answered, she wanted to say yes because the rooms were vacant and the inn needed life, but Carly remained steadfast. The answer was no and would always be no.
Her tea had cooled, and all the vessels were out in the ocean earning their keep. She took her leave, looking back at her granddaughter’s room one last time. Years ago, it was dark green with trophies sitting on shelves and medals hanging from pegs stuck in the wall. Posters of hot rods and movies used to decorate the walls, but she and Simone had packed and stored the pictures neatly in the attic many years ago. There were days when she thought about bringing them down and poring over the memories, but she never found the courage to climb the ladder. There was so much of her life stored away in the room above her head that she often wondered what she had left.
The day was coming when she would need to clean out the attic, to finally part with the memories, but today was not that day, and tomorrow wasn’t looking too promising either. Next week, she told herself. There was always next week.
Downstairs, she emptied her mug and turned on the kettle to heat more water. Her garden needed tending. Her rosebushes were struggling, as they often did with the soil on her property. Too much sand mixed with the dirt made it hard to grow anything but seagrass. She would ask Simone to go into town and buy a few bags of soil to help the roses thrive. Working on her flower bed would keep her thoughts off the inevitable.
Simone entered the kitchen, happily singing a different melody. Her blonde hair was up in a perfectly coifed bun, not a strand out of place. There used to be days when they would go to the salon together or take trips to the spa in Anacortes, but it had been years since Carly would even entertain such a thought. The idea of someone seeing her, let alone touching her, made her feel ill. Simone had done her nails, cut and dyed her hair for as long as she could remember. Usually in the summer when her granddaughter visited so they could play beauty shop.
Carly watched as she stored the cleaning supplies, washed her hands, and took a mug from the cupboard. Together, they waited for the kettle to whistle. Every so often, Simone would glance her way and smile. She refrained from asking her what she was thinking because deep down, she knew. Carly knew that Simone was right when she suggested she should reopen the inn, and at some point, she would have to consider doing that or selling—and selling the house wasn’t an option. At least, not while Carly was alive.
The whistle blew, and Simone fixed their cups of tea. With it, she set out the pills Carly needed to take in the morning. She would also do the same at lunch-and dinnertime. Simone picked up her mug and walked to the back door. She paused and waited for Carly to follow.
They sat outside and basked in the rising sun. A few of the smaller yachts sailed by, with the people on board waving. Simone waved back, but Carly held her mug tightly in her hands. Not because she hadn’t wanted to greet them, but because her hands were shaking, and she was afraid someone might notice.
“Summer will be here soon,” Simone said.
She sipped her tea and closed her eyes as the tickle she had avoided earlier was back and much stronger. She coughed and felt her lungs tighten and seize, causing her to double over and gasp for air. She tried to set her mug down on the small table next to her, but it hit the edge and went tumbling down to the ground, shattering into tiny shards of ceramic as hot liquid spread across the patio.
Simone was in front of her, rubbing her back and coaxing her through the fit. Her words were soothing, but they wouldn’t help the pain she felt in her chest. “It’s time to make the call, Ms. Carly.”