Page 18 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
“I’m afraid I’m putting too much on you.” Patty wrung her hands together. “I don’t want to come between you and Brian. Whatever peace you’ve cobbled together –”
Sheila held up a hand. “Patty, please. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like what we’re going to rename the tea shop.”
A smile spread across her face and Patty laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was foolish of her to think she could stop Sheila. The woman had never been stopped in her life. “I’m betting you already have a name picked out.”
“I’ve got some ideas.”
“You know, I’d love to hire you full-time, but I’m not making any money.”
“Don’t worry about money. My wheels are already turning,” Sheila said. “Maybe one of the girls can help us set up a website. Eliza? She’s always up for a challenge. We’ll get a new name, a new website, and a new vibe, as the kids say.”
“A new ‘vibe’!” Patty laughed. “Listen to you.”
“I think I can pick up some accounting clients on the island, too. It’s full of rich people, right?”
Patty chuckled. “It does feel that way sometimes.” She paused. “Did they give a reason for firing you? What happened?”
Sheila frowned. “It’s a long story. I don’t think I’m ready to tell you yet.”
“But you will? Tell me?”
“Of course. Right after I make up my mind about what I’m going to do.”
“Maybe I could help you make up your mind? Keep you from doing anything…reckless?”
Sheila laughed. “Says the woman who decided to become a beekeeper after finding a queen bee once.”
“That was the right decision at the time,” Patty said, standing up to search for cookies to go with their tea. “I only hope you can be so wise.”
Ten
The kayak trip offered views of rocky bluffs, glimpses of round-bodied harbor seals, and flashes of bald eagles flying above, yet the entire time, all Russell could see was Sheila. In his mind’s eye, she was still glaring at him, her face twisted in a furious scowl, her finger wildly pointing over the trees.
She was right, of course. About everything. His intention in moving to the island was to learn to live amongst people again. Learn to trust, learn to make friends – learn tobea friend again.
There weren’t any lasting friendships in Los Angeles, and when Holly had decided she was sick of Hollywood and wanted to move back to Minneapolis, he was thrilled.
His fame faded and they raised the kids in suburban bliss. They had loads of friends there, but in recent years, those relationships had started to run cold.
It had all started when Holly begged him to do “one last movie.” His resurging fame seeped in and poisoned the goodwill he’d had with so many neighbors and acquaintances. Even the principal of his kids’ school approached him with an idea for a rap album.
He had to put walls up to keep people out – not just for his own sanity, but for the sake of his kids. For a while, at least, they still had some wonderful friends.
But even those started to recede after the divorce. Through some secret process, people picked sides. It wasn’t done as part of the official divorce mediation. It was done in the silence, the absence of phone calls, the missing invites to the annual Labor Day cookout.
It wasn’t all of Russell’s friends, but it was enough. Enough to make him feel alone, enough to make him want to run. And so, after the kids went off to college, he left.
Even that was short-lived, though. He realized he couldn’t bury himself in the snow and watch wolves forever. There was a lot of life left to live. The wolves didn’t thrive alone, and neither could he.
The next morning, Russell made up his mind to do better. He was going to be neighborly if it killed him – likely from Sheila’s glare – and he’d do it the only way he knew how: in excess.
He woke early, drove to the bakery in town, and picked up a few things – little sour cream coffee cakes, scones, croissants, and a raspberry oat butter tart. He split the baked peace offerings into four boxes, enough to meet all his nearest neighbors, and headed to his first stop: Sheila’s mother-in-law’s house.
He drove up the driveway slowly, admiring the trees, the grasses, and the silhouette of the cottage against the sea. Even when Brian had offered to sell the property to him, he hadn’t spent much timereallylooking at it. It was beautiful and had a peaceful ease his own home lacked. It was as though the cottage belonged with the ocean, as though it had always been there.
He walked up to the front door and knocked. A moment later, an older woman answered.
She smiled, looking him up and down. “Are you selling Boy Scout cookies? Because I am not interested!”
