If Ever I Fall (Rhode Island Romance #1)
Read If Ever I Fall (Rhode Island Romance #1) Online
Authors: Sophia Renny
If Ever I Fall
Sophia Renny
Copyright © 2015 Sophia Renny
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For
permission requests, contact the author via
www.sophiarenny.com
Publisher’s
Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a
product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes
used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or
dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is
completely coincidental.
Cover
Art Credit: ©iStock.com/Bayram Tunc
Cover
design: © 2015 Sophia Renny
If
Ever I Fall/ Sophia Renny -- 1st ed.
DEDICATION
For M.
Really?
Really.
CONTENTS
The smile on your face lets me know that you
need me
There’s a truth in your eyes saying you’ll
never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if
ever I fall
You say it best when you say nothing at all
When You Say
Nothing at All - Paul Overstreet, Don Schlitz
“You need
to get out more.”
Willa raised her
eyebrows. “I go walking every day unless the weather is horrible. Do you think
we’ve seen the last of the snow yet?”
Collette gave her a
look. “Stop trying to change the subject. You know what I’m talking about.
You’ve been here for over three months. One trip to Newport and another to the
home show is not going out.” She emphasized the last two words with finger
quotes.
It wasn’t the first
time Collette had commented on Willa’s social life, or lack thereof. Yet,
despite her next-door neighbor’s aggressive but well-meaning interference,
Willa always found it difficult to take offense. How could she when the
scolding was spoken with the accent of a fifty-five year old native Rhode
Islander? Willa had fallen in love with the unique, non-rhotic accent within
hours of moving to the Ocean State. If she attempted to capture the sound of
Collette’s voice on paper, it might look something like this:
Stahp trying to change the subject. Ya know what I’m
tawking abowt. You’ve been heah for ovah tree months. One trip to Newpawt and
anothah to the home show is naht goin’ owt.
“I’m a California
girl. Once the weather warms up…”
“When I was your
age, I went out almost every night. Mercy, Audrey and I went clubbing every
Saturday. The doormen knew us by name.”
“Mercy? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Mercy.”
Collette gave a wicked chortle, reminiscing. “Her father would’ve had a heart
attack if he’d found out. All that money he spent to put his kids through
Catholic school. What a waste.”
The older woman set
down her coffee cup with a bang and wagged one finger at Willa. “There you go,
changing the subject again. I’m dead serious about this, Willa Cochrane. You’ve
been holed up in this place for too long. I think you’re getting too
comfortable being inside. I get the reasons why. I really do. But everyone’s
starting to talk.”
“Define everyone.”
“The girls. The
neighbors. Jeannie Clark was asking about you the other day. She says you’re
inside all day. It’s not healthy.”
Now Willa felt a
stir of irritation. “Why should I care what the neighbors think? What business
is it of theirs how I choose to spend my time?”
Collette put up her
hands in defense. “That’s just the way it is around here. We’re not like you
Californians with your fences and gates. We look out for one another. Everyone
loved Pauline. You’re her niece. Of course they’re gonna look out for you, care
about you.”
Willa stood
abruptly, snagged Collette’s half-empty coffee mug along with her own and
carried them to the sink. She stared out the kitchen window. It was looking to
be a clear day for a change, not a cloud in sight. “I’m going for my morning
walk,” she threw over her shoulder, her tone firm. “Do you have to work at the
library today?”
“No. I have the
next two Saturdays off.” There was resignation in Collette’s voice, though her
expression was kind when Willa pivoted toward her.
“I’m heading up to
Dave’s,” Collette announced, pushing her chair back from the table. “They have
chicken thighs on sale this week. Need anything?”
“No, thanks. I took
care of my weekly grocery shopping yesterday. See?” Willa said with a lightness
she didn’t feel, “I actually got in my car and drove somewhere.”
“Not the same
thing, hon.” Collette sent her a wave before heading for the front door. “It’s supper
and a movie night at my place tonight. The girls are coming over. Six o’clock.
See you then.” And she was out the door before Willa could say yes or no.
It
had been bitter cold with a light snow falling when Willa had arrived in Rhode
Island the first week of January. Never having driven in snow before, she
quickly changed her mind about renting a car, instead taking a taxi the
surprisingly short distance from T.F. Green airport to her aunt’s home in
Conimicut.
She’d been seven
years old the one time she’d traveled across the country with her father to
visit Aunt Pauline. Her father had stayed the night of their arrival before
leaving his only child in the keeping of his older sister while he spent the
summer traveling through Europe.
Willa’s
recollections of that summer were fuzzy, but she did remember this: walking
along the beach at Conimicut Point—just as she was doing now, twenty years
later.
It was the first
Saturday in April and, at just after nine o’clock in the morning, already
showing signs of being the first warm day since Willa had arrived in Rhode
Island. Warm meaning that the temperature might venture above fifty degrees
Fahrenheit.
The winds were
calm, but she kept her hands tucked deep inside the pockets of her jacket as
she took what had become her customary route, first heading along the beach on
the northern shore that was flanked by the mouth of the Providence River on one
side, beach homes on the other. When that portion of the beach was no longer
accessible, she turned around, continuing at a brisk pace beyond her starting
place, heading westward toward the point where—when the tides were low—a narrow
sandbar jutted outwards, aiming for the Conimicut Lighthouse, a structure that
had marked the entrance to the Providence River from Narragansett Bay for well
over a century.
Surrounded by water
on three sides, Conimicut Point offered pretty views of Barrington and Bristol
to the west, the taller buildings of Providence visible to the north, and
Patience and Prudence islands to the south. Sometimes, when it wasn’t too
windy, Willa would walk the sandbar as far as she dared, stopping when the
water began to overlap its banks. Collette had warned her not to walk out too
far; the currents were strong and unpredictable in this place where the bay met
the river.
The tide was high
this morning. A cargo ship slogged through the channel, making its way toward
the Port of Providence. Willa watched it for a while, taking deep breaths of
the briny air. Other than an old man she’d glimpsed walking his dog in the
grassy park area, she appeared to be the only person out this morning.
She embraced these
moments. The calm, the quiet. The lack of urgency. There was nowhere that she
had to be, no lectures to give, no papers to grade, no research to be done, no
colleagues to impress. None of that mattered now; perhaps it never would again.
There was just
this: the sand, the water, a lighthouse, a clear blue sky.
She contemplated
her day. Maybe when she returned from her walk she’d bake some cookies to bring
to Collette’s tonight. Then she might watch a couple more episodes of
Lost
;
she’d started that series on Netflix last week and was already on season four.
She hadn’t made up her mind yet on which series to watch next.
Downton Abbey
?
Grey’s Anatomy
?
Scandal
? So many choices for a girl who hadn’t
been allowed to watch entertainment television while in her father’s house. As
she’d grown older, she’d been so immersed in her studies and work that she
simply hadn’t had time.
Now she had all the
time in the world.
And those were just
the television shows. She’d watched at least one movie every day throughout the
cold and gloomy winter months. How decadent it was to burrow inside her down
comforter and immerse herself in the magic of movies. She watched anything and
everything but found herself drawn towards the chick flicks, both classic and
modern. She was fascinated by the lives the female characters led, the way they
dressed and behaved, the way they interacted with the male characters.
Was that what her
life
could
have been like? Was that how she could be living now?
She didn’t dwell on
those questions for long. She didn’t like to think about most things, period,
other than the simple, mindless pleasures that now occupied her days.
Still, as much as
she’d fought against it, her peace of mind was disturbed by Collette’s words
from earlier that morning. Until now, Willa hadn’t given a second thought to
how outsiders might interpret her behavior since she’d moved into the
neighborhood. For the first time in her life, she was officially on her own,
beholden to no one. Selfish as it might appear, she’d only wanted to focus on
herself, in a way she’d never been able to do before. Why should she feel
guilty about that?
She was supposed to
be in mourning, after all. She was a young woman who had lost both her father
and her aunt—her only family—within the last six months.
She’d scarcely known
her aunt. She hadn’t seen Pauline Cochrane since that long ago summer. Other
than the annual exchange of birthday and holiday cards—sent through her father—Willa
hadn’t communicated with her either.
As for her father…
The profound relief
she’d felt when she’d been informed that her father had died… She could never
share that with anyone.
The instant Dean
Stone had left Willa’s office after conveying the news of Derek Cochrane’s
passing, Willa had vaulted from her chair and spun in circles around the room,
arms outspread, palms up, fingers tingling. The pressing down feeling she’d
carried with her since she was five years old evaporated instantly. It was as
if she’d been a marionette affixed to taut strings all those years, performing
to the puppeteer’s tune. Those strings had been severed at last.
Euphoria had
crashed into uncertainty all too quickly. She’d collapsed to the floor in a
corner of her office, hugged her knees against her chest and slowly rocked back
and forth. She might have been freed from her father’s restraints, but now she
wasn’t sure how to move forward on her own. It was as if her limbs were unable
to carry her without those controlling strings attached.
In the days that
followed, throughout the funeral arrangements and the ceremony itself, one
thought had gained momentum and clarity until it had consumed her every waking
moment: she needed to go somewhere, anywhere, far away from the classes, the
research, the books, the academia that she’d grown to hate.
Out of the blue
came a letter from a law office in Warwick, Rhode Island, informing her of
Pauline Cochrane’s passing, and that she, Pauline’s only living relative, was
named sole beneficiary of her aunt’s estate.
Willa would have
liked to have left her job immediately, to hell with the repercussions. But
there had been contracts to wade through, obligations both verbal and written,
many of them commitments her father had made on her behalf without her
knowledge.
When it was over,
once she’d been able to pack up her belongings and ship them to her new home,
once she’d closed the door to her office for the last time, she’d felt
physically and emotionally exhausted, more tired than she’d ever felt in her
life.
All she’d wanted
was rest and quiet. And these past few months in her new home had provided just
that. It was absolute heaven. Doing nothing. Thinking of nothing. Just
sleeping, baking, watching movies and television, taking long walks.
A simple, logical
self-analysis told her that she was going through the stages of grief. It was
perfectly normal to isolate herself from her loss. But only Willa knew what she
was truly mourning: the loss of her own self, the loss of the little girl she
could have been, the young woman she might have been. She hadn’t reached the
anger stage yet, and she didn’t think she was depressed. She could spend days
analyzing the dichotomy of her emotions, the sense of freedom and peace
juxtaposed with feelings of loss and regret. But she didn’t want to.
Maybe she
was
becoming a recluse.
Leave it to
Collette to pry open Willa’s cocoon; the woman had been blunt and brash from
the moment Willa had met her.
Through her aunt’s
lawyer, Willa had learned that Collette Fournier had been Pauline’s next-door
neighbor for over twenty years. She’d been appointed by Pauline as executor of
Pauline’s estate. Communicating through the lawyer, Willa had notified Collette
of her plans to move into the house and what day she’d arrive.
As soon as the taxi
had pulled into the narrow driveway on that cold evening back in January, a
short, plump woman wearing a purple coat over hot pink snow pants tucked inside
winter boots came trudging through the snow that filled the side yard between
Pauline’s home and a smaller, single-story cottage next door.
“You must be
Willa,” she hollered as soon as Willa opened the car door. “I’m Collette
Fournier. Great to meet ya! Come on. Let’s get your things and you inside the
house. It’s freezing out here. Hey, Brian. How are ya? How’s your ma?”
The older woman
chatted amiably with the taxi driver as she helped him hoist Willa’s two heavy
suitcases from the trunk and then led him towards Pauline’s house. Willa, with
her shoulder bag slung over one arm and her smaller carry-on in tow, followed
them with tentative steps as they took a brick pathway along the left side of
the house. She could tell that the pathway had been shoveled recently, but the
freezing temperature had already iced over sections of the fresh batch that had
since fallen.