Part 11 (1/2)
”Let's go look at the carriage house,” George said, and took off down the stairs, heading toward the rooftop that could be seen past the jungle of hydrangea. They ducked under the drooping vines and twisted and th.o.r.n.y stems of a climbing red rose that weighted down one of the arbors.
George grabbed his cell phone from the pocket of his khakis and snapped several photos of the carriage house, clearly fascinated by its position on the bluff, where it overlooked the ocean, and of the roses that grew haphazardly over its windows and walls. The rosebushes covered the walls in a riot of pink.
”What do you think?” Caroline asked, linking her arm through his, smiling as she was again struck by the beauty all around her.
”I think the view alone is worth the asking price.” George faced the ocean and snapped a few more pictures, the light breeze toying with his hair and making his navy blue polo s.h.i.+rt billow around his chest. ”The market's still down and might be for quite some time. I rather imagine you could make an offer far less than the asking price and strike a good deal.”
”You think so?” Sam asked.
George nodded. ”It's obvious the current owners have lost interest and are probably at the breaking point, ready to dump the inn and all that's in it to the first person who comes in with a viable offer.”
Without another word, George headed for the carriage house door, worked the key into the lock, and twisted a few times before it opened. A moment later all five of them made their way through the doors and into the dust and clutter.
”We've heard rumors that there's a secret pa.s.sage from here into the house,” Jamie said, clearly drawn to the mysteries of the inn, ”and maybe a hidden room too, although you'd probably have to clear everything out of here before you could find it.”
”That could take months,” Gracie grumbled. ”It seems as if this place has been used as nothing more than a storage shed for years.”
”Since before World War II, from the looks of it,” George said, thumbing through the box of National Geographic magazines Caroline had opened before. ”Caroline tells me you're interested in history.” George turned to Gracie, offering an infectious but reserved smile. ”You must be excited about getting your hands on these old magazines. There must be a treasure trove of stories that were written seventy or eighty years ago about all the different places in the world. Imagine how those places have changed since these were first published. There may even be articles about animals that are now extinct.”
”You think so?” Gracie asked, moving closer, peeking inside.
”I wouldn't be surprised. But”-he started to squeeze through the narrow pa.s.sage that led back to the car, his shoulders brus.h.i.+ng against the boxes on either side-”you'll never know, unless Caroline buys this old place. Now . . . Let's take a look at the car. I'm fascinated by old vehicles.”
”He means boats as well as cars.” Caroline laughed. ”If it has a motor, he's intrigued.”
”Well, well, well.” George stopped abruptly, and Caroline b.u.mped into his back. He'd reached the Packard and flung its protective cover off the hood. He walked to the back of the car, thoroughly studying its curves and chrome, and tugged the cover the rest of the way off. ”Definitely a forty-one Packard, just as you thought.”
”If the car's in decent enough condition and drivable, and if we did buy the inn”-Caroline turned around and winked at Gracie-”we could tote guests around town in it, take them on tours of the island, or pack them a picnic lunch and drive them down to the beach for the day.”
”We'd be the envy of every other B and B on Nantucket,” Sam said, squeezing through the boxes to get close to Caroline.
”What do you think?” Caroline asked George. ”With a little cleaning and polis.h.i.+ng, could it look good as new?”
”Hard to tell just yet,” George said.
Jamie struggled to get past Caroline and Sam to catch her first glimpse of the Packard, and when she did, she oohed and aahed, her eyes bright, even in the dim light from the one overhead bulb. Jamie ran her hands over the dusty red steel, the chrome, and gla.s.s. ”I can't wait to ride in it.”
”Now, now,” Sam admonished and then laughed. ”We're not even sure-”
A loud, metallic creak interrupted Sam's words.
”Well, you're in luck,” George said, holding up the ma.s.sive hood. ”It looks like everything's intact. It'll need new hoses and belts and probably a complete overhaul just to get it to run, but at least no one has taken the engine.”
”Could you do the work on it?” Caroline asked George, whose head was buried under the hood. He was already getting his hands greasy. ”Or do you think we'd have to hire an expert on old automobiles?”
”If you end up owning it, I'm sure I could find the time to tinker a bit, as long as you promise to let me drive it every once in a while.”
Outside, Caroline heard the first hint of hammering. She heard a man shouting, another responding. Deborah was having the shutters opened and boards removed from the windows. Caroline couldn't wait to stand in the library with a slice of suns.h.i.+ne streaking across the hardwood floors. It would glint off the bronze sconces, brightening that beautiful room and all the others. Everything looked better in sunlight.
”If I could climb under this thing,” George said, grunting as he got down on his knees to look beneath the car, ”I'm sure-wait a minute.”
”Are you okay?” Caroline called out. ”There's no need to look at the undercarriage right now.”
”It's not the undercarriage I'm looking at. It's some loose boards under the undercarriage.”
”A secret pa.s.sage?” Sam sounded excited.
”It might just be loose boards.” George coughed as dust rose around him. ”I don't think anyone should browse around here without wearing a mask and gloves, and the boxes should be taken out before you attempt to get a really good look at the car. But I do think this is one special vehicle.”
Caroline smiled. I knew it!
Slowly, Caroline turned and led the search party out of the carriage house and back out into the sunlight. It was so lovely to hear the sound of the surf again, to breathe Nantucket's salty air, to at last see the sun's rays bouncing off the inn's windows. When George finally stepped out of the carriage house, he was a dusty mess and wearing a crown of cobwebs, but she linked her arm through his. ”What do you think?” she whispered close to his ear.
He smiled fondly. ”I think you've found a winner here. The inn, the car, your family. It's what you've wanted for a long time.”
That it was. It wasn't just her mother's dream after all. It was her dream too.
Gracie sat outside on the rental cottage's patio, basking in the warmth of the sun, while everyone else was out with George, taking a tour of the Whaling Museum. She wished she could make up her mind about the inn. She had loved seeing it again this afternoon, especially once the shutters had been taken down. It truly was gorgeous with the sun streaming in, and the view of the ocean out the back was breathtaking. The whole place had seemed brighter and newer. There was so much inside and outside that was wonderful, and she knew it could look even better with the touch of a loving hand. She just wasn't sure she could be the one to do it.
Again she wished it had never become an issue, so she wouldn't be required to make a decision one way or another. Why couldn't things simply remain the same?
Around the edge of the patio, potted geraniums and pansies bloomed in the warm summer sun. There were also small vegetable pots-tiny tomatoes and green beans-as well as bunches of fragrant herbs. It was like a miniature garden out here. Art would have loved it.
She stared at her cell phone that rested on the patio table. It looked as lonely as she had been feeling since Art pa.s.sed away. It wasn't a constant emotion. She certainly hadn't felt all that lonely on this trip, not with Caroline buzzing about full of bright ideas, and Sam asking her for thoughts on dinner menus, needlework projects, and for help putting together yet another puzzle. There'd hardly been time to sit down in a quiet corner to read.
Brandon and Stacy and the kids must be missing her. She felt rather selfish leaving them on their own when they needed her help so often. ”Could you pick Evelyn up at school today?” one or the other of them would ask. ”She needs to come up with a costume for the fall festival. Do you have any ideas, Mom? Do you think you could whip something up for her?”
Stacy had tried to work part-time, but she wanted to be the World's Greatest Mom, so she ran herself ragged trying to make everything perfect for Evelyn, Jacob, and Zachary. When she couldn't do it all, she or Brandon would call Gracie and ask for help, and Gracie was always there for them. She'd do anything for her kids or grandchildren. She loved them. Besides, Art wasn't around for her to tend to any longer. It was nice to have someone who needed her.
Gracie didn't know what Brandon might think about her buying one-third of a fairly ramshackle old inn. He'd talked about buying a cabin in the mountains, or traveling-to Scotland, mostly. She'd thought about giving some of the money she'd inherited from her mother to the kids so they could take a trip. She smiled at the thought of him out on a boat in Loch Ness, binoculars in hand, searching for Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster.
She wondered what Art would think of the Misty Harbor Inn idea. She chuckled lightly, only to have Max pull his nose out from among the blue hydrangeas to gaze at her. Max trotted over to her and rested his head on her knee, his big brown eyes full of love and adoration. ”I don't have a thing to eat, boy,” she said, scratching behind his ears. ”But if you're good”-he suddenly stood on his hind legs and danced around in a circle-”we'll go into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge. I know I've told Caroline endless times that you shouldn't eat table sc.r.a.ps, but I don't think a little something would hurt.”
Max b.u.mped the leg of a chair, which b.u.mped the table, and Gracie's cell phone slid off and landed in her lap. She laughed again, knowing that was a sign. She had to call Brandon and get it over with.
”Go find your chew bone,” she said to Max, sweeping a hand down his silky back, before he scurried off across the lawn. She drew in a deep breath, popped open her cell phone, and dialed Brandon's number. It was a little after four, and if her son was on schedule, he should be home from football practice by now. Soon he'd have the barbecue fired up on the patio so he could grill steaks or chicken that he'd been marinating all day. They were always tender and juicy and- ”Hey, Mom! What's going on?” His greeting was always the same. It was just like Paige's, quite often breathless, as if he'd been in the middle of something important. And she almost always said the same thing.
”I'm not disturbing you, am I?”
”Actually”-oh, she hated to hear her son use that word-”we were just getting ready to head out to a ball game, and Stacy's frantic because the babysitter's late. She should have been here ten minutes ago so we could show her around and tell her about the emergency phone list, and”-Brandon sighed-”it's not quite the same with you away from home. But you are having a good time, aren't you?”
”It's beautiful here. The cottage is perfect and-”
”Hang on, Mom, the doorbell just rang.”
Gracie heard the phone drop on something. His desk, maybe? The dining room table? The bathroom countertop?
Gracie found herself drumming her fingers on the patio table, waiting . . . waiting. At long last Brandon came back on the line. ”Sorry, Mom. That was the babysitter, and we've got her all set up in the family room with the kids, ready to watch a movie. They miss you, by the way.”
”I miss them too. It seems ages, but it's been just a week.”