Return to Pelican Inn (Love by Design) (19 page)

She pressed her hands together. Rosa struggled to breathe, as if the oxygen had been vacuumed from the room.

Manny gaped. “In the Captain’s Nest? All this time? And you kept it from me, Bitsy?”

Bitsy looked at her hands. “My brother, you, Pike, Leo. What could I do? How could I keep you all from getting hurt?”

Pike moved a step closer, realization dawning on his face. “Leo was the one who stole the film out of Manny’s car. He had the pictures developed and you know what’s on them.”

Her lips trembled.

“I think you need to give them to me, Aunt Bitsy.”

“No, Pike. It’s over and done. There’s no reason.”

He held his hand out. “There is every reason. Give them to me.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, honey, remember that,” she whispered. Her hands shook as she reached into her pocket and gave the pictures to Pike. “Your father felt he had no other choice.”

He opened the package and thumbed through them. Though nothing changed on his face, something flattened out in his eyes, extinguishing every emotion except one: a deep and penetrating despair.

Rosa reached a hand toward him. “Pike, what is it?”

He put the pictures back into the packet and tossed them to Manny, who caught them against his chest. “Here,” Pike said, tone hard and bitter. “I think these belong to you.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Manny said, staring at Bitsy.

Pike headed for the door.

“Wait, Pike.” Rosa started after him, but he waved her away.

He slammed the kitchen door with such force the house shook. For a long moment, everyone stared at the door, the panes of glass rattling.

Manny gripped the photos, tapping them absently on his thigh. “That was a long time coming.”

Bitsy’s face was ashen. “Not long enough.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

R
OSA
DID
NOT
SLEEP
that night, even with Baggy curled up between her ankles, snoring. Cy tossed and turned, as well, a thing unheard-of for her twin. The photos stored in the Captain’s Nest were exactly what Manny had claimed all those years ago, proof that Ben Matthews tampered with
Poppy’s Dream
to sink her for the insurance money. At least Manny now understood that Pike had no idea what his father had done. It was clear in the naked anguish of Pike’s eyes. The sound of the slammed door still vibrated in her ears.

She could not imagine how Pike must be feeling, learning the truth of what he had steadfastly refused to believe. His father, lawyer, mentor, champion, had been a liar and a fraud. Worse yet, the man was deceased and Pike had been cheated out of a chance to confront him. Bitsy had known the truth, as had Leo and Manny, and that probably shamed Pike all the more. The scene from the night before rolled across her memory in frightful detail.

It upset Rosa to learn that her father had been in love with Bitsy even while his own wife succumbed to alcoholism, but she found she could not be as angry as she would have been some two weeks before. Manny Franco had loved his wife enough to stay faithful—so much, in fact, that he kept returning to her as his mind slowly departed. Bitsy was right. Emotions did do their own thing sometimes.

Hers were rioting at the moment. All she could think about was Pike. Why? she wondered. Her father’s life mission, during his working years, had been to finish the case against Ben Matthews and now he had. Pike obviously had no involvement in the crime. The wound that surfaced on his face at the moment he saw the pictures haunted her, and she would give anything to comfort him.

Why? Why? Why?

Wind jiggled the shutters into a mournful symphony.

Because you love him.

It was the unavoidable conclusion and one she did not want to make. They had so much negative history, and she did not want to love again, not after Foster tore her heart in two. Yet she could no longer deny it. She loved Pike Matthews, and she’d watched him destroyed, right there in the kitchen of the inn that he cherished as much as she did, his spirit sunk like
Poppy’s Dream.

Cy might have said, once upon a time before Piper, that they could get past it, that old wounds would heal in the face of relentless love. Piper’s betrayal had tarnished some of his bright optimism and made him more like Rosa, a realist. They would not get past it, because Pike was a proud man who now would want nothing to do with the Freako Francos who had hammered the nail in the coffin of his father’s guilt. So love for Pike would remain locked away in the silent place in her heart where no light ever shone.

She got up well before dawn. Cy was not in his bed. She scooped up the groggy dog and made her way downstairs where she found her brother painting the bathroom.

“It’s four in the morning.”

He continued to apply the paint in smooth, steady strokes. “I shouldn’t have hit him. I’m not a hitter.”

“He provoked you. I think he had a feeling about what was in that packet and he wanted to lash out, to keep it from happening, maybe.”

“No excuse.”

The smell of new paint was thick in the small space. “Cy, what do you think about Dad and Bitsy?”

His brush paused. “I think they made the right choice to stay faithful.”

“Me, too.” She twiddled with Baggy’s ear. “What do you suppose they’ll do now that they’re, er, unattached? I mean, with Dad’s condition and all?”

“They’re adults, Rosa. They’ll decide what’s best for themselves.”

Two adults free to make their own choices, with many hard years behind them and even harder ones ahead. It was far from romantic. The reality of life often was.

“I’ll go check on Dad.”

“Already did. He’s asleep, but just to be safe, I hid the ladder.”

She sighed. “Good plan. I’ll go make some coffee.”

“I shouldn’t have hit him,” Cy repeated.

Rosa squeezed his shoulder.
I shouldn’t have done a lot of things,
she thought. Maybe if her ferocious need to prove herself hadn’t brought them here, none of this would have happened. Cy’s beautiful, nail-framed mirror sat on the floor against the hallway wall, reflecting her brother’s efforts and the angst expressed on his generous face.

“I think Pike probably feels the same way.” She gave him a final squeeze and padded to the kitchen, filling a bowl for Baggy with some dog kibble she softened with chicken broth.

When the coffee was perking, she stepped out into the garden, inhaling the storm-washed air. The flowers were bowed down with moisture, bent and nearly broken from the deluge the day before. Rocky emerged from the henhouse, startling her, Stu just behind him.

“Sorry. Didn’t get the eggs gathered yesterday. Figured we’d get ’em before we clean up from the storm damage and start on the attic once everyone is up.”

She smiled. Faithful friends, these two. She was sorry she had not paid them more attention in the years she lived there as a teen. “Coffee’s perking inside and I think there’s cinnamon bread for toast. Help yourself.”

“Gonna scramble me and Stu some eggs. Stu does better with protein in the morning. That okay?”

“Only if you make extra for me and Cy. We’re early birds this morning, too.”

He gave her a thumbs-up.

“Rocky, you knew about the stolen things, and you kept Bitsy’s secret for her. I understand now why you did that. Leo didn’t make things easy on Bitsy.”

He shrugged. “People do bad things—doesn’t make ’em bad. Leo wasn’t bad.”

She sighed. “I suppose that’s true.”

“We were gonna make it right someday. Just never happened.”

The sky began to shift ever so subtly from black to gray, reflecting the puddles of water that dotted the delicate stone walkway. She felt the weight of the ruin all around her. “Everything is a real mess. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do?” He blinked, hoisting the basket. “Finish what you started.” She watched as he carried the collection of Esmerelda’s best work into the kitchen.

A light flicked on in the carriage house and Manny opened the door, clad in a pair of pajamas borrowed from Rocky. He wore the confused look she’d come to dread.

“Dad, do you need something?”

“Oh, I was just looking for your mother. She’s putting together all those silly scrapbooks in the kitchen, I think.”

Rosa took his arm and turned him back to his makeshift room. “I’ll check on her, I promise.”

“Dunno why she sticks down all those pictures. I told her we’re a great family and we don’t need photographic proof.” He laughed and allowed her to guide him inside, where he slid back underneath the covers.

“Go back to sleep for a while, Dad. It will be morning soon.”

“All right then, princess.”

She turned to go.

“I was, wasn’t I, Rosa?”

“Was what?”

“I was a good dad, wasn’t I?”

The vulnerability in his expression skewered her with a razor-sharp pain. A good dad? Who loved another woman? Left his children because he was too weak to handle their pain and his own? Losing his mind one slow minute at a time?

Flickers of memory danced through her heart like an old-time penny slide show. The tears, hurt, joy and hardship that rolled them along through the years. She recalled the feel of the sand in her mouth when she’d thrown herself down onto the beach and screamed her anger and betrayal into the ground, the smile on her father’s face when she’d learned how to stand on a surfboard. She relived the thick and weighty fear that she felt when she saw him standing on the slick roof in the middle of a howling storm. Was that what love was? A kaleidoscope of feelings that turned around one pivotal fact: in all the world, there was only one man whom she called Dad. Flawed, weak, selfish, nutty, genuine, ridiculous, petty. Dad.

“Yes,” she said, through eyes gone blurry with tears. “You were a good dad.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and pulled the blanket around him before she stumbled out into the garden again, mind and heart spinning.

Dad. Bitsy. Cy. Rocky. Stu...and Pike. What was she to do with this life that had been turned upside down and backward since she arrived a couple of short weeks ago? Filled with people she’d come to love and desperately did not want to disappoint.

Finish what you started.

What had she started here? Refurbishing an inn that had meant so much to people for more than a hundred and fifty years? Her eyes wandered over the regal house, the peaked roof, the Captain’s Nest that had preserved secrets across the generations. She’d thought she’d come back here to prove something to herself, that she was good enough professionally. She’d discovered something altogether different; that she was good enough to be loved and big enough to forgive. In spite of the ache in her heart at the thought of Pike.

Finish what you started.

It was not the will to win a contest anymore that fired inside her, but a desire to restore the home that was as battered as the hearts within it. It was all she could do, and by gum, she would do it.

She went into the house and cracked open a can of paint.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

R
OSA
PAINTED
,
SANDED
,
taped and tidied her way through the day, until the dinner hour arrived and she found herself sitting at a table full of weary workers. Rocky and Stu reported that bee containment had been achieved and the last comb removed. That was a relief, since decorating while sporting a beekeeping hat had proved next to impossible. Shining jars of amber-colored honey now filled the cupboard, including the batch Bitsy insisted Rocky keep to sell at the farmers’ market.

Manny had scurried along in Rocky’s wake, reapplying Sheetrock and completing the taping and texturing work. The guest bath was once again painted and the incredible mirror installed, to everyone’s admiration. The Marmoleum floor remained in pristine condition. Rosa should have felt a sense of satisfaction at a job well done.

Instead, she looked at the kitchen, which she hadn’t really finished. The garden was still a storm-ravaged wreck since Stu and Rocky had been pulled away for hive removal duty, and the lovely first-floor bedroom, nicknamed the West Bedroom, was waiting to be tackled. Everywhere she looked, there were unfinished projects and none of them were the real root of her dissatisfaction.

Pike was gone.

His withdrawal cast a pall over her that would not lift even if she completed a project worthy of a
House Beautiful
cover. Bitsy felt it, too, she was sure. She’d overheard her aunt leaving message after message on Pike’s cell phone until the voice mailbox was full and would accept no more. Though Bitsy insisted on preparing a full dinner despite being on crutches, her face was lined with fatigue. At least Manny seemed to have forgiven her for her subterfuge.

Poor Bitsy. Was she regretting ever inviting Cy and Rosa back to Tumbledown? There had to be something Rosa could do to improve the situation.

“Hey, you two,” Rosa said to Manny and Bitsy. “Julio called to say there’s a marshmallow roast on the beach tonight. I think it’s a fundraiser for the Historical Society. He’s angling for funds for a new display to share the power of Mr. Herzberg’s written word or some such thing. Why don’t you go? I want to pick up a few things at the hardware store before it closes, so I’ll take you.”

Bitsy waved a hand. “Oh, I’m too tired, Rosa. You and Cy go, if you want to.”

Manny straightened in his chair. “Hold on. Are you telling me that the leading lady of Tumbledown isn’t attending a fundraiser for the good of Mr. Herzberg’s legacy? I can’t be hearing that right.”

Bitsy laughed. “I’m not the leading lady of anything. Soon I won’t even be in charge of this inn anymore.”

Manny stood and gave a courtly bow. “All the more reason to celebrate while we can. Would you do me the honor of coming to the marshmallow roast with me, Bits? You don’t want an old man to go all by himself, do you? They’re all hoping for you to come, and I’ll be a sore disappointment, for sure.” He offered puppy-dog eyes and a quivering lip.

Rosa was relieved to see the sparkle return to Bitsy’s face. “How could I resist an offer like that?” She accepted his hand as he assisted her out of her seat. “I’ll go spruce up and get my warm coat. We’ll have to put my leg in a garbage bag or something, to keep the sand out.”

Cy loaned Manny a heavy jacket since his father’s had burned up in the trailer fire. Manny picked up the packet of photos from where it had been flung on the coffee table and pocketed it. “Better keep a closer eye on these this time.”

Rosa wanted to ask what he intended to do with the photos but she didn’t want to ruin the mood, so she pressed a kiss to his temple.

“What’d I do to earn that?”

“You cheered Bitsy up. And I happen to know you don’t even like marshmallows.”

He chuckled. “At least I’m still good for something.”

She smoothed his collar. “You’re good for Bitsy. I know it hurt you that she kept the photos a secret.”

He shrugged. “She had to protect her brother and her husband. I would have done the same for Katy, if I had to.”

A soft warmth banked in her chest. For however long it would last, her father would bring out the best in Bitsy, and she in him.

Cy elected to tear up the worn carpet in the West Bedroom instead of roasting marshmallows, so Rosa left Baggy in his care. The dog seemed happy to park himself in the hallway outside the project area to both keep an eye on his energetic owner and stay out of the danger zone. Now that the storm had passed, Baggy was his usual jolly self.

Rosa drove them to town, dropping them as close to the beach as she could before heading to the hardware store. She scooted in ten minutes before closing time to buy the last two plastic tarps in the store and another half-dozen paint brushes, rollers and a can of primer. A quick mental calculation told her they’d just passed the forty-five-hundred-dollar mark. Not much in the way of funds left. Probably didn’t matter anyway at this point, but she would abide by the contest rules. Arms full, she passed a shelf piled high with white overalls and painter’s caps. Rosa’s heart squeezed.

Where are you, Pike?

She forced herself onward and plopped the purchases down on the counter. Mr. Sorenson gave her a radiant grin. “Guess I’ll be ordering more tarps. Maybe I’ll even sell out of those white overalls if you stay in town. Tried to get him to stock up when he was here, but no dice.”

She blinked. “Pike was here? When?”

“An hour or so ago. Came in for a lighter. Didn’t know he smoked. Did you?”

She felt a tingle of unease deep inside. “No, I didn’t. Thank you, Mr. Sorenson.”

“Anytime. If that contest goes on much longer, I’m going to assign you your own parking place.” His delighted chortle followed her out of the store.

A lighter.

She couldn’t dislodge the tension from her mind. Dropping the supplies in the car, she realized she didn’t know what time to retrieve her father and aunt from the festivities. She picked her way down to the beach where a campfire blazed, shooting golden sparks into the darkness.

Julio approached her with a can. “Care to make a donation?”

Eager to preempt the dissertation she knew was coming, Rosa dropped a couple of quarters into the slot. Julio apparently saw another potential donor approach, as he gave her a quick head bob and trundled off.

Bitsy, she was relieved to note, was smiling and chatting, the life and soul of the circle of people who sat in camp chairs and took turns incinerating marshmallows. Her plastic-wrapped cast was propped up. Manny sat quietly, looking content just to be within Bitsy’s orbit, listening to the ebb and flow of conversation. It was all so very cheerful, the couples snuggled together under blankets, the crackle of the fire, the hum of laughter.

Rosa stood in the shadows—unwilling to intrude, she told herself. Her hesitation was more likely due to a rising sense of melancholy at the realization that she was on the outside looking in. Beach campfires were a place for couples. She suddenly felt very far away from the party.

Deciding she would check in later, Rosa backed away, trudging across the sand, which infiltrated her grimy sneakers until she took them off. Down the beach, another flicker of light advertised a smaller campfire and she meandered along the shore in that direction.

The ocean was calm, having spent its fury the previous day. Now the waves licked delicately at the sand with tongues of white foam. The raucous gulls had settled down in their concealed nests and there was only the sound of surf and Rosa’s feet plowing across the wet ribbon of land.

She came upon him quite suddenly. Pike stood in the undulating smoke from the fire. He stared for a long time at the piece of wood in his hand, caressing it before he tossed it into the flames.

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

Pike jerked in her direction. “Rosa. What are you doing here?”

“Out for a walk.” Her pulse had revved up a notch at the sight of him. “Nice night for a campfire.”

He didn’t answer, staring into the flames.

She moved closer, toward the warmth, close enough to confirm that the kindling was not driftwood or logs. “Pike,” she gasped. “Please tell me that’s not
Poppy’s Dream.
”

“It is.”

She ran forward to pull the wood from the flames, but it was too late—the beam shone white gold as the fire consumed it. Horror constricted her breathing as she regarded the pile of wood waiting to be burned.
Poppy’s Dream
lay like a bier of discarded bones awaiting the funeral pyre. “But it’s your dream, Pike. How could you burn it?”

“It’s not my dream anymore.” His voice was flat and dull. “My dad sank her, sent her to the bottom of the ocean to defraud the insurance company.” He balled his hands into fists as he watched the smoke curl and twist.

“That was your dad’s choice, Pike. You can’t punish yourself for his decision.”

Something inside him leaped to life. “Don’t you get it, Rosa?” he barked. “I became a lawyer to be like my dad. My job is the law and my father...” His voice broke. “My father was a criminal.”

She moved closer, reached out for his hand but he shied away. “Your dad. Not you.”

“Everyone knew the truth but me. I loved him, worshipped him. He sank my boat and he knew it meant everything to me.” He grabbed up a piece of wood and heaved it into the fire.

She could not hold back a cry.

“And all the time, he lied. He sank
Poppy’s Dream
and he lied to me. I thought Manny was a hypocrite, going after Dad when he had his own sins to bear, but he was right all along.” Pike’s voice rose to a shout. “He was right all along.”

“Listen to me,” Rosa said, desperate to free him from the grip of his despair. “People are weak and stupid sometimes. You can’t destroy yourself because he disappointed you.
Poppy’s Dream
can be restored. It can be rebuilt, and if that’s your passion, you should do it.”

He shook his head. “Why, Rosa?” he said, the words throbbing with emotion as he stared at her, eyes reflecting the blaze. “Why should I try anymore to hold on to that ridiculous dream? There’s no reason except insanity.” He swung around to grab another piece of the boat from the pile and send it into the fire.

“I’m not going to let you do that,” she said. “You’re being an idiot.”

“Then let me be an idiot in peace. Go away. I don’t want you here.”

The words cut into her, stinging like salt water on a wound.
I don’t want you here. I don’t want you.
To her surprise, instead of crushing her spirit, they kindled something altogether different. If Pike would not listen to reason, then she would hammer it into him. As he reached down to grab one of the boat’s ribs, she took aim at his middle section and ran at him, hitting him from behind with all the energy she could muster.

Cy would have been impressed with her tackle. Pike slammed down into the sand, face first, and she knelt across his shoulders until the oxygen hissed out of his lungs.

“You’re going to listen to me, Pike Matthews, because I’m smarter than you are and I’m not letting you up until you do.”

He grunted something and tried to rise, but the shifting surface did not afford much leverage, and Rosa’s weight kept his cheek pressed to the grit.

“I’m telling you this,” she said in his ear, her own pulse thundering louder than the surf as the truth issued forth, “because I love you. I don’t know why. You are an idiot sometimes, and arrogant. You don’t appreciate the proper condiments on your hot dog and you can’t operate a screwdriver to save your soul. But something about you is special, do you hear me?”

Her throat went dry at what she’d just admitted, but there was no going back. “Not the lawyer part, but something in your soul that I saw that day on
Poppy’s Dream
when we sailed together. Do you remember that day? How you felt? How everything was right inside you?”

Pike went still, his breath puffing at the sand, grains sticking to his cheek. No answer, but grief crimped his lips together and she was pained to know she’d had a part in it. No going back.

She let go with one hand, to stroke his hair, unable to resist. She bent closer. “I know what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you love. It hurts so bad that you think you might die.” Tears sprang into her eyes and she put her head down, touching her forehead to his cheek. “But you’ll be better for it, stronger because of what you’ve been through, like when you sand away the old paint and primer to find the good wood down deep.” The crackling fire mingled with her pulse as she hoped and prayed that he would understand. “Are you hearing me, Pike?”

In a surge of motion, he pulled up his knees and got to his feet, sending her sliding to the sand on her bottom. Towering over her, hands on hips, he glared. “Are you crazy?”

She got to her feet.
Crazy.
No doubt she was for spilling her guts.

Sand stuck to his face in a gritty streak. “You just tackled me. That’s how you handle someone dealing with emotional trauma?”

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Because you didn’t have a stapler handy? Or nonstick spray?”

“You’re hardheaded and you wouldn’t listen.”

“Hardheaded?” He gaped. “You’re calling
me
hardheaded?”

“That’s what I said, Matthews.” She stood, brushed off her jeans and faced him. “I apologize for trying to get you to see reason. By all means, go back to burning your boat, Pike. Torch it all, and in the morning maybe you won’t regret it. Then again, maybe you will, you big dope.”

His mouth opened in an O but nothing came out.

“Speechless, counselor? I will alert the media.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around, pulling her body close to his. “You are the most infuriating...”

She tried to yank away, but he held her fast. “Boat burner,” she said.

“Irrational...” His fingers tightened on her shoulders.

“Screwdriver dropper.” She could not stop looking at the curve of his mouth.

“Rosa...”

“What?”

“I should have told you sooner, but you are just so exasperating.”