Page 18 of The Guest Cottage
Less than two hours later, a deluge rolled over, churning the surface of the lake into angry waves and keeping her entertained for a good long while.
Who knew a rainy day could be so impressive?
In her old life, she’d have grumbled as she fought with an umbrella to get from a car to a meeting or business lunch, and then back again. She wouldn’t have noticed the turbulence in the skies, the wild wind, or how rainwater washed over every surface.
Now, here she sat on the covered porch, a throw over her legs, watching the graceful sway of the treetops and how the occasional leaf danced across the ground. The sounds were hypnotic, and all combined, it was better than a massage at what had once been her favorite salon.
Every day, it seemed she found something new to enjoy. And each day, she grew a little antsier for a real purpose.
At least three nights a week, she ate at the tavern, accustoming herself to the menu and observing the work patterns. On the ninth day she officially filled out an application, disconcerting Herman. The position hadn’t yet been taken, and she had more free time than she wanted.
On the tenth day, she again drove out of Bramble to look at small-scale commercial buildings to use for a new business. So far, nothing was quite what she wanted. They were either too large or too rundown or too ordinary. She wanted something chic, a building she could enhance to make it one of a kind.
That was her strength, and if she could find the right place, a charming little spot that kept her close enough to Bramble so the drive wouldn’t be a great chore, she’d jump on it.
She returned to the house and unloaded her few packages. Brighter shirts, a couple of hats to shield her face from the sun, pairs of Capri pants in soft fabrics, and new sandals. During an online shopping spree, she’d ordered three sundresses and three shirts, and then a bathing suit, too. Those hadn’t yet arrived, but now that it was early June, temperatures were on the rise.
She’d just finished putting things away and was about to consider dinner when Herman called and grumpily asked, “You still want the job?”
Going stock still, almost afraid to move, Marlow considered the question and what it entailed. A job. At the tavern. She bobbed her head, convincing herself first, then burst out an enthusiastic, “Yes!”
“Then it’s yours,” he conceded.
To be sure she hadn’t misunderstood, she asked, “I’m hired?”
With ill temper, he said, “No one else even applied, and we’re short-staffed.”
The job offer surprised and pleased her so much she wanted to dance. “When do I start?”
“Stop in sometime today or tomorrow.” He didn’t sound at all pleased. “I can give you some of the T-shirts you need to wear.”
Oh goody, a Dry Frog Tavern T-shirt! Every time she was in the place, she admired the smart black shirts with bold white font and what looked like a thirsty frog. “I can come by this evening, if that works for you.”
“That’s fine. We’ll go over everything, any limits you might have—”
“I donothave limits.” The very idea insulted her.
“Oh yeah, smarty? So you can work anytime, any day, any hours?”
Hmm. Herman had a point. “I prefer to see the sunrise from my dock.” Sometimes the sunset, too, but she could handle missing it since mosquitoes often came out in the evening.
Snorting, Herman said, “We don’t open till noon anyway. Close at eleven during the week, and at one on Saturday. We take the Lord’s Day off.”
That made it official. Shelovedthis town. “I’ll be there, and Herman, thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
With a sullen “We’ll see,” he disconnected the call.
Nowshe danced, all around the kitchen, through the sitting room, dining room, and into the foyer. She wanted to share with someone, to tell a friend that she, Marlow Heddings, formerly of Heddings’ Holding Company had gotten a fun, somewhat funky job in the best small town ever. But she had no one.
That brought her to a halt.
For the first time, it struck her that she was alone. Utterly, completely alone.
Yes, she’d chosen solitude for herself, because really, Dylan’s parents, his friends and associates, were never hers anyway. Her job, one she’d excelled at, was closely tied to his family. If she’d stayed, she never would have been free of Dylan, never mind that he’d passed away.
Still, the fact of her solitary existence suddenly settled on her like a dark, oppressive blanket, stealing some of her happiness.
She would not feel sorry for herself. Anything but that.
