I Love You Again

I Love You

Again

Kate Sweeney

I Love You Again

© 2013 by Kate Sweeney

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

First
ebook
edition: 2013

This
ebook
is published by

Intaglio Publications

Walker, LA USA

www.intagliopub.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

_______________________________________________

Credits

Executive Editor: Tara Young

Cover design by Tiger Graphics

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank AARP—bear with me for a moment.

As I was going through the mail I get from them on a daily basis, which is so sad, I got the idea for this story. You know, retirement woes, fear of death, fear of old age, and let’s not forget, ladies, how it’s all exacerbated by—yep, menopause. All the crap that hits us right between the eyes like a sledgehammer to the temporal lobe when first we receive the lovely welcome from AARP. All of this went through the empty cavern that is my brain, and this story blossomed.

So, as I usually do, I turned what is really scary to most of us to something humorous. And why not? The hell with being scared—cable news does that to us enough. Let’s have a good laugh about it. Skydiving for everyone!

Oh, yes, my AARP brain is kicking in. Thanks to my editor Tara. As usual, she does a wonderful job. Thanks, Tara.

Prologue

“Fine!”

“Fine! I’m leaving.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

“You think this is funny, Kit…”

“Until someone puts an eye out, I know.” Kit stopped and calmed her anger. “Rosalind Maguire, it’s anything but funny. We’ve been through this a hundred times over the past two years. We want different things. You’re at the time of your life when you want to retire and slow down. I-I don’t.”

“Really.” Roz lifted one eyebrow. “How’s that workout at the gym going? And I know I’m out of the loop in the fitness world, but I’m sure you’re not supposed to use that Stairmaster as a coatrack. And what about the skydiving? And have you decided yea or nay on the running of the bulls in Pompeii—”

Kit glared at her, which always amused Roz. Nearly eighteen years, and Roz still got a kick out of irritating Kathleen Weston, seeing those baby blues sparkle. Eighteen years, Roz thought, where did the time go?

“It’s better than sitting around dreaming about something you’ll never have,” Kit said angrily.

Roz’s heart ached at the angry, stubborn tone. “It wouldn’t be a dream if you were on board.”

“On board? When have you…And now throwing all your retirement money into…” Kit ranted on, running her fingers through her hair as if she were going to pull it out. “Oh, can we just stop this?” She turned her back on Roz and stared out the window, folding her arms across her chest.

Roz yanked her jacket off the chair and cursed as it hit her square in the face. “As usual, I can’t deny you anything. Yes, we can stop this. I’ll pick up my stuff later. Goodbye, Kit.” She struggled into her jacket. “I know you’re younger than I am, but one day, you’ll have to remember you’re going to grow old like the rest of us. Unless, of course, you have a self-portrait in the attic.”

Kit whirled around then, but Roz had already slammed the front door and was gone. She watched Roz walk to her truck with a purposeful gait, kicking the morning newspaper out of the way, despite the arthritic knee.

“Fathead.” She threw the window open and yelled, “And it’s Pamplona, and you know it!”

“Send me a postcard,” Roz yelled back. She winced as Kit slammed the window, shattering the pane that started the dog barking that woke the neighbors that ruined the peaceful Sunday morning on the street where they lived. “And you’re paying for that, not me!”

Chapter 1

“Oh, the smell of pine.” Bess Adams sighed wistfully as she turned off the main highway and into the woods. She glanced in her rearview mirror. “And goodbye, civilization.”

Upon further inspection in said mirror, Bess reached up with a perfectly manicured fingernail and gently traced the lines in the corner of her eye, making a mental note to get that cream that was advertised on the infomercial.

She stuck her head out the window, took a whiff, and coughed—her lungs were not ready for the thin pristine air. As she drove along, she glanced around the dense woods of Roz’s property. Nothing had changed much in a year. The pine trees that lined the gravel road still seemed to welcome her.

“Ah, the country life,” she said, trying to muster up some truth in that sentence, but when some small creature darted in front of her rented Lexus and she swerved to avoid killing the vermin, she lost her muster. “I miss Chicago already. Roz is nuts.”

But all things being equal, she couldn’t wait to see her old friend again. Talking on the phone was just not the same, whether it was business or pleasure, she missed Roz—even if it was in the land that time forgot. Oh, she knew she exaggerated; it was her favorite pastime, that and her beloved sarcasm. She had to admit, she had that anxious feeling as one would have when she is about to embark on an adventure, but then again, it could be constipation, which always happened when she traveled.

When the lodge seemed to burst into view, Bess realized again how beautiful it was. The two-story log home stood in the clearing of the Colorado woods. Behind the lodge, Bess could see the snow-capped Himalayas in the distance. She laughed openly now, remembering how excited Roz had been when she found this property and how she chastised Bess for her lack of geographical knowledge.

“Himalayas, Rocky Mountains. What does it matter? Is Coco Chanel nearby? No…”

But Roz had her dream—a lodge complete with bait and tackle shop and a trout stream that meandered like a babbling brook through the woods and close enough to the lodge to be seen. With only five guest rooms, it was hardly a five-star affair, but then Roz was not a five-star gal. She was odd that way. However, it was picturesque, being rustic and quaint at the same time. White Clover Lodge was all Rosalind’s; well, it truly belonged to the Steamboat Savings and Loan, but what the hell.

However, with all its coziness, Roz was all alone up here knee-deep in pine trees. And then, as night followed day, Bess thought of Kit, her other good friend; she sighed pensively and shook her head. Rosalind Maguire and Kathleen Weston. Bess thought they’d be together forever. After so many years, wasn’t it supposed to be all downhill? Skating through life with all the crap out of the way? Damn it, these two, she thought. What a couple of stubborn fools.

She pulled up to the lodge and couldn’t help the smile on her face when she saw Roz standing on the front steps, waving. She looked a little thinner, certainly a little grayer. She peered through the windshield—hmm, a lot grayer.

“Another year, Roz,” Bess called out as she stopped her car. “I love the smell of pine. It’s so…piney.” She jumped out and ran up the steps to Roz, pulling her into a huge embrace. “How’s business?”

“You’re my accountant, and you’re asking me?” Roz smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She held her at arm’s length. “You cut your hair?”

Bess laughed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I did not. I colored it.”

“Why?”

“Only you would ask that question. Because I don’t like the gray that crept up on me.” She laughed and regarded Roz. “And I should think by now you’d despise it.”

Roz laughed. “I will not be a slave to Clairol, or whatever it is.”

“If God had meant us to have gray hair, He wouldn’t have invented hair coloring.”

“I like my salt and pepper.”

“And I love your sense of humor.” Bess cocked her head. “It’s all salt. So, Paul Bunyan, what are you working on now? You’re all sweaty.”

Roz grabbed her by the hand. “The new range and refrigerator’s been installed.”

“Oh, for joy!” Bess shrieked.

“Stella needed a good oven and stove to cook on.”

“The old girl’s been after you for a year now.”

“And now I can afford it,” Roz said. She pulled Bess up the front steps, then yanked on the heavy pine-log door. “C’mon. It’s in the kitchen.”

“An oven and refrigerator in the kitchen? You madcap woman. And I hope there’s a gin and tonic somewhere along the dusty trail.”

Bess followed Roz into the huge common area of the lodge. It was all made of pine logs, and the fragrance permeated the room. The cathedral ceiling gave the lodge that stately, yet cozy feel. In the corner by the fireplace stood the black grand piano, which Roz did not play. But Bess never asked why it was there; there was no reason to ask—it was Kit who played the piano.

“Wow, you changed the fireplace?”

“Nope,” Roz said, walking over to it. She ran her fingers across the flagstone brick. “I just had the stone sandblasted when I had the chimney cleaned. It was filthy. It’s like brand new.”

Bess nodded as she looked around the area. Roz had arranged three couches around a large ornate log coffee table. It was oddly shaped, as if it were growing right out of the floor. “That’s got to be a conversation piece.” Bess pointed to the table.

“It is. Stella found it. It took five guys to bring it in here. And even then, they almost had to dismantle it. Thank God, the front door was big enough. I like the glass top, though.”

Bess nodded. “And new chairs?” Two new overstuffed chairs were situated by the fireplace. “Very cozy indeed.”

“Yeah. This area is so big, I needed more furniture,” Roz said. “I got ’
em
at an estate sale. Stella told me about it. Another inn closed in a nearby town, and they wanted to sell everything. So we got some good deals on a few things. That woman seems to know everyone in this state.”

“Okay, lay on,
MacDuff
. Show me this new and improved kitchen.” She followed Roz out of the common area through the swinging doors leading to the dining area.

“Nothing changed here,” Roz said over her shoulder.

Bess agreed; it was as she remembered last spring when she came up. The same five tables for the guests, a small bar on the wall leading to the kitchen. Fully stocked. Bess even saw a small wine rack behind the bar. “Getting all sophisticated in our old age, are we?”

Roz laughed. “Not me. But a few customers had asked for wine, so I called a distributor. He made me a good deal, I guess. I really didn’t have a clue. Stella was instrumental in that. Try a glass at dinner later. You can be the judge.”

“It’s a deal.” Bess nodded approvingly at how the smaller fireplace seemed to be the focal point, without overtaking the dining room. She peered out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the stream that babbled on its merry way behind the lodge.

“Ah, wilderness,” Bess said. “Catch tonight’s dinner?”

“Not yet.”

“Did you stock it with lobster like I asked?” Through another swinging door, and they were in the kitchen. “I’ll take your silence as a ‘no’ since I do not see the mall I asked for, either.” Bess ran her fingers over the brushed silver of the huge refrigerator and the six-burner stove. “Holy cow, Roz. You know I don’t know my way around a kitchen to save my life, but this had to be expensive.”

Roz winced and nodded. “Yeah, but we needed it. And as long as I have reservations, we’ll be fine. It took a couple years, and there’s more to do, but it’s turning around.”

“Speaking of reservations…?”

“Well, it’s spring, so we’re a little slow. But I have most of the summer booked. And into the winter. You know how these folks love their snow,” she said with a wide grin. “We’ve got several reservations for the weekend and into the next week, however. I’m excited. After that, nothing for a few weeks. You picked a great time to come.”

Bess smiled. “I’m happy for you. You’ve worked very hard since…”

Roz’s smile faded, but she said nothing. Bess quickly went on. “So you’ve soaked all your retirement into this monstrosity. Oh, and you’re welcome. I sold your nursery, and the gentleman took your landscaping customers, as well. I gave him a good package deal.”

“I know. I can’t thank you enough. That’s why I’m glad you called. I’ve wanted you to come out and relax at no expense. Besides, you’re good at that sort of thing. I’m not.”

“Don’t I know it. And there is only one other person better at that sort of thing than I am, but you put an end to that two years ago.” She went on before Roz could argue the point. “You’d have given it away anyway. It’ll pay for this kitchen and my lobster. So now, this is finally paying off,” she said, looking around the spacious kitchen. “You’ll never be rich…”

“Money’s overrated,” Roz said, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. “But I’m happy. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know me. Money was never a prerequisite to happiness.”

“Yes, you’re odd that way, kiddo. Now,” Bess said, lightly patting her cheek, “that gin and tonic.”

“You bet. I may join you.”

“You’d better. You know how I hate drinking alone. I’ll do it if I must, but I hate it.” Bess followed her to the bar in the back of the dining room. She hoisted herself on the leather-cushioned barstool with a groan. “Either these things are getting taller, or I’m shrinking. I don’t remember it being this hard to get onto a barstool. It was always so much easier to fall off one. In my younger days, of course. I’m not in the habit of falling off barstools anymore.”

“Good for you.” Roz laughed as she mixed the drinks. “I know what you mean, though. I give the staircase a dirty look each time I pass. Thank God my bedroom in on the main floor.”

She rubbed her aching hip for effect. “We’re getting old, Roz.”

Roz snorted. “I am old, Bess. Do you realize Medicare is only six years away? Or close to it.”

“Well, maybe for you. I have a long way to go yet…” She struck a thoughtful pose. “This is a horrible topic.”

Roz set the drink in front of her. “This might take the sting out of it.”

“I highly doubt it. Is there a bellhop to take my luggage to my room?”

“Knowing you and how you pack, I’ll drive the John Deere up later.”

Bess smiled. “Amusing, as always.”

Roz bowed. “Thank you.” She raised the tall glass. “And thanks for all you’ve done.”

They touched glasses and took a sip. “Ooh. You mix a good drink. So do you bartend?”

“Yes, I’m not going to spend money on a bartender. I can handle that. Stella handles the kitchen, and she knows a woman who cleans the rooms and the linens. I don’t mind paying them at all. Stella says I pay too much, but they’re worth every penny. And her nephew, Mark, you remember him. He mans the tables for dinner.”

“Tall scrawny kid?” Bess asked.

“Well, he’s filled out in a year. Still tall but not scrawny. Wiry is more like it. He’s just about through with his junior year in high school, and he’s already being romanced by some school out west and hopefully a scholarship along with it. He’s a
brainiac
and wants to go to med school.”

“Ouch,” Bess said, taking a drink.

“I know. That was his father’s and Stella’s reaction. He’s a good kid, though. He’ll work during the summer days here helping me with the landscaping, then at night, he’ll be in the dining room.”

“That’s a lot of work. You slave driver.”

“It was his idea. He’s focused, which is unusual for a kid.”

They sat for a moment or two while Bess watched Roz, who pensively gazed out the window. Bess knew that look. “Call her.”

Roz frowned deeply. “I can’t.”

“Kit’s birthday is on Sunday. She’s turning fifty.”

“I hope she’s not suicidal. And you don’t think I know what birthday it is?” Roz snorted. “After eighteen years together, I do remember some things.”

Bess laughed then. “But you two could never decide on an anniversary date.”

“We could remember where we met but not when.” Roz grudgingly smiled. “We thought it was the summer or spring. So we decided on a summer anniversary. The weather would be better for a celebration.”

“That’s because you’re both old and senile.”

“No.” Roz smiled and shook her head. “The truth is, every day with that woman was like an anniversary.” She looked at Bess then. “How can I pick one day?”

Bess saw Roz’s lip quiver, and she once again gazed out the window. “How’s that for romantic schmaltzy shit?”

“Call her, Roz.”

“I can’t,” she insisted again.

“You mean you won’t.”

“Take your pick,” Roz said, picking up the bar towel. “It’s been too long now. It would be strange for me to call her two years later.”

“Well, I’ve only been nagging you the entire time,” Bess said sarcastically.

“I can’t believe two years have passed,” Roz whispered.

“I know. Tempus fugit and all that. Roz, if you’ll allow me a philosophical moment.” Bess leaned in and grabbed Roz’s hand. “You’re an idiot.”

Roz narrowed her eyes. “Should I wait, or was that the philosophical moment?”