but he was already either feigning sleep or actually asleep. Besides, considering his current mood and my ineffective babblings tonight, he might take yet more offense. Surely this was all going to turn out fine. If we were going to be in this relationship for the long haul, we needed to know that we could get past bad times. This evening’s events definitely qualified as a bad time.
In the morning, Sullivan was fully dressed when I awoke. We traded “good mornings.”
“I have to head down to Crestview to meet with some reps at the office, but I’ll be back by five,” he explained. His voice was as consciously bland as his face.
“Are you still angry with me about Cameron?”
“No. Let’s just forget it ever happened.”
“Okay. Well … bye.”
I reached for him, and he gave me a reasonably nice kiss, muttered, “Bye,” then left.
A knot formed in my stomach. I’m pretty sure that it’s impossible to activate amnesia at will and that, in any case, unresolved small problems have a way of reemerging as bigger problems later. I rehashed my resolve before falling asleep last night. What if we weren’t
capable
of making it through bad times?
When I entered the kitchen, Mikara was sitting at the table, cradling a cup of coffee. She offered me a semi-cheerful, “Morning,” but followed it up with: “I assume you can serve yourself breakfast. I’m not a morning person.”
“Isn’t that going to be problematic for running a bed-and-
breakfast?”
She arched an eyebrow and said, “I’ll rise to the occasion once our guests arrive.” Then she indeed rose—and marched out of the kitchen. It was not even half past eight, and I was two for two on driving people from the room. I was on a roll!
Even though Crestview residents’ fondness for granola was a cliché, that’s what I chose to eat. My crunchy meal was augmented by the racket of a jackhammer and a bulldozer outside as Ben and his temporary crew demolished the stoop.
The vibrations in the floorboards were so strong that I had visions of a bulldozer accident weakening the entire foundation. After breakfast, I went out through the back door and rounded the house. Ben Orlin was behind the controls of the small dozer as two Hispanic workmen were loading chunks of concrete into a sturdy truck bed by hand. It looked like horrid, backbreaking labor to me, and I immediately asked Ben if I could bring out a thermos of coffee or anything.
“Nah, we’re fine,” Ben said affably, shutting off the engine. “We took a coffee break an hour ago.”
“You’ve made a lot of progress, in just a couple of hours.”
“Yeah, well, we got started on it last night. On Wendell’s henchman’s orders.”
“Henchman?
You mean Cameron Baker?”
“Yeah. He made some phone calls and got them to deliver the dozer at eleven-thirty last night. Then he made the deliverymen wait and watch me operate it, ’cuz he was worried this dozer wasn’t big enough. I didn’t want to wake up everyone in the house by breaking up the concrete steps, but I finally moved enough dirt out here to convince him.”
“That was thoughtful of you.” That
did
sound like something Cameron would do. He had been a workaholic in college and had scoffed at anyone who chose a less stressful lifestyle.
He shrugged. “The noise still woke Mikara up. She was fit to be tied.”
“I’m … really sorry that you had to lose
your
sleep last night to do this. Did Henry have anything to say about your having to work that late at night?”
“Nah. He wasn’t even here. Out on a date.”
Knowing Henry, he probably took out Chiffon Walters, to counterbalance Audrey and Wendell’s dating. The Snowcap Inn was turning into a regular Peyton Place. Of course,
I
was no one to talk. I shuddered to think how quickly Cameron’s kiss must be spreading through the village’s rumor mill.
“Hey, Ben?” one of the workers said. “You better come take a look at this.” He was brushing off a bone
In the morning, Sullivan was fully dressed when I awoke. We traded “good mornings.”
“I have to head down to Crestview to meet with some reps at the office, but I’ll be back by five,” he explained. His voice was as consciously bland as his face.
“Are you still angry with me about Cameron?”
“No. Let’s just forget it ever happened.”
“Okay. Well … bye.”
I reached for him, and he gave me a reasonably nice kiss, muttered, “Bye,” then left.
A knot formed in my stomach. I’m pretty sure that it’s impossible to activate amnesia at will and that, in any case, unresolved small problems have a way of reemerging as bigger problems later. I rehashed my resolve before falling asleep last night. What if we weren’t
capable
of making it through bad times?
When I entered the kitchen, Mikara was sitting at the table, cradling a cup of coffee. She offered me a semi-cheerful, “Morning,” but followed it up with: “I assume you can serve yourself breakfast. I’m not a morning person.”
“Isn’t that going to be problematic for running a bed-and-
breakfast?”
She arched an eyebrow and said, “I’ll rise to the occasion once our guests arrive.” Then she indeed rose—and marched out of the kitchen. It was not even half past eight, and I was two for two on driving people from the room. I was on a roll!
Even though Crestview residents’ fondness for granola was a cliché, that’s what I chose to eat. My crunchy meal was augmented by the racket of a jackhammer and a bulldozer outside as Ben and his temporary crew demolished the stoop.
The vibrations in the floorboards were so strong that I had visions of a bulldozer accident weakening the entire foundation. After breakfast, I went out through the back door and rounded the house. Ben Orlin was behind the controls of the small dozer as two Hispanic workmen were loading chunks of concrete into a sturdy truck bed by hand. It looked like horrid, backbreaking labor to me, and I immediately asked Ben if I could bring out a thermos of coffee or anything.
“Nah, we’re fine,” Ben said affably, shutting off the engine. “We took a coffee break an hour ago.”
“You’ve made a lot of progress, in just a couple of hours.”
“Yeah, well, we got started on it last night. On Wendell’s henchman’s orders.”
“Henchman?
You mean Cameron Baker?”
“Yeah. He made some phone calls and got them to deliver the dozer at eleven-thirty last night. Then he made the deliverymen wait and watch me operate it, ’cuz he was worried this dozer wasn’t big enough. I didn’t want to wake up everyone in the house by breaking up the concrete steps, but I finally moved enough dirt out here to convince him.”
“That was thoughtful of you.” That
did
sound like something Cameron would do. He had been a workaholic in college and had scoffed at anyone who chose a less stressful lifestyle.
He shrugged. “The noise still woke Mikara up. She was fit to be tied.”
“I’m … really sorry that you had to lose
your
sleep last night to do this. Did Henry have anything to say about your having to work that late at night?”
“Nah. He wasn’t even here. Out on a date.”
Knowing Henry, he probably took out Chiffon Walters, to counterbalance Audrey and Wendell’s dating. The Snowcap Inn was turning into a regular Peyton Place. Of course,
I
was no one to talk. I shuddered to think how quickly Cameron’s kiss must be spreading through the village’s rumor mill.
“Hey, Ben?” one of the workers said. “You better come take a look at this.” He was brushing off a bone
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