A Dream Weekend: A Tale From Blythe Cove Manor (4 page)

“Oh, you’ll love them. They’re adorable.”

“We were wondering,” Mr. Campbell began, “how it is that we won a weekend at your beautiful inn. Neither of us remembers entering our names in any contests.”

“The contest was held through Vineyard Vines magazine. Perhaps one of your friends or relatives entered your names.”

Mr. Campbell frowned, as though that wasn’t a viable answer.

“What can I get you for breakfast? Blueberry pancakes? Sausage? Bacon?”

“Pancakes sound wonderful,” Mrs. Campbell said. “With sausage?” She looked as though she had lost weight and could use a good solid meal.

“And you?” Blythe asked Mr. Campbell.

“The same, please.”

She nodded. “Feel free to help yourselves to anything on the buffet across the way. I’ll be back with your breakfasts in a few minutes.”

While the pancakes sizzled on the grill, Blythe snuck a peek into the breakfast room to see the Campbell’s quietly contemplating the guide book. They were talking. That was a good sign. She had the feeling they hadn’t had much to discuss for quite some time.

She plated the pancakes and sausage, placing a sprig of curly parsley from her kitchen garden, and brought them into the breakfast room, snagging a pitcher of maple syrup on the way. “Here you go,” she said, sliding each plate in front of her guests. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” they chorused.

Humming Beethoven’s
Ode to Joy
, Blythe returned to the kitchen and the mountain of dishes that sat in the big porcelain farm sink. Some days she just loaded the dishwasher, but other days she enjoyed washing the plates, cups, and cutlery by hand. It was such a beautiful day, and the magic of Martha’s Vineyard was practically palpable, so she put the stopper in the sink, turned on the hot tap, and watched as the water rose and the bubbles morphed.

It would be a very good day indeed for the Campbells—and for her, too

T
he day was
one to remember. Sunny skies, balmy breezes, and lovely vistas. Alex snapped picture after picture and realized it had been a long, long time since he had experienced real pleasure. The lighthouse had been a delight. Paige had been enchanted by the charming cottages at Oak Bluff, which were painted in pastel shades, looking like doll houses brought to life for their full-sized occupants. She’d not only smiled, but directed him to take photos of them all. For the first time in a long time, she had shown an interest in something. That she was interested in anything seemed like a hopeful sign shat she might be moving beyond depression and utter hopelessness.

Lunch had been a relaxed affair of lobster rolls and chardonnay. They hadn’t talked much, but there weren’t any awkward—angry—silences, either.

They’d finished the day with a leisurely dinner at the island’s most famous restaurant, after which they’d walked the two blocks to reclaim their minivan and this time when Alex reached for Paige’s hand, she’d curled her fingers around his. All too soon, they reached the van and separated. He’d unlocked the passenger side door and she’d climbed aboard.

Like most of the rest of the day, the ride back to Blythe Cover Manor was quiet.

“Do you want to stop by the lobby for sherry?” Alex asked as they turned down the lane that led back to Blythe Cover manor.

Paige sighed. “I don’t think so. Unless you do.”

“No. I just thought I’d ask.”

“It was a long day. The best day I’ve had in … a long time.”

“Me, too.”

“I feel guilty,” Paige said, her voice sounding small.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know, but I can’t help it.”

They didn’t speak again until they pulled into the inn’s lot. Alex parked the van and they got out, their shoes crunching on the gravel. They wiped their feet before entering the spotless lobby. Like the night before, they didn’t see any of the other guests, who must have all retreated to their rooms.

“You know, I haven’t seen anyone else here this weekend,” Paige commented

“There are other cars in the lot,” Alex pointed out.

“I know, but it just seems rather odd.”

“Well, we aren’t exactly the most sociable people these days, so….” He let the sentence trail off. They’d lost touch with just about all their friends and family. People whose company they had enjoyed. People he knew that cared. It was just too awkward to be around them and their families.

“That’s true,” Paige admitted as they reached their room.

Alex unlocked the door, reached in to turn on the light, and then let Paige enter.

“I’m going to bed early,” she announced.

“I think I’ll do the same.”

She nodded and opened the dresser drawer, pulling out her nightgown and headed for the bathroom. There was a time when she would undress in front of Alex, but now modesty seemed to have taken over. She’d been like that for too long. She was still a very attractive woman—or could be—even though she no longer put any effort into it.

Alex sat down in the chair and removed his shoes. He really wasn’t ready for sleep. He could reread the guidebook, but he didn’t feel like it. If only they could talk. They used to be able to talk about anything. He missed his former confidant. He missed their old life. Since they’d arrived at the inn, she’d been different. Perhaps they’d both been different. Still, he had no illusions that the break from animosity and hurt wouldn’t last any longer than the drive home, and for that he felt sorry.

He missed the woman he’d loved and married.

I
t all started
with a phone call.

Alex and Chrissy, their twelve-year old daughter, had gone to the grocery store for a gallon of milk and a sack of potatoes several hours before. It wasn’t all that unusual that what should have taken fifteen minutes had lengthened into hours. Chrissy had discovered maps at the tender age of four and had been fascinated ever since.

She’d first mapped their home, then their yard, then the street. Alex would drive her around the area as Chrissy took notes on new streets to add to her drawings and penciled data base. By age thirteen, she’d reached out to local government and private cartographers. She used Google Street View and the computer’s mouse to drive the streets of Albany and the highways of China and beyond. She was happy because at such an early age she knew what her life’s work was to be.

And it all unraveled when the phone rang late on that rainy Saturday afternoon in March.

“Mrs. Campbell?”

“Yes,” Paige answered cautiously.

“This is Sergeant Mark Evans of the Colonie Police Department.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. “What happened?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“There’s been an accident.”

Paige swallowed, her mouth going dry. “How bad?”

“Pretty bad, ma’am. Your husband and daughter have been taken to the Albany Medical Center.”

“And?”

“Witnesses said an SUV ran the red light and T-boned your husband’s car.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any other information.”

“Thank you. I’ll—I’ll go there right now.”

“Good luck, ma’am.”

Paige hung up the phone and looked around their orderly home. A batch of towels tumbled in the dryer and she wondered if she ought to fold them and put them away before—

Then she caught herself. What in God’s name was she thinking when Alex and Chrissy were hurt—and badly, too, if she’d understood what the officer’s tone conveyed.

Paige grabbed her coat and purse and headed out the door.

The gray sky was beginning to darken on that first day of spring as Paige drove a little too fast to the hospital, hoping she wouldn’t grab the attention of a traffic cop. She parked and practically ran toward the Emergency Room, bursting through the automatic doors into the ER’s lobby. A line snaked in front of the receptionist’s desk and she was sure she would jump out of her skin during the five-minute wait for her turn.

“My husband and daughter were in a car accident. The police called me.”

“Name?”

“Campbell. My husband’s name is Alexander. My daughter is Christina.”

The receptionist’s eyes darted back to her computer screen. “Mr. Campbell is in unit three.”

“And my daughter?”

The receptionist glanced at her screen again. “You need to speak to Dr. Sharma. I’ll put in a call.”

Panic filled every molecule of Paige’s body. Why wasn’t Chrissy assigned an emergency cubicle—they’d been brought in together?

“Please follow me,” the receptionist said, raised the counter on hinges that kept those in the lobby at bay, and led Paige to a small room. “Dr. Sharma will be right with you.” She gave a half-hearted smile, left the room, and closed the door.

The cell-like room was no more than five steps across. Painted a soft blue, it contained a loveseat and a couple of chairs. The prints on the wall were of pansies. Summer flowers.

Paige couldn’t stand to sit and paced the room. She knew—she already knew what this Dr. Sharma was going to say, but she wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe the worst. Not until she saw for herself, until she could touch—kiss—her sweet baby girl. Still, she made no move to leave the room.

Paige only had time to pace three or four circuits before the handle rattled and the door opened. A young dark-skinned man entered.

“Mrs. Campbell?” he asked, with only the hint of an accent. “I’m Dr. Sharma, the resident on duty. Won’t you please sit?” he said, indicating the loveseat.

Paige sat, holding the straps of her purse in a death grip. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” she asked, her voice sounding stronger than her spirit.

Sharma nodded sadly. “Your daughter was alive when they brought her in, but she sustained massive blood loss. Her injuries were too great for us to help her.”

“Did she suffer?” Paige asked, her voice shaky.

Sharma shook his head. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Paige swallowed hard and nodded, determined not to give into the emotions she held back by a dam of resolve. “And my husband?”

“Mr. Campbell suffered a broken collar bone, a fractured tibia, as well as multiple contusions. He should recover without lasting aftereffects.”

“Does he know about our daughter?”

Sharma shook his head.

Again, Paige nodded. She was beginning to feel like a bobble head. “Can I see Chrissy?”

“I would advise you not to at this time,” Sharma said firmly.

What did that mean? Were her injuries so horrific that seeing them might scar Paige for the rest of her life? Did she really want to see her perfect child in that condition or remember her beautiful face as she was?

Good Lord—was this really happening? How could this happen to her—to her family?

“However,” Sharma continued, “your husband is conscious. He has asked for you several times.”

Again Paige swallowed hard. She let out a long, unsteady breath. “Okay.” She rose to her feet.

Sharma opened the door and she followed him to a curtained unit. He paused. “Please let any of our staff know if you or Mr. Campbell needs anything,” he said kindly.

“Thank you.”

He gave her a sad smile, and left her.

Paige let out another long breath, steeling herself before she faced Alex … before she had to shatter his world, like hers had been shattered.

Pulling the curtain aside, Paige entered the cubicle. Alex lay propped up in the hospital bed, covered in white blankets, with an IV bag hanging above him and a heart monitor beeping quietly—reassuringly—behind him. His eyes were closed—his face bruised, brush-burned, and swollen. Her heart lurched and she had to swallow several times before she could make herself step forward. She reached over the bed rail and clasped Alex’s hand in her own. His skin felt cold to the touch, but he was alive, she reminded herself, and rubbed her thumb over the top of his hand.

Alex’s eyes fluttered open. “Paige?”

“I’m here,” she said, her voice not much above a whisper.

“Chrissy. What happened to Chrissy?” he asked frantically. “Nobody will talk to me.”

“Tell me what happened,” Paige said, her words calm—patient—not what she was feeling at all.

Alex seemed to deflate. “We’d taken a detour. Chrissy wanted to see the new housing development near the mall. She wanted me to drive through the streets so she could get an idea of the layout. I told her we should wait until they update the aerial view from Google Maps, but you know Chrissy. She whined and looked at me with those big blue eyes and the next thing I knew we were driving up and down muddy tracks while she made notes.”

Just as Paige had suspected.

“And then?”

“We were heading home. We got the green light when suddenly this big black SUV came barreling through the intersection and hit us. That’s all I remember until I woke up here a little while ago. Have you seen Chrissy?” he asked, his voice rising.

“No,” Paige managed. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not.” Could she be more blunt? Maybe she should wait to tell Alex. Was he going to require surgery for that broken leg? She didn’t even know.

“We’ve never kept secrets, Paige,” Alex reminded her.

Again, Paige swallowed, and bit her lip. “No, we never have.” She let out a long breath. “They tell me … they tell me she’s gone.”

“Gone?” Alex asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

Paige nodded, grinding her teeth so that she wouldn’t break down.

“She—she can’t ….” But Alex didn’t seem able to complete the sentence. His eyes squeezed shut and he began to tremble. Paige moved closer, until his head sagged against her and he began to cry—great heaving sobs. She’d only ever seen Alex cry one other time—in the delivery room when Chrissy was born. They’d both cried tears of joy, but now she seemed incapable of tears. All she could do was hold onto Alex and try to comfort him … because she knew that Chrissy’s death was something she would never, ever get over.