Page 76 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
But he’d said nothing. As though she didn’t exist and it had all happened without her.
As though he’d entirely forgotten her.
Sheila took in a jagged breath and set the box of pastries down. Patty’s chocolate pavlovas and mango cheesecakes had tempted her only a moment ago, but now the sugary-sweet smell turned her stomach.
She pushed the box away and stood with her hands on the sink.
It didn’t matter what Russell said, only what he did. And he was doing the right thing – he was going to help Lottie. That was all that mattered.
It was the last thing she’d set out to achieve, and here it was. Why couldn’t she be happy? Everything had worked out. Neither Patty nor Derby would be displaced in their golden years. The tea shop would stay open, with a revitalized Eliza running it. Lottie, at last, would get to come home.
Sheila had asked for too much. She was selfish. Who was she to expect more? Had she really believed Russell Westwood would be interested in her?
The nausea passed. She worked quickly, taking the pastries out and arranging them on display plates.
When she carried them out to the front, Eliza was busy with a customer. Another small blessing.
She tidied up and slipped outside to make the walk back to the cottage. Sheila paused for a moment, staring at the vast sea in front of her.
There were miracles in this life, and several had happened simultaneously. But even a miracle couldn’t get Russell to forgive her.
Sheila went back to the cottage and locked herself upstairs to write cover letter after cover letter. What had seemed like an impossible task before was now a welcome escape.
Most of the jobs she’d found were in Seattle, but there were a few remote positions that would allow her to stay and keep helping Patty.
In the afternoon, she took a break to run to the grocery store. When she got back, Patty was waiting in the kitchen. “You go upstairs and finish your applications. I’ll make dinner tonight.”
Sheila continued unpacking the groceries. “You’ve been baking all morning. Go take a nap.”
“I’m not tired!” she said firmly. “I can lie down while the roast is in the oven. Now go!”
Patty glared at her and Sheila put her hands up. “Okay! Sheesh!”
She’d told Patty long ago that she wouldn’t take over, that she was here to help. Though she had no idea why this particular roast was so important, she wasn’t going to push it.
Back upstairs, she managed to finish five cover letters and submit eleven job applications.
It felt like a lot, but she knew it was just the start. A friend of hers who had recently left the company told her he’d submitted over three hundred applications before he got a new job.
Only two-hundred and eighty-nine to go.
Sheila shut her laptop and went downstairs to set the table. Cool air hit her as soon as she came down the stairs.
She pulled her cardigan tight over her chest. “What’s going on? Is the furnace broken?”
“Oh no,” Patty said, waving a rag. “I just had to open the windows. I burnt the sauce and I didn’t want the fire alarm going off.”
Sheila set a stack of plates down and walked to the window above the kitchen sink. “I don’t smell anything burnt. Can we close it now?”
Patty slapped her hand away. “No! Not yet. I don’t like any lingering smell. It ruins the meal.”
“Are you sure you’re not just imagining the smell? Isn’t that a sign of a stroke?”
“Burnt toast,” Eliza said as she walked into the kitchen and pulled forks and knives from the drawer. “That’s an old wives tale, though. Strokes cause facial droop and slurred speech. Arm tingling and weakness…” She paused, looking up. “What else?”
“They can cause a severe headache,” Patty said, nodding. “That’s what happened to Reggie’s late wife, poor thing.”
“Since when are the two of you stroke experts?” Sheila asked, laying out the plates.
