“A bride’s allowed to get teary at her shower,” Hope told her.
“I hope so, because I have a feeling . . . Thank you, so much, for everything. For all this. For being mine.”
“Keep it up,” Avery warned, “we’ll all be crying. I’m going to go hang this up.”
She hurried out, hung Clare’s coat next to her own jacket. As she started back again, something drew her across The Lobby, and down to the base of the stairs. Had she heard something? It was more
The door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. But then all the rooms stood open, as Hope wanted to allow the guests to wander, to enjoy the rooms if they were busy playing hostess.
In E&D, the porch door stood open as well. A touch of honeysuckle hung on the cool March air blowing gently into the room.
She didn’t hear, or see, but again felt. And what she felt was sorrow.
“Please come in,” she murmured. “Please come inside. I know you’re sad. It must be so hard, so hard to accept. Owen’s looking for Billy. If anyone can find things out, figure things out, it’s Owen. But meanwhile, you’re not alone here. I know how it feels, because I’ve felt alone.”
She took another step toward the door, waited. “But I was wrong to feel that way. I always had someone who cared about me, even when everything seemed so hard, so sad. You do, too. We care about you.”
She hesitated, then chose impulse. The majority of the time, Lizzy seemed happy, even playful. Romantic, Avery thought. A young woman with a cheerful nature.
“I have a secret. I think I could tell you because I bet you know how to keep a secret. Especially a happy secret like this one. Please come inside.”
The door to the porch slowly closed.
Taking the presence on faith, Avery sat on the side of the bed. “We’re having a party downstairs today. A bridal shower for Clare.” She wasn’t sure if they’d had the tradition of bridal showers in Eliza Ford’s time. “It’s something we do. Women, I mean. We have a party to celebrate our friend’s upcoming wedding. We have food, games, we bring her gifts. It’s happy. Only a few people who’ll be here know the secret, but I know Clare wouldn’t mind if I tell you. You care about Beckett, and Clare, and the boys. They’re making such a nice family. And in a few months, they’ll be a bigger family. Clare’s pregnant. She and Beckett are going to have a baby next winter.”
The scent bloomed, strong and sweet as summer, and the air warmed with it.
“I know. Isn’t it great? You watched them fall in love. I think it really started here, in the inn. Now they’ll be married here, in just a couple weeks. Everything about them is so strong and sure and right. That’s rare, don’t you think? To be that strong and sure and right? To find the person who fits and fills in, links up. I don’t even know the words.”
She glanced down, saw she was clutching the little key Owen had given her. And there were tears, her own tears, on the back of her hand.
“Clare’s hormones must be contagious. I’m not sad. I’m not.”
She felt something stroke her hair, and she closed her eyes in wonder that she could be comforted by the touch.
“I’m not sad,” she repeated. “I’m just not as strong and sure as I wish I could be. How do people risk it? You must have risked so much for Billy. How do you do that?”
As she watched, a light fog covered the glass of the porch door. And the outline of a pretty heart shone against it.
“It seems so simple,” Avery murmured. “Why isn’t it?”
The sound of voices, of laughter, drifted up the stairs. “Party’s starting. I’ve got to get down.”
She pushed to her feet, moved to the little mirror to make sure her eyes showed no sign of tears. “You should come. I’m issuing an official invitation. You don’t have to be alone,” she added, and went down to be with her friends, knowing she spoke as much to herself as her ghost.
She dived into the party. Yes, she did enjoy the girly when she had time. Pretty dresses, pretty food, talk of weddings and men and fashion and morsels of gossip.
Even better to remember she had a very juicy morsel herself, known only to a handful of the women—and one ghost—in attendance.
She drank champagne and served it, ate fancy finger sandwiches and carried dishes to the kitchen. While Hope efficiently kept a log of gifts and givers for Clare, she bagged the torn wrapping. Carolee artfully fashioned a paper-plate bouquet out of discarded ribbons and bows.
Silly things and female things. The scents, the sounds against the backdrop of bride white and flickering candles. The bride-to-be and expectant mama drinking ginger ale disguised in a champagne flute and laughing at the whistles and cheers when she opened a nearly transparent black nightie.
“You girls did good.” Over the boisterous competition in another game, Justine gave Avery a squeeze. “Couldn’t have done better.”
“We loved every minute.”
“It shows. Clare’s smart and lucky in her friends.”
“I feel the same about myself.”
“That shows, too. I think we could use another bottle of champagne. Give me a hand?”
“Sure.”
“I really just wanted a minute with you,” Justine said as they went into the kitchen.
“Okay.”
Justine took the bottle Avery got out of the fridge, set it on the counter. “I’m a really good mom.”
“I don’t know better.”
“And you won’t.” She grinned back at Avery, then her face softened as she stroked a hand over Avery’s hair. “I’ve thought of you as mine even before Traci left.”
“Oh, Justine.”
“I always figured you knew, but I never said it to you. Maybe I should have.”
Touched, so touched, Avery could only shake her head. “I always knew I could count on you, could go to you.”
“I hope so, and I hope you always will. Avery, you’re one of the brightest lights I know, certainly one of my brightest. I’m sorry to see some of that bright dim off and on the last few weeks.”
“I’m working on it.”
“You don’t have to. You feel what you feel.”
Owen had said exactly the same, Avery remembered. Like a stroke on her hair, it comforted.
“I’m going to take a chance now and say something I’ve wanted to say for a lot of years. Traci was, and is, a flighty, selfish woman who always wanted more than she had, and always blamed someone else if she didn’t get it. If she did get it, it was never really right, never really enough—and
“Do you think she ever loved me?”
“Yes.” With no hesitation, Justine gave Avery’s hand a squeeze. “Yes, she loved you, and I think she loves you now. Just not enough.”
“Not enough might be worse than not at all,” Avery murmured.
“Maybe, but that’s not on you, honey. It’s nothing about you, and all about Traci. I want to think you know that, deep down. Maybe you haven’t gotten there yet. Meanwhile, you’re smart and lucky in your friends, and you can count on them. But sometimes a girl needs a mom. You have me.”
Avery went into her arms, held hard. “I knew. I always knew, but it helps hearing you say it. I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Part of the job, but I don’t worry much when it comes to you.” She lifted Avery’s face, smiled. “Bright light. You’ve always found your way.”
After the guests, after the cleanup—and with Carolee handling the two party guests who’d booked rooms for the night—Avery talked Hope into coming to her apartment for a break.
