Sea Glass Inn (8 page)

“Yes, I’ll hold,” Pam said with a sigh. She watched Mel turn away from the damaged area and look around the rest of the downstairs.

It didn’t take long for her to scan the entire living room, and Pam knew her bare walls and uncluttered surfaces were more revealing than a room full of personal items would have been. Mel was bringing vibrancy and light to her run-down old inn, transforming it into something beautiful, but Pam brought nothing of herself to this house, hadn’t enhanced it in any way. Anyone could see how unproductive and uninspired she was.

She spent her days at the gallery surrounded by other people’s art, by reminders of her own emptiness. She found it soothing to come home and be free of the taunting creations, the explosions of color and inspiration. The few times she had invited women to her house, she had heard comments about how they had expected her to have paintings covering her walls and had expected an artist’s loft to be messy, as if she was constantly in the throes of creative passion. Well, Pam had had expectations of her own once upon a time. And she had realized they were never going to come true.

She had stopped bringing anyone to her home once she discovered how much of her soul was reflected in the barren environment, and seeing Mel walk through her space—and guessing at the judgments forming in her mind—made Pam feel as cracked open as the side of her house.

The contractor came back on the line and promised to be out by the end of the week to check the house and give her an estimate. Pam gave him the address. She would believe it when she actually saw him arrive on her doorstep.

“How did your house weather the storm?” she asked Mel after she turned off the phone.

“Aside from being cold and dark, there was no damage,” Mel said, putting the nature guide she had been leafing through back on the kitchen table. “I found the generator, but I didn’t have any idea how to run it. I’ll figure it out before the next blackout.”

Pam just nodded. No doubt Mel would learn how to use the generator before the week was out. Pam would commiserate as she, too, struggled with the aftermath of the storm. But she wasn’t obligated or expected to help. In fact, Mel wouldn’t want an offer of help. Usually women wanted something from Pam, not caring if she had problems of her own, but this new relationship was different.

Pam felt an easing in the tension she had experienced when Mel first walked into her house.

“How long will it take to fix that?” Mel gestured toward the dripping tarp.

“I have a couple of appointments set up,” Pam said. “We’ll see who gets here first. It’ll be at least a week, but more likely three.”

“Oh. I’ve finished the upstairs bedrooms, if you need a place to stay. Two of them even have beds.”

Pam heard the hesitation in Mel’s voice and she hurried to turn down the offer. Of course Mel would offer her place. She had a huge inn and an even bigger heart. Pam hoped she hadn’t sounded as if she’d been fishing for an invitation. It was tempting, especially when Pam remembered sitting on the steps leading to the beach talking with Mel, and the feel of Mel’s hand when Pam had brushed against it with her own. Even now she felt the tickle of the light touch, vibrating into her belly. She had to say no. Not because she couldn’t control her physical reaction to Mel—of course she could. But because she felt bad enough having Mel look around her empty house and make assumptions about how little she painted. She didn’t need to give her proof day after day. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer. But I’ll stay at a hotel. I know how busy you are without having a guest underfoot before you’re ready to open the inn.”

Mel was surprised by how disappointed she felt at Pam’s refusal.

She hadn’t realized just how lonely she was in the big house until she had extended the invitation. And this wouldn’t be just a stranger, someone passing through town briefly. This would be Pam—a woman Mel wanted to know better, a woman who could help Mel transition to life as a local. A woman she was attracted to…Mel hurried past that thought. She was attracted to Pam’s talent and her standing in the community. And she hadn’t quite shaken the residual fantasies of sipping wine on the porch with Pam and discussing art. Nothing more intimate than that.

“A hotel will be expensive, especially if it takes longer than you expect to get the work done,” Mel said, suddenly determined to convince Pam. “You won’t be in my way, and I’m sure you don’t mind a little paint smell.” She stopped talking, confused by Pam’s frown, and then continued. “I’d really love some company.”

“I have a dog,” Pam said, going over to the sliding glass door and opening it to let a small dog inside. “Her name is Piper.”

Mel knelt down and rubbed behind the animal’s soft ears. She was out of the habit of touching, of tactile contact with another being.

She felt hypersensitive to every brief contact, whether it was the rough and gentle feel of Pam’s hand or Piper’s silky coat. Texture, warmth, the feeling of blood and vitality flowing through another creature and into her. “She’s very polite,” she said as the dog sat quietly, accepting the attention without fuss. She and Richard had argued about having a dog in the house for several years before Mel had finally given up.

His complaints about dogs being destructive and intrusive couldn’t possibly have applied to this animal. A dog would keep her grounded, engaged. Not so lonely. Once the major repairs on her inn were complete, Mel would find a dog of her own. For now, she’d try to share Piper for a short time. “You must have trained her well.”

“She came that way,” Pam said. “I found her at the Clam Shack in Seaside. She was outside looking for handouts, and the waitress said she had been there for almost a week. I brought her home and tried to find her owner, but no one claimed her. She’s always been very quiet.”

“I love dogs. I figured I’d get one once I’m settled in the inn. I have a big backyard, and I’m sure Piper won’t mind how overgrown it is. You can’t make her stay in a hotel room.” Mel stood up. “Any more excuses?”

“I smoke,” Pam said, but Mel could see her mouth starting to curve in a smile.

“In the backyard,” Mel said. “So you’ll stay with me?”

“Maybe. Don’t you want to see your painting?”

“Oh, of course,” Mel said with a laugh. “I forgot why I came.”

Pam led the way to her small laundry room. She had given in to an irrational need to protect the painting from the remote possibility of water damage. Mel claimed to have forgotten about it, but Pam was certain she’d be more demanding about the mosaics once she had Pam under her roof.

She was only considering the offer of a place to stay because Piper would be happier in a house with a yard. She had tried to use Piper as a reason not to stay with Mel, but the plan had backfired. Pam had watched Mel’s gentle fingers scratching the dog’s ears, and she saw her eager expression when she talked about getting a dog of her own. Pam wondered if having a pet was yet another sacrifice Mel had made during her marriage. But she absolutely was not considering Mel’s offer because Mel’s voice had revealed too much loneliness when she admitted she wanted company.

Pam stood back as Mel followed her into the laundry room and silently stood in front of the painting. She’d be stupid to accept. She had a feeling Mel’s driving need to do everything in the inn on her own would be wearing off soon. She must be exhausted by the work she had done already, and soon she would be only too willing to enlist the help of her reluctant houseguest. In between nagging her for the rest of the paintings.

“It’s beautiful,” Mel finally said. Pam exhaled in relief. She had wanted just to paint anything in order to get Mel off her back, but she felt strangely happy to hear the truth in Mel’s voice. This wasn’t someone trying to impress her, flatter her, seduce her, like so many of the women who visited Pam’s gallery. She had seen Mel’s pride in her inn, and she believed Mel would only allow beauty in it. She wouldn’t display something she disliked on the walls she had worked so hard to transform. Pam had wanted Mel to like the painting, had trusted her to tell the truth when Pam was unable to judge it objectively. Neither the desire for approval nor the willingness to trust was normal for Pam.

She wasn’t sure which surprised her more.

“The black rock. It’s so powerful,” Mel continued. “And the starfish. I love how the tide is coming in to rescue them.”

Pam bit back the need to correct Mel and tell her the tide was flowing away from the starfish, not toward them. They were dying, cut off from the nourishment and protection of the sea. Starving in the same way Pam was when she tried to paint and nothing was there, or when she felt the familiar urge but desperately had to fight it off. But, of course, Mel would see the more hopeful version of the painting, just like she persevered in seeing Pam as someone talented, creative, productive.

Pam was accustomed to having other people see her paintings in different ways. Part of being an artist was letting go of her work and turning it over to be interpreted by the public, and she had experienced a similar disparity in viewpoint when Mel had bought her seascape.

But this time was different because for a brief moment she’d seen Mel’s optimistic perspective superimposed over the actual painting.

Then Pam’s focus had shifted, and she saw what was really there.

“Thank you, Pam,” Mel said. “I love it. It’ll be perfect in the front bedroom since I painted the walls a light lavender. You can stay in that room, too.”

Pam struggled to find words to explain why she couldn’t possibly live in one of those airy bedrooms and face the painting every day, but Mel brushed by her on the way out of the room with Piper right at her heels.

“Come on,” Mel said. “Let’s get you packed.”

Mel added more water to her scone batter, accidentally tipping the measuring cup too far and making a sticky mess. She sighed and added another handful of flour. Crazy. She had been baking for years, but today she was making breakfast for Pam as if she were a completely inexperienced cook. On their first morning together in the old inn.

Mel turned the dough out onto the counter and tried to knead it into submission, stopping now and again to scrape the gooey mess off her fingers. She hadn’t slept well, and she had finally given up the pretense and headed to her kitchen to make a trial run at a large breakfast. Already she was surrounded by the scents of cinnamon and cloves, the aromas reaching far back in her memory, back to weekend breakfasts when Danny was a child. She patted the overworked dough into a large circle and then cut it into wedges. She put the scones in the oven, set the timer, and checked them off her list. She didn’t have much faith in the ancient appliances, but maybe the oven would explode and destroy all evidence of her miserable scones.

Her microwave was reliable, so if all else failed, she could just serve nuked breakfast burritos every morning.

At least she had cleaned the kitchen so it was sanitary enough for cooking. Any major renovations would have to wait until the public areas of the house were finished. Mel tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and washed flakes of dough off her hands before starting on the fruit salad. Appliances aside, she loved the old kitchen with its intricate tile backsplash in jewel tones of blues and greens, the old-fashioned enamel sink, and the large window with its view of the backyard and a glimpse of the ocean beyond it. Right now she could just see Pam’s head where she sat at the top of the stairs leading to the beach. She was bundled against the cool morning breeze and, judging by the haze surrounding her, smoking a cigarette. Waving grass was the only sign of Piper’s exploration of the yard.

After all her insistence on dragging Pam back to her house yesterday, Mel had felt strangely shy once they had moved Pam’s suitcases upstairs. She had been proud to have Pam walk through the room and see the improvements she’d made. But having Pam live there? Oddly disquieting. How much more intrusive would it be when strangers came to stay? Mel was going to have guests living in her home—plenty of them, she hoped, for her bank account’s sake—and she needed to get comfortable with the idea. At least Pam was an acquaintance. A friend.

Or was her discomfort worse
because
Pam was a friend? One she was admittedly attracted to? Mel sliced the skin off an orange, narrowly missing her thumb, and cut segments of the fruit into her bowl. Mel had decorated the room, cleaned the bathroom, and made the bed. Her personal touch was everywhere. Pam would sleep between the sheets Mel had chosen, shower behind the see-through curtain with its pattern of lilac and green seashells. Dry off with the fluffy purple towels Mel had picked after running her hands over every option in the store. The intimacy of Pam’s presence was overwhelming. She’d infused the room with the scent of the ocean more indelibly than opening a window would do.

Mel licked the sweet orange juice off her palm before washing her hands again and starting on a melon. She had lived without any intimacy for years, coexisting in a house with Danny and Richard, and she had been unprepared for the experience of having someone outside of her family living under her roof. The sensation of being pulled to a woman was so unexpected. How much more unfamiliar to have her close—so very close—at night, in the darkness, when the only sound was the steady pounding of the surf. But Mel could either ask Pam to leave or give herself time to adjust to the reawakening feelings inside her. To enjoy the stirrings as she came back to life.

Mel caught herself staring out the back window instead of cutting up cantaloupe. She turned toward the stove and away from the sight of Pam walking slowly back to the house. She had to admit, she liked having someone else in the creaky old house. She liked having
Pam
there. For all her inscrutable silences and changing moods, she was easy company, and Mel sensed an honesty in her that she appreciated. Pam’s features flowed between tension and release with no in-betweens, like a seesaw moving from one extreme to the other, unable to rest on its fulcrum. Pam had a tightness around her eyes and mouth when she looked at her paintings or even, sometimes, at Mel.