If Ever I Fall (Rhode Island Romance #1) (2 page)

Willa had never
walked on snow before. She’d had the foresight to purchase boots with treaded
rubber soles, but she wasn’t confident on whether or not they’d work on ice.
She stuck to the edge of the pathway where the snow was deeper.

Collette chortled
from where she stood on a wide brick doorstep. “Not used to snow, are you,” she
said, not unkindly. “I’ll show you how to walk on it tomorrow.” She returned
her attention to the taxi driver as he came back outside. “Thanks, Brian. Say
‘hi’ to your ma for me.”

“I will. See ya,
Collette.” He gave Willa an amused smile and a head nod as he sidled past her.

Willa was aware
that her cheeks were red from both cold and embarrassment when she finally
reached the doorstep. Collette leaned against the glass-paneled storm door,
holding the main door open with one hand, beckoning Willa to move faster with
the other. “Come on in, hon. I turned the furnace on high this afternoon. It’s
nice and warm for ya.”

“Thank you,” Willa
murmured as she stepped into the house and wiped her boots on the braided rug
in the entryway.

Collette hurried in
behind her, shutting both doors firmly before stomping her feet on the rug and
briskly rubbing her hands together. “Don’t worry about taking off your boots.
No fancy floors in here. You can put your pocketbook there if you like.”

Pocketbook?
Collette pointed at Willa’s shoulder bag and then at a small table to the left
of the door. Willa set her bag on the table, her carry-on beside her suitcases.
As she removed her gloves, she took inventory of her surroundings.

Directly ahead, a
narrow carpeted hallway led to what appeared to be the kitchen. An arched
doorway to her right opened into a small, dark-paneled living room that was
occupied by one lone armchair, an ancient television on a metal stand and a
cluttered assortment of odds and ends: mismatched side tables, a bookcase
crammed with books, newspapers and magazines, a curio cabinet containing a
hodgepodge of items in need of dusting. There was a closed Dutch door on the
far side of the room.

“That leads out to
the front porch,” Collette explained, tracking Willa’s appraisal. She pointed
to their left. “In here’s the dining room. Hasn’t been used in a while.”

Willa had only a few
seconds to note the dusty oblong wooden table and chairs, the heavy red velvet
curtains framing a wide picture window. Collette scooted in front of her and,
with a wave of her hand, beckoned Willa to follow her down the hallway. “She
spent most of her time in the front room and her bedroom these last couple of
years.” Collette pointed to two closed doors on the right. “This goes to the
laundry room. That one goes upstairs. There are two bedrooms up there. You
stayed there that time you came to visit. Do you remember?”

“No. None of this
looks familiar to me yet. But I don’t remember it being so cluttered. I would
have remembered that much, I think.”

Willa’s father had
been obsessively neat. It couldn’t have been like this that day before he’d
left for Europe; he wouldn’t have stayed the night otherwise.

“Your aunt was
eighty-three years old. She wasn’t untidy. She just couldn’t keep up with
things these last couple of years. I came in twice a week to dust and vacuum.
After…” There was a slight catch in Collette’s voice. “After she passed, I
wasn’t comfortable touching her things. They belong to you now.”

“You’ve been her
neighbor for a long time,” Willa said, keeping her tone neutral, uncomfortable
and unfamiliar with showing emotion.

Collette paused
outside an open doorway. She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed at
her eyes. She gave Willa a wobbly smile. “Twenty-five years. We moved next door
right after we got married. My ex-husband and me. Pauline took me under her
wing when I needed her advice. She was a wonderful lady.”

Hesitantly, Willa
placed her hand on the older woman’s arm. “Thank you for being her friend and
for watching out for her. I… I wish I could have known her better than I did.”

Collette wadded up
the tissue and stuffed it back in her coat pocket. She straightened her
shoulders and sniffed. “She never blamed you for that, Willa. It was that
brother of hers. Your father…  Ah, well, water under the bridge, she used to
say. Here’s her bedroom. I put fresh sheets on the bed this morning.”

The bedroom was
almost as cluttered as the living room. There were clear, well-trod walkways
from the door to the bed and from the bed to the bathroom. The bed itself—a
wooden four-poster antique monstrosity—took up most of the floor space.
Matching nightstands, a dresser and a wardrobe occupied the remainder. The
walls were done in the same dark panels as the living room. Heavy drapes
blocked the one window.

“I vaguely remember
this bed,” Willa said. “She would read me stories here sometimes. But the room
was different then. Lighter. Warmer.”

“It was summertime.
She would’ve had the windows open.”

Willa shivered.
“Did she…?” She couldn’t finish the question.

“Pass away in here?
No. She was in the hospital. She had a stroke, but it was pneumonia that got
her at the last.”

“You said there are
two bedrooms upstairs?”

“Yes. But it’s too
chilly up there, hon. Those are just for the summertime.” Collette heaved a
deep sigh, her eyes scanning the room. “It
is
a little depressing in
here. The winter makes this house seem dark and cold. It was meant to be just a
summer cottage.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on.
I’ll make us a pot of tea. That’ll warm us up.”

Willa glanced at
her watch. It was only six-thirty in the evening, but it felt much later. She’d
been up before dawn to catch a direct flight out of San Francisco.

Her aunt’s home
did
feel dark and cold and it smelled musty. That only added to the tired,
depressed feelings that assailed Willa as she followed Collette into the
kitchen.

The moment she
stepped into the kitchen, her spirits lifted. She remembered this room. She
remembered sitting in that breakfast nook in the corner while her aunt baked
delicious things. She remembered the pale blue appliances, the yellow linoleum
floor, the white cupboards and countertops, the pretty flowered curtains above
the porcelain sink. Taking up the entire width of the far wall was a massive
built-in cabinet. She guessed it was either oak or walnut. The lower portion
was split into four sections of drawers. Open shelving framed a center cupboard
in the upper portion; the cupboard had pretty stained glass doors.

She’d enjoyed
spending time in this cozy room. She latched on to that memory, unaware until
that very moment that she’d been questioning her impulsive decision to move
here since stepping inside the house.

Maybe she could rig
up some kind of cot and sleep here in the kitchen…

As if reading her
thoughts, Collette said, “You don’t have to stay in this house for the winter,
you know. Your aunt had an apartment built above the garage five years ago. It
was designed for year-round use.”

Willa paused in
removing her coat. She gave the other woman a puzzled look. “Why did she do
that?”

“Because she wanted
to. She had the same tenant since the apartment was built, but Stacy left back
in October. Got married. Moved to Vermont.”

“I see. Was my
aunt…struggling financially?”

“Not at all.”
Collette moved about the kitchen, filling a kettle with water, opening a cupboard
to retrieve a tin canister. She pried off the lid and poked her finger inside.
“Do you want chamomile or peppermint?”

“Chamomile would be
lovely.”

Collette shot Willa
a crooked grin. The older woman had removed her coat and knit cap, revealing a
mop of curly silvery blond hair above a cheerful broad face that hinted at
Slavic ancestry. Polish, perhaps? Willa wondered.

“Listen to you,”
Collette said. “You sound so educated and proper. Your aunt told us about how
wicked smart you are.”

Willa turned away
before Collette could see her grimace. She hung her coat on a wooden peg next
to the back door before walking over to the breakfast nook. She slid her hand
slowly across the wooden surface that was worn smooth from years of use. Then
she sat down on one of the cushioned benches. She watched Collette as the other
woman set out coffee mugs and spoons. “I like your accent,” Willa said.

Collette gave her
an offended look. “What accent? I don’t have an accent.”

Willa felt her face
turning bright red.

Then Collette
hooted with laughter, her own cheeks flushing rosy red, her blue eyes crinkling
at the corners. “Ha! I fooled ya,” she teased, adding an even thicker layer to
her accent. “You should see your face. I’ve gotta share that one with the
girls.”

“The girls?”

“My best friends.
Audrey, Mercy and Shirley. I’ve known Audrey and Mercy since grade school. I
met Shirley a few years ago through a volunteer program at the public
library—that’s where I work part-time—and brought her into the group. We’re all
the same age. Shirley’s divorced, like me. She lives in Cranston. Mercy’s
married, has two kids in college. She and Don live in North Kingstown. And
Audrey’s single and lives in Providence. She lived in the city—New York—for the
last thirty years. Moved back here about a year ago.”

The tea had
finished brewing while Collette had been talking. She filled the two mugs and
brought them over to the table. “That’ll do ya. Do you want milk? Sugar?”

“This is fine.”

Collette scooted onto
the bench across from Willa. She wrapped her hands around her tea mug, her
smile touched with sadness. “I used to come over here every afternoon that I
wasn’t working. Your aunt loved her teas. Her father was British you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t
know much about my family’s genealogy.”

“Not to worry.
Pauline had it all written down. She liked to show me her photo albums. The
older she got, the more she talked about her childhood. Her mother was
French-Canadian. She came to Rhode Island when she was sixteen to work in a
textile mill in Woonsocket. She met your grandfather at a dance.” Collette took
a sip of her tea. She rolled her eyes. “Pauline told me that your father was
embarrassed that his mother was what he called low class. She was a factory
girl. Your grandfather came from the British upper class. Pauline said your
father couldn’t wait to move away after he graduated from high school.”

Willa gazed into
her tea, avoiding the other woman’s searching eyes. “I’m glad she kept track of
our ancestry. Sometimes I’ve wondered about it.”

Collette leaned
across the table, compelling Willa to look at her. “Listen, hon,” she said,
giving Willa a straightforward look. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, I can be
pretty blunt with my speaking. My ma calls it ‘brassy’. The older I get, the
less I care about people being offended by what I say or do. I can tell you’re
not used to that. That’s why I’m warning you. The girls are just the same.
Well, Mercy can be a bit of a prude. She can’t help it; that’s how she was
raised. But give her a couple of glasses of wine, and she’s a little devil.”

Willa was startled
by her own laughter; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed about
anything. “Thanks for the warning,” she said. “You’re right. I’m not used to
that. I don’t think I’ll mind. But let’s agree not to speak about my father.
It’s too soon.”

“Fair enough,”
Collette said with a smile, looking relieved. “Good. Now. You were asking about
Pauline’s financial situation. I have all the paperwork over at my place. We
can go through that tomorrow. But she was doing just fine. About six years ago
she thought she might move to one of those assisted living places. Then she
changed her mind and had the apartment added in case she needed to hire a
live-in caretaker. But she was in pretty good shape right up until she had her
stroke. I think deciding to stay here kept her going. She loved this neighborhood.”

“How long did she
live here?”

“Technically, it’s
been her home since she was born. It was the family’s summer cottage. She and
your father were born and raised in Providence. Her father gave this place to
her as a wedding gift.”

Willa frowned. “I
thought she’d never married?”

“She was engaged.
Her fiancé was killed in a boating accident a week before the wedding. She
moved in here anyway. I don’t think she ever got over his death.”

“You mean… She was
alone all those years?”

Collette grinned.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Not from the stories she shared with me. Your aunt
was a beautiful woman. Like you, if you don’t mind me saying. There were men in
the picture through the years, but she told me that her independence was very
important to her. I don’t think any man could match up to her fiancé. He was
her soul mate.”

Willa’s sudden yawn
startled both of them. “I’m sorry,” Willa said, covering her mouth. “It just hit
me how tired I am.”

“It’s been a long
day for you. Did you have something to eat on the plane? I put a chicken
casserole in the fridge.”