“Oh, that,” Beth said in sudden embarrassment. “I… She lost her luggage and she needed—”
“And if anybody needs, you fly to the rescue. I love you, Beth. I hope I deserve you.” He tightened his hold on her hands. “And it salvaged Kayla’s pride a bit, too, not having to face me looking like a ragamuffin. I know she must have been.”
“How…how did things come out?”
He released her hands and got up. “Pretty well, I guess. With Kayla I’m never sure. But this time I think she really means it. Endicott’s death got to her, I believe.”
“Who’s Endicott?”
“Adam’s father. Mitch Endicott.” He went over to the refrigerator. “I’ll start the breakfast preparations while I tell you. No, don’t get up. You’ve done enough today.” He took the melons out of the fridge and put them on the long drain board.
Beth sat back as he took things out of cupboards and drawers and rolled up his sleeves. She loved to watch his big hands working. The big hands that could saw logs for the fireplaces or wield a tiny paintbrush to put sunlight on leaves or, as now, use the small scoop to create melon balls for breakfast.
“Kayla wants to go back into rehab. This time for the complete cure. She knows it won’t be easy, mainly because she’s tried before and failed. The rehab treatment takes about three months and will cost the earth. But I can afford it—though my emergency fund is taking a bit hit.”
“But if she really means it and is successful, won’t it be worth it?” Beth felt a surge of relief. She had a quick mental image of Kayla, not an alcoholic. Kayla not depending on Doug, but competent, successful. Kayla taking her little boy and going away.
“More than worth it. But she wants us to take care of Adam while she’s away. She can’t take a three-year-old with her into rehab.” He turned from the sink, the melon baller held loosely in one hand. “What do you think about that?”
“Of course we can take care of Adam,” she heard herself saying firmly. What am I thinking of? I have a business to run! And at the same time she had a recollection of Adam clutching the red sneakers to his chest. Mine. Well, Doug was worth it. If he wanted Adam to stay here for three months, so be it.
“I didn’t doubt it, love. I know you too well for that. And when I saw Kayla in Jill’s blue outfit, I figured it was practically a done deal. And, you know, I believe it will come out right this time. I feel sure it will. She’ll stick with it. She means it. I don’t know if you can understand this or not…how much this means to me. Your girls, Kate and Jill, don’t seem to have any problems at all. They seem so right with life. I want that for Kayla, too.” His voice was unsteady again.
“Kayla’s life is screwed up because of me. Don’t shake your head, Beth. I know what I know. You may have wondered why I’ve never talked about my first marriage, but it wasn’t…very good. My fault, too, I guess. I did have a good, solid live-at-home job, lecturing on economics at our local college. But I didn’t like academia. I didn’t like…my marriage. I wanted out. At the time I was thinking of no one but myself. I couldn’t walk out on the marriage commitment, but I got a job as a textbook representative because it demanded that I travel. It got me away. It set me free. When Kayla needed me—and she did—I was never there for her.”
He worked silently for a time. Beth didn’t know what to say. When he finished with the melons he put down the scoop and began gathering up the rinds for the disposal. The kitchen was filled with the drone of the grinding. Beth stared at the large platter of melon balls. The bright orange cantaloupe, the red watermelon, the pale green honeydew. It looked like a picture and would be tempting on the buffet in the morning. She watched as Doug carefully covered it with plastic and put it in the refrigerator. Then he took the two bun warmers out of the cupboard and put them near the electrical outlets so she could fill them with Kate’s tiny, home-baked muffins in the morning. At last the grinding noise stopped.
Doug had never talked to her before about his first marriage. Nor had she talked to him about her long marriage to Ralph Bennett. Nor her guilt because she had never loved Ralph as he had loved her. Perhaps everyone felt guilty about some things—things done wrong, or things not done when they should have been done. She got up and went to him, taking his big hands and raising them briefly to her lips. Her heart ached for him. She knew what it was like to feel guilty.
“Beth, are you sure about this? I’ll help out more than I have been doing, but running a busy B and B and looking after a three-year-old kid won’t be a piece of cake.”
Beth put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t worry. We can do it. We will do it.” But even as she said it, there was that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. How ridiculous. Really ridiculous. Of course they could do it. It was only for three months. So why wouldn’t the sickness go away?
Chapter Three
Mrs. Driscoll was happy with her muesli and nonfat milk breakfast because of the melon balls and the “little tastes” of this and that from Bert’s overloaded breakfast choices. He had scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and a large collection of muffins, heavily buttered.
“My doctor told me to cut way back on fat, but those little sausages looked so good. Bert, let me have a little taste of yours.” Whereupon Bert would move three or four of his sausages from his plate to hers.
“Bert, those scrambled eggs look so fluffy…”
Breakfast at Beth’s B and B was a time of pleasant confusion, much talk and laughter, and comings and goings. Beth enjoyed this fully. It was a nice feeling to give people a good breakfast and send them off in happy anticipation of their day’s adventures in a new city—and one of the things she enjoyed most about her work.
Kayla, true to her word, was up early, having dressed Adam and brought him downstairs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Relaxed and at ease, she was a happy addition to the group, getting up quickly now and then to refill the coffee carafe or fetch more muffins from the kitchen. Beth could sense how pleased Doug was at Kayla’s efforts. Please, God, let this be right for Doug. And let it be right for Kayla, too. Soon.
Justin Bryant was the last to leave. Beth hurried to the kitchen to get the two sack lunches she had prepared. She sometimes did this for guests who wanted to eat on the run. He and an associate were going out of town on business for the day. He had told them all with great gusto of his hopeful plans. They would go out to the country to see an attic full of “old things.”
“Every antique dealer’s dream come true,” he said. “A granddaughter is getting rid of her late granny’s stuff—and estate matter. We’re hoping to see an attic full of priceless antiques that the granddaughter thinks are junk, that we can pick up for pennies. But it will probably be an attic full of junk granddaughter thinks are priceless antiques. Wish us luck.”
Beth laughed and handed him the two sack lunches, for which he always paid generously. “Roast beef,” she said. “The sack with the B on it is the one with barbecue sauce. I remember you said your friend can’t eat anything spicy.”
When the guests had gone for the day, she, Doug and Kayla settled down with comfortable sighs and Adam came back to the table. He had stolidly disposed of the large breakfast Kayla had placed before him. But he had a habit of sliding down from his place and wandering off for a while. Then he would come back, let Doug help him back up on the booster seat to resume his meal. Later, tactfully, Beth thought she’d better persuade him out of this habit. Since he ate much of his food with his fingers there was the matter of greasy fingermarks on walls and furniture. Now she watched his sober efforts. He was immaculately clean, neatly clothed, well-fed and safe. Doug must be happy about that.
As they were leisurely drinking second cups of coffee, the kitchen phone rang and Doug got up to answer it. She and Kayla could hear him talking and laughing, and when he came back he was still smiling.
“That was Jill,” he said, sitting down. “They’re