7. Penny
7
Penny
T he staccato hammering that woke her sounded like it was coming from right above her head. Penny groaned and pulled one of the soft pillows over her head in a futile attempt to muffle the sound. It stopped, but just as Penny started lifting the pillow, it started up again.
She’d been ensconced in Hazel’s bed-and-breakfast for four days already, and had done little more than eat, read, and sleep. “Three of my favorite things to do,” she told Hazel after dinner the night before when they were sitting out on the front porch watching the deluge of a sudden summer storm sweep across the lake.
She would have included gardening on that list, but she’d left it off so as not to upset her hostess.
Hazel’s garden, to Penny’s dismay, had changed dramatically since the summer before, and she’d been so disheartened by the weed-choked beds and unpruned fruit trees that she hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to head out there and get her hands dirty. She wanted to remember it the way it once was: lush and verdant, bountiful. It was still eerily beautiful the way a child gone feral might be, but like with any wild creature, Penny wasn’t quite sure how to approach it.
The hammering started up again, and Penny gave up trying to fall back to sleep. Not only was the pillow not really blocking out the jarring sounds, but she was also finding it a little difficult to breathe with it over her head, and claustrophobia was threatening to set in.
With a harrumph, she tossed the pillow aside and reached for her phone on her nightstand. Her bleary eyes widened when she saw that it was almost eleven o’clock. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in so late. She could hardly be upset at whoever was swinging the hammer, could she? Not when it was practically the middle of the day, already.
Was it Ward St. James? She’d not seen hide nor hair of him since her first day in town, and Hazel hadn’t said anything about him coming back to do more work on the property. Surely, she would have mentioned it, especially knowing how Penny felt about the guy.
She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, still bleary from her rude awakening. She’d been up until well after three in the morning, unable to put down the latest Destiny Baudelaire book she was reading, so it was no wonder she’d slept so late. She’d gone right back to The Cracked Spine after finishing Lace it Up , and had left the place with the remaining three volumes of the four-book series. She couldn’t get enough of the author’s storytelling.
Penny had arranged to meet up with a group of women she’d formed relationships with over the years she’d been summering at Autumn Lake. They were gathering at Juniper’s Coffee Bar at two that afternoon, and the anticipation made her a little giddy. “I can’t wait to see them all, can you?” she asked aloud, pulling the bed linens back and swinging her legs over the side of her bed. Over the last few years, she’d formed a habit of speaking to herself, and when she caught herself doing it, it made her cringe. It hadn’t started out that way. When her mother had moved in with her, it had been normal conversation between them. But as Mom’s attention waned, as she became more and more lost in her own little world, the conversations had become more and more one-sided. Now it was Penny who did all the talking, and if Mom responded at all, it was in nonsensical sounds and syllables, and even then, Penny wasn’t sure if her mother was trying to engage or not.
She went to the window and drew back the curtain so she could look out at the glorious beauty of the lake. It was a ritual she performed every morning, almost as if she had to remind herself that she was actually here. The view out over the water always brought a smile to her lips, and today was no different. The rain that had finally lulled her to sleep had dissipated sometime in the early morning hours, leaving everything revitalized and glistening clean.
Across the narrow inlet, the pretty blue house where Ward and his parents lived drew her attention. It sat nestled up against a small copse of trees, the backyard almost nonexistent. But the front of the property stretched out in a well-maintained lawn that sloped gently toward the water and a small dock with a two-door boathouse. It was really more of a boat shed, Penny thought, with its lattice paneled sides and the tin roof, but she supposed it did the job of keeping the rigs out of the worst of the elements. Hazel had mentioned that Ted St. James kept a beautiful older model Chris-Craft in the boathouse. “I haven’t seen him out on the water in that thing for a couple of years, now,” she’d said with a sad shake of her head. “He just pulls it out and starts it up periodically, tinkers with it a little, then parks it back inside.”
Penny had never been out on the lake on anything other than Hazel’s old johnboat with its trolling motor. There’d been a time when it had been kept tied up at the dock, free for her guests to use, but this summer, the dock sat empty, and Penny had been a little afraid to ask about it, especially after seeing the garden. The top speed on the thing was about one or two miles per hour, and although it was fun tooling around in it, Penny hadn’t been confident enough to go very far. She’d often watched with a twinge of envy as folks on their jet skis and their boats with big outboard motors skimmed across the water at what seemed like lightning speed. Just once, she wanted to feel the unbridled rush of the wind in her hair, the spray of water on her skin, the rumble of the engine shaking the framework under her feet.
With a deep, lung-expanding breath, Penny stretched languidly, working out the slight kink in her neck that she always got when she slept hard and long. She tied back the drapes to let the sunshine in, made up her bed with its old-fashioned white eyelet duvet and matching pillow covers, then gathered up her clothes for the day and headed into the Jack and Jill bathroom between her room and the next. Hazel no longer rented out both rooms at the same time, unless it was to family members who didn’t mind sharing a bathroom. Gone were the days of such a thing, with raised awareness about hygiene, communicable diseases, and of course, convenience, making private ensuite bathrooms an important commodity in guesthouses like this one.
She double-checked the lock on the door that led into the other bedroom anyway, just in case some curious guest might happen to wander into the empty room next door.
Except that there weren’t any other guests. She’d been here for several days now, and it was still just her and Hazel and the dogs wandering around the spacious place.
An hour later, showered, dressed, fully awake and ready for the rest of her day—and ravenous—Penny headed out of her room and down the hall to the stairwell. On the landing, a large window gave her a framed view of the backyard, and she had to force herself to look out at the forlorn gardens.
There was still a small vegetable plot close to the back kitchen door, and she knew Hazel planned their meals around whatever she brought in from the garden each day. Sautéed early zucchini and yellow summer squash, fried green tomatoes that hadn’t yet had time to ripen on the vine, fresh coleslaw, roasted baby beets, and a variety of greens served tossed in salads or stewed in bone broth vegetable soup.
The chicken coop sat empty, too, another devastating discovery that Hazel hadn’t warned her about. Hazel had assured her that the hens were all hale and happy under the care of a woman named Kimber Tate who lived in a cottage a little farther down the road. “She’s taking good care of them now, so I don’t have to, and I get as many eggs as I need for free. They just got to be too much for me over the winter. Even though their egg production declines radically during the cold months, I couldn’t possibly go through that many eggs myself, and I live just far enough from town that folks don’t want to make the trip out to pick them up.” Hazel had patted Penny’s hand and added, “Don’t you worry about those birds. They’ve got a wonderful life with Kimber, and she can use every single egg they lay. Other than the ones she sends my way, of course. She bakes.” She’d pressed a hand to her chest and closed her eyes at the thought. “My goodness, does she ever bake. She says the fresh eggs make all the difference in the world. Juniper sells some of her pastries at the Coffee Bar, in fact. You’ll have to ask about them next time you’re there.”
Penny planned to do just that this afternoon when she met up with Juno, Claire from The Cracked Spine, Addison Wedgewood, and Lizette Needham. Liz had said she was bringing her sister, too, who’d just moved back to town, and Penny was looking forward to meeting her. It still made her flush with gratitude that the amazing group of women had drawn her into their circle, and she didn’t take for granted their friendship.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Penny found Hazel sitting at the counter, several messy piles of paperwork spread out around her. “Good morning,” she said, then apologized quickly when the older woman startled. Penny hadn’t made any attempt to approach quietly; her hostess must have been lost in deep concentration.
Hazel waved off her apology and began gathering everything into one haphazard pile. “It’s hardly morning anymore, Sweet Pea,” she chided, but her warm smile took any bite right out of her words. She turned the legal pad she’d been writing on upside down on top of the pile. Evidently, she didn’t want Penny to catch a glimpse of what she’d been working on. “You must have needed to catch up on some sleep. I planned to give you until lunchtime and then check on you myself.”
Penny nodded slowly, not missing the distracted concern lingering in Hazel’s eyes. She tried not to look at the pile of paperwork that Hazel was now trying to scoop into a basket, but if she wasn’t mistaken, a good portion of the stack was made up of invoices. Were they all bills? Was Hazel having financial troubles? That might explain the state of things around here. Her heart squeezed with worry, but was it her place to ask? “Um, yeah. I stayed up too late reading,” she explained, hoping she didn’t sound as worried as she felt. “I just discovered a new author.”
“Ah. Well, I can’t think of a better reason to sleep in until noon.” Hazel tucked the basket into a cupboard under the breakfast bar. “Would you like some coffee? Maybe a sandwich? Breakfast for lunch?”
In a sudden flash of revelation, Penny’s mind replayed the meals she’d shared with Hazel over the last few days. Eggs and pan-fried vegetables from the garden. Pancakes or crepes served with homegrown raspberry or plum preserves. Biscuits and gravy, tuna or egg salad sandwiches on homemade bread. Chili and soup… in the summer.
It wasn’t just simple fare. It was very inexpensive fare. And Hazel was feeding Penny three meals a day for no extra charge.
“I’d love a cup of coffee right now,” she said, not wanting to offend Hazel by refusing her offering altogether. “But I’m meeting the girls at Juno’s this afternoon, so I think I’m going to save my appetite for that. Especially since I’ll definitely be trying something Kimber baked using your eggs,” she added with a bright smile.
Hazel cocked her head and studied her for a moment. Could she see the quandary Penny was in? “Well, I made my famous cinnamon coffee cake this morning. How about you have a small piece of that with your coffee, just to tide you over?”
Penny didn’t even hesitate. “That sounds perfect.” Her stomach gurgled in agreement, and Hazel chuckled and went about getting the coffee started.
T he sun was out in full force, and after the heavy soaking the night before, the cloying humidity enveloped her like an invisible wet blanket. Penny berated herself for being a chicken, for opting to ride Hazel’s bicycle into town. But the St. James Mobile Boat Repair van had been parked behind her car, and although she could have gotten around the vehicle without any trouble, she didn’t want to risk running into the man himself. Assuming it had been Ward up on the roof hammering away, and not Ted, of course.
By the time she reached the corner of Dahlia Drive and Camellia Court, she was sweating, her cheeks flushed, and her heart racing. “It’s good for you, Pen,” she muttered under her breath as she paused outside The Cracked Spine. She’d planned to stop in the bookstore before heading over to the coffee shop, but right now, she just wanted something cold to drink and an air-conditioning vent to sit in front of. Both of which could be had at Juniper’s.
She clumsily dismounted, surprised at how wobbly her legs felt. Was she that out of shape? She ran around after second graders all day, for goodness’ sake. She should be able to handle a leisurely fifteen-minute bike ride, shouldn’t she? Because, yes, it had taken her fifteen minutes to ride the two miles from Hazel’s place. Not a time she was anxious to brag about. About a mile in, she’d had to take a break to catch her breath, and now, the thought of having to ride the bicycle back the way she’d come? Well, she certainly wasn’t looking forward to that.
She’d imagined it to be so different when she’d pulled the beach cruiser out of the shed and filled the tires with the manual pump Hazel kept on hand. She’d pictured the breeze sweeping her hair back from her face, the hem of her sundress fluttering out behind her, songbirds accompanying her as she meandered along the country road. And coming back had included a spectacular sunset on the lake, fireflies dancing all around her, a perfect, magical end to her day out.
There’d been no breeze. Her hair clung to her face and neck in sweaty tendrils, and she’d been going so slow that her skirt had just hung limply down behind her, and then had gotten caught in the bike chain. Fortunately, she’d been able to work it free without any damage—she’d been pedaling so laboriously that she’d been able to stop quickly. And the birds? Well, they’d just mocked her with their silence. The whole way.
It was only a little after one, and the other ladies wouldn’t be there for another hour. She could sit in the corner and cool down. She’d brought a book in her purse, which was strapped to the rack behind the bike seat.
Making up her mind, Penny shoved her front tire into the rack outside the coffee shop, snapped on the bike lock, and slung her purse over her shoulder. She stepped into the shade of the shop awning, swiped at her brow with the back of her hand, and then pushed open the front door.
She all but swooned as she stepped into the cool air, and for a moment, she just stood there, letting her heart rate settle and her breathing slow.
“Hey, girl,” Juno called in greeting. “You’re early, aren’t you?”
Penny waved, took a deep, cleansing breath, then headed to the long counter with its vintage, mismatched barstools. The lunch rush was still winding down, but she found an open spot at the end and settled into the seat. Grateful she’d worn a mid-calf length dress, she tucked the fluttery fabric under her legs so she wouldn’t stick to the leather cushion. “Remind me never to ride a bicycle into town again. Got anything fruity and cold to drink?”
“Not your usual coffee, then?”
“No, thank you. It was coffee that made me do it,” Penny grouched, grabbing the napkin Juno placed in front of her and pressing it to the back of her neck. She’d cut her pale blonde hair into a chin-length bob a few years ago, and although it required her to visit the salon more often, it sure made her life easier the rest of the time. She was fortunate enough to be able to wash and wear the style—her hair was naturally straight, it didn’t tangle easily, and even when she fell asleep with it wet, within an hour of waking up, her bedhead unwound itself and fell neatly back into place. “I drank two cups of Hazel’s home brew and decided it would be a good idea to start training for Olympic cycling.”
“Yikes.” Juno chuckled sympathetically and held up a tall, chilled glass of crushed ice. “How about a cranberry hibiscus tea with mango chunks?”
“Oooh. That sounds delicious. And so fruity! And refreshing,” Penny gushed. “Maybe if I have one of your yummy coffees right before I leave, I’ll find the courage to get back on that stupid bicycle out there.”
“Or maybe someone will steal it, and you won’t have to.”
Penny nodded slowly, as if seriously contemplating the possibility. Then she leaned forward, brought a hand up to her mouth, and spoke out of the side of it. “Do you think you could arrange for that? I mean, do your people know people who do that kind of thing?”
Juno shrugged noncommittally. “I have my connections.”
Penny sighed and slouched on her stool, her forearms resting on the counter in front of her. “Would that I could be so lucky,” Penny said. “But then I’d have to walk home, and I don’t know if my legs would manage that any better. At least on a bicycle, I can coast on the downward slopes. And there must be more downhills going home, because I swear it was all uphill coming into town.”
“You could always leave the bike here. I can stash it in the back office, and you can bum a ride off someone,” Juno suggested, shooting a welcoming smile past Penny at another customer.
“You know, that’s not such a bad idea,” Penny mused, although the thought of admitting that she was too much of a wimp to ride her bike home made her grimace. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask one of the girls, would it? And if Liz had her truck, she could just toss the bike in the back and not have to worry about coming back for it in her own car.
Juno pointed at something—or someone, apparently—just behind Penny. “Hey, you busy later this afternoon? Penny here needs a favor.”
Penny spun around, a huge smile on her face, ready to greet one of her girlfriends that she hadn’t seen in so long.
She just about fell off her stool.
“What’s up? What can I do for you?” Ward St. James. His voice felt like someone had just run a feather down the middle of her back, and it was all Penny could do not to shiver in response.
Before she could come up with anything that wasn’t completely nonsensical, a middle-aged man on the stool beside her greeted Ward with a hand thrust out for a handshake. “Hey, St. James. How’re your folks?”
Ward’s gaze darted back and forth between Penny and the man for a moment, then he said, “Uh, they’re good, Bob. Mom’s tomatoes are just starting to show some pink, so she’s happy.”
Penny averted her gaze and made a questioning face at Juno. Talk about nonsensical. Tomatoes?
“Sure, sure. That would do it,” Bob replied with a chuckle, as though what Ward had said was a perfectly logical response to his query. “Well, you tell them Bob says hi. Looking forward to the festival.”
“Will do.”
Did Autumn Lake have some kind of a tomato festival? Clearly, they were talking about something she wasn’t privy to, and although she knew she shouldn’t be offended, Penny felt the exclusion personally.
“And here. Take my seat,” Bob said, pushing to his feet. “I’m heading back to the office.” He patted the countertop and said, “Thanks, Juno. Terrific lunch, as usual.”
Penny froze, waiting to see what Ward would do. Surely, he wasn’t going to sit down beside her and start shooting the breeze with her, would he? And hadn’t he just been at Hazel’s hammering away on her roof?