Page 3 of Bluebell Tides

Ruth’s smile stuttered slightly. “Hi,” she said. “Happy to be here.”

“I’m Celia,” the woman said. “Celia Brooks née Harper. My family founded this inn a few generations ago.” Celia walked around the other side of the front desk and put her keys on the keyboard. “Do you have a reservation?”

“I do,” Ruth said, pulling her suitcase along. Celia’s energy was a little overwhelming, if only because Ruth had spent so much of the previous year alone. She reminded herself that her time at the Eco-Lodge could be as quiet, contemplative, and work-y as she wanted. She didn’t have to fall into conversations with any Harpers.

“I guess you’re Ruth Landers?” Celia smiled. “You’re the only reservation we have this week. It’s still spring around here, you know. Still too cold for most tourists.”

Ruth smiled meekly. “That’s me.”

“Five nights, correct?” Celia confirmed.

“That’s right,” Ruth said, although she guessed she’d have to extend her stay. Five nights was incredibly optimistic, given what she’d come here to do.

“What brings you to Bluebell Cove?” Celia asked.

Ruth remembered the backstory she’d practiced. Her voice wavered only slightly as she explained, “I’m from the city. I need a little time away from the hustle and bustle.” She hesitated, then added the final punch. “My husband died last year, and it’s been difficult.”

Celia’s face scrunched up in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

In lying to Celia, Ruth felt a pang of guilt that she soon swallowed. It didn’t matter what the Harpers knew about her. She was here for one reason and one reason only. The greater good. She had to remember that.

Celia handed over a large ornate key, explaining that they still used the original keys from when the house was first built. “We’re sort of romantics like that,” she said.

“That’s nice.” And in truth, Ruth really did think it was nice. She’d always been a sucker for the romance of things—for old books, vintage clothes, and antiques.

For a little while, Celia explained what made the Eco-Lodge so eco-friendly. She explained how they’d cut down on emissions and used less water. “We changed everything around here after my father passed away,” Celia explained. “I don’t know what he’d make of it. I hope he’d be proud, what with my sisters and me coming together to help each other.”

Ruth shifted her weight. She willed Celia to stop talking so she could go upstairs and return her thoughts to what she’d come here for.

“That’s sweet,” she said flatly.

“You know, Ruth, a problem we have is this,” Celia said, grimacing. “Because you’re the only person at the Eco-Lodge tonight, we’re not sure if we’ll open the kitchen. We don’t like to waste food or energy or things like that.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Ruth said. She’d forgotten to eat most nights the previous week, anyway, because of nerves and sorrow. Her lawyer and best friend, Dina, had taken to calling her most nights to ask, "Can you at least pop a frozen pizza in the oven?"

“But I want to invite you to my sister’s place tonight,” Celia continued. “Ivy lives right next door. It’s such a beautiful night, and she’s having all the Harpers over for dinner. You should come! Our littlest sister, Wren, just had a baby, and she’s the cutest little thing. We’d love to have you.”

Ruth’s heart swelled. She told herself to keep it together. She couldn’t fall into the cozy warmth of a family like that. It wouldn’t do her any good to know what other people had.

“You know, that’s very nice of you,” Ruth said, “but I have a great deal to take care of tonight. I think I’d like to go for a walk and retire early.”

Celia’s smile waned slightly. “Of course! I understand.” She rifled through a drawer and removed a list of restaurant recommendations from Bluebell Cove. There were about twelve places, including pizza, Mexican, Thai, and “traditional Northeastern food,” whatever that was.

“My sister and her boyfriend manage The Dockside. It’s delicious! Just my recommendation.” Celia shrugged.

“Thank you.” Ruth folded the flyer and reached for the handle of her suitcase. There was nothing else to say, so she turned and headed for the stairs.

“Let me show you to your room!” Celia said.

“I can manage,” Ruth assured her. The last thing she wanted was to talk more with this tenderhearted and wonderful woman. The last thing she wanted was to remember all the friendships she’d missed out on, all the life she hadn’t been allowed to live.

Upstairs, Ruth unpacked her things and tried to get herself organized. She’d packed for months away from the city—clothes she’d eventually have to wash and notebooks she’d eventually fill. She pulled out her laptop and considered writing an entry into her notes app but decided against it. She was exhausted after all the driving. Instead, she put on her pajamas and propped up her laptop in bed, eager to start a movie—anything to get her mind off what she had to do.

And then, through the open windows, she heard laughter.

A shiver went down Ruth’s spine. Clearly, the Harpers had already begun their joyous dinner. She heard wine and champagne bottles pop. She heard the cooing of a baby, a sound that nearly destroyed Ruth—yanking her back to dangerous memories, memories that made her burn with anger.

Soon, more and more people joined the Harper party, shuffling in their chairs and commenting on how good the hors d’oeuvres were. Too overwhelmed with it to resist, Ruth closed her dark laptop and shuffled over to the window. This was what her life had amounted to. She was an aging woman, gazing out a window at a life she felt she should have had.