Part 6 (1/2)
Caroline rolled over in the comfy queen-sized bed and stared at the clock through bleary eyes. Why couldn't it be 4:30 instead of 5:45, so she could sleep for another half hour or so, before having to make her phone call? She rubbed her eyes, wis.h.i.+ng they didn't feel like they were crusted with sand. She also wished she'd gone to bed at a reasonable hour, instead of talking with Gracie until 3:30. But she couldn't change any of that now. She needed to make her phone call.
A few hours from now, she'd make another call-to the real estate agent. Even though she was half asleep, she managed to smile. It was going to be a great day.
She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand, scrunched down in the bed, fluffing her pillow under her head, and punched the b.u.t.ton that would automatically dial George.
George subscribed to the theory that the early bird catches the worm. He rarely-in fact, almost never-rose later than four thirty in the morning. He did fifty sit-ups, drank a tall gla.s.s of freshly squeezed orange juice, ate a piece of toast slathered with chunky peanut b.u.t.ter, grabbed a tall cup of plain black coffee on his way to work, and was in the office by five thirty. George built custom yachts and had a lot of customers in Europe.
He should be drinking his second or third cup of coffee right about now, Caroline thought, as she heard the ring of the phone at the other end. She liked the sound of his voice in the morning and smiled when he answered with his usual, ”Hi, hon.” He'd called her ”hon” for years; it was simply a familiar habit he'd fallen into. Gracie might not understand that a man and woman who were just friends could call each other by an endearing term, but it worked for George. He loved her; she loved him-but not in an in-love kind of way.
”Morning.”
”You sound awful.”
”Late night,” Caroline said, her voice a bit rough. ”Gracie and I were up talking till, oh, just a couple of hours ago.”
”Then why call so early? You're on vacation. You're supposed to sleep late.”
”I could easily sleep until noon.” Caroline stifled a yawn. ”But I wanted to catch you before your day gets too busy.”
”Everything okay?” She could hear a touch of worry in George's voice. ”Did you tell Gracie and Sam you're moving back to the States?”
”Yes, although I don't think Gracie believes me. She's sure I'll change my mind.”
George was silent a moment. She heard him sigh. ”Can you blame her?”
”No, I suppose I can't. If Briar Rose was for sale, I'd snap it up in a second and not even think about moving back to the States. I'd ask Sam and Gracie to come visit me, instead of the other way around. But it's not for sale, it never will be for sale, and I am moving back here. In fact, that's what I want to talk to you about.”
”The Mary Claire's sitting in the harbor waiting for you. Eighty-nine feet with a sky lounge and a galley that's the perfect size for someone who doesn't like to cook. There's enough storage for your wardrobe. It's roomy and comfortable and-”
”You know I wouldn't mind living on a boat. It's bound to be far more comfortable than some of the hostels I've stayed in. But I've found somewhere else to live . . . maybe.”
”Maybe?”
She could so easily imagine George's right eyebrow raise, the way it so often did when he questioned one of her schemes. The Misty Harbor was rather a sudden urge, but it had stuck with her for days now. She simply wanted George's blessing.
”Oh, George, you have to see this place. It's absolutely magical. From the first moment I saw it, it seemed to wrap its arms around me and made me feel all warm inside.”
He was silent again. Pensive. Always thinking. Never rus.h.i.+ng into anything. ”I take it this place is in Nantucket?”
”On the west side of the island, on a bluff overlooking the ocean. I haven't yet seen the sunset from the back porch, but I can only imagine how beautiful it is, bright red and orange, like a wildfire streaking across the sky. And the garden's just as glorious, or it will be, once a gardener's gotten his or her hands on it and gets it under control.”
”Hold it, Caroline. Why isn't the garden under control?”
”Well . . . ,” she dragged out the word. ”Actually, it's an inn-the Misty Harbor, and it's been closed for a few years.”
”Why?” The skepticism in his voice deepened.
”Any number of reasons. One set of owners got in over their heads and couldn't afford the place. The current owners had numerous fights over the historical preservation regulations.”
”How old is this inn?”
”A hundred and sixty years. Maybe a little older.”
George nearly groaned out a sigh. ”Have you had it inspected? Are there termites? What's the wiring like? The plumbing?”
”No, I haven't had an inspection yet, but I haven't made an offer. In fact, I haven't been inside it since the sixties. My sisters and I went there with our mom when we were kids but-”
”Please don't tell me you want me to put my stamp of approval on this idea of yours?”
”As a matter of fact, I do.”
”You know I can't do that without seeing the place.”
”But if you see it, you might tell me I'm crazy. Gracie thinks I've lost my mind. But, you know I've done crazy things before and I've come out totally unscathed.”
”Most of the time-not always.”
”This feels right, George. I don't know why. It was my mom who always dreamed of owning a bed-and-breakfast. Doing something like that never entered my mind. Not once, until the day we arrived on the island and I saw it again . . . and I just sort of fell in love.”
There was that silence again. She could hear George breathing. She thought she heard him take a sip of coffee. A phone rang in the background. He cleared his throat. ”I can't get away for a few days, but as soon as I can, I'll be there.”
”I knew I could count on you.”
Caroline could envision George's smile at the other end of the phone. ”Just do me a favor, hon.”
”Anything. Just name it.”
”Don't make an offer until I've seen it.”
”I won't, unless someone comes along and tries to s.n.a.t.c.h it out from under me.”
”Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four. At last!” Gracie spun around breathlessly when she reached the top of the Unitarian church's tower, taking in the incredible view. Every speck of pain she'd felt in her knees and all of the strain in each and every muscle in her legs had been worth it.
”Oh my.” Sam's cheeks were pink, she was breathing hard, but her bright-eyed gaze showed her awe. ”It's beautiful.”
They had a full view of Nantucket in every direction. The sky was a bright azure, and a few puffy white clouds floated about in the gentle breeze. Off in the distance, Gracie could see the dark reddish tint of cranberry bogs, long stretches of sandy beach, an endless number of expansive homes, and a handful of smaller, quaint cottages. Over the canopy of lush green trees, she could see steeples rising all around town.
”There's the Old Mill,” Caroline said, pointing south. ”And that's Nantucket Sound off to the north.”
”You're sure?” Sam asked, snapping one picture after another.
”Positive. I may have a lot of faults,” Caroline said, ”but I know how to read a map and tell north from south.”
Gracie watched Caroline as she pointed out many of the landmarks she'd read about in the tour books and some they'd pa.s.sed on their walks. Out in the harbor, they saw sailing s.h.i.+ps and motor yachts. Some were elegant and streamlined and obviously belonged to the wealthier islanders or visitors, and some were smaller and had no doubt been plying these waters for many years. There were old out-of-service Coast Guard cutters that had been turned into floating homes, small sailboats bobbing on the water, and hundreds upon hundreds of seagulls floating on the air current, keeping a keen eye out for sc.r.a.ps.
”That's Madaket Way, way out there in the west. Can you see it?” Caroline asked. ”They say some of the prettiest sunsets in the world can be seen from there.”
”Actually, Madaket's right about there,” a man's voice came from the steps. Gracie jumped. The man was dressed in a T-s.h.i.+rt, gym shorts, and running shoes. He wiped sweat from his brow and then pointed a little bit southwest.
”Sorry if I startled you,” he said. ”I try to run up and down the tower twice a week. It's good exercise. Gets the heart pumping. But I'm getting the distinct feeling that I've got your hearts pumping too, for all the wrong reasons.” He ran a hand through his s.h.a.ggy gray hair. ”If you'd like, I'll run back down right now and leave the three of you to point out all the tourist destinations, even though you're pointing in all the wrong directions.”