On Sunset Beach: The Chesapeake Diaries Page 18

  She moved across the hall and turned on the overhead light.

  “Lots of wall space in here.” She folded her arms across her chest and wandered around the room. “Very nice. Yes, I think we can easily sell this as the place you’d most want to see your work displayed.”

  “ ‘Here’s your chance to see your work hanging in a historic mansion.’ ”

  “You’re good at this.” Carly smiled.

  “I’m a quick study.” He returned the smile. “Maybe I’ll toss in a little local history, you know, about the house and the original owners, and how the Enrights came to own it.”

  “How did they come to own it?”

  “Bought it from the widow of a Confederate officer who died at Gettysburg. I think I remember hearing something about this place being a stop on the Underground Railroad.”

  “That would make sense, with the river running right along the back of the property.”

  “And I could add something about how the idea for the gallery grew out of Curtis’s desire to have an art center in town.”

  “You really are a quick study.”

  “Well, that, and my mom did mention that that’s what started the ball rolling.”

  “You can say that I’m looking forward to seeing works of our local living artists hanging here in this grand hallway. We need to play up that angle. I think people will relate more to the house than to the carriage house, because so many of them knew the family that lived here. And I think we should put my email address in the article, tell people if they’d like to have their works considered for exhibit to contact me and we’ll make arrangements for me to look at their paintings.”

  “You’ll get all kinds of crazies wanting to show you their etchings, you know.” A half smile played on his lips, and it was all she could do to look away from that sexy mouth.

  “What’s that old saying about kissing a lot of frogs before you find a prince?” She laughed. “I don’t mind looking at amateur works because there’s always the possibility that I’ll discover something wonderful.”

  “And if all you find are a bunch of frogs?”

  “That’s okay, too. I’m expecting most of it to be bad. But even bad artists like to show off their stuff, and you can almost always find something positive to say.” She held up her hand and began to count off. “You can say, ‘Oh, I love the way you use color.’ Or, ‘That’s an interesting perspective.’ Or, ‘How original. I wouldn’t have thought to have painted the sky brown.’ ”

  “Are you always this positive?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly.

  “Why not? Life is too short. Why surround yourself with negative energy when you can be positive?”

  “When life gives you lemons, and all that.”

  “Exactly. I mean, what’s the alternative? Suck on the lemons?”

  Ford frowned. “You sound like my mother.”

  “Your mother is a very wise and sensitive woman, a positive force in her own right. I’m surprised that you’re not more like her.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s been my experience that if shit is going to happen, it’s going to happen, good vibes or not.”

  “You’re very cynical, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Just logical. You can’t control whether good things or bad things happen just because you think good thoughts.” He paused. “I remember there was some kids’ book where one of the characters told the others to think good thoughts …”

  “Peter Pan.” Carly nodded. “When he was teaching the Darling children to fly.”

  “Right. And we all know what happened to them, don’t we? Caught by pirates and tied up. Made to walk the plank.”

  Carly laughed, turned off the lights, and gestured toward the front door. “I think you have all the pictures you need.”

  “I do.” He followed her outside and waited while she locked the door. “Oh, before I forget …” He removed a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s the name and phone number of the security guy I was telling you about. He’s expecting your call.”

  “Thanks. I’ll definitely get in touch with him. I really haven’t liked any of the proposals I’ve seen so far.”

  “Let me know before you call him, and I’ll give him a heads-up.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “How ’bout I drop off a copy of the article before it goes to the printer? You know, in case you want to add something, or change something.”

  “That would be great. Either way, just give me a call. By the way, how’s Grace doing? Is she home yet?”

  “She’s doing great. They’re springing her tomorrow.”

  “Please tell her I’ve been thinking about her and I’ll stop over one day after she gets settled.”

  “I’ll do that.” He slid his phone back into his pocket. “So where’s home this week?”

  “The house I’m renting is on Hudson Street. Right around the corner from Cherry. It’s a really cute place, but it’s going to take me a few days to settle in.”

  “Hey, if you need help with anything, just let me know.”

  “I might take you up on that. Thanks.” Carly opened the driver’s-side door of her car.

  “So I’ll give you a call when the article is finished.” Ford closed the door for her after she’d slid in behind the wheel.

  “Great. I’ll talk to you then.”

  Carly started the engine, waited for Ford to back out of the driveway. He hit his horn one time as he drove away, and she waved in return. She drove straight across Old St. Mary’s Church onto Hudson, where she made a left turn. A few blocks down, she pulled into her driveway and sat in the car for a moment, studying the little house that so quickly and unexpectedly had become her home. Smiling, she went inside and dropped her bag on the dining room table on her way to the kitchen. She opened and closed the cabinet doors, then the drawers. It was all so woefully empty, especially for someone who loved to cook. Her kitchen at home was well stocked with just about everything she could ever need, and there was no point in replacing everything here, but there were staples that she just had to have. Driving back to Connecticut to pick up some household things was out of the question. She didn’t have a few days to waste. She made a list of her absolute necessities, then weighed the pros and cons of running out to find a store nearby that carried everything she wanted, or ordering online.

  Online, with overnight delivery, won out. She could pick up some takeout for dinner and have a simple breakfast in the morning, and by this time tomorrow night, all of her purchases would have arrived. Satisfied with her decision, she opened her laptop and began to order her must-haves. When she finished, she drove into town and picked up dinner from the Thai restaurant on Charles Street, then went back to her house to eat and finish unpacking her clothes. A summer storm was brewing and the temperature was beginning to drop, so she opened all the windows to let out the warm air of the day and turned on the ceiling fans in the bedroom and the living room.

  By ten P.M., she was exhausted, but the only thing left on her to-do list was to grab a quick shower before she fell into her new bed in her new bedroom. She stretched her legs and sighed, listening to the drum of raindrops on the roof, so pleased to have accomplished so much in so short a time. She was well on her way to falling asleep when it occurred to her that Ford could have offered to email his article to her instead of bringing it over himself. Smiling into her pillow at the thought of seeing him again so soon, she turned over and went to sleep.

  Chapter 15

  “WELL, now I know how Cleopatra felt, riding on one of those litters, being carried by handsome young men.” Grace forced a smile as the two EMTs lifted her and carried her from the bottom of the steps to the top of the staircase, where Dan and Lucy waited with a wheelchair. “Without the canopy, of course.”

  After she’d been deposited into the chair and the footrests adjusted to accommodate her broken leg, Grace wrinkled her nose and
frowned. “A wheelchair. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be forced into using one of these.”

  “It’s only temporary, Mom.” Ford came up the steps carrying some of his mother’s belongings that they’d gathered from her hospital room. “Where do you want your stack of get-well cards?”

  “It depends on where you’re going to hole me up, doesn’t it?” she grumbled as Lucy began to wheel her down the hall to the family’s living quarters.

  “Thanks, guys.” Ford saluted the EMTs before following the chair.

  “Good luck,” one of the guys tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the lobby.

  “No kidding,” Ford muttered under his breath.

  “You got this?” Dan asked.

  “Oh, sure.” Ford continued down the hallway. “You’ve got work to do. Go do it.”

  “Thanks. Let me know if Mom needs anything.” Dan turned and went down the steps.

  “Mom,” Ford called when he reached the open door of the family suite.

  “In here,” Lucy returned the call.

  Ford went into the living room and found his mother staring out the window.

  “I’m trapped,” she told him. “Trapped in an aging body and a cast that weighs more than the rest of me.”

  “Mom, it’s only—” he began.

  She cut him off. “Temporary. Thank you. You don’t need to keep telling me that. But how would you feel if you were stuck someplace and couldn’t go where you wanted to go, or do what you wanted to do?” She glowered at him.

  He could have replied that he was starting to feel a bit of that himself, stuck in St. Dennis, playing Jimmy Olsen when he’d rather be out on the Bay, but he knew better than to even hint at the comparison.

  “I understand, Mom, but right now it can’t be helped. So we do what we have to do to get past this, right?” He could have been talking to himself. “Isn’t that what you always told us?”

  Grace sighed deeply. “I’m sorry to take it out on you. I’m just so frustrated. I’ve never had a broken bone, never been dependent on anyone to do a damned thing for me, and yet, here I sit. Even need someone to get my tea for me.”

  “I know it’s tough on you. I do understand.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “But we’re all here to help you, and none of us mind fetching your tea.”

  “Am I going to be stuck up here on the second floor until this cast is off?” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “You want to go downstairs, outside, to Cuppachino for coffee in the morning, you let me know. I’ll make sure you get to wherever you want to be, Mom.”

  “You’re a good boy, Ford.” She reached out to take his hand. “There are no words to tell you how happy I am that you are here right now.”

  “I’m happy to be here,” he said, surprising himself when he realized how much he meant it.

  “Here’s your tea, Mom.” Lucy came into the room carrying a tray with a carafe, a cup, and a plate piled high with scones and croissants. “Franca baked these this morning. She thought you might want a snack.”

  Lucy set the tray on a small side table on the left side of the wheelchair, within reach of her mother’s good hand.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete,” Grace muttered. “Who does she think is going to eat all of that?”

  “I’m sure she was thinking you’d be sharing with your son. Your favorite son.” Ford reached for a scone. “Oh, boy. Chocolate.”

  “You’re just like you were when you were a kid.” Grace smiled for the first time that morning.

  Ford pulled over a side chair and straddled it.

  “Careful,” Grace warned. “That chair’s an antique. Queen Anne. Been in—”

  “—the family for years. Same as it was when I was a kid.” He grinned at her, took a bite of the scone, and she laughed.

  “I may have to marry Franca,” he said before taking another bite. “We should keep her in the family.”

  “Every family should have a great pastry chef,” Lucy agreed. “However, Franca’s already married.”

  “A technicality.” He finished the scone and reached for one of the napkins on the tray.

  “You got crumbs on the floor,” Lucy pointed out.

  “We have housekeeping service here, right?” he asked, only half kidding.

  Under his mother’s glare, he got up and picked up the crumbs and dumped them into a nearby trash can.

  “Mom, can I get you anything else?” Lucy asked.

  “No, dear. Now go on to your meeting or you’ll be late. Not the best first impression for a potential client.”

  Lucy started for the door. “If you’re sure …”

  “Luce, I’m here. I can handle it,” Ford reminded her. After his sister closed the door behind her, he asked Grace, “Want to read my latest article for the Gazette?”

  “You have next week’s article finished already?” Grace set her cup down on the wheelchair’s tray, the crumbs already forgotten.

  “I do. Complete with photos.”

  “Yes, of course I want to see it.”

  “It’s in my room.” He got up and headed for the door. “Back in a minute.”

  It actually took him seven, but he’d have thought it was an hour judging by his mother’s impatience.

  “What took you so long?” She held out her left hand and he gave her the pages he’d printed out.

  He started to say something, but she shushed him. She’d already started to read.

  When she finished, she looked up over the frame of her glasses.

  “This is a better first draft than the last one.”

  “First draft?” Ford frowned. “That’s, like, the twentieth draft.”

  “Then permit me to help you out with number twenty-one.”

  He might have been more annoyed than he was if not for the fact he could tell, for at least that little slice of time, his mother seemed to forget she was in a wheelchair and had no use of her right hand.

  “I can’t write a thing with my left hand, so you’re going to have to make the revisions as I read them to you. Now scoot that chair closer so you can see.” She swung the wheelchair tray to the left so he could lean on it to write.

  For the next hour, Grace revised and Ford wrote. At first, it was an exercise to be tolerated, but before long, he found himself asking, “Why write it that way?” and “Why’d you take out that part?” and “Why’d you change that word?” and “Why’d you move this photo to this spot?”

  “Why, why, why,” Grace said at one point. “You didn’t ask this many ‘whys’ as a three-year-old.”

  But he could tell she was pleased by his interest, so he sat with her until they’d completed the piece.

  “Well, that’s quite a repair job, Mom.”

  “I hope you’re not insulted, dear.”

  “Not really. I guess this is the sort of stuff I should know if I’m going to be doing this for another week or so.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how much longer she thought she might be laid up, but he knew better than to ask. She’d assume—correctly—that he was wanting out of the assignment.

  Then again, with his reporting duties no longer necessary, he’d lose his excuse to spend time with Carly.

  He wasn’t quite ready to examine that thought too closely.

  “I’ll call Lucy back upstairs so she can sit with you while I go down to the office and type this up.” Ford stood and returned the chair to its place next to the table under the window.

  “No need, dear. I think I’ll take a catnap.” She closed her eyes and rested her head.

  “I don’t think you should sleep in the chair,” he told her. “What if you fall out? I think you should sleep on your own bed.”

  “And I think you should mind your own business,” she replied, but he could tell by the way the corners of her mouth turned up slightly that she wasn’t offended. “I’ll be fine. Don’t bother Lucy. She has work to do. And so,” she added without opening her eyes, “do you.”

  He
stood in the doorway. “Do you want me to—”

  “The only thing I want you to do is rewrite that article.”

  “Right.”

  Ford closed the door behind him softly and went one flight down to his mother’s office. He turned on the laptop, pulled up the file, and began to make the changes Grace had suggested.

  Suggested, he mused. Probably not the right word for the way his mother had sliced and diced through his article.

  By the time he finished and read the article over one last time, he had to admit that it was, in fact, better than it had been originally. He made a mental note of the changes Grace had made and her reasons for doing so, so he’d remember next time. It was late afternoon by the time he finished, and he debated whether to call Carly and drop off a copy right then, when he knew she’d be at the carriage house, or to wait for a few hours so he could stop by the place she rented on Hudson Street.

  Hudson Street, definitely.

  That would give him time to spend an hour or so on the Bay, something he hadn’t done in several days, and he was itching for not only the solitude but the exercise. He turned off the laptop, left the article on the desk, and headed out to the boathouse.

  Carly arrived home to find boxes stacked on her side porch from the door clear down to the driveway. It took her twenty minutes to get it all inside, then another thirty to unpack everything, and yet another to wash and dry the dishes, flatware, pots, pans, and kitchen utensils. She washed the inside of the cupboards and the utility drawers, wishing the air-conditioning repairs had been completed, but once she’d found places for everything, she felt her life taking a turn toward normalcy. Normal, to Carly, who’d lived alone for so long, wasn’t bunking in someone else’s guest room indefinitely, even if that someone was your BFF.

  She’d just finished drying the flatware when she heard her phone ringing from somewhere under a pile of cardboard wrapping.

  “Hello,” she said once she’d found it.

  “Hey, Carly. It’s Ford. I have that article finished and I thought I’d drop it off for you to take a quick look before I send it to the printer.”