No Less Than a Lifetime Page 12

  Faith climbed to the third floor first. She found Parker’s door wide open.

  He was sitting at his desk. “I was hoping you’d stop in to say goodbye.”

  She stood on the threshold and realized she wanted to cry. “Oh, Parker…”

  Yesterday he’d surprised her with his concern and understanding. Now he did it again, this time by rising to his feet and holding out his arms. She ran to him. They held each other for a moment, and then she put her hands on his shoulders and looked up into his eyes. “Don’t let too many more years go by, Parker. Life is out there waiting for you. You just have to…go out and meet it.”

  He actually smiled. “Like you?”

  Price’s image flickered into her mind. She blinked it away. “Yes. Like me.”

  Parker shrugged. “Hey. Who knows? Maybe I’ll start with a visit to a certain motel in the foothills. What’s the name of the place?”

  “Right now, it’s Swan’s Motel. But it’s going to be the Foothill Inn as soon as I get a new sign made. And you come see me. Anytime the mood strikes.”

  “I just might,” he said.

  Faith left him sitting at his desk, turning to the computer that provided most of his interaction with the world.

  The hardest goodbye of all was next.

  When Faith reached the doors to the library, she steadied herself with a few deep breaths. Then she knocked.

  The familiar voice answered, “Come in.”

  She pushed the doors open and entered.

  Price was standing at the big triple window on the east wall, looking out. Beyond the glass, the sun filtered through the leaves of the palms, casting spiky patterns of moving light and shadow onto the dense ground cover below.

  “Sit down,” he said, not turning.

  If she sat, she was sure, her wobbly knees would never allow her to rise again. “Thanks. I’ll stand.”

  He did turn then, focusing bleak eyes on her. The entire room, including the length of his desk, lay between them. “This is ridiculous.”

  He was right, of course. Her back was against the door. He stood at the window. They were as far apart as they could get without one of them actually leaving the room.

  Faith drew herself up. She began walking toward the desk. He approached at the same time, so they ended up facing off across the width of polished mahogany and the bank of computers and phones.

  He seemed to be studying her face. “Are you…all right?” His voice was rough and low.

  She managed a quick nod.

  He looked down at the yellow legal pad on his desk, then back up. “I wish you hadn’t run off like that.”

  She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I know. I’m sorry. I just, um…”

  A look of real pain crossed his face. He waved his left hand. “Never mind. It’s all right.” He was looking at the yellow pad again, as if he’d scribbled something important there and now couldn’t read his own writing.

  Then he reached in a pocket. He pulled out her earrings and extended them across the desk, between two of the computer screens. She stepped forward and took them, her fingers brushing over his palm, then stepped back immediately. He dropped his arm.

  She couldn’t help thinking of Annette Leclaire. Poor Price. Women were always leaving their earrings around for him to return.

  She knew he was watching her, though she wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. His next words took her breath away.

  “Don’t go.”

  The chair was right behind her. She sank into it. And then she waited. For him to grant her some small shred of hope. For him to say that, with time, there might be love. Maybe marriage.

  And children. Oh, she did want children.

  But she wouldn’t have asked him to go that far right then. Right then, all she wanted was Maybe, if you stay...

  But he said nothing more.

  She was the one who broke the spell of silence. “I can’t stay, Price. I meant what I said the other night. I want… love and marriage.” She dared to say it all. “I want children.”

  He looked away at that, back out the window, at the absurdly bright day. “I’ll never marry again.” They were the words she had known he would say. Still, they seemed to drive into her heart like the sharpest of nails. “And as for children…” He didn’t finish. There was no need to.

  Faith stood. Her legs weren’t wobbly anymore. She felt strong, suddenly. Strong enough to do what had to be done. “I know.” Her tone was gentle. “I was there, remember? I know what you went through. I know it’s…your life. And your decision, if you’re determined to live it as a single man. But I can’t stay here, not anymore. It’s just not enough for me. It hasn’t been for a while now. And after the other night, I’m positive that it would never be enough again. Please understand.”

  He met her glance. She saw resignation in his eyes. “I guess there’s not a hell of a lot more to say then, is there?”

  “Nothing. Except goodbye.”

  Chapter Eight

  North Magdalene, California, lay tucked in a bend of highway 49, less than half an hour’s drive out of Nevada City. At the height of the gold rush, the town had boasted over three thousand souls. But in the past century or so, the population had never seemed to get much over 225.

  That February day when Faith came to claim her motel, the sun shone down on North Magdalene as clear and bright as it had on Sausalito. But North Magdalene, being farther north and well above sea level, looked slightly forlorn in the dead of winter, even on a sunny day.

  Snow from recent storms was melting now. It dripped off the eaves of the covered sidewalks and lay in dirty piles next to the curbs. The maples that lined Main Street were bare, their naked limbs stark against the pale blue sky.

  Of course, the blanket of evergreens that cloaked the surrounding hills remained unchanged in any season, and helped to soften everything a little. All a person had to do was look up, at the rise and roll of the higher land, with its soaring stands of pine and fir, to feel a little better about the world.

  Swan’s Motel stood at the foot of Main Street. It consisted of a pair of two-story shoebox-shaped buildings set perpendicular to the road. The office and the manager’s apartment, which would be Faith’s new home, had been stuck on the street end of one of the shoeboxes, like an afterthought. Between the two buildings lay a tarred parking lot, its surface riddled with cracks.

  Faith turned her Trooper beneath the small porte cochere that projected off the front of the office. She switched off the engine and climbed from the driver’s seat. Once on her feet, she put her hands at the small of her back and stretched a little.

  Okay, she thought, so it’s not much.

  But a town the size of North Magdalene didn’t exactly abound with business opportunities. And there were two wooded acres out in back, running roughly northward, which had been part of the deal. They would provide the space she needed for expansion. And when she added on, it wouldn’t be with structures shaped like shoeboxes.

  When Faith stepped into the office, the little bell over the door tinkled a cheerful warning to the manager inside. But Chuck Swan didn’t hear it. He was fast asleep on the plaid couch next to the reception desk. At the sight of him lying there, Faith didn’t know whether to grin or to groan.

  She closed the door and then pulled it open again, hoping the repeated jangling of the bell would be enough to rouse him. No such luck. So she allowed Chuck to snore on undisturbed for a moment, while she glanced around at the knotty pine—paneled walls, the cobwebby corners and the chipped veneer racks of flyspecked tourist pamphlets.

  A half-smoked cigarette still dangled from the lips of the stuffed deer’s head above the check-in desk. When Faith was last here, right after Christmas, she’d specifically asked Chuck to take that poor dead animal’s head down and dispose of it.

  Oh, well, Faith told herself. Things could be worse. At least the awful chalk drawing of the motel’s former owner, Chloe Swan, was gone. It had hung above where Chuck now slept
, the first thing, next to the deer’s head, that visitors saw. In the drawing, Chloe Swan had been looking over her shoulder, a sexy pout on her red lips and a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

  Faith heard footsteps in the manager’s apartment, the door to which stood open behind the desk. Jared appeared. Before they left Sausalito, Faith had given him a key that would open the apartment’s two back doors.

  “You want us to start bringing things in?”

  “Yes. That would be great.”

  Jared retreated the way he had come.

  On the couch, Chuck stirred. The bell hadn’t bothered him, but the sound of voices apparently had. “Huh? What? Argh!” He sat up, saw Faith and blinked. “Oh.” He ran a nervous hand back through his thinning hair. “It’s you, Miz Jones.”

  Faith gave him a weary smile, “Yes, Chuck. It’s me.”

  He was grinning, rather dazedly.

  Faith said, “Chuck, you look tired.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, Miz Jones, I’m bushed.”

  “How many of the rooms are occupied?”

  “There’s a couple in 203, and another couple in 106. And a single fella next door, in 101. It’s all right there, in the register.”

  “Okay.” Faith upped the wattage on her smile. “And…have you moved all of your things from the apartment?”

  She was infinitely grateful when Chuck nodded. “You bet. Got the last of it out yesterday. It’s why I’m so tired. I not only had to clear out my things, I had to look after the place until you came, so I slept on the couch here all night. It ain’t real comfortable, I gotta tell you. And I’m pretty drowsy today.”

  Faith was dreading the moment when she had to face that apartment. She’d seen it while Chuck was living there; the man was no housekeeper.

  “Have you…found another job, as we discussed?”

  He yawned hugely, showing that more than one molar was missing in back. “Yes, ma’am. I got me some prospects. Over in Reno. I’ll be leavin’ town in a week, and stayin’ with my sister until then.”

  Faith decided not to ask what prospects he had. She was just happy that he was content to move on. Chuck seemed to be a nice man. But if she needed counter help, Faith planned to look elsewhere.

  Still, she was grateful for the way he’d held down the fort. From her pocket, she took a check that she’d already made out to him. She handed it over. “I appreciate your keeping an eye on things, Chuck.”

  His tired eyes lit up. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

  “No problem.” She could hear the men hauling her things in from out back. She wanted to get busy. “Good luck,” she added.

  Chuck dragged himself to his feet and headed for the door. He turned just before he went out. “Oh, I never did get up on the roof to check out that leak over 203 and 204. You might go and have a look at it as soon as you get the chance. And the lights have been acting up in 104 and 105. And you probably ought to call in a plumber about the toilet in 103. And there are a few problems with the heaters lately. They ain’t all workin’ like they used to.”

  Faith listened patiently to what sounded like an endless list of things that needed fixing. When Chuck finally fell silent, she thanked him again and sent him on his way.

  Faith felt marginally better about the place when she stepped into the small front room immediately behind the office. It was knotty pine all the way. But it was empty of furniture. And it was clean.

  She found out why when she reached the tiny kitchen in back and saw the old gateleg table and the two fancifully carved wooden chairs. The table and chairs were a set she had once admired in her sister Evie’s store. On the table was a mason jar full of roses. A folded sheet of blue notepaper was propped against the jar.

  I’ll be back as soon as I close up my shop, the note read. Faith smiled at the pretty blue paper. Evie had been there. She’d cleaned the rooms where Faith would live and brought a beautiful housewarming gift, to make her feel welcome. And she’d be coming by around five, after her store, Wishbook, was closed for the day.

  That was something to look forward to, something to push the blues away.

  Faith heard sounds in the bedroom, which could be reached by going through the bathroom, or through a door that opened onto the small back parking lot. Jared and Erik were hard at work in there, setting up her bed. She had better get busy herself. With a determined smile on her face, she went out the kitchen’s back door to start bringing in her things.

  Evie arrived at five-thirty, having strolled over from her shop, a little farther up Main Street. As always, she looked like an angel. Her pale skin seemed to glow, her auburn hair shone, and her golden-brown eyes brimmed with warmth and love. Evie was the beauty of the family—and even more so in the past year and a half, since she’d met and married Erik Riggins.

  The sisters embraced. Evie smelled of something fresh and old-fashioned. Lilacs, Faith thought, knowing that she herself smelled of dust and spray cleaner, since she’d just finished cleaning the reception area. After she helped the men unload her things, the office had been her number one priority; it was the first impression her guests would have of the Foothill Inn when they sought a room.

  “I’ll bet you’re beat,” Evie said. “Come with me, to my house. We’ll get a hot meal into you.”

  It sounded wonderful, but Faith had to say no. She wouldn’t start out her first night by leaving the front desk. And there were scores of boxes still waiting to be unpacked.

  “Come on, sit down.” Faith led Evie to the sofa. “Give me just a few minutes before you rush home.”

  The sisters talked for a little, and then Evie left. But she returned an hour later with her husband, her three stepchildren, and a picnic basket. They spread a blanket on the floor and shared the meal. For a few short hours, the small, shabby apartment echoed with laughter.

  The next morning, early, Chuck Swan appeared to collect his cigarette-smoking stuffed deer head. Faith was inordinately happy to see the thing go.

  Over the days that followed, Evie and the family were in and out all the time, eager to help if Faith needed a hand. Uncle Oggie dropped by often to regale her with a thousand and one stories of his forty-plus years in North Magdalene—and of all the years before that, as well.

  And the Montgomerys wrote to her. Not Price, of course. But Ariel scribbled messages once or twice a week on fluorescent-green stationery. And little Eli wrote on lined paper. His words never stayed within the lines.

  I am a super riter too, Faith. See wat I mean?

  Parker wrote, as well. Short notes with little icons all over them that he must have printed from his computer. He said he was still thinking about that visit.

  But in spite of the affectionate notes from those she’d left behind and the loving support of her family, Faith found her new life extraordinarily stressful.

  Within a week of moving in, Faith began to understand that the motel was much worse than just run-down. She found, to her growing distress, that aside from new carpets, curtains and furniture throughout, the south building needed a new roof and the whole place needed plumbing and wiring repairs, a decent heating and air-conditioning system—and a whole new phone system, too. The phone lines were erratic, literally rotting inside the walls. Just bringing the place up to her strict standards of cleanliness was backbreaking work—work she did herself, in order to save money.

  Within two weeks of leaving Sausalito, Faith was lying awake almost every night, obsessing on the limited amount that was left in her savings account and realizing she would have to borrow big-time to get all the work done. But how would she do that? She had so little equity in the place that she had nothing to borrow against.

  A trip to a Grass Valley bank confirmed her fears. She’d need a cosigner to get the money to make all the repairs. And she didn’t want anyone else being responsible for her debts. She wanted to earn what she had. On her own.

  She should have checked out the investment more thoroughly, she could see that now. She hadn’t
taken the time to get professional estimates on what needed fixing and how much it was going to cost.

  Maybe, in the final analysis, she simply hadn’t wanted to know. Because then it would have been obvious that she couldn’t afford this. She’d still be at Montgomery House, living out her days in the service of a wounded man who would never return her hopeless love.

  Oggie came calling one morning, early, when Faith was feeling especially low. He coaxed the truth of her money problems out of her and then told her he’d be happy to lend her whatever she needed.

  Faith said nothing for a moment after her uncle made the offer. She was thinking of how he lived with his only daughter, Delilah. And Faith was reasonably sure he was wearing the same threadbare shirt and grubby suspenders he’d worn on the day he came to help her move from Montgomery House. He barreled around in an ancient, rusted Cadillac Eldorado. Her disbelief that he could be much help with her finances must have shown on her face.

  “Damn it, gal.” Oggie was huffing; he clearly thought his dignity had been thoroughly impugned. “Just ’cause a man doesn’t flaunt it is no guarantee he ain’t got it. I’m a rich old coot, and don’t you forget it.” He leaned across her table and squinted at her. Hard. “Now how the hell much do you need?”

  Faith shook her head. “No, Uncle Oggie. I’ll find a way to do this on my own. It’s just going to take awhile, that’s all.”

  “Too much independence can give a woman wrinkles, you know that?”

  But Faith kept shaking her head; she wouldn’t take her uncle’s money. Finally Oggie told her he was so offended, she was going to have to let him enjoy a cigar in her apartment before he’d be mollified. Though she hated the smell, Faith went to find an ashtray.

  Then the bell rang out in front. She left her uncle happily stinking up her kitchen to go talk to the plumber about the toilet that kept overflowing in 103.

  Things seemed to be getting worse by the day, yet Faith tried to stay positive. She often reminded herself that all her problems with the motel didn’t leave a lot of time for mooning around missing Price. Even hardship had its blessings.