“Fix?” Sally shook her head. “It’s more’n I can do. These pipes are original. You’ll need Ralph Marchand to tear out those pipes and put in new ones, if you ask me. He’ll know better about cost. But you’d better call him quick. If those pipes go, you’re going to have a big mess on your hands.”
Chapter Three
Jane Miller watched a wave rush up the white sand beach to fill the footprint she’d left behind. The ocean breeze ruffled her hair, and she pushed a strand out of her face. The shorter style still felt foreign, but with all her duties at Tides, it was easier than messing with the shoulder-length cut she had most of her adult life.
A sandpiper darted along the foamy edge of the water on long sticklike legs, running forward as the surf went out then retreating just in time to avoid getting its feet wet. Sometimes Jane felt like she was doing the same thing at Tides, rushing forward then back and never making much progress.
Speaking of which, she’d best get back there and make sure things were running smoothly. Reluctantly, she turned and headed up the beach, leaving the soothing sounds of the crashing waves behind.
The wide back porch of Tides, with its row of rocking chairs, was a comforting sight. She’d grown up there, and some of her earliest and fondest memories centered around that house and the expansive beach beyond it. But now, as she stared at the French doors leading inside, the feeling of comfort gave way to anxiety. All the familiar and comfortable feelings tied to the house seemed to be fading away along with her mother’s memories.
Even though her mother was still physically in good health, Jane was losing her, but then, Jane knew about loss. First her infant son, then her husband. She had weathered those storms. She would weather this one too.
She laid her hand on the porch railing. The wood needed a fresh coat of paint to survive the summer without being replaced. One more thing for her to worry about. It seemed the hundred-year-old house always needed some kind of maintenance.
The bakery bag crinkled as her hand tightened around it. She used to love walking into Tides and seeing her mother bustling around, tending to guests, but not so much now. Now she was never sure if her mother would be the mother she’d always known or a stranger. She never knew ifshewould be the mother and Addie the child.
The French doors led to a gathering room with faded, overstuffed armchairs, a television mounted on the wall, and magazines scattered across the table. Jane stopped to straighten them, putting everything in its place, avoiding the kitchen, but she couldn’t busy herself forever. Steeling herself, she lifted the paper bag full of muffins and continued on. The smell of bacon and eggs filled her nose as she stepped into the warm atmosphere. The kitchen had always been a refuge from the rest of the house, a place where Jane and her sister could sneak treats from the cook, where her grandmother—and in recent years her mother—seemed to spend most of her time. A place for family.
Brenda, about fifteen years Jane’s senior, leaned over a pan of sizzling bacon. She had her white-threaded brown hair pulled back into a bun and an apron wrapped along the ample curve of her waist. Every time Jane walked into that room and saw Brenda, she couldn’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. If Brenda was there cooking, then Mom wouldn’t be. Brenda had become far more than a cook over the past few years. She no longer went home after the cooking was done. Now she stayed to help care for Addie. And for her part, Jane’s mom seemed to recognize Brenda more than she did her own daughter.
Hip to hip with Brenda, Jane’s mom—a tall, frail woman nearing eighty who strongly resembled Jane—stood over a large pan of scrambled eggs, mixing them with the spatula. She hummed under her breath, a small smile on her lips, and Jane knew she must still be feeling good. Her mother loved cooking so much that Jane did not want to rob her of that simple joy, but every time Addie stepped close to the stove, Jane feared she would put on a pan or pot and walk away or touch a burner that was hot because she didn’t remember it was on.
Smiling, Jane crossed toward her mother. She kissed her on the cheek and held up the bag. “I brought you some chocolate chip muffins.”
Her mother’s eyes brightened. As she turned away from the stove, Brenda took up the spatula Addie had left in the pan with the ease of long practice. Jane tried not to worry at how seamlessly Brenda took over her mother’s post, as if she had done so countless times as Addie’s attention waned. Instead, Jane opened the bag and rooted inside until she pulled out one of the chocolate chip muffins Claire had put inside.
With a wide smile, Addie took the muffin and started gleefully peeling off the wrapper. “Did you stop at Sam’s?”
Addie wasn’t as lucid as she looked. Jane tried to hide her disappointment as she guided her mother to the long pine table that had been in the kitchen since before Jane was born. Maybe even beforeAddiewas born. The table was so old that most of the turquoise paint had been rubbed off. Still, some remained in the cracks and crevices and the turns of the legs. She sat in a chair across from her mom and watched Addie free the muffin from its paper.
Gently, she corrected her mother. “Not from Sam’s. Sam’s has been closed down for years, Mom. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Despite Addie’s words, the look in her eye was uncertain. She hadn’t remembered, and Jane knew how she beat herself up over forgetting simple little things like that.
In a small voice, she whispered, “I guess I forgot. I’m so stupid, and you’re such an angel for putting up with me.”
Jane’s heart twisted. She reached out and clasped her mother’s bony hand. “Not stupid. We all forget things like this now and again.” Even if her mother forgot more often than not now.
Jane added, “Claire baked those muffins. You remember Claire, don’t you?”
Growing up, Claire had been as much of a constant in the house as Jane and her sister, Andie. Her mom always remembered the past more clearly than the present, even on her lucid days.
“Oh, Claire. Yes, of course I do. Such a sweet girl. How is she?”
Although her mother said all the right words, Jane knew that they were empty. The glassy look on her face and the way that she didn’t quite meet Jane’s eyes gave it away. She had no idea who Claire was, and that was almost as worrisome as the days when she forgot Jane.
She didn’t want to make her mother feel worse, so instead of correcting her further, Jane just told her, “Claire is doing very well. She told me to say hello.” Jane stood. She had work to do. “I’m going to take stock of the fridge, if there’s nothing else you need?”
Addie’s mouth firmed in a stubborn expression. “Of course not. I’m a grown woman. I can do things for myself.”
Jane left her mother and the muffins on the table and stepped into the walk-in fridge, leaving the door wide open and basking in the cool air as she checked the shelves. With Brenda staying longer at the inn, they had taken to cooking not only breakfast for the guests but also lunch during weekends. They also baked snacks or left out trays of vegetables or crackers and cheese for the guests to munch on in the gathering room in the afternoon. In Jane’s opinion, it had helped them get a higher rating on Yelp, which helped search algorithms. Anything to bring in more customers, something the inn seemed to be lacking as of late.
She supposed it was her own fault. She’d never paid much attention to the running of the inn. Had she really thought that her mother would be able to keep up with it forever? Maybe she’d expected her sister to rush in and take over. Andie had left after high school and barely come back since. Jane should have realized that running the inn would have fallen to her, but instead she had buried her head in the sand and continued down the safe road of her accounting career.
She pulled up a spreadsheet on her smartphone where she kept a running count of everything in the refrigerator. She modified that count and added a few items to the next grocery list. She scanned the shelves one last time, her mind drifting to Claire.
