Seaside Harmony Part 9

"A little rich for my blood. But who knows? It might grow on me while I'm here."

Jamie dragged Sam into the shop so she could try on ball caps, beginning with a pink one with a rhinestone skull and crossbones on the front. "What do you think?" Jamie asked, modeling it for Sam before looking at herself in the mirror.

"Not bad, but I don't quite see you as a rhinestones kind of girl."

"Me neither." Jamie tugged off that cap and looked around for another one. "You must have liked vacationing here when you were a kid," Jamie said, settling a black cap on her head. The hat was embroidered with a pale blue whale. "I'm surprised we never came here when I was growing up."

"I liked the cross-country road trips we went on. And you were the one who always wanted to hit up every tourist mecca along the way and eat all that junk food."

"And you always managed to find the tackiest motels."

"Tacky, my eye. I looked for places that were modest and clean, and you always had a pool to swim in after a long day in the car."

Jamie pulled off the latest cap, tucked it away with hundreds of other souvenirs, and tugged Sam out of the store, back into the sun-dappled shadows beneath the canopy of trees lining Main Street.

"Remember our trip to Disneyland, when you got lost driving on the LA freeway? We ended up halfway to the Mexican border. "

"Oh, I remember all right. You were eight and you were crying because you wanted to see Mickey Mouse and you just knew he'd be gone from the park by the time we got there."

They walked down Main Street, past cafes and clothing boutiques and sweet little gift shops. Sam knew that if she had the rest of her life, she couldn't get tired of poking around in all these stores.

"Somewhere in all my junk, I've got the photo you took of me and Mickey in front of the Matterhorn." Jamie winked at Sam. "You were a pretty good mom, I guess."

Sam laughed.

"Want some ice cream?" Jamie asked as they approached Sweet Dreams, the best ice cream shop on the island. Sam nodded. They had just had cake, but right now, as Jamie was healing her broken heart, she'd indulge her every whim. They joined a line that snaked out the door and a ways down the block.

"Want to see the inn tomorrow?" Sam asked. The line inched forward, and they pa.s.sed people settled on little bistro tables outside the shop. Sam eyed the paper cups mounded with mint chip and cookie dough ice cream and the homemade wafer cones piled high with hot fudge sauce and sprinkles. She couldn't decide.

Jamie's eyes lit up. "Could we?"

There was only one way to find out.

Sam dug into her bag, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed Deborah Greenleaf's number, which she'd already programmed in. She talked with the broker for a few minutes. "By the way, could you have the shutters opened or removed? We'd really love to see the view from inside."

Sam winked at Jamie.

"Actually"-there was an edge of hesitancy in Deborah's word-"the owner has told me he won't remove the shutters until he has an offer in hand. I'm terribly sorry, but-"

"But the view's one of the biggest selling features of the inn," Sam said. "Could you talk with the owner again?"

Sam could almost see Deborah shaking her head. "No. I'm afraid not."

Sam tried yet again and then finally confirmed a time and told Deborah she'd see her tomorrow.

"We're on for noon tomorrow." Sam smiled, although the owner's refusal to throw open the shutters left a sour taste in her mouth. "Gracie's going to have a fit that I made an appointment to go out to the inn again, but I'm sure down deep inside she'll be excited. Caroline will be thrilled."

"Do you really think this place is worth all this trouble?"

"Just you wait and see."

At long last, they ordered a banana split loaded with nuts and whipped cream, and they asked for two cherries on top. They grabbed a just-vacated table outside where they could talk and people watch.

"Hey, look at that, Mom."

Sam followed Jamie's finger to an old car stopped in traffic.

"That's got to be the most awesome car I've ever seen." Jamie turned her camera toward the dark blue vehicle with big, bug-eye headlights, spoke wheels, a ton of chrome, and ma.s.sive tires with rims that were painted pale yellow and cream.

Jamie snapped a few more photos of the car before it disappeared, heading toward the harbor. "You know, Mom, if I were going to get married-which is really the furthest thing from my mind right now-and I did it here on Nantucket, I'd want to ride to church in a car just like that."

"Well . . . if, and that's a big if, Aunt Caroline-or maybe all of us-were to buy the Misty Harbor Inn, would you settle for riding to the church in a cherry-red Packard station wagon?"

"I don't even know what a Packard station wagon looks like."

"Remind me to show you a picture of one when we get back to the cottage. And if you're really lucky, tomorrow you'll get to see a Packard, because there's one pretty much hidden in the carriage house, and it comes part and parcel with the inn. And just wait until you see the antiques, especially the piano."

"You're started to sound just like Aunt Caroline." Jamie licked hot fudge off her spoon. "Are you really serious about buying the inn? Could you really move here, give up your town house, your friends?"

Sam had to think about the last part of that question. She had a wide circle of friends. She had her counted cross-st.i.tch club. The town-house a.s.sociation. It was sometimes too contentious, but they had great progressive dinners. There were always students who remembered her and stopped her on the street to say h.e.l.lo. But she didn't have family in Upstate New York. Jamie was on her own, and she loved living in Brooklyn. She'd never move back to Saratoga Springs.

"You know, Jamie, I think I could give all of that up. Not my friends, of course. But we can call each other. We can get together a couple of times a year. I just want be closer to Caroline and Gracie. And owning a B and B was one of Mom's dreams. It would be nice to make that dream come true for her, even now."

"But you've never worked as a waitress or housekeeper-"

"I kept a spotless house. Well"-Sam smiled-"nearly spotless. Maybe a little cluttered, but your books were always dropped on the nearest flat surface, and your backpack and shoes-"

"I know, Mom, I've never given much thought or time to housekeeping either, but do you really want to devote your retirement years to entertaining people? Washing other people's sheets and towels? Cooking for strangers?"

"Don't think I haven't given those things a lot of thought. The cooking's no problem; that's something I'd adore. Cleaning?" Sam shrugged. "Not exactly my cup of tea, but there are trade-offs in everything. Just wait until you see the inn. It just grabs on and doesn't want to let you go."

"You know, Mom, it sounds like you've already made up your mind to go in on it with Aunt Caroline. Maybe you should stop worrying so much about all the logistics and just do it."

Sam sc.r.a.ped the last little bit of hot fudge from the bottom of the bowl. "You've spent the last fifteen minutes questioning my motives and my real desire to do something absolutely crazy, and now you're pushing me to move forward. What's with you, Jamie?"

"You always pushed me, Mom. That's how I made it through school. That's why I'll soon have my master's. That's why someday I might have a job that pays good money, or at least have a job that I absolutely love. Right now, Mom, it seems like you need a little push, and I'm just the one to do it."

It didn't seem right holing up in her bedroom, but Gracie needed some alone time. Time to think. She stretched out on the bed as she had as a little girl, lying on her stomach, knees bent, bare feet wagging in the air. The blue striped comforter on the little twin bed was a bit scratchy, but the sunlight streaming through the window made it feel warm and comfortable. She thumbed through one of the old photo alb.u.ms she'd brought with her.

Smiling softly, she ran a fingertip lightly over her husband's face. It was one of those rare candid photos when you catch a person totally off guard, and can see them-forever-in the way you really remember them. Not posed. Not showing off. Art had been on the high school football field, running his guys through their drills. It was hot that day, and she'd stopped by with fresh, ice-cold lemonade, enough for the team, if their coach would give them a break. Art wasn't big on breaks; he was big on discipline, but the guys loved him.

"Hey, Coach!" The team's best wide-receiver-Jake Moore-yelled. "Your wife's here."

Art spun around, a slow smile touching his face. That's the picture she'd caught. That's what she was looking at now. "I miss you," she whispered. "A lot."

She blew him a kiss and hesitantly flipped through more pages of photos. Brandon turning cartwheels in the backyard when he was four years old; Paige looking gawky in her ballet tutu at three. She'd hated ballet. She'd preferred going fishing with her dad, keeping score for the high school wrestling team, dishing out Gatorade to the guys during football games.

It wasn't like Gracie to do things on a whim, but she grabbed her cell phone and let it automatically dial Paige's number. It rang and rang, and Gracie let it, knowing Paige might be busy. If she didn't answer, eventually it would roll over to voice mail, and she'd leave a message. She didn't know what she'd say. She just wanted to talk to her daughter.

She flipped over another page in the sc.r.a.pbook and found a picture of her mother. Rosalie Marris had been so pretty, so sweet. She looked lovely in the picture, standing on the beach in a modest navy blue and white polka-dot bathing suit, her blonde hair pulled back with a light scarf. She was laughing in the photo. Mom always loved to laugh, she thought. Gracie didn't remember putting this picture in this photo alb.u.m, but she must have done so at some point in the last few years. In the background, Gracie could see herself building a sand castle. It was something she still enjoyed doing.

Gracie was maybe seven or eight. Sam was just a toddler, hanging on to Mom's legs. Caroline was farther down the beach, a little way away from the rest of the family, doing a handstand. And far in the background, on top of the bluff, she could see a hint of yellow-it was the Misty Harbor Inn, and Mom was pointing to it. Probably saying to the photographer-Dad, more than likely-"Someday I'll buy that place. I'll run it the way I think an inn should be run. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Dad probably would have said yes. He'd been crazy about Mom. The same way Art had been crazy about Gracie. Some people just got lucky.

"Hey, Mom, what's going on?" Paige answered at last. She sounded concerned. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. I'm not interrupting anything important, am I?"

"I've got a group of tourists climbing rocks, binoculars in hand, looking for peregrine falcons and hawks. Tomorrow I'm doing the puffin tour." Paige laughed. "Never a dull moment in Acadia National Park."

"There haven't been many dull moments here on Nantucket either."

"You're having a good time then? You're relaxing?"

It was Gracie's turn to laugh. "I talked Caroline and Sam into climbing to the top of the Unitarian church bell tower. Ninety-four steps, and oh my, was I exhausted when I got to the top. Not that I'd ever let my sisters know that."

"You should come out to Acadia and stay with me for a week or two. I'd show you what a real hike is like."

"I just might do that, once I get away from here."

"You say that like you're anxious to leave. I thought you'd love being there."

"I do. I just miss home, that's all. It's weird not to be taking care of the yard, making sure the roses don't get all spindly and that Mrs. Turner's dog doesn't dig under the fence and leave messes all over the backyard. And I'm sure your brother and Stacy are finding it tough not having me there to babysit the little ones, and-"

"You've only been gone a few days. Stacy doesn't have a job other than being a housekeeper and mom-"

"That's a tough job, Paige, especially with three children."

"I know that, Mom, but you're always there for them. And please don't get mad at me for saying this, but I think sometimes they take advantage of you."

"I love watching Evelyn and the twins. We cook and garden and fingerpaint, and sometimes we go to the park and swing on the swings, and-" Gracie suddenly realized how lonely she was. She forced herself to hold back her tears.

"Hey, Mom, you're not okay, are you?"

Gracie drew in a deep breath. "It's been three years, Paige. I shouldn't still miss your dad so much, but I do. There are times when I'm sure I'll never be totally happy again."

Paige was silent a moment and then Gracie heard her calling out to someone, one of the tourists, more than likely. "Sorry, Mom, I've got a teenage kid getting a little out of control. Thinks he can fly like a falcon, and I've got to keep him from breaking his neck."

"That's okay, hon. Go."

"I can take some time off and come to Nantucket."

"No, Paige. I'll be fine. Jamie's here, and Sam and Caroline, and Caroline's friend George will be here soon, and, well, I love you. Don't worry. I'm a big girl. I'll get through this."

"I love you too, Mom. But call me if you need me. No matter-" Paige sighed. "Gotta go, Mom. Bye."

Gracie held the phone to her ear long after the connection had ended. Where had this sudden melancholy come from? She'd kept her emotions in check for so long. Through Art's cancer and death, through her mother's. She'd wanted so much to spend this time with her sisters, but now Caroline was trying to pull her away from everything she'd known and loved for nearly forty years. Would she ever really be able to leave it all behind?

"Here we go, ladies."

The teenage host at Bernie's Boathouse on the Wharf seated Caroline first, making a big show of pulling out a chair for her. Obviously, she was starting to look her age, or at least older than her sisters. Unfortunately, the days when she'd looked under forty were definitely gone.

They were seated at an outside table, on the deck overlooking the water. A cheery linen cloth was topped with a piece of white butcher paper, and a low vase was filled with pink cabbage roses. The sun was starting to set over the water, and a tea-light candle flickered gently in the soft breeze. Caroline spread her napkin in her lap and leaned back in her wooden chair, listening to the sound of water lapping gently against the pilings and watching boats of all shapes and sizes bob on the water. Seagulls hovered nearby, waiting patiently for any sc.r.a.ps the generous diners might throw them. It was absolutely lovely, and not for the first time she realized how easily she could live on this island. Nantucket was a glorious place to fall in love with.

Over appetizers of scallops wrapped in bacon and mushrooms stuffed with shrimp and crab, Caroline told her sisters and niece about the travel article she'd worked on all afternoon. "I know it seems odd writing about German Christmas markets in June. But over a tall gla.s.s of ice-cold lemonade-thank you, Gracie, for making that for me"-she smiled at her sister-"I've been writing about gorgeous little villages decked out with greenery and old-fashioned candles, and about eating roasted chestnuts, Lebkuchen-gingerbread cookies-and marzipan, and about strolling through stalls in a Christmas market filled with old-fashioned toys, wood carvings, and marionettes."

"Sounds heavenly," Gracie said, "I, on the other hand, ventured out to the library and brought home a number of books on the history of Nantucket, several of them written by one of the Macys back in the 1800s." She wagged her fork at Jamie, before stabbing it into another mushroom. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if there were some myths and legends that might be of interest for your thesis."

"You didn't by any chance find anything new on the Montague family, did you?" Sam asked, and briefly explained to Jamie that they were the original owners of what was now the Misty Harbor Inn.

"I was looking for generalized information on Nantucket, not on any one thing in particular," Gracie said a little stiffly, "but you're welcome to look through the books to see what you can find."

"Mom told me there are rumors about secret rooms and pa.s.sageways in the inn," Jamie said. Her eyes had been terribly red this afternoon, but they now showed far more signs of life. "Can you imagine how interesting that would be if it was true?"

"We'll only find out the truth if we buy the place," Caroline said, cutting a scallop in half. "Before we go see it again-"

"Are we going to go see it again?" Gracie asked.

"Of course you're going to see it again, Aunt Gracie. Mom's already called the agent and told her we'll be there tomorrow at noon. I'm dying to see what it's like and besides"-Jamie grinned-"you obviously can't make a decision to buy or not to buy until I give my stamp of approval or a flat-out reject."

"George wants to see it too," Caroline told them. "If only he could be here tomorrow, we could all ogle the furnishings-and that fabulous old Packard-together."

Caroline took a bite of scallop, its b.u.t.tery flavor so delicious she wished she'd ordered the entire appetizer simply for herself. Lifting another scallop with her fork, she looked at Sam. "When you talked with Deborah, did you ask her if she could have the shutters opened?"

"I asked." Sam shook her head, pursing her lips. "She said, unfortunately, no. And that was an emphatic no."

"That's ridiculous," Caroline said. "I can't imagine anyone buying the inn without seeing everything it has to offer, which means not only the view, but every nook and cranny in the full light from the sun."

"She doesn't seem to think we're serious," Sam said, b.u.t.tering a thick, warm piece of French bread.

"I can understand where she's coming from," Gracie said, wiping her mouth with a red cloth napkin. "Even I'm not sure we're serious."

"Mom's pretty serious," Jamie said. "In fact, we went to the building department this afternoon and tried to get a handle on all that's involved with fixing up a historical property."

"My head was spinning by the time we left," Sam said. "Just getting the permits will take weeks, maybe months."

"We got a checklist," Jamie added, "showing the order in which everything needs to be done. We also got a list of approved exterior colors, and found out there's a cla.s.s on restoring historical homes."

"You could indulge your artistic side," Sam said to Gracie, "learning all about the decorative aspects of Nantucket's old houses and how to re-create what many of the artisans of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries produced."

"I imagine we could all indulge in something like that," Caroline said, itching to get her hands on the inn and return it to its once grand state. "I just wish we could learn more about the inn's history. Right now, if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say it's bound up more in gossip and myth-Jamie's favorite topic-than any true historical fact. Did you learn anything at the building department?"

"Nothing but recent history again," Sam said. "But I got some more information from the woman we talked with about the problems with the current owners."

"They lobbied for changes in restoration restrictions," Jamie said, swirling her gla.s.s of iced tea around and around so the ice clinked against the side of the gla.s.s. "They wanted an exemption from having to use the approved colors, claiming the inn isn't in the historical district, but that was a no-go."

Caroline nodded. "Mrs. Addison-Shirley, the lady who lives next to the inn-told me all about that. They wanted to paint it a candy-apple red and make it look like a barn."