The Inn At Rose Harbor Part 32

Mich.e.l.le appeared in the doorway. "Josh," she whispered, "what are you doing?"

"Waking the dead," he said.

"He can probably hear you. I've read that hearing is one of the last functions to leave the body."

"I found the boxes in the garage," Josh repeated. "You didn't have to tell me where they were," he added, wanting Richard to understand that he was well aware the old man had intended to hide those boxes, "but I'll be forever grateful that you did."

"Being able to have his mother's things means a lot to Josh," Mich.e.l.le added, and sat down on the opposite side of the bed. She took Richard's limp hand and held on to it with both of her own.

Richard's eyes opened and he looked up, and seemed to be staring at the ceiling. He didn't appear able to speak, however.

"Thank you," Josh whispered.

Richard's eyes moved and focused squarely on Josh. To Josh's surprise a tenderness rose up inside of him, a sense of impending loss. Part of him wanted to leap off the bed and demand that Richard not die so they could have a relationship. One that wasn't based on compet.i.tive jealousy or one-upmanship.

And now it was too late.

Josh felt like weeping. He pressed his forehead against Richard's hand as he struggled with regret.

"Josh." Mich.e.l.le's voice stirred him and Josh glanced up.

"Look," she whispered. "Look at Richard."

Josh turned his attention to his stepfather's face and was astonished to see that a solitary tear was rolling down the older man's weathered cheek. It was as if he was telling Josh he had his own share of regrets and he, too, was sorry.

Mich.e.l.le checked Richard's pulse and then bit into her lower lip before she whispered. "He's gone."

"No." Josh refused to believe it. "No, it can't be." Two days ago Richard had been angry enough to demand that Josh vacate his property. He'd nearly screamed in outrage and now he was ... gone.

Dead.

The release must have been instantaneous for the old man. One minute he was suffering and fighting the pain and the next he'd walked across the chasm between this world and the next. On the other side Josh's mother and Dylan waited with outstretched arms, eager and happy to have Richard join them, welcoming him to the afterlife.

Reaching across Richard's body, Mich.e.l.le gently squeezed Josh's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Again Josh shook his head, refusing to acknowledge his stepfather's death. To his surprise, tears welled in his eyes. Abruptly he turned away, not wanting Mich.e.l.le to see.

For years there'd been no love lost between Richard and him. The old man had been a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Still, he was the only remaining link between Josh and his mother. Richard was the man who'd brought happiness back into Teresa's life, and now he was gone.

Dead.

A sob rose in his chest that he managed to choke off.

He felt the mattress shift as Mich.e.l.le stood. She came around the foot of the bed and stood before him. Bending down she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Josh hadn't expected comfort. Hadn't ever imagined he would need it.

Looping his own arms around Mich.e.l.le's waist, he buried his face in her stomach and silently wept. His shoulders shook and then after a few moments he dropped his arms.

He was embarra.s.sed that Mich.e.l.le had witnessed his breakdown. He wanted to offer excuses and found he had none to give. Before he could say anything the doorbell chimed.

Mich.e.l.le left the bedroom to answer the door.

Josh was grateful she was gone. He needed a couple of minutes to compose himself before he was obliged to deal with more mundane matters.

"It happened just a few minutes ago," Mich.e.l.le was saying as she led the hospice worker into the bedroom.

Josh stood. This was someone he hadn't met. "Josh Weaver," he said and extended his hand to the middle-aged woman in the long black coat. "I'm Richard's son." He stopped and immediately corrected himself. "His stepson."

Mich.e.l.le came and stood beside him. "I'm a family friend. We were with Richard when he pa.s.sed."

"Lois Freeland," the woman said softly. "I'm sorry for your loss. I'm here to help you in any way I can."

"Thank you," Josh said.

Lois asked a number of questions, all of which seemed to go over Josh's head. Thankfully Mich.e.l.le had her wits about her and she answered on Josh's behalf. He felt emotionally incapable of dealing with anything more than this tightening ache in his chest.

After a few minutes he excused himself and returned to the living room, sitting in the recliner that had belonged to Richard. He felt close to his stepfather there, knowing how many hours of the day he had spent in this very chair. Josh leaned forward as he tried to make sense of the churning emotions that seemed to be attacking him from every direction.

Watching someone die wasn't a new experience, and both his mother's death and Richard's had been peaceful, expected. This time Josh felt a rush of tremendous loss, of having been cheated, robbed. He swallowed his anger like a piece of tough meat, struggling to get it down his throat.

Mich.e.l.le and Lois joined him. They seemed to be talking but none of what they said made sense. Tuning them out was easy to do as the memories rolled like marbles in his mind.

Josh recalled the first time he'd met Richard and Dylan. His mother had been so pleased to introduce him to her "friend." Teresa had dated before, but none of those relationships had lasted for more than a few weeks. Josh had sensed that Richard was different almost from the first. After spending time with Richard, his mother had seemed almost giddy with happiness.

Some of the men she'd dated made her so angry she'd come home and clean house as a means of venting her displeasure. He smiled at the memory of her on her hands and knees scrubbing out the bottom of the oven, furious over some guy for things she wouldn't discuss with her son.

After her dates with Richard, she'd come home, put on music, and dance by herself, whirling around the room as if she was on some imaginary ballroom floor.

Still, they had dated for several months before she was ready to introduce him to Josh. Josh and Dylan had instantly clicked and the two boys had compared notes. Josh learned that Richard had returned from his dates with Teresa in an equally good mood. The two boys wondered where they went or what they did to make them each so goofy.

In the years since, Josh had come to understand-at least on paper-that this was what it was like when people fell in love.

Teresa and Richard were meant to be together and now they would share eternity.

"Josh."

Breaking off his thoughts, he looked up to discover that Mich.e.l.le was alone. Apparently the woman from hospice had left or was outside.

"Lois contacted the coroner," Mich.e.l.le told him. "He'll be here in a few minutes, and once the body has been released, the funeral home will be by."

"What funeral home did you call?"

"Richard had already made the arrangements. He did that as soon as he learned that he was dying, and he gave my family the paperwork to make sure his wishes were carried out as stipulated."

"Okay." At this point Josh was grateful not to have to make decisions.

"He asked to be buried next to your mother."

Josh nodded. That was the way it should be. "He loved her very much," he said.

"And in his own way he loved you. I don't think he realized it until the end."

"That's funny," Josh whispered, swallowing hard.

"How do you mean?"

Josh's gaze met hers and he felt the moisture gathering in his eyes. "I was just thinking the same thing. I hated him for so long ... but I didn't realize how close love and hate could be. I suspect he didn't either."

Chapter 33.

After my a.s.surances regarding Rover, Grace left, seemingly relieved at how well my adopted protector had settled into his new environment. Eager to step back into my role as innkeeper, I set up a plate of cheese and crackers in case my two guests decided to return. If neither showed then I'd enjoy a cheese and cracker dinner along with a gla.s.s of wine-preferably Merlot or maybe a Malbec.

Rover had finished exploring the downstairs and then, with a sense of proprietorship, he curled up again on the braided rug in front of the fireplace and promptly went to sleep.

"You look mighty comfortable," I muttered to Rover as I carried the cheese plate into the dining room.

Rover lifted his head from his paw and regarded me for just a moment before peacefully returning to his nap. I brought out a bottle of red wine and winegla.s.ses, and a large pot of tea. I'd add the hot water later, if anyone was interested.

In the distance, I could hear a car door closing. Rover heard it, too, and was instantly on his feet. I watched him carefully. If he was going to remain with me, then he would need to adjust to a series of strangers taking up residence for short periods of time.

Barking, he went to the front door and waited.

No more than a minute later the door swung open and Abby Kincaid breezed in out of the cold.

The instant Rover saw her, he stopped barking and wagged his tail furiously, welcoming her.

"Who do we have here?" Abby asked, bending over and petting my newly adopted guardian.

I released a silent breath of relief as Rover seemed to immediately recognize that Abby was a friend.

"This is Rover," I answered. "I got him from the animal shelter this afternoon."

"Really? Well, he sure is a friendly fellow."

I grinned, relieved and rea.s.sured at the same time. "I just brought out a few snacks," I told her. "Please, help yourself."

Abby glanced at her watch. "I need to change for the wedding first but I should have a couple of minutes to spare before I head to the church."

I returned to the kitchen and put on the hot water for tea so she would have the option. I added a few cookies to a second plate and delivered those to the table, setting the cookies next to the cheese and cracker selection. I'd already set out small appetizer plates and napkins. The table looked charming, if I did say so myself.

Rover returned to his place in front of the fireplace and resumed his nap. He seemed utterly content in his new life. And while the deep ache of missing Paul remained, I felt content, too.

I'd just finished putting the finishing touches on the table when Abby reappeared. She was wearing a lovely pastel dress with cap sleeves and a lacy knit shawl was slung over one of her arms.

"Oh my," I said, watching her. "You look absolutely stunning."

"I do?"

This was no exaggeration. She was a pretty girl, but something had changed in the last two days. When Abby had first arrived it was as if the weight of the world was resting squarely on her shoulders.

"Tea?" I asked, when it became obvious that I was staring. "Or wine?"

"Tea, please." She reached for a small plate and took a couple of pieces of cheese and a few crackers.

"Your lunch with your friends went well?" I asked.

She smiled and her eyes brightened with joy. "It was amazing. I've known most of them my whole childhood. We didn't stay in touch after high school graduation and, well, actually, the fault was mine. I wasn't sure anyone would want to hear from me."

"Oh Abby, I'm sure they did."

"Well, you're right." She pulled out a chair and sat down next to me. "We had a marvelous time. My mother came, too, and she loved seeing my friends again nearly as much as I did."

"That's wonderful."

Abby ate the cheese and crackers and sipped her tea.

"Lunch took a long time, didn't it," I mentioned casually. Abby had been gone for several hours. I a.s.sumed she'd spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about old times with her schoolmates.

"We were only together a couple of hours. I stopped to visit with the parents of a friend after lunch," she explained.

I realized my comment might have come off as nosy, but that wasn't my intent. Her hand shook slightly and she lowered the cup to the saucer and placed her hands in her lap.

After a brief pause, she continued. "I'm so very glad I did," she added. "It was ... at the home of Angela's parents."

I didn't know who Angela was, but I didn't want to interrupt.

"Angela was my best friend. She died in a car accident and her parents took her death hard ... and because I was driving, they blamed me."

"Oh dear." I hardly knew what to say. While I fumbled for words of comfort, Abby spoke again.

"It was the first time since it happened fifteen years ago that we've been able to console each other and make peace," she explained.

"Peace," I repeated softly. I looked away and momentarily closed my eyes, savoring the word and all it meant in my own life.

"Are you okay?" Abby asked, her eyes wide with concern.

"Yes, of course, what makes you ask?"

She blinked and frowned ever so slightly. "When I spoke, your hand flew to your heart as though you were in pain or something."

"No, no, I'm fine."