That moment couldn’t possibly come soon enough to suit her.
2
By the end of the week Gracie had established a routine. Still up at the crack of dawn, she went for a walk along the river, always winding up at the Beachside Café for breakfast.
On her second visit, Jessie and everyone else in the place already seemed to know that she had just rented the Taylor place on the waterfront. They knew she wasn’t from the area and that she planned to stay at least through summer.
“I’m surprised they haven’t nailed down my credit rating,” she commented to Jessie, laughing at the accuracy and thoroughness of the waitress’s report.
“Oh, Johnny has that, too, I’m sure, but there are some things he manages to keep to himself.” She eyed Gracie with curiosity. “Why here? You look like a big-city girl to me. I’ll bet you don’t even own a pair of jeans.”
That was true enough, but Gracie decided not to confirm it. “Maybe I’ve just had a little too much of big-city living,” she said, which was the truth as far as it went.
“The fast pace’ll kill you, that’s for sure,” Jessie agreed, then peered at her thoughtfully. “Or was it a man?”
She nodded sagely, though Gracie hadn’t said a word. “It usually is, if you ask me. At the heart of any woman’s troubles there is guaranteed to be a man.”
“Not this time,” Gracie replied, even as an image of Max popped into her head. Max wasn’t a problem, not for her heart, anyway. He was just a simple pain in the neck, professionally speaking.
Unfortunately, her conversation with Jessie had stirred up the very memories she had been trying so hard to forget. Thanks to Max she was in a strange place, completely at loose ends. Listening to Jessie’s curious speculation reminded Gracie that this little sabbatical of hers would end sooner or later. What then?
Maybe thinking about the sorry state of her life and the dim prospects for her future explained why she noticed the house, the huge Victorian with its dilapidated, sagging porch and its intricate gingerbread trim. It was hidden away behind an overgrown hedge and a heavy wrought-iron gate.
Gracie figured she must have passed it half a dozen times before as she strolled along lost in thought, but this morning with the sun glistening on its fading white paint and grimy windows, it caught her eye.
Three stories tall, with a widow’s walk on the top, it was like something out of a book, albeit a Gothic horror novel at the moment. It was the kind of place kids would assume was haunted.
But despite its state of disrepair, Gracie could envision it all primped up with fresh paint and shining windows. In her mind’s eye, pots filled with bright flowers decorated the front porch and the lawn was tended, the hedge neatly trimmed. She could also imagine a simple, discreet sign hanging by the gate, declaring it a bed-and-breakfast.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered the minute the idea struck. She hurried her step as if to escape her own thoughts. Though the house was clearly unoccupied and ignored, there was no For Sale sign out front. Even if there had been, she wasn’t interested in staying in Seagull Point for more than a few months.
Was she?
Of course not, she insisted, again picking up speed after a last backward glance over her shoulder. Coming here in the first place had been impulsive. Staying would be, what? Lunacy? Jessie had pegged it. She was a big-city girl. The more exotic the city, the better. Seagull Point was a far cry from Cannes, France.
Still, she found herself strolling past the house again that afternoon and pausing in front of it on her way to breakfast the following morning to study it with a critical, experienced eye.
“It wouldn’t take much,” she murmured, ignoring the little voice inside that suggested boredom, not good sense, was behind the notion of buying the place. Once again, she dismissed the idea.
Unfortunately, it kept coming back. When she stopped at the hardware store to pick up a new broom and some nails to fix a loose board on the porch of the rental, she couldn’t help looking at the paint chips. Before she knew it, she had a whole handful.
“Johnny hasn’t talked you into painting the Taylor place while you’re here, has he?” the man behind the counter asked when he saw the collection of paint chips.
Gracie grinned. “No way. I have another project I’ve been thinking about, that’s all. It probably won’t come to anything. Is it okay if I take all these samples?”
“That’s what they’re there for. Let us know if there’s anything you need. I’ve got a fellow working for me who takes on odd jobs painting. Needs the extra money. He does good work, too, as long as you don’t mind him doing it evenings and on his days off from here.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
On her way home, she stopped in front of the old Victorian once again. This time, though, she opened the rusty gate and stepped through. The grounds were far more expansive than she’d envisioned from the street, though at the moment they were a tangle of weeds. There was room enough for a badminton net and a croquet course in the back, plus an area with a brick fireplace that would be perfect for family-style barbeques for guests. The concept had an old-fashioned charm to it that appealed to her. Surely there were still people in the world who longed for the days when video games weren’t the entertainment of choice. Surely there were families that sought out low-key vacations far from the crowds at Disney World.
She tested the steps and found them solid enough, but to her regret the windows were too filthy to permit a halfway decent view of the interior.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told herself sternly. It was only a
