Chapter 5
The situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately behind. —Sense grown up Elinor is as serene and lovely as moonlight on water.
“I remember you.” She says with warmth. And for some reason her comment gives me the same sense of belonging I felt as a child, playing with the motley group of kids and building forts in the woods.
I cannot stop staring. I had never considered that Elinor Greenwood could be the woman from the trail. Since she mentioned she was local, I should have thought of the possibility.
She stands up. “Are you ready for your tour?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your day?
” Honestly, I don’t really need a tour. My grandpa gave me a fairly accurate map of the property which I have nearly memorized, and I did walk most of the park when I visited last fall.
I suggested the tour as an excuse for my visit—and because I want to delay telling her that I now own her home.
I wasn’t lying when I said I wouldn’t kick her out.
I have no idea how I’ll keep that promise, but I’m determined to find a way.
The plans for the park aren’t finalized.
Perhaps we can move the restaurant over a bit?
The cottage is on two acres of land—land that I own.
That gives us some wiggle room. Worst comes to worst, I could possibly convince my mom not to sell.
Of course, if I did that, I’d probably lose my job . . .
But how can I kick Ellie out? I simply can’t—not after seeing her cry like that and then bravely dry her tears. It’s obvious she’s been carrying so much worry on her shoulders.
“I’d be happy to show you the park.” She brushes down the pleats of her khaki shirt dress. “Where’s your luggage?”
“In my car—I’ll get it later.” I suspect that Elinor won’t be impressed by my car. I’m pretty sure she’ll mock me for it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “It’s more than a mile to the cottage. It makes more sense to drive your car to my house. We have covered parking in the old carriage house. Which I’m certain you’d prefer—we can’t let bird poop get on your fancy car.”
“Who says I drive a fancy car?”
She gives me an incredulous look, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Ok, it might be a little fancy,” I admit.
“I’ll bet. Follow me.”
The way she calmly takes over reminds me so much of the Ellie of my childhood. She was never bossy; she was simply in charge.
“I still can’t believe you’re Mr. Norland’s grandson,” she says as we walk down the hallway with oak floors crisscrossed with a hundred years’ worth of scratches and scuffs.
There’s a water stain on the ceiling. I’m mentally tallying all the repairs this building needs.
The cracked windows must be replaced. Judging from the muggy air, there’s no working air conditioning.
It would be cheaper to tear this building down and start over.
And yet, the thought of demolishing it hurts a little.
“If you’d known I was Reginald’s grandson, would you have been more or less likely to say yes when I asked you out?”
“Less.”
“Why’s that?”
“Remind me. How many wives did your grandpa have?”
“Five. But I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It feels relevant, since one of them was my grandma. Are you sure we’re not related?”
“Definitely not related. Your dad was briefly my grandpa’s stepson. But it’s not like he and my mom grew up together. Your dad was in his mid-twenties and living on his own when Grandpa met your grandma.”
“So I can’t call you cousin?” She laughs.
“Absolutely not!”
“Actually, if I had known you were the same boy we played with that summer, I would have definitely said yes.”
“Really? I got the feeling that you didn’t even remember my name.”
“I didn’t. But that’s because my sister and I had a code name for you.”
“Oh really? What was it?”
“I’d rather not say . . .”
“You have to tell me.”
“Hmm . . . I think not,” she says as we step outside into the July sunlight. We’re standing at the top of a staircase leading to the gravel parking lot. From here we have a good view of the sixty or so cars. Elinor turns to me, her eyes laughing.
“A little fancy?” She gestures to the parking lot of minivans, Subarus, pickup trucks, and SUVS. Then points to my red Ferrari. “How about a lot fancy?”
“I knew you’d give me grief about this,” I say as I follow her down the short stairs to the lot shaded with trees.
“Because anyone would. A flippin’ Ferrari! What were you thinking, bringing it here? And leaving it in this parking lot—under trees, no less.” She has a point. Small birds flit in the branches of the scrubby tree next to my car.
“I thought it would be a good time to drive on the coast highway. And I was right.”
I open the passenger door for Elinor, a habit my grandpa instilled in me that I can’t break. He may have cheated on three of his five wives, but he taught me to always open the door for my date. Not that Elinor is my date.
“Where to?” I ask as I buckle up.
“Exit the parking lot down there.” She points toward a shed full of bundles of fresh cut wood. A hand painted sign proclaims $12 a bundle. We could definitely charge more. “You’ll take the second right after the oak tree with ribbons.”
I nod as my engine roars to life. “I was wondering about that tree.”
“Ah! Yes, Lady Whimple.”
“Lady Whimple?” I repeat.
“My sister named the tree,” explains Elinor. “She names everything, including the evil possum who lives in the sycamore in our front yard. Annie says you can’t love something unless you know its name. And she loves most things.” Elinor’s voice warms with affection as she talks about her sister.
We drive past the majestic live oak standing alone in a field with ribbons fluttering in its branches.
“The ribbons?” I ask.
“They’re wishes. Another one of Annie’s ideas.
For solstice a couple years ago, she had us write wishes on the ribbons and then tie them to the tree.
Guests liked it so much and it looked so pretty, we’ve kept the tradition going.
Each guest leaves a wish before they leave. You could do so, if you wanted.”
“Do you have any wishes in that tree?”
“Yes; I wished to stay in Bumble Cottage.”
Just when I think I couldn’t feel anymore wretched.
I clear my throat. “Well then, it appears Lady Whimple has impressive powers. I need to take advantage of that.”
“What would you wish for?” she asks lightly.
You. The thought comes out of nowhere. It makes no sense.
I blame my mother’s warning about the Greenwood women and J.J.
’s talk of fate. I hardly know the woman in my passenger seat.
But so far, I like everything about her, and that’s a problem on so many levels—the least of which is that I’m already kind of, sort of, dating someone.
The tree and its dancing wishes disappear in my rearview mirror.
“C’mon, I told you my wish,” she persists. “There’s got to be something you want. Or do you, Mr. Ferrari, already have everything your heart desires?”
“I definitely don’t have everything . . .” My words fly out more serious than intended. “Not to sound ungrateful. I have a great life. I do. I just want . . . more.”
“More, being . . . ?”
“How about when you tell me my code name, I’ll tell you my wish?”
“Then we’ll both have to live with disappointment,” she says with a slight smile. “Turn here.” She points to a narrow lane lined with trees. A deer grazing at the side of the road darts into the woods.
“Sorry the road isn’t paved,” she apologizes as I slow the car down. “Trust me, I asked, but your grandpa couldn’t see the point.”
“He would if he knew I’d be driving his precious Ferrari down this road.”
“Is this one of Mr. Norland’s cars?”
“Yes. Reginald loved to buy cars. And when his garages filled up, he gave me his hand-me-downs.”
“Garages?” she asks.
“He was a little excessive in his love for cars.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t know this. I would have found it so much more frustrating when he was chewing me out for buying expensive toilet paper for the park.”
“That is extreme. I never really knew my grandpa to be a cheapskate.”
“I always got the feeling that, for your grandpa, Norland Park was permanently stuck in the past. My salary certainly reflects that,” she chuckles. “I suspect he held on to the park for sentimental reasons.”
“That makes sense,” I say. Grandpa probably held on to Norland Park after he sold all his other businesses just so the Greenwoods could stay in Bumble Cottage.
I’m glad he did—but I’m not going to say that to Elinor.
Instead, I say, “Everyone has their penny-pinching tendencies, especially multimillionaires.”
“Really? Do you?”
“First, I’m not that rich.” I might be downplaying my wealth here. Compared to the average U.S. citizen I’m doing very well. But compared to everyone I grew up with, I’m nothing special.
Elinor’s muffled laugh tells me she doesn’t believe me—which is fair.
“But if you want to know, my thing is that I refuse to hire a handyman. I like to do home repairs myself.”
“And can you actually do all the repairs?” she asks.
“Sort of. Home repair was something my grandpa tried to teach me. I can patch a wall, hang a door, and unclog a sink or toilet. But our townhouse is more than a hundred years old, and sometimes my rudimentary skills are not enough. More than once, I’ve had to admit defeat and call the plumber.
My mom wants to call the plumber the moment the problem shows up. ”
“What I got out of that is that you still live with your mom,” she crows. I like how quick Elinor is to tease me. It makes me feel like we’re old friends—which I suppose we are.
“There’s no shame in that. All the cool kids are doing it. Don’t you live with your mom?”
“That’s different. You’re older than I am.”
“How do you know? I’m twenty-nine. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” she says pettishly.
“So much older! And for the record my mom moved out two months ago.” We’re both laughing as we turn the corner.
There’s a break in the trees, and Bumble Cottage appears like a vision.
Soft evening light bathes the house, perched on the hillside with its back to an ancient forest. The front porch faces the glittering ocean, and the windows, reflecting the lowering sunshine like sheets of gold.
An evening mist swirls through the flower garden.
It’s like something from a dream. And I know that there’s absolutely no way I can sell this place. But I also have no idea how I can afford to keep it.