Beside a Dreamswept Sea (20 page)

A light knock sounded
at the bathroom door. Cally sat up in the tub, swished away a thick clump of bubbles. “Yes?”

“Cally,” Suzie called out from the door between the tub and dressing room. “Where’s my blue sweater?” She dropped her voice, clearly speaking to someone else. “Cally knows everything. Well, almost everything. She’s still figuring out that she might be my new—you know.”

“Uh-huh. What doesn’t she know?” A second little girl’s voice seeped through the closed door, sounding far too old to be Lyssie.

“That she’s gonna be my new mom. Maybe.”

“So why don’t ya tell her?”

“Tony says that doesn’t work. She and Daddy have to figure it out themselves. It’s a grown-up thing.”

Cally groaned, resisted the urge to just slide down the tub and duck her head beneath the water. Everyone in the village would hear this tidbit before dusk. And she and Bryce would be added onto that blasted bulletin board they’d seen down at the Blue Moon Cafe which held shopping lists and the villagers’ bets on whether or not the guests at Seascape Inn would become lovers. Miss Hattie insisted it was harmless, so it surely was, yet Cally didn’t care to be their target. Most likely, thanks to Gregory, she was just hypersensitive about being anyone’s target for anything right now. She needed to work on that, too.

“Suzie.” Cally grabbed the bar of soap, gave it a firm squeeze to help her keep her voice calm. “Who are you talking to out there?”

The door swung open and two girls stood there, side by side. Suzie, dark hair, pristine clean in her jeans and shamrock sweatshirt, and a misshapen tomboy with red hair and a fair sprinkling of freckles. At least she appeared to be a tomboy, judging by her jeans, baseball cap, and once-white T-shirt that now had oil smears and fingerprints swiped across the front of it.

“It’s me and Frankie, Cally.” Suzie pointed to her friend.

The daughter of the new owner of Fisherman’s Co-op that Vic had mentioned. Cally slid down under the bubbles, until they threatened her chin. “Hi, Frankie.”

“Hi.” She tugged at her cap then glanced at Suzie. “She looks like a mom, all right. Even nekkid.”

“Excuse me?” Cally stiffened.

“It’s nothing,” Suzie said quickly, flashing Cally that smile that said it was everything.

“Sweetheart, I like meeting your friends, but when I’m in the bath isn’t the right time.”

Frankie leaned against the door jamb. “She’s ticked off ’cuz she’s nekkid.”

Darn right she was. Cally frowned. “Frankie, would you quit saying that?”

“Why?” Suzie cocked her head. “We’re all girls.”

A valid point. Cally swallowed a groan. “I know. But, well, I’d just prefer to meet people when I’m dressed. Okay?”

“Okay.” Suzie shrugged. “So do you know where my sweater is?”

“Down in the mud room. It’s on a peg right under the Welcome Friends sign.”

Suzie grinned at Frankie. “See? She knows everything.”

“Not hardly.” Cally smiled. “But I’m happy to report that all the blueberry stains came out of your sweater.”

Frankie frowned down at her chest. “Ya got anything for grease? Jimmy’s working on the pastor’s car, and I was watching. I’m building my own for the soapbox derby next summer, and Jimmy’s good with cars—even if he does look all dopey-eyed at Nolene Baker. Hatch said Jimmy’s waiting for her to grow up. Goofy, huh?” Frankie plucked at her T-shirt. “When my mom sees this, she’s gonna pop a cork.”

Suzie slid Frankie an empathetic nod. “Mrs. Wiggins doesn’t like dirt, either.”

“Sometimes you can’t help getting a little dirty, you know? ‘Specially when you’re working on cars.” Frankie grunted. “My mom wants me to be a lady. I promised her I would and everything, when I get around to it. Right now, I just wanna be a kid.”

Cally barely withheld a smile. There was a lot of wisdom in insisting you get to live out your childhood. A shame Suzie hadn’t been gifted with that. Hmm, maybe she had, but she hadn’t been gifted with anyone to fight for her to make sure she got it. Some kids—heck, some adults, too—need an advocate. Frankie clearly didn’t, though, and Cally bet the girl gave her mother fits. Innocent ones, but definitely an abundance of them. She was adorable, this little tomboy. And so earnest. A perfect friend for Suzie.

“I’m glad the stains came out of my sweater.” Suzie grinned at Cally. “You saved me. Mrs. Wiggins would’ve hit the roof.”

“Thank Miss Hattie.” Cally rinsed the washcloth, then soaped it again. “She gave me some special cleaner.”

Suzie perked up. “Do you think it’d work on Lyssie’s hair?”

Cally inwardly groaned. “The stains didn’t come out of her hair?”

Suzie shook her head. “But they cover up the orange.”

Ouch. Some silver lining. Poor Bryce was probably tearing himself up over that, too, considering himself a rotten parent. “Is Mrs. Wiggins resigning again?”

“Uh-huh.” Suzie grinned. “But don’t worry. Daddy’ll talk her out of it. He always does.”

Suzie and Frankie turned to go. “Suzie,” Cally called after her. “Lock that inner door for me, will you?”

“Sure. But the lock’s broken.”

“Wonderful.” Now why hadn’t anyone bothered to pass along that tidbit of information to her?

“It’s okay. The sign’s out on the nail.”

“Sure is,” Frankie yelled. “Occupied. Says so right here.”

Great. They could both read—and ignore. And poor Bryce was feeling like a failure because Lyssie’s hair, while no longer green from chlorine nor orange from juice, was now tinged blue from berry stains. Only God knew how many more colors it’d be before they convinced the child that everything smelling good wasn’t shampoo. And the battleaxe was resigning again.

Cally half wished the woman would stop threatening and really quit. And that Bryce would let her. But even if she did, he wouldn’t. Mrs. Wiggins was a tie to Meriam, and those ties he would hold on to for dear life. Forever.

And why that fact made Cally jealous and angrier than hell, when she should find him being steadfast admirable, she hadn’t a clue. But it did. Jealous. And angry.

She liked both, and definitely didn’t like liking either. They made her feel petty and small, even if they were feelings attached to the battleaxe.

Tony stood in the hallway,
watching the two girls walk out of the bath, a smile curling his lip. Frankie was exactly what Suzie needed. She couldn’t recapture her childhood, but if she could get these dreams out of her way, Frankie would give Suzie a run on another one.

“Frankie, what are you doing with that sign?” Suzie moved to take it out of Frankie’s hand.

She snatched it back. “I’m taking it off the door, is what.”

“Why? No one will know Cally’s in there.”

“Shh. She’ll hear us.” Frankie hiked a thumb toward Cally. “That’s why I’m moving it. So nobody’ll know she’s in there.” Frankie gave her head a shake, then propped the sign against the wall on the floor, a fair distance from the door. “She’s nekkid, remember?”

“She’s taking a bath.”

“I know.” Frankie grinned, ear to ear.

Suzie shrugged. “Don’t you take a bath without your clothes?”

“Yeah, but this ain’t about her taking a bath.” Frankie clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Look, you want her to be your mom, right?”

Suzie nodded.

“Well, you can’t just tell her, so we’ve gotta help her out a little.”

“By taking the sign off the bathroom door? How does that help?”

Frankie’s expression went lax, then closed. “I ain’t saying. If you gotta ask, you’re too little to know.”

“I’m as big as you are.”

“You ain’t as old. I’m nine and seven months. You’re only nine and two months. I’m older, and that’s that.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t. My mom’d skin me alive.”

Suzie gasped, paled.

“Geez, Suzie. I meant she’d be ticked off at me.”

Suzie gulped, lifted her chin. “I knew that.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too.”

Frankie grabbed Suzie’s arm. “Come on.” She headed toward the stairs. “Let’s go follow Batty Beaulah.”

“Who’s she?”

“The old lady next door. She wears these goofy hats and has legs like a bird.”

“Where’s she going?” Suzie stepped down the first of the stairs.

“Ghost-hunting.”

“Huh?”

Frankie’s eyes sparkled. “She’s got binoculars and everything.”

Suzie stopped at the crook in the landing. “I don’t want to hunt any ghosts.”

Frankie halted beside her, looked up at the two portraits hanging on the wall. Cecelia and Collin Freeport. “Hey, I know about her. She was a doctor.”

“No she wasn’t. She was a healer. Lucy Baker over at the Blue Moon told me all about her. She’s why miracles can happen here. Because she loved everybody so much and love doesn’t die. It stays forever and forever, and it fixes broken stuff.”

“Honest?”

“Selena said.” Suzie nodded. “I asked her on the phone.”

“Who’s Selena?”

“My grown-up friend at home. She says love lingers forever. That’s how I’m supposed to know Meriam still loves me and she always will.”

Frankie stuffed her hand in her pocket and leaned against the banister. “Who’s Meriam?”

Suzie started down the stairs. “She was my mom . . . sort of.”

The third stair from the bottom creaked. Liking the sound, Frankie paused to jump on it three times. “How can you have a sort of mom?”

Suzie jumped off the steps and stopped beside the grandfather clock in the gallery, then pressed her ear close to the glass to listen to its ticks. “Be born to Meriam.”

Tony grimaced. The kid definitely needed a mother. Definitely.

“Okay, Tony. I confess.”
Bryce tossed up his hand and paced the length of the bedroom, his cane thumping dully on the carpet. “I’m having a little trouble dealing with knowing Meriam is content.”

Tony debated. He could nix this with Bryce, but it’d be better to let the guy work through it so he could get it out of his system. Tony leaned back against the window, avoiding the mirror in the washstand tucked into the corner. He hated mirrors. Not seeing his own solid reflection but his essence, he empathized with Cally, knowing how cruel those innocuous bits of glass really could be.

At least he’d always had a fondness for this room. His mother, Cecelia, had named it the Cove Room because looking out the window, past the stand of trees and the hint of rooftops in the village, you could glimpse the cove. As it had then, now it still bore all the markings of being a man’s room. Deep-stained cherrywood furniture, a king-size bed covered with a forest-green comforter and brown and green print pillows. None of the frills or lace of the Great White Room.

He let his gaze drift over to the armoire on the west wall. It settled on the small crystal bowl atop it, filled with Sea Spray-scented potpourri. Then he looked to the desk in front of the windows, homed in on the stubby brass vase that held a single yellow rose. Hattie’s touches were everywhere. Even in the terra-cotta berry box beside the crystal bowl. Bess Mystic had bought it for Hattie. And she’d bought a second one for John, to show her estranged husband she’d welcomed him back into her life and her heart. A precious moment, that.