Chapter 2 #2
“It’s true—I get a lot of attention, but that’s because I’m so flashy.
I’m not a natural beauty like Ariel.” Aunt Dahlia picked up the women’s conversation again as if a handsome stranger hadn’t just stopped and proposed marriage.
Jokingly, of course, but still…“It takes the best wigs, the fanciest clothes, and lots of paint to make me look like this, especially at my age. But the fans like it, so it’s a way I can give of myself. ”
“Don’t start on your looks and your age.” Ariel shot a conspiratorial grin at Dani. “That guy back there wanted you, Auntie, not me. He hardly noticed me.”
Just as Ariel had hoped, her aunt let out her trademark hearty laugh.
At the next corner, a small group of middle-aged couples wanted to know if Miss Dahlia and Ariel had heard about the Grand’s flood.
“They sent us to Island House Inn, but it seemed a little shabby.” A stylish blonde, wearing black pants and a matching lady jacket, removed her sunglasses as if trying to get a better look at Aunt Dahlia. “We decided to stay on the mainland and take the ferry.”
“I get that. But we’ll stay at Island House anyway.
” Her aunt spoke in her naturally sweet voice, the one that never failed to captivate an audience and put them at ease.
“I was raised shabby, in a little mountain cabin. So I guess I can tough it out in an old hotel. We want to support the locals, because this is my niece Ariel’s hometown. ”
The lady-jacket woman cocked her head and shifted her gaze to Ariel, brows lifted high on her lined forehead. “I thought you were from Tennessee, like your aunt.”
Ariel hadn’t expected this. “I was born at home, right here on the island, on the farm my father inherited from his father.”
“Your Southern accent isn’t as strong as Miss Dahlia’s, but it sure doesn’t sound like northern Michigan.” Something in the woman’s tone made her words sound like a challenge.
“My mother’s Southern accent hasn’t faded. I guess she influenced mine. I also moved to Nashville when I was ten and lived with Aunt Dahlia, so I talk like a Tennessee girl.”
The woman’s narrowed eyes said she didn’t quite believe her.
Harry spoke to the horse, and the carriage pulled away, leaving behind the crowd and their opinions. When she looked back, the woman still watched her from the corner.
Ariel turned to her aunt. “Do they think I fake an accent?”
“Don’t worry about them. You always speak in your natural voice.”
She hesitated. “Then do they think I’ve somehow betrayed or abandoned my roots?”
“It doesn’t matter what other people think. Your mama and I did what we knew was best when you moved to Nashville with me to learn the music industry.”
Maybe. Or perhaps she’d lost her northern roots while living down south.
Rather than sneaking in the service entrance as Harry suggested, they drove up familiar Blueberry Boulevard on their way to Island House Inn’s front entrance.
Sitting above the shore, overlooking the yacht club and harbor, the inn seemed to keep watch over the comings and goings of islanders and tourists, the seagulls’ high-pitched squawking giving the coastline a laid-back, serene vibe.
“I had forgotten how peaceful Jonathon Island feels.” Passing a row of shuttered inns and small hotels on either side of the street, Ariel looked ahead to the next block.
“Even back when the Main Street shops and restaurants operated at their peak, the downtown somehow maintained a sense of peace and quiet.”
“Just the horses’ hooves and people talking in normal tones.” Aunt Dahlia leaned back, her spine touching the backrest in an uncharacteristic relaxed pose.
Less posture-strict than her aunt, Ariel sat all the way back in her seat as usual. On the next block, she drew in a breath of fudge-scented air.
But even the familiar fudge aroma didn’t make Jonathon Island feel like home.
“Life is slower here, and I like it.” Dani pulled in a deep breath as well.
They admired the harbor view as they passed the marina with its sailboats bobbing in slips and white and light-gray seagulls winging overhead, cawing out their greetings.
Small waves reached the docks, some even cresting with white foam as they lapped the rocky shore in the lake wind.
The blue water and the cloudless blue sky even turned the trees of distant Port Joseph a summer blue.
Oh, she should have come back long ago.
At Island House Inn far too soon, Aunt Dahlia let Harry help her down, although she didn’t need it. Judging from the expression on the boy’s face, it made him feel like a man, making her aunt’s gesture worth it.
The carriage stopped in the sweeping drive, and when Dani left to go home to her new husband, Ariel and Aunt Dahlia took a long look at Island House Inn’s once-grand facade.
“She’s a little shabby, isn’t she?” Aunt Dahlia gazed straight up the big white structure. Three stories high with a columned rotunda, canopied entrance, and expansive front lawn, the turreted inn still seemed imposing.
But as they reached the front steps, a closer inspection revealed unkempt flowerbeds, cobwebby windows, and peeling white windowsill paint.
The serenity of water and sky behind them now, Ariel opened the door and allowed Aunt Dahlia to enter first. At her gasp, Ariel hurried in after her.
About twenty guests stood in the lobby’s long reception-desk line.
Others sat on the half dozen or so mauve and teal couches, scrolling their phones, angry expressions on their faces as they probably searched for other accommodations.
The children ran and slid on the worn scatter rugs, threw the couches’ matching pillows at each other and other guests, or wrestled on the wood floor. But she saw only two employees.
Worse, the room was so loud, no one seemed to notice the smooth jazz dripping from the ceiling speakers—music someone probably turned on in an attempt to calm the chaotic atmosphere.
“This place feels hostile,” Aunt Dahlia whispered.
It sure did. “The guests expected the Grand but got the humble. And they’re not happy.”
“Well, this isn’t what we want for the hotel or the island. I’m not sure what to do.”
Ariel didn’t know if her aunt struggled with deciding whether to stay or leave or with the state of the inn. Either way, Ariel had to do something. She owed it to the late Mrs. Kennedy. “Let’s help them out.”
Aunt Dahlia turned to her with big-eyed astonishment. “Help who?”
“All of them. The staff and the guests. Come on.” Ariel moved to the nearest corner, set down her guitar case, and opened it. “Let’s do what we do best and make them happy.”
Aunt Dahlia gave a little squeal and hugged her fast. “Yes, let’s do it.”
Ariel tuned by ear, quickly before anyone could notice. “Want to play ‘The Long Way’?” The song that just won Best Single. “You take the first verse.”
Ariel played the intro. Her aunt had barely sung five words in her big voice when the room fell silent and the mood changed.
Behind the reception desk, an older woman in a blue dress fiddled with a knob on the wall. The jazz stopped.
So did everyone in the room.
All eyes on them now, Ariel smiled at each motionless guest and then joined Aunt Dahlia in the chorus.
“Sing with us!” her aunt cried during the turnaround. Before Ariel knew it, the crowd joined them, belting out the lyrics by heart.
Then, as Ariel played the chorus again and sang softly, Aunt Dahlia changed the mood, her big voice carrying easily in the lobby’s sketchy acoustics.
“I wrote this song last year, when I was fifty-nine years old, about to turn sixty. I didn’t know if I’d fulfilled the Lord’s destiny for me or not.
I’d wanted to do so many things in my life that simply hadn’t happened.
Like marrying, having children.” Her gaze drifted across the lobby as her voice intensified.
“But then I thought about Joseph in the Bible, and Abraham, and Moses. Their destinies took a long time to complete because those servants of God took the long way. Right then I realized I was still busy fulfilling the Father’s destiny for me too.
It took time. It’s still taking time. I haven’t given up. So don’t you give up either.”
Sweet applause broke out when Ariel and Aunt Dahlia repeated the second verse together, her aunt singing melody and Ariel mixing up the harmony she usually sang.
The long way. Even though they’d won one of the music industry’s highest awards for this song, had Ariel embraced its theme? Not fully. Maybe not at all.
Legacy…destiny…didn’t they always collide somewhere along the way?
Movement caught her eye as she scanned the crowd.
Up high, a vaguely familiar, exquisitely handsome dark-haired man approached the mezzanine’s wooden railing.
She didn’t recognize his face or hair but rather his demeanor, the way he seemed to take in the song and extract all the meaning and emotion it exuded.
This man understood the power of song.
Aunt Dahlia signaled the final tag. At the last line, Ariel stopped strumming, and they finished the song a cappella. “‘He took me to my destiny…the long way.’”
Ariel could only hope she’d find her own destiny a lot earlier than Aunt Dahlia had found hers.
Caleb and his staff would soon have the third-floor rooms under control. But that didn’t mean he could manage his life.
As he crossed the mezzanine on his way to the supply closet to get a pack of light bulbs, a clear, unpretentious story told in song wafted up from the lobby and somehow touched a piece of his heart—a part he didn’t want stirred.
Not by his staff, not by the musicians holding the audience captive below as he and Michelle looked over the mezzanine rail.
More than that, he didn’t want to see himself in the lyrics.
Better to leave behind that part of his life. The part that wanted to make his mark in the world, to give it something of value. Long-lasting value.
The part where he could never return.