Sweet Tomorrows Read online

  Personally I think love is an overrated emotion. I’ve been in love twice in my life, and both times the relationships have ended badly. My first love, and what girl doesn’t remember her first love, was with my college sweetheart. I was so in love with Jayson I would have done anything for him, and I had.

  It was because of Jayson and later James that I’d decided to move away from Seattle and accept a job with the Cedar Cove School District. And that led to taking a week-by-week rental agreement with Jo Marie Rose, who owned the Rose Harbor Inn.

  As I pulled into the driveway, I was struck by the elegance and graceful beauty of the inn. It was a three-story, gleaming white house that looked to have been built in the 1920s or 1930s, with a large wraparound porch. Several wicker chairs and a loveseat had been set on the wide deck, along with large pots of red flowers. Even from the vantage point of the driveway, I could see that the house offered stunning views of the cove. I immediately felt a sense of solace and peace, which is something I hadn’t felt in a good long while. It was the same sensation that came over me when I found the inn’s webpage. I lost track of how long I’d stared at the online photograph. I’d gone through a rough patch emotionally, struggling with loss and wondering what direction to point my life toward now. Of one thing I was confident: I was finished with love. Finished with looking for that happily ever after, because it simply wasn’t going to happen to me.

  As a young girl growing up, I’d painted this beautiful picture in my mind of the future, which is so beautifully portrayed in romantic novels. I dreamed of meeting the man of my dreams, marrying. I’d never wanted anything more than to settle down with a husband and a houseful of kids. In this day and age, I suppose that’s rather old-fashioned. Women’s rights being what they are, I should strive for a more ambitious goal, right?

  Not me. All I ever wanted was a good man, children, and a plot of land large enough for a garden, a few fruit trees, and maybe a white picket fence for good measure. Until I met and married my dream man, I was perfectly content to teach kindergarten.

  After two broken engagements I’d come to accept that my fantasy of the future needed a few revisions. I might not have the husband, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t adopt children and have the home I’d always wanted. Of course, I had to find the house first, and I was thinking Cedar Cove was the perfect location.

  Staring at the inn, I thought it was everything the website promised and more. If ever there was a time I needed peace, it was now. To put it mildly, my family and friends were upset with me. I hadn’t renewed my teaching contract in Seattle. Instead, I’d taken a substantial pay cut in another school district, subleased my apartment, and moved across Puget Sound.

  Cedar Cove was far enough away that I could be independent but close enough to visit family for anniversaries and holidays. In essence, I was starting over, giving up my happy, domesticated life dream, seeking contentment in my career, and plotting the future. I didn’t need a man to complete me, and seeing that I was a two-time loser in the game of love, I wasn’t willing to give it another shot. Bottom line: My heart couldn’t take it. Okay, fine, call me a quitter, I don’t care. I’m done with men, romance, and the idea of happily-ever-after. Not for me, thank you very much, anyway.

  Ironically, I’d first visited Cedar Cove last summer when I attended a ten-year class reunion with my then fiancé. I’d found this slice of small-town America appealing and wandered around the main streets, feeling the warmth and welcome of the community. James and I had shopped the farmers’ market and visited the library, where a tall, impressive-looking totem pole stood guard over the waterfront and the marina.

  At the time James had been silent and moody. I didn’t understand it—only later did I learn the source of his unrest. Even then I’d liked the cozy feel of the town. After we broke off the engagement, I saw a kindergarten teaching position open, and on a whim I applied. It had been a fluke; I didn’t really expect to be hired and was thrilled when I was offered the job.

  As time progressed, I wondered if I’d subconsciously been seeking some connection with James through the town. The thought plagued me for some time. Now I can honestly say I don’t think so. I loved James, sincerely loved him. I’d loved him enough to break off the engagement myself. In the end he might have done it, but I took matters into my own hands first. We might have married, and I believe that in time we would have found happiness, but there would always have been that niggling doubt, that seed of uncertainty planted at the high school reunion when he saw Katie, his first love.

  Starting over by leaving Seattle felt right, and when I was hired by the Cedar Cove School District a sense of renewed purpose filled me. I was going to start my life fresh, without expectations of that happily-ever-after every woman dreams of, without any expectations, in fact.

  As for children, for now, I had my students and my nieces and nephews to shower love upon. Eventually, I’d like to take in foster children and possibly adopt. I’d thrown in the white towel, laid down my hopes and dreams, and surrendered. It took the better part of the year to accept my future, but I had, and I was truly ready to move forward.

  My intended move had upset my parents the most. They were accustomed to having me close at hand. My mother in particular had big plans for me. Plans that included introducing me to every unmarried man she could drag off the street. It’d gotten to be embarrassing, especially when I’d made it clear I wasn’t interested. I’d given love a chance and it hadn’t worked out. No one was at fault. It was sort of like “been there, done that, and had the engagement rings to prove it.” Well, actually, I didn’t have those rings any longer; I’d sold them and planned to use the money as part of the down payment on a house.

  While I choose to believe Mom has my best interests at heart, I also know she was dying to throw me the wedding of the century. That wasn’t going to happen. Unfortunately, no matter how many times I told her, she refused to believe I was serious.

  —

  Letting go of all these negative thoughts, I focused on the inn once more and released a sigh. I climbed out of my car, dragged my heavy suitcase out from the trunk, and started lugging it toward the inn. I planned to start house shopping right away. I didn’t anticipate that I would need more than a month to find what I wanted. I’d already gotten a loan approval and had saved a substantial down payment from the money I’d set aside for the weddings that had never happened.

  On my drive into town, I’d scouted out several neighborhoods and addresses that I’d found on the Internet. Any one of those houses would have suited me, I suppose, but none excited me.

  Call me picky; I wanted more than four walls and a decent-sized yard. I was in search of a place I could settle into and be content for the rest of my life, for however long that would be.

  The front door of the inn opened, and a woman who didn’t seem that much older than me stood in the doorway, watching me as I approached. I had to assume she was a guest.

  “This is the Rose Harbor Inn, right?” I asked.

  She smiled. “You must be Emily Gaffney. I’m Jo Marie Rose. Welcome.”

  This was Jo Marie Rose? I’d only talked to her on the phone and assumed she would be much older. “You’re Jo Marie?”

  “Yes.” She smiled as if she found my surprise amusing. Glancing down at the short-haired dog at her side, she added, “And this is Rover.”

  A mixed-breed dog sat on his haunches and looked intently up at me, cocking his head to one side as if appraising me. Apparently, I passed muster, because his tail flopped against the wooden porch in a gesture of acceptance and welcome.

  “I have your room ready. I hope you don’t mind that I put you up on the third floor,” Jo Marie said as she led the way into the inn.

  I paused and took in the sight. The foyer was smaller than I would have suspected for such a large home, dominated by a staircase that disappeared into the second floor. To my immediate left was a formal dining area with a long table with matching chairs that looked to
seat about twenty people. Beyond that was a great room with a fireplace. It seemed nearly every room had a view of the cove, and my eyes immediately went to the blue-green waters. As it had earlier in the photo of the inn, the marina caught my attention as the boats gently undulated on the rolling surface.

  “The third floor is perfect,” I assured Jo Marie, tearing my gaze away from the cove. “I’m grateful you were willing to accept this arrangement. I’m sure I’ll find a home before the end of summer.”

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as necessary,” Jo Marie assured me.

  She led the way into the large kitchen area and automatically brought out a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and poured us each a tall glass. Then she ushered me outside and we sat next to each other on the white wicker chairs. I’d assumed she’d want my credit card information and to go over all the do’s and don’ts. When I’d confirmed my reservation, we’d talked about what was expected of a guest who planned to stay more than a few days. I thought perhaps she wanted to review those with me. Instead, she welcomed me like a friend.

  “It’s such a lovely afternoon,” Jo Marie said as we nestled into the chairs. “Let’s sit and chat for a while and get to know each other. Did you have a good drive? The bridge traffic can sometimes be a hassle.”

  “I didn’t have a single problem,” I told her as I felt a cooling breeze blow across the porch. My day had started early, around five. Most everything I owned had already been placed in storage and I’d fallen into a hotel bed near the airport, exhausted, after cleaning the apartment so that it was ready for my friend and her husband, who were subleasing it. Now that I was at the inn, I had to resist closing my eyes and taking a nap.

  “The inn is a special place,” Jo Marie said, sipping her tea.

  “Yes, it is lovely; and the view is exceptional.”

  “It is,” Jo Marie agreed. “But it’s more, more than that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Her look was tender and warm, as if she knew more about me than I’d told her. “The inn is a special place.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely.”

  She hesitated, as if gauging how much she should or shouldn’t tell me. “It’s much more than that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “This isn’t an ordinary bed-and-breakfast. This inn is a place of healing.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Apparently, I must look like one of the walking wounded. “Do I look like I need healing?” I asked, hoping it came out sounding like a joke and not defensive.

  “Oh sorry…no. I didn’t mean to imply that. It was something in your eyes when I first saw you. It was the expression I had when I toured the inn for the first time.”

  “Oh.”

  “My husband had been dead only a few months and I was strangling on grief.”

  “No one I’ve loved has died,” I said quickly, and looked to change the subject. I didn’t mean to be rude or cut her off, but we’d only just met and I wasn’t willing to leap into sharing confidences with someone who was basically a stranger. I’m a private person, and I certainly didn’t want to get into the secrets I carried. Nor did I want to pour my heart out to Jo Marie about my broken engagements, the reason for them, and my most recent life decisions. “I’m looking to buy a house.”

  “So you said.”

  Jo Marie must have realized I’d rather not discuss anything of a personal nature and easily accepted my abrupt change of subject.

  “This is a nice neighborhood,” I mentioned absently. Of all the areas I’d driven by, I felt most drawn to this one. As an advantage, it was close to the school where I’d be teaching come September and close to the heart of the small downtown area, the library, local market, and other conveniences.

  “This location is walking distance to several restaurants, which makes it perfect for my guests,” Jo Marie commented. “Actually, this location is ideal for several reasons. The only downfall is the hills, which make walking something of a chore, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. Although you’d be hard pressed for me to admit it after I visit the Saturday market and hauled up several pounds of fresh seafood.”

  Relaxed as I was, I smiled. “Do you know of any homes for sale in the area that aren’t listed with agents?” Not all buyers choose to use real estate companies.

  “Not that I know of, but my friend Dana is a real estate agent and she might. What are you looking for?”

  I told her, describing the home I’d built up in my mind. If I could find something even close to that I’d be happy.

  “That sounds like…” Jo Marie said, shook her head, and then hesitated. “The house you described sounds just like the one that’s about three blocks from here. It’s an older home and is currently being renovated. I don’t know anything about it or the owner.”

  “Do you have the address?”

  “No, but it’s close enough that I can give you directions. It’s on Bethel Street; you won’t be able to miss it.”

  I’d make a point of checking it out on my morning run.

  We chatted for several minutes, not about anything personal, but revisiting some of her expectations with an extended-stay guest and some of mine as well. Instead of buying my own food, we agreed to share food costs and take turns cooking dinner. I wouldn’t join in the breakfasts with the guests, which suited me fine. I made my own protein drink following my morning run. I generally ate a light lunch of a sandwich or salad, and Jo Marie did the same. We agreed to see to our own midday meal and then share dinner.

  Jo Marie was flexible and easygoing and it seemed we were going to be a good match. It was almost like being back in college and learning the give and take of having a roommate.

  The weekends were the busiest time for the inn, and I agreed to help Jo Marie as much as she needed or wanted.

  When we finished our talk, she showed me the room she’d set aside for me and it was lovely. She called it the Lavender Room and I understood why the moment I walked inside. The walls were painted a lovely shade of lavender. A border of white and lavender flowers circled the edge of the ceiling. The white comforter on the queen-size bed was decorated with, yup, you guessed it, lavender-colored pillows. What caught my eye, however, was the balcony with French doors that looked out over the front of the property. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a view of the cove, and while that was something of a disappointment, I didn’t mind.

  —

  I slept well except for one small distraction. At about three I heard a noise below in the yard. I’d opened the door off the balcony and had gone to investigate and thought I saw a man and a dog. How strange was that? I didn’t get a good look at him, but I could see that the dog was large, perhaps a German shepherd. I decided to mention it to Jo Marie in the morning and returned to bed.

  I woke with my alarm at six. The sun was already up and the day looked to be glorious. From the app on my phone, I saw that the predicted temperature for the day was going to be in the high seventies. Perfect, just perfect, and an unexpected treat for June in the Pacific Northwest.

  Sitting up in bed, I reached for my journal and wrote. I’d kept a journal for most of my life. Afterward, I did a bit of reading before changing out of my pajamas and into my running shorts and sleeveless top.

  On the porch I did a few stretching exercises and then headed out, starting slowly and then increasing my pace. I wasn’t going to win any medals, but when it came to running, I wasn’t interested in competing. I ran for a number of reasons, the most important being that I enjoyed it. The best advice I’d gotten was from a college physical education class—in order to make exercise a habit, do what brings you pleasure. For me that was running, especially cross-country.

  With the house Jo Marie had mentioned in mind, I started toward Bethel Street. She didn’t know the precise address, but she was certain I wouldn’t be able to miss it and she was right. The instant I saw the two-story house, I realized this must be the one.

  Just as she’d said, it was older, pro
bably built around the fifties or sixties, and looked to have been neglected for quite some time. Most of the outside had been ignored. The porch was uneven, as if part of the foundation had crumbled, and the flower beds were overgrown with weeds.

  The lawn was in sorry shape and consisted of dry yellow grass. The only green visible was weeds, and they seemed to be flourishing. The yard didn’t look to have been watered in months. Yet with all that was wrong I found myself strongly drawn to the home. Maybe because I, too, felt beaten down, ignored, and discarded.

  I could see that at one time this house had been cherished and appreciated. If whoever was doing the repairs had a sense of this, then they would see it restored to the beauty it had once been.

  Someone had taken on the task. That much was obvious by the amount of wood stacked in the front, along with sawhorses and other woodworking equipment.

  I paused to study the house, and right away I felt a deep sense that this was it, the house I could see for me and the future I planned to make for myself. Sight unseen—well, the inside, at any rate—I knew this was it, and I was keenly interested.

  It was large, much bigger than I currently needed. I speculated it probably had four or more bedrooms, which was perfect. What also attracted me was the large yard and small orchard. As far as I could see, there was no indication that whoever was currently residing there had any intention to sell. It was speculation on my part; all I could do was ask.

  I decided to investigate the orchard, which looked to have about fifty trees. As soon as I entered the property, I noticed an overgrown trail winding its way through the orchard.

  The shade cooled me after my short run. The trail was perfect, as I preferred vegetation over concrete for my workouts. The grass was ankle-high, but it was easy to see where the path had been. I followed it without a problem and noticed that several of the trees were apple. The others looked to be pear and plum trees. The budding fruit filled the branches and I ambled along, stopping several times to examine them. Already my mind conjured up jars of apple butter, plum jelly, and canned pears.