Hearts at Home (15 page)

A.J. snorted. “Annie, honey, come on! You're just a little confused because of the funeral, that's all. Once you're back in Portland, you'll see things more clearly. You'll realize how hard it is to manage a property from long-distance, and you'll discover that even selling the place will be a challenge. You'll be lucky to get a hundred grand for it.”

Annie blew out her cheeks, then rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “A.J., I really don't want to talk about this now.”

“Okay. So—what else is new?”

She cast about for another topic of conversation and came up empty. “Not much.”

“Nothing ever happens on that island. Okay, sweetie, I've got to go. Give my dad a hug for me when you see him, okay? And come back to the real world soon. I miss you.”

Annie blinked away a sudden surge of tears. “I miss . . everybody.”

And as she hung up the phone, she wondered if she really missed A.J. . . . or only the way things used to be.

Chapter Seven

A
fter rising with the sun, Annie dressed in a sweater and jeans, then pulled on her slicker and headed out to the beach with Tallulah. No one was stirring at the dock at this early hour, but the lights gleamed from Birdie's Bakery, where Abner Smith would be piping out doughnuts in preparation for the morning coffee crowd.

Tallulah paused at the intersection of Ferry Road and Main Street, then whimpered softly.

“You don't want to go with me to the beach?”

The dog dropped onto her belly, then brought both paws over her nose. The adorable action tore at Annie's heart. What was going to happen to Tallulah? For sure the old dog wouldn't relish living in Annie's apartment with her cat. After the freedom of Heavenly Daze, apartment life would seem like prison to the outgoing terrier.

“Too cold, huh? Okay, girl, run along to see Abner. He just might have a treat for you.”

Tallulah didn't need to be told twice. She rose and trotted off at a brisk clip, leaving Annie alone. She gazed wistfully after the dog—why was it that her aunt's dog had no trouble making decisions, while she couldn't even decide when she should return to Portland?

She had not slept during the night, but tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity. Stretched out on her right side, she convinced herself to sell Frenchman's Fairest; when she turned onto her left side, she thought she should keep the house no matter what. Rolling onto her belly, with her face buried in her arms, she worried about Olympia floating all the way to England; flat on her back and staring at the ceiling, she tried to imagine Olympia in heaven, contentedly playing a harp.

How was a woman supposed to find balance in life?

She looked up as a bell jangled in the morning silence—Abner was opening the bakery door to let Tallulah in. He looked up and waved at Annie; stiffly, she pulled her hand from her pocket and returned the greeting.

What was it with the Smith men? Nothing ever ruffled them. And whenever you had a problem, you could count on one of the Smith guys to send you straight to the heavenly throne room for help.

She felt a twinge of guilt as she walked toward the beach. She'd been fretting and worrying for days, but hadn't honestly offered her petition to the Lord.

Alone on the beach, she huddled inside her overcoat and trudged over the damp sand. The southwestern shore offered the only sandy beach on Heavenly Daze, for the northern and eastern coasts were too rocky to allow for easy walking. But the windward side had been worn smooth over the years, and she liked the way the wet sand shifted ever so slightly beneath her rubber boots, then held firm. It was a good place for thinking . . . and even better for praying.

“Dear God,” she lifted her eyes to the cloudy skies above the watery horizon, “if ever I needed advice and guidance, I need it now. I don't know what to do, and thinking only makes me more confused. My head tells me to do one thing, but my heart tells me to do something else.”

Her head was telling her to sell the house and take the money. With a decent sales price for the estate she could make sure Caleb had enough to buy a little place in Ogunquit then search for Olympia, bury her next to Edmund, and buy a really nice monument for both of them. Olympia had displayed a fondness for monuments, evidenced most particularly by the bronze marker on the lawn of Frenchman's Fairest. Practically every building on the island had some historic significance, but Olympia had been the only resident who felt compelled to erect a sign on her property.

So selling the house would be a good thing.

On the other hand, what would Dr. Marc do if she sold the house? Olympia and Edmund had offered their detached guest cottage to serve as the island doctor's residence and office, but the new owner of Frenchman's Fairest might have other ideas for the building. That would leave Dr. Marc without a place to live and work, and Heavenly Daze without a clinic.

She frowned, then shook the notion away. The town would have to take care of itself. Birdie would be getting married soon, so perhaps Dr. Marc could move in with Beatrice.

The thought brought a smile to Annie's chapped lips. Bea would up and faint before she'd even entertain the idea of living with a man, even platonically, so Dr. Marc would have to move in with Cleta and Floyd and set up an office in one of their guest rooms. That'd undoubtedly cut into their income during tourist season, but if Barbara and Russell moved out, the doctor could have their rooms—

If
Barb and Russ ever moved out.

Annie stared out at the sea, trying to imagine her life without the people of Heavenly Daze. She knew the islanders as well as she knew the inside of her palm. Though life might take the girl off the island, she doubted it could ever take the island out of the girl.

Shivering, she hunched lower in her jacket as the wind whipped over the beach. New York was a wonderful place to visit, Portland was nice and clean, but could she live away from the sea? And the appeal of Heavenly Daze involved far more than sea and shore, for it had always been the nest to which she flew home to rest. Life without that nest would be like living in a house with no bedroom.

So she should keep the house. But how was she supposed to pay for its maintenance? Her teacher's salary barely kept her afloat in Portland. The Durpee Seed Company bonus for which she'd been working would never materialize now that her tomatoes had proven inedible.

She could take a second job, but there was no work to be found on the island in winter, and only the Lobster Pot required extra employees in the summer. If she worked two jobs in Portland, she'd never have time to visit Heavenly Daze and enjoy the property she was desperately striving to keep.

Weary of the internal debate, she blew out a frosty breath, then turned toward home. The idea of keeping Frenchman's Fairest was highly impractical. The house needed work, Aunt Olympia needed a proper burial, Caleb needed a retirement fund, and Dr. Marc—she felt her heart twist—he needed a property owner who would let him remain in the guest cottage and could afford to maintain it.

Thoughts of the doctor brought a rueful smile to her face. Why was A.J. so reluctant to visit the island? She knew of no rift between him and his father; each always spoke highly of the other. Annie had watched them carefully at Christmas, and both men had truly enjoyed each other's company. But Dr. Marc was always making excuses for A.J., saying Alex was a busy and successful neurosurgeon . . .

How successful could you be if you were too busy for friends and family? Annie frowned as another thought struck—she was A.J.'s girlfriend, yet he had barely made the funeral of her closest living relative. If she occupied such a low place on his priority list now, what would life be like when they'd been married twenty years?

Her freewheeling friends would laugh off such worries. She ought to marry A.J., they'd say, and quit working altogether. As a surgeon's wife she could entertain and socialize and host benefits for charitable causes. She could travel and mingle with celebrities; she could have a fine apartment in Manhattan and a weekend house in the Hamptons. Closing her eyes, she could visualize the house A.J. would want—a spacious, wide-windowed mansion painted in creams and beiges, with towering ivory statues in the living room and white furs on the bedroom floor.

Her eyes flew open. Try as she might, she couldn't imagine Birdie and Bea inside that house. Vernie, with her boots and leather aviator's cap, would be as out of place as a bucket under a bull. Caleb would be a nervous wreck in such a fine home, and Aunt Olympia's precious rose teacups would look like cast off bric-a-brac in a modern stainless steel kitchen.

Why, even she wouldn't feel at home in such a place. In the last few days she hadn't felt at home anywhere but in Olympia's parlor. The tattered lace curtains at the window, crackling logs in the fireplace, and the worn sofa before the bookcases refreshed her senses in a way her Portland apartment never could. A.J. would find Olympia's parlor provincial and plain, but the room would suit a man like . . Dr. Marc.

Turning up the beach she began to retrace her steps, moving along the southern slope of the island and the path to the ferry dock. For beyond the trail lay Frenchman's Fairest and the carriage house, where she knew she'd find the man she sought.

“Why, Annie!” Marc started to smile at his unexpected visitor, then thought the better of it. The young woman wore a troubled expression, and the cold had stolen all the color from her cheeks. “Are you feeling all right?”

“No—I mean yes. I'm not sick, but I'd like to talk to you.”

He opened the door wider. “Come on in. Since this isn't a medical call, we'll go back to the keeping room.”

He led the way past his examination room and book-lined office to his private quarters, a comfortable space at the back of the cottage. His sofa bed, now neatly tidied up, lined the wall, while in the center of the room a black woodstove squatted on a brick hearth and radiated with pleasant heat.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, stepping forward to tug at her coat. “I'll hang up your coat and get you something warm to drink.”

Annie closed her eyes as he lifted the coat from her shoulders, and he had a feeling she was looking for someone to lift her troubles as well. The poor girl had endured a lot in the last few days.

“Have you been out walking?” he asked, moving to a small cabinet to the right of the doorway. The counter, equipped with microwave, coffeemaker, sink, and hotplate, served admirably as a kitchen since he rarely had guests.

Annie sank onto the sofa, then held her hands toward the stove. “Ayuh. I needed to get out of the house to think.”

“You must be frozen to the bone. I'll make you a cup of hot tea—”

“Don't go to any bother. The heat feels nice.”

“It's no bother, Annie. I'll have a cup, too.”

Leaving her to enjoy the quiet, he pulled two mugs from the cabinet, then filled them with water and set them in the microwave. He punched on the power for three minutes.

Drumming his nails on the counter, he squinted at the oven and decided that these were the longest three minutes he'd passed in his lifetime. Annie had to be bored silly, and with every passing moment he wondered why she'd shown up at his door. Caleb was her confidant and Dana Klackenbush more her age . . .

What was she doing here? And why did he suddenly feel as flustered as a schoolboy? His cheeks were burning, which meant he was blushing, and Annie was too observant not to notice.

Finally the oven beeped. He removed the mugs, burning his fingers in the process, then left the cups to steam on the counter while he bent to look in a cabinet and pretended to rummage for tea bags.

He had to calm down. He drew in a deep breath, trying to lower his blood pressure and restore his usual color. The young woman who sat across the room might well be his daughter-in-law one day, so there was no reason for him to feel awkward and self-conscious. Besides, she looked like she could use a friend, and he'd been her friend long before Alex noticed her exceptional qualities.

When he was certain his pulse had returned to its normal rhythm, he stood, caught her worried gaze, and smiled. “What's on your mind, hon?”

Maybe the word
hon
broke the dam, or perhaps it was the directness of the question, but tears overtook Annie with a sudden ferocity that surprised him. She threw herself into a mound of sofa pillows, sobbing as if her world had shattered, and the sound of her despair tore at Marc's heart.

He took two steps forward, then hesitated. What should he do? Stand and watch her weep, or offer the comfort of a shoulder to cry on?

He grimaced, annoyed that he was even debating the question. If Cleta were weeping, or Birdie, he wouldn't think twice about hurrying forward to comfort them.

Drawing a deep breath, he crossed the room and sat beside her. “There, now.” He gently touched her shoulder, and that was all the encouragement she needed to seek the shelter of his arms.

“Dr. Marc, I'm so confused!”

He slipped one arm around her, pulling her head to his chest. “It's okay, dear, things are going to be just fine.”

“It's . . . the house.” She sniffed against his sweater. “And Aunt Olympia. I have so many choices, so many obligations. And I don't know who to ask for advice now that Aunt Olympia and Uncle Edmund are gone.”

His hand, moving as if it had a mind of its own, smoothed her wind-whipped hair. “You have Caleb. He's always given trustworthy advice.”

She shook her head. “I can't ask him about this because he told me he's leaving. By the end of the month, he said. He's going off to work someplace else, and I'm afraid it's because Aunt Olympia wasn't able to provide for him. I wish I could afford to pay him, but I can't, and I think he doesn't want me to feel obligated—”

“Maybe he wants to work.”

She sobbed again. “Who in their right mind wants to work at his age? I don't know what to do.”