Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Layne stood under the hot shower spray, allowing it to wash away not only the sweat from her workout but the aftermath of yesterday’s funeral.
The service had been bittersweet, and the reception held after at the First Baptist Church had been difficult to get through.
The ladies of her parents’ church had prepared a virtual feast for after the graveside burial, and the citizens of Driftwood Bay had come to honor Jack and Lark Larson.
She had known her parents were respected members of the Bay’s community, but she didn’t realize how many lives they had touched.
Countless people had told her wonderful stories of how Jack and Lark had made a difference in their lives.
The day had been an emotional one for her, but she knew she could now shut the door on some of her hurt, the funeral giving her some closure.
She might not have agreed with the choices her dad made, but she had come to terms with his decision.
She dressed for the day in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and drove to the Bay Breeze, where Joey and his crew were already hard at work.
They had finished painting the exterior of the inn and would begin on the interior this morning.
She had hired them for an additional task, and they had moved every stick of furniture from the inside of the B&B to the outside.
Layne had contacted a place in Corpus and donated everything inside the inn, from furniture to bedding, as well as her parents’ clothes.
She had kept one flannel shirt of her dad’s, and she wore her mom’s pearl earrings every day. Everything else had been carted away.
The interior painting would go much easier without having to place drop cloths protecting furniture and rugs which had seen better days.
She would get online once the painting was completed and choose new furniture for the entire inn with Keaton’s help.
She trusted his artist’s eye far more than she did her own.
While she was a whiz with numbers and computers, Layne knew she would second guess her interior design choices without his input.
Today, she was tackling the attic. Most likely, there would be more items to give away up there, as well, but she could always have the donation truck come by again if there proved to be more things than would fit in the back of Keaton’s pickup.
She hadn’t ever set foot in the attic and had no idea what her parents stored in it.
She found Joey and his crew upstairs. The crew consisted of two men in their mid-twenties who had been best friends since third grade.
They were painting one guestroom, while Joey was tackling another one on his own.
She stopped and exchanged brief pleasantries with everyone and then told Joey she was headed up to the attic.
Layne pulled the cord in the hallway, lowering the stairs to the attic, glad that she was investigating in January and not the heat of July.
She found a few odd pieces of furniture.
A wonderful, full-length antique mirror which she would definitely put to good use.
She came across two trunks and decided to ask Joey to bring those downstairs for her.
It would be easier to go through their contents where she had better light.
He willingly obliged, and she walked the attic’s length to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
She actually had, finding a tarp in the far corner.
Pulling it up, she saw several frames stacked together, leaning against the wall, and thought it might be artwork which had once graced the walls of the inn, paintings her parents hadn’t favored and merely tucked away in the attic.
She and Keaton could explore those together after she investigated the contents of the trunks.
Layne replaced the tarp, heading down the stairs and to the common room, where she’d asked Joey to move both trunks.
Layne decided to brew herself a cup of tea before she looked at what the trunks held. Once she made it, she brought it back to where the trunks sat.
The first one she opened had clothes from decades ago.
They outdated even her parents’ youth, and she supposed the trunk had been something from the previous owners.
She decided to give the contents of the trunk to Piper’s mom.
Perhaps her drama students could use some of items as costumes in one of their plays.
She thought of how Mrs. Roberts and the chief would be retiring soon, along with Dr. Perry.
Mrs. Perry had said she would keep Coastal Charms Boutique but step away from going in on a daily basis once her husband retired.
Layne’s gut told her that Mrs. Perry would sell the shop sooner rather than later.
The two couples were in their mid-sixties, just as her parents had been, and all four seemed in excellent health.
She wondered if her parents hadn’t received the medical diagnoses they had if they would have sold the inn and retired.
Something told her they wouldn’t have. The inn was more than their livelihood. It had been a way of life for them.
She had discovered that her dad had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, as Keaton had suspected.
In going through bills a few days ago, Layne had found not only ones regarding her mom’s medical treatments but a separate folder for her dad.
Even though her dad was deceased, she figured with HIPAA laws, his doctor would not be forthcoming.
She googled the medical practice and found it was run by a neurological doctor who specialized in movement disorder.
He exclusively treated patients with Parkinson’s disease.
Though there was printout in the folder with future appointments scheduled, Jack Larson had drawn a line through each, with the notation CANCELED next to each one.
She had to give it to her dad. He had been thorough in his plan on how to leave this world.
Folding the last shirt and closing the trunk, Layne texted Mrs. Roberts, who was back in school now for the spring semester.
She explained that she had found some old clothes in the attic that might be suitable for the drama productions at the high school.
Mrs. Roberts texted back, thanking her and saying that she would stop by the inn today after school to claim the trunk if that were convenient.
Layne merely texted back a thumbs up, knowing she would still be here.
Going to the second trunk now, she saw the initials JLL embossed on it and knew it belonged to her dad, Jackson Lemuel Larson.
Excitement filled her, wondering what the trunk might hold.
It would be great to have a piece of her dad, something more personal than his clothes or books on the shelves in the common room, which she knew he had chosen since he was a voracious reader.
She opened it, anticipation filling her, and saw a bundle of letters on top, tied with twine. She set those beside her, deciding to go through the trunk’s contents first before sitting back and reading through the correspondence.
The first item she found was an artist’s sketchbook.
She was familiar with it because she had seen one at Keaton’s house.
Layne had moved in with him once they returned from their trip to Dallas.
It only made sense for her to be gone while the inn was undergoing extensive renovations.
The fact that she was also crazy in love with Keaton and wanting to spend every waking moment she could in his presence had made it an easy decision.
Curious, she opened the sketchbook, having never seen her dad sketch anything.
Slowly, she turned the pages. It contained mostly drawings of landscapes, and she recognized places in and around the Bay.
In the corner of each sketch she saw JLL, proving they had been drawn by her dad.
As she continued perusing the sketchbook, Layne also found drawings of animals.
Even fish. Then she recognized one which had to be her mother.
She had seen a few photographs of Mom when she was younger, but these leapt off the page, capturing the essence of her mom and bringing Lark Larson to life.
The laughing eyes. The carefree, natural beauty.
An ache filled Layne, seeing her mom at such a young age, so vibrant.
She found a few other sketches of her mom and then one self-portrait her dad had drawn of himself. Tears stung her eyes as she saw the mischief in his eyes. He had always been such a fun, happy man, one larger than life.
Why hadn’t she known he could draw like this? He’d never spoken of his artistic talent before.
Immediately, she thought of the canvases in the attic.
Her gut told her they had been painted by her dad, and Layne hurried back upstairs.
She removed the drop cloth and counted a dozen framed canvases.
Picking up the first one, which faced the wall, she turned it toward her and saw Driftwood Bay’s largest cove.
Layne dropped to her knees, resting the painting on the ground before her, studying it carefully.
It depicted a tranquil day in Driftwood Bay, the water calm and the skies blue, not a cloud in sight.
She knew very little about art, but she admired the subtle shading of the water as it changed from a light green to varying and deeper shades of blue.
The way the light struck the water gave her chills.
“Dad was talented,” she said aloud, stunned by this discovery.
Her eyes dropped to the right corner of the painting, where she saw JL Larson.
Why were these paintings hidden away in the attic? Better yet, why hadn’t Dad pursued a career in art when he had such an obvious talent?
Instead of trying to carry the canvases downstairs herself, Layne returned to the common room, hoping the answers to her questions might lie within the pages of bundled correspondence he had saved.