The Vineyard Sisters: A Wayfarer Inn Novel Read online

  Evening At The Wayfarer Inn

  After they managed to free themselves from the sand and waves at the beach, they waddled back to The Wayfarer Inn.

  Each of the women headed for a different bathroom. Leslie opted for her bathroom in the “staff area” at the back of the inn, while Michelle and Jill each claimed one of the en-suite showers upstairs.

  Jill hadn’t anticipated staying on Martha’s Vineyard overnight, but her mom had taught her that a woman should always be prepared. Luckily, Jill had taken that advice and had a stash of toiletries and a change of clothes with her.

  Walking into Room #5, Jill understood what Michelle had meant earlier when describing the guest rooms. They were standard fare: ocean-themed with a bed and a television. Nothing groundbreaking happening.

  In fact, it was rather… underwhelming. The bed was made up with a yellow and blue starfish-patterned duvet that matched the starfish wallpaper. Hanging on the walls were—you guessed it, more starfish.

  In any bed and breakfast, a certain amount of cheesiness was to be expected. But this room was dated and out of style in a way that suggested its dose of “charming” had expired around the turn of the millennium.

  To its credit, the bathroom was all white and clean. Timeless. And the warm shower relaxed Jill to her very core. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to wash off the day until she was in her favorite pair of sweats and a thermal shirt with her wet hair twisted into a knot on top of her head.

  For a moment, as she walked downstairs, Jill worried she was dressed too casually. But as soon as she got in the kitchen, she saw Leslie and Michelle were sitting across from one another at the island in equally relaxed attire.

  Leslie pointed to a floral-painted kettle on the counter. “I made tea if you want some.”

  “Yes, please.” Jill wrapped her hand around the wood handle and leaned her face into the steam coming from the spout. “This kettle is beautiful.”

  “It was our mom’s,” Michelle said. “There used to be a matching set of tea cups.”

  “We broke them having tea parties.” Leslie smiled at the memory.

  Jill hadn’t even considered who their mom might have been. She’d been too focused on Warren and the fact that she had sisters at all.

  “Where is your mom?” she asked.

  “Gone,” Michelle said.

  For a moment, Jill didn’t know if she’d get any more clarification than that. Then Michelle added, “Has been for thirty—no, forty years. Forty years this year.”

  “Gone, as in…?”

  “Dead,” Leslie said plainly. “A brain aneurysm. I was five. Michelle was four.”

  “I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard.”

  Jill had always hated not knowing anything about her father. But at least she’d been able to daydream. Leslie and Michelle hadn’t had that luxury. They’d always known exactly what happened to their mother.

  “It’s been a long time,” Michelle said.

  Leslie nodded, but then her head began to bob side to side. “Yeah, but it honestly got harder as time went on. Like, when I got my period for the first time.” She smiled and shook her head. “Poor Dad called Mrs. Nelson next door to come and talk to me.”

  “And I had to ask you when it was my turn,” Michelle laughed. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.”

  “And then, when I turned thirty-one… that was hard.” Leslie’s smile slipped.

  “That was how old Mom was when she died,” Michelle explained to Jill.

  “So young,” Jill lamented. “That must have been a lot for… your dad to take on.”

  Leslie’s eyes flicked up to Jill’s for a moment. The word your hung awkwardly in the air between them. There was a lot yet to get used to.

  “He did his best. I knew he missed her, but he never let it get in the way. He was a ‘keep calm and carry on’ type.”

  Didn’t Jill know it! Warren Townsend had kept calm and carried right on without her or Grayson. She felt a surge of bitterness and tried to swallow down a mouthful of tea to wash it away.

  “What about you?” Michelle asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Well, I mean, what was your family like growing up? You had a brother, but what about…?”

  Parents, she left unsaid.

  Jill shrugged. “I just had my mom. She dated a few guys over the years, but I never met any of them. No stepdads or anything.”

  “Did she tell you about our—about Warren?” Leslie asked.

  “I asked a million times, but she wouldn’t say anything. I’m not sure if it ended badly or what. I really have no idea.”

  “Neither do we,” Michelle agreed. “Dad never said anything.”

  “I knew he was with someone serious before,” Leslie said. “I found an old engagement photo when I was digging through his closet looking for Christmas presents one year. It wasn’t my mom, but I never asked him about it. Now, I wish I had.”

  “Your mom is still alive, right? Could you ask her?” Michelle wondered.

  Jill would have loved nothing more. If it had been in the cards, she would’ve grilled her mom the second she’d gotten off the phone with John Schmidt the first time. Would have dug for every detail and memory possible, forcing her to finally tell the truth.

  Unfortunately…

  “Alzheimer’s.” That one word was all it took.

  Leslie’s head tipped in sympathy and Michelle shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Jill sighed. “It’s getting pretty bad. I was able to get her to tell me his name after the lawyer first called. Which helped me confirm it wasn’t some big scam. But that’s about it. I’m not sure she could tell me the whole story even if she wanted to. Her good days are getting fewer and farther in between.”

  Michelle took a deep breath and sagged against the island, looking less poised than Jill had ever seen her—the incident in the ocean aside. “Seems there is more than enough tragedy to go around for all of us, then?”

  “Seems like it,” Jill chuckled.

  “Sure is,” Leslie mused as she looked around the kitchen. It seemed like she was trying her best to memorize it. Saving the mental image for some future day when she had to turn her back on this place forever.

  “But no rest for the weary.” Michelle shoved her empty mug to the center of the island and planted her palms on the laminate countertop. “No point in kicking the can down the road again and again. What are we going to do about this inn?”

  “Get out from under it,” Leslie said glumly. “You were right. Dad could barely afford to pay me, so how could I hire help? And I can’t do this on my own. There’s no way.”

  Michelle nodded. “I’m sorry for getting your hopes up.”

  Leslie reached out and patted her sister’s hand briefly. It was a quick gesture, just a brush of skin, but Jill had the feeling it was a big deal for the two of them. They seemed to have their fair share of issues.

  “It’s okay. I should have expected as much. Life doesn’t seem to pull any punches with our family.”

  “You can say that again. I guess, if all else fails, we do nothing and let the bank deal with it.” Michelle shrugged.

  A few hours earlier, Jill would have agreed with both women. Life had a way of kicking her when she was already down, and so maybe it would have been easier to just walk away from the Wayfarer Inn. Pretend she’d never sat in on the reading of the will. Go back to her life the way it had been.

  Except Jill didn’t want to do that.

  It was far too early for her to have any sort of sisterly relationship with Leslie and Michelle, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like them. It didn’t mean she didn’t want things to work out for them.

  Plus, the moment the inn was gone, these three women wouldn’t have a single reason to ever talk to each other again. And despite what Jill knew her brother would say about it, she wanted to know Leslie and Michelle. She wanted to be in their lives. Wanted them in hers. They were
her only connection to the father she’d never known and she wasn’t ready to cut ties just yet.

  “Yeah, we’ll just take down the website, lock up, and—”

  “Or we renovate,” Jill blurted. “We update the place, pool together our talents, pay down the debt, and reopen.”

  A confidence she hadn’t felt in a long time swelled inside of her. But when she caught sight of the expressions looking back at her, it deflated slightly.

  Was she onto something… or was she crazy?

  “How?” Leslie asked. “I’d been trying to get my dad to renovate for years, so I love the idea; don’t get me wrong. But we don’t have any money.”

  Michelle held up her hands in surrender. “Yeah, I’m tapped out. Frozen assets, remember?”

  “We can make money,” Jill suggested.

  Her mind was whirring, trying to come up with a plan. Growing up, her mom worked at the pharmacy and made okay money, but one income was hardly enough to make them comfortable. There had always been some scraping necessary. Jill didn’t buy her first piece of brand-new clothing until she got her first paycheck from her waitressing job when she was sixteen. She still bought exclusively off-brands at the grocery store because it was all she’d ever known. In terms of what each of them were bringing to the table, this was Jill’s area of expertise. How could they make some money? How could they save this inn?

  Jill snapped her fingers and pointed at Leslie. “Your cooking.”

  She frowned. “Are you hungry?”

  “Well, yes, but that’s beside the point. I mean, you could open a restaurant. I assume you’re already legally cleared to serve food because you serve breakfast, so let’s open the dining room up for lunch and dinner, too.”

  “But there are no guests,” Michelle said.

  “And there don’t need to be!” Jill was on a roll now, the plan unravelling like a treasure map in her mind. “The rooms will stay closed for now. We just need to buy some new tablecloths, invest in some battery-powered candles, and some nice serving utensils. With Leslie’s cooking and the ocean view, the rest will take care of itself.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Leslie bit her lower lip. “We’re an inn. We’ve always been an inn. I’m not sure people will like a business change.”

  “Only temporarily. And I saw how many people were at Warren’s funeral today.” Jill shrugged. “They seemed to really like him. My guess? When people find out what’s going on, they’ll want to help.”

  “And if they get to eat a delicious meal while they’re at it? All the better,” Michelle added.

  “Exactly.” Jill clapped her hands excitedly. “I think it could work. Even if you only did Fridays and Saturdays. It would generate enough money to help fund some updates, and then—”

  “How can we afford the food?” Leslie interrupted. “And the tablecloths and the serving-ware and the promotion? We don’t have any money, remember?”

  Jill’s mouth twisted into a knot on one side. That was true. A little start-up capital would be nice. For one foolish second, she considered calling Grayson, but she knew immediately what he’d say.

  I’m saving up money for a business that actually stands a chance. Get on the next ferry and get out of there.

  She huffed. “Well, I mean, we could…”

  Before she could finish, Michelle stretched her hand out and pressed something onto the counter. “Maybe this will help.”

  When she pulled her hand back, the flower-shaped diamond and gold wedding ring she’d had on was sitting there, glimmering in the kitchen lights.

  “Michelle!” Leslie breathed. “Why would you give that up?”

  “Because I can,” she said. “And I want to. I don’t need it.” Michelle ran her tongue over her top teeth and drummed her ringless fingers on the countertop, fidgeting and refusing to make eye contact. Leslie stared at her sister like she’d never seen her before.

  “Great. Then it’s decided,” Jill said. “We’re doing this. We’re trying to save your inn.”

  Leslie walked around the island and bumped her hip against Jill’s. “Our inn.”

  Jill grinned. It would take a while to get used to that idea, to those words. But she was already warming up to it.

  “According to Michelle, you’re the one to go to for a thorough tour of the inn,” Jill said gently.

  Leslie chuckled. “I’m sure she didn’t phrase it quite as nicely. But yes, I know this place inside and out. It’s my job.”

  “Then give me the full tour. Top to bottom. Leave nothing out.”

  Leslie lifted her chin and marched out of the kitchen, a woman on a mission. Michelle followed after, smiling and shaking her head. “You’re in for it now.”

  As it turned out, they were all in for it.

  Not only because Leslie’s “top to bottom” tour of the inn took a full ninety minutes. But also because a renovation of The Wayfarer Inn would be much more than the quick-and-dirty aesthetic refresh Jill had imagined.

  Wooden steps were rotting away, pipes need to be replaced, drywall needed to be repaired, and every piece of equipment in the mechanical room was at least twenty-five years old.

  “There it is,” Leslie said, stopping at the stair banister where their tour had begun. “The full tour. What do you think?”

  “It was… enlightening,” Jill said. “Terrifying” seemed like it might push the wrong buttons.

  Michelle crossed her arms. “When’s the last time a professional has been in here to fix anything?”

  “You know Dad. He wanted to do everything himself.”

  “Which is why this place is hanging on with duct tape and prayers,” Michelle retorted. “I could’ve watched one YouTube tutorial and done a better job patching the ceiling in Room #10.”

  Leslie winced. “Yeah, that’s always the last room I fill. When it rains really hard, it still leaks a little.”

  “And what is this?” Michelle asked, pointing to a long crack in the wall under the stairs. It looked like it had been caulked over and painted multiple times.

  Jill’s sigh turned into a groan. Leslie and Michelle turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. I came up with this plan before I realized things were so… lived in.”

  “It’s bad,” Michelle said. “Let’s call it like we see it, okay? It’s bad. A lot needs to be fixed.”

  “It’s just a big commitment,” Jill defended. “What kind of timeline are we working under here?”

  “Renovations would have to be done by summer. That’s tourist season and it’s when we make enough money to get us through the rest of the year,” Leslie said. “Without summer, we’re dead in the water.”

  Jill nodded. “Okay, so a summer deadline for the renovations and a December 31st deadline for the debt. Is that too tight? Is it even possible?”

  Michelle let out a long breath. “I have no idea. I’ve never done anything like this before. Our house was a new build when we bought it, and I’ve hired experts for… well, everything. But I’m guessing this is going to be fairly do-it-yourself.”

  “It will have to be,” Jill agreed. “That’s all we’ll be able to afford. Even with the money from your ring.”

  “There’s more jewelry where that came from, too. But I still don’t know if that will be enough to make a difference.” Michelle ran her hand along a gouge in the wooden stair railing. “Maybe it would still be best to try and get out while we’re ahead. Just let the bank take it and—”

  A loud, crashing bang burst through the room.

  Jill slammed her hands over her ears and ducked. The Wayfarer must be in worse shape than she’d thought. The roof was coming down on them.

  Except when she waited a couple seconds, nothing happened. No dust, no rubble, no sudden darkness.

  When she stood up, she saw Michelle was doing the same, looking around for the source of the noise. They both saw Leslie at the same time.

  At some point while they’d been talking, Leslie had reached into the nearby closet, pulled out a hamme
r from the toolbox, and hammered a large hole straight into the cracked wall under the stairs.

  Michelle’s jaw unhinged. “What in the world are you—”

  “There,” Leslie said, grinning at them both. “Now, we’re committed.”

  12

  Leslie

  Renovation Begins At The Wayfarer Hotel

  Leslie had already been in the kitchen for an hour when she heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Jill walked through the swinging door.

  She had on the same light gray sweatpants and white thermal shirt as the night before, but today, her hair was twisted into two braids that hung over her shoulders.

  “Good morning,” she yawned, walking straight for the coffee pot.

  “How did you sleep?” Leslie asked.

  “Surprisingly well, actually. I usually don’t sleep well away from home, but I was exhausted.”

  “It was a big day.”

  That hadn’t stopped Leslie’s internal clock from going off bright and early at five-thirty, though. She was used to waking up, making breakfast, arranging the dining room, and getting the cleaning cart stocked with new towels, sheets, and pillowcases. Most days, she didn’t get a break until the mid-afternoon when everyone was out of the inn and wandering the island.

  Without guests to tend to, Leslie had been forced to find other ways to occupy herself.

  “Is that a… salad?” Jill asked her skeptically.

  “It is! Would you like some?” Leslie grabbed a bowl, her hand hovering over the serving spoon. “Pear slices with leafy greens and a pomegranate vinaigrette.”

  “Oh, um…” Jill took a long sip of her coffee. “Maybe I’ll just make some toast? I don’t usually eat salads for breakf—”

  The wood floors at the end of the hallway let out a familiar squeal. Leslie whirled around—because, for one bizarre second, she thought it was her dad.

  Instinctively, she’d turned to reach for his favorite handspun clay mug she’d bought him for Christmas at least ten years earlier.

  But when the source of the noise rounded the corner, she saw it was Michelle instead. Her hand froze around the handle of the mug.