Seaside Harmony Part 11

"Let's go look at the carriage house," George said, and took off down the stairs, heading toward the rooftop that could be seen past the jungle of hydrangea. They ducked under the drooping vines and twisted and th.o.r.n.y stems of a climbing red rose that weighted down one of the arbors.

George grabbed his cell phone from the pocket of his khakis and snapped several photos of the carriage house, clearly fascinated by its position on the bluff, where it overlooked the ocean, and of the roses that grew haphazardly over its windows and walls. The rosebushes covered the walls in a riot of pink.

"What do you think?" Caroline asked, linking her arm through his, smiling as she was again struck by the beauty all around her.

"I think the view alone is worth the asking price." George faced the ocean and snapped a few more pictures, the light breeze toying with his hair and making his navy blue polo shirt billow around his chest. "The market's still down and might be for quite some time. I rather imagine you could make an offer far less than the asking price and strike a good deal."

"You think so?" Sam asked.

George nodded. "It's obvious the current owners have lost interest and are probably at the breaking point, ready to dump the inn and all that's in it to the first person who comes in with a viable offer."

Without another word, George headed for the carriage house door, worked the key into the lock, and twisted a few times before it opened. A moment later all five of them made their way through the doors and into the dust and clutter.

"We've heard rumors that there's a secret pa.s.sage from here into the house," Jamie said, clearly drawn to the mysteries of the inn, "and maybe a hidden room too, although you'd probably have to clear everything out of here before you could find it."

"That could take months," Gracie grumbled. "It seems as if this place has been used as nothing more than a storage shed for years."

"Since before World War II, from the looks of it," George said, thumbing through the box of National Geographic magazines Caroline had opened before. "Caroline tells me you're interested in history." George turned to Gracie, offering an infectious but reserved smile. "You must be excited about getting your hands on these old magazines. There must be a treasure trove of stories that were written seventy or eighty years ago about all the different places in the world. Imagine how those places have changed since these were first published. There may even be articles about animals that are now extinct."

"You think so?" Gracie asked, moving closer, peeking inside.

"I wouldn't be surprised. But"-he started to squeeze through the narrow pa.s.sage that led back to the car, his shoulders brushing against the boxes on either side-"you'll never know, unless Caroline buys this old place. Now . . . Let's take a look at the car. I'm fascinated by old vehicles."

"He means boats as well as cars." Caroline laughed. "If it has a motor, he's intrigued."

"Well, well, well." George stopped abruptly, and Caroline b.u.mped into his back. He'd reached the Packard and flung its protective cover off the hood. He walked to the back of the car, thoroughly studying its curves and chrome, and tugged the cover the rest of the way off. "Definitely a forty-one Packard, just as you thought."

"If the car's in decent enough condition and drivable, and if we did buy the inn"-Caroline turned around and winked at Gracie-"we could tote guests around town in it, take them on tours of the island, or pack them a picnic lunch and drive them down to the beach for the day."

"We'd be the envy of every other B and B on Nantucket," Sam said, squeezing through the boxes to get close to Caroline.

"What do you think?" Caroline asked George. "With a little cleaning and polishing, could it look good as new?"

"Hard to tell just yet," George said.

Jamie struggled to get past Caroline and Sam to catch her first glimpse of the Packard, and when she did, she oohed and aahed, her eyes bright, even in the dim light from the one overhead bulb. Jamie ran her hands over the dusty red steel, the chrome, and gla.s.s. "I can't wait to ride in it."

"Now, now," Sam admonished and then laughed. "We're not even sure-"

A loud, metallic creak interrupted Sam's words.

"Well, you're in luck," George said, holding up the ma.s.sive hood. "It looks like everything's intact. It'll need new hoses and belts and probably a complete overhaul just to get it to run, but at least no one has taken the engine."

"Could you do the work on it?" Caroline asked George, whose head was buried under the hood. He was already getting his hands greasy. "Or do you think we'd have to hire an expert on old automobiles?"

"If you end up owning it, I'm sure I could find the time to tinker a bit, as long as you promise to let me drive it every once in a while."

Outside, Caroline heard the first hint of hammering. She heard a man shouting, another responding. Deborah was having the shutters opened and boards removed from the windows. Caroline couldn't wait to stand in the library with a slice of sunshine streaking across the hardwood floors. It would glint off the bronze sconces, brightening that beautiful room and all the others. Everything looked better in sunlight.

"If I could climb under this thing," George said, grunting as he got down on his knees to look beneath the car, "I'm sure-wait a minute."

"Are you okay?" Caroline called out. "There's no need to look at the undercarriage right now."

"It's not the undercarriage I'm looking at. It's some loose boards under the undercarriage."

"A secret pa.s.sage?" Sam sounded excited.

"It might just be loose boards." George coughed as dust rose around him. "I don't think anyone should browse around here without wearing a mask and gloves, and the boxes should be taken out before you attempt to get a really good look at the car. But I do think this is one special vehicle."

Caroline smiled. I knew it!

Slowly, Caroline turned and led the search party out of the carriage house and back out into the sunlight. It was so lovely to hear the sound of the surf again, to breathe Nantucket's salty air, to at last see the sun's rays bouncing off the inn's windows. When George finally stepped out of the carriage house, he was a dusty mess and wearing a crown of cobwebs, but she linked her arm through his. "What do you think?" she whispered close to his ear.

He smiled fondly. "I think you've found a winner here. The inn, the car, your family. It's what you've wanted for a long time."

That it was. It wasn't just her mother's dream after all. It was her dream too.

Gracie sat outside on the rental cottage's patio, basking in the warmth of the sun, while everyone else was out with George, taking a tour of the Whaling Museum. She wished she could make up her mind about the inn. She had loved seeing it again this afternoon, especially once the shutters had been taken down. It truly was gorgeous with the sun streaming in, and the view of the ocean out the back was breathtaking. The whole place had seemed brighter and newer. There was so much inside and outside that was wonderful, and she knew it could look even better with the touch of a loving hand. She just wasn't sure she could be the one to do it.

Again she wished it had never become an issue, so she wouldn't be required to make a decision one way or another. Why couldn't things simply remain the same?

Around the edge of the patio, potted geraniums and pansies bloomed in the warm summer sun. There were also small vegetable pots-tiny tomatoes and green beans-as well as bunches of fragrant herbs. It was like a miniature garden out here. Art would have loved it.

She stared at her cell phone that rested on the patio table. It looked as lonely as she had been feeling since Art pa.s.sed away. It wasn't a constant emotion. She certainly hadn't felt all that lonely on this trip, not with Caroline buzzing about full of bright ideas, and Sam asking her for thoughts on dinner menus, needlework projects, and for help putting together yet another puzzle. There'd hardly been time to sit down in a quiet corner to read.

Brandon and Stacy and the kids must be missing her. She felt rather selfish leaving them on their own when they needed her help so often. "Could you pick Evelyn up at school today?" one or the other of them would ask. "She needs to come up with a costume for the fall festival. Do you have any ideas, Mom? Do you think you could whip something up for her?"

Stacy had tried to work part-time, but she wanted to be the World's Greatest Mom, so she ran herself ragged trying to make everything perfect for Evelyn, Jacob, and Zachary. When she couldn't do it all, she or Brandon would call Gracie and ask for help, and Gracie was always there for them. She'd do anything for her kids or grandchildren. She loved them. Besides, Art wasn't around for her to tend to any longer. It was nice to have someone who needed her.

Gracie didn't know what Brandon might think about her buying one-third of a fairly ramshackle old inn. He'd talked about buying a cabin in the mountains, or traveling-to Scotland, mostly. She'd thought about giving some of the money she'd inherited from her mother to the kids so they could take a trip. She smiled at the thought of him out on a boat in Loch Ness, binoculars in hand, searching for Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster.

She wondered what Art would think of the Misty Harbor Inn idea. She chuckled lightly, only to have Max pull his nose out from among the blue hydrangeas to gaze at her. Max trotted over to her and rested his head on her knee, his big brown eyes full of love and adoration. "I don't have a thing to eat, boy," she said, scratching behind his ears. "But if you're good"-he suddenly stood on his hind legs and danced around in a circle-"we'll go into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge. I know I've told Caroline endless times that you shouldn't eat table sc.r.a.ps, but I don't think a little something would hurt."

Max b.u.mped the leg of a chair, which b.u.mped the table, and Gracie's cell phone slid off and landed in her lap. She laughed again, knowing that was a sign. She had to call Brandon and get it over with.

"Go find your chew bone," she said to Max, sweeping a hand down his silky back, before he scurried off across the lawn. She drew in a deep breath, popped open her cell phone, and dialed Brandon's number. It was a little after four, and if her son was on schedule, he should be home from football practice by now. Soon he'd have the barbecue fired up on the patio so he could grill steaks or chicken that he'd been marinating all day. They were always tender and juicy and- "Hey, Mom! What's going on?" His greeting was always the same. It was just like Paige's, quite often breathless, as if he'd been in the middle of something important. And she almost always said the same thing.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"Actually"-oh, she hated to hear her son use that word-"we were just getting ready to head out to a ball game, and Stacy's frantic because the babysitter's late. She should have been here ten minutes ago so we could show her around and tell her about the emergency phone list, and"-Brandon sighed-"it's not quite the same with you away from home. But you are having a good time, aren't you?"

"It's beautiful here. The cottage is perfect and-"

"Hang on, Mom, the doorbell just rang."

Gracie heard the phone drop on something. His desk, maybe? The dining room table? The bathroom countertop?

Gracie found herself drumming her fingers on the patio table, waiting . . . waiting. At long last Brandon came back on the line. "Sorry, Mom. That was the babysitter, and we've got her all set up in the family room with the kids, ready to watch a movie. They miss you, by the way."

"I miss them too. It seems ages, but it's been just a week."

"You're still coming home in another week, aren't you? Stacy's hoping the two of us can sneak off for a weekend away, and we couldn't possibly leave the kids with anyone else."

"Yes, that's my plan."

"Good." He sounded so relieved. "Hey, Mom, I hate to rush, but if we don't get out of here now, we'll get caught in a traffic jam on the way to the game."

She hadn't had a chance to ask him about the inn. "Are you sure you don't have another minute or two?"

"I wish I did, Mom, but we have to get going. Can I call you back later? Oh, wait, we won't be back until late. Tomorrow's not going to be all that good either. Hmm. Maybe I could call Monday night. Would that be okay?"

She refused to let him hear her sigh. "Yes, that would be lovely, Brandon. Now you and Stacy go off and have fun and don't worry about the kids. I'm sure Stacy's found just the right babysitter."

"Okay, Mom. Love you."

A short tone sounded, signaling that the connection had been broken before she could get out her "I love you too."

If it had been the other way around, if Brandon and Stacy needed something, even if they only needed to talk, she would have been there for them. She'd never hang up, no matter how busy she might be. Even if she was at the very end of a movie, she'd flip off the television to talk to her children. They were far more important than anything else.

The generations were all so different.

Once again she sighed. She knew Brandon was thankful for what she did to help out, but sometimes she felt extraneous unless her services were needed. Even still, she could see how difficult it was for them to function with her gone. If she moved to Nantucket, what would they do?

She pushed out of her chair, clapped her hand to get Max to come to her, and gave him a generous rubdown. He started to pant, and she kissed the top of his head and took him inside. They'd raid the refrigerator. After that, she'd eat another piece of Sam's prune cake and dive into those history books she'd picked up at the library to see if there was anything at all about the Montagues or the Misty Harbor Inn.

Brandon needed her, but so did her sisters. And at least her sisters would show they were grateful.

"I've made up my mind," Sam said, carrying a bowl of fat red grapes, fresh-cut watermelon, and honeydew to the kitchen table. It was just a small snack before they headed off to the clambake, and her sisters and niece waited eagerly. "Jamie and I talked it over, and I want to go in on the inn."

Caroline's face broke into a smile. "Will you sell your town house?" Caroline asked, popping a grape into her mouth.

"Not right away," Sam said. She picked through the fruit salad and spooned mostly watermelon onto her plate. "I'll rent it for a while. There's always a high demand for nice rentals, and I should be able to get top dollar for it. But we probably should discuss a few things first."

Gracie remained silent, toying with the few pieces of honeydew on her plate, plucking an occasional grape and popping it in her mouth.

George had gone to rent a van, a vehicle they could all fit into, but she knew he'd also wanted to get out of their hair. Sam had overheard him telling Caroline, "If you're going to have a serious discussion with Sam and Gracie about buying the inn, I want to stay far away. I can't see Gracie doing it without a fight."

Caroline hoped he was wrong, but considering the expressions flitting across Gracie's face, it looked like George might be right.

Sam opened the notebook sitting off to the side of her plate. "I've gone over the three bids Deborah had on refurbishing the inn. As I'm sure you can guess, they're all over the map, from extremely high to just plain high. One contractor suggests a completely new foundation, another says all new plumbing and wiring, and the third recommends tearing it down and building something new."

"The woman Mom and I talked to at the building department told us that that is impossible," Jamie said. "The inn isn't on the register of historical buildings, or whatever it's called, but the last person who wanted to buy it and tear it down was turned down flat by anyone and everyone in power in Nantucket."

"I wouldn't do that in a million years," Caroline said. "The inn might not have any great historical interest, but I like it as is, nooks, crannies, peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and all."

"There might be other options," Gracie said, "if we owned the inn."

"Such as?" Sam asked, encouraging her sister to say more.

"Doing the work ourselves, for one. Hiring someone like Bill Dekker-"

"Who's Bill Dekker?" Jamie asked.

"A jack-of-all-trades we met a couple of days ago," Gracie said, laughing lightly. "But he seemed trustworthy," she continued. "He invited us to the clambake. And Bill's a not only a licensed building inspector, but his card says he's also a contractor. We'd have to check his references, of course, but he might work for us a lot cheaper than some of the bigger, more prosperous builders on the island."

Sam was frowning at Gracie now; so was Caroline. Had they heard her right? Had she said, "He might do the work for us . . ."?

"There are several other things you haven't mentioned," Gracie said, taking her small notebook out of her pants pocket. "Did you factor in the cost of new linens? The guest rooms could possibly need new mattresses."

"Shirley Addison told me guests had complained to her about the quality of the beds," Caroline said, "so new mattresses might need to go close to the top of any priority list."

Gracie gave a quick rundown of the items she'd thought of over the past few days. "I wasn't giving the inn any serious thought, of course, but my mind's been working overtime, and whenever a thought about the inn popped up, I wrote it down. You know me. I hate to forget things."

"Does this mean," Sam said, pushing her plate back and folding her arms on the table, "that you've decided to go in on the inn with Caroline and me?"

Gracie nodded ever so slightly.

"Aunt Gracie?" Jamie said.

Gracie sighed heavily, but she was smiling. "But if we are able to buy it," she said quickly, "I'm not going to sell my home, and I'm not going to rent it out either. I can stay here until the end of summer, till school starts, and then I'll have to go home." Her mouth set into a momentary frown. "Neither one of you could possibly clean up that inn without my help. I know every secret and shortcut in the book for getting out stains, patching holes in rugs-if any of those old rugs can be saved, and, and, well-"

"So you're in?" Caroline said, her eyes wide. She was practically bouncing in her chair.

"I'll be an owner, and I'll come here as much as I can, but I'll still live in Maine most of the time. We'll have to work out how that will affect the inn's finances and how we divide up the day-to-day work to run it, but-"

Gracie didn't have a chance to say anything more. Caroline had already jumped up from the table and wrapped her in a gigantic bear hug. A moment later Sam joined them.

"Oh," Gracie exclaimed, her words almost strangled. "We'll need a Web site. That's going to cost money too, and-"

"We'll talk about all those other things later," Sam said, thinking she just might burst out in tears of joy. "Right now, it's time to celebrate."

Caroline was the first one out of the van after George found a parking spot at Madaket Beach. Already she could see the hint of a sunset, with a strip of orange trailing through some low-lying white clouds. Gracie, Sam, Jamie, and George joined her, and they started to walk down to the beach. The heavy surf roared against the sand, and she spotted a few surfers riding the waves in the last bit of evening sun.

Flames from the makeshift bonfire-which appeared to be barbecue grills set into pits in the sand-leapt about, all bright orange, red, and yellow, and puffs of white smoke drifted on the breeze. Caroline inhaled deeply. It smelled like roasting corn and seafood. Her mouth began to water.

"Lobster," Sam said, taking in the aromas. "And sausage. And maybe scallops? I've got to find out what they're cooking." She clutched the peach pie she had spent the afternoon baking.

"Hey, you guys made it." Megan Folger-Wildes was walking toward them, waving. "I'm so glad you came."

"Thanks for inviting us," Caroline said.

"Come on. I'll introduce you to some folks," Megan said, gesturing for them to follow her. "And I'll show you where you can drop off that pie," she said to Sam. They all started to follow, but Caroline saw the flash of a camera and spotted a slim man with k.n.o.bby knees and bare feet, wearing plaid shorts and a Harvest Chapel T-shirt. Caroline decided to catch up with the others in a minute and headed toward the photographer to introduce herself.

"Hi there," Caroline said, holding her hand out to the man. He had a kindly face with a Bob Hope ski-jump nose and curly, salt-and-pepper hair that just barely waved over the tips of his ears. "I'm Caroline Marris."

"Nice to meet you, Caroline." He pumped her hand up and down, his grip strong and tight, his smile friendly and warm. "I'm Stan Wildes, but most everyone calls me Pastor Stan."

"My sisters and I"-she pointed them out-"are vacationing here, and we can't thank you enough for inviting tourists like us to your clambake."