Folly Cove by Holly Robinson

sister-in-law had always been a meddler, especially where Anne was concerned. She coddled that girl. That’s why Anne had never learned any discipline. It was Flossie’s fault Anne was in this predicament, as far as Sarah could see.
    You had to take a firm hand with children. Yet too many adults these days—sadly, she included her own daughter Laura among them—continually gave their children anything they asked for, rendering them helpless whenever they finally stumbled out of their nests and into the harsh sunlight of real life. Sarah didn’t have to look any farther than her own waitstaff to see this. Some were in their thirties, yet still had no car, no mortgage payments, and no direction in life. She had disciplined Anne the same way she’d disciplined Laura and Elly, yet she’d turned out no better than these drifters. Such a travesty.
    Well, it was a fact that daughters were tougher to raise than boys. Some said boys were the devil to raise, but Sarah would argue that point. Boys—and men, for that matter—were simple creatures with simple needs. They were either angry or happy, with not much in between.
    â€œUncle Gil is here,” Rhonda announced, poking her head into Sarah’s office. She sounded suspiciously gleeful, despite knowing Sarah was going on this date with her uncle only as a favor.
    â€œThank you. Please tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
    â€œAll right. I’ll offer him coffee, shall I?”
    â€œOf course,” Sarah said with a brisk nod.
    She always made a point of keeping her office door open so she could track whatever was going on at the front desk. She trained her employees thoroughly, especially those answering the phones and taking bookings, because they were the faces and voices of the Folly Cove Inn. Still, she liked to be on hand, especially for morning check-outs and afternoon check-ins, and greeted guests personally whenever possible. People remembered that sort of thing.
    Rhonda was her favorite staff member. Sarah had hired her for the front desk two decades ago because the girl—well, she must be fifty now, with children in college—was tall enough to be imposing and had such a luxurious mass of dark hair that Sarah had been sure at first that it was a wig. It was not. Rhonda’s mother had grown up in England, so she used proper diction and even had a slight British accent. Hers was the perfect voice to advertise the inn’s growing reputation as “a place to celebrate life’s shining moments,” Sarah’s latest advertising tagline. Not original. She knew that, but still, sometimes people responded better to language that felt familiar.
    Rhonda appeared in the office doorway again and folded her arms, looking over her blue eyeglasses at Sarah. “I brought him the coffee,” she said. “He said take all the time you need. I told him five minutes.” She tapped her foot for emphasis.
    â€œFive minutes,” Sarah agreed, but she couldn’t help sighing after Rhonda left. She wouldn’t have agreed to this foolhardy outing if anyone but Rhonda had asked her for this favor, saying her uncle was lonely.
    About five years after Neil left, when it became clear that he was never coming back, Sarah had started seeing other men. There had been several businessmen and an architect, a banker, and even an ex-senator over the years. Eventually she’d stopped bothering. Men were too much work. And, after a time, the ones who were interested in her were so old that she knew she’d end up playing nursemaid. No, thank you.
    She had never bothered divorcing Neil and continued wearing her wedding ring. By now most people thought she was widowed. Sarah was comfortable financially, physically, emotionally. Besides the inn, she had civic duties, memberships in the art association and the concert hall. Friends. Daughters. (Though, except for Laura, they scarcely seemed to give her