The Pub Across the Pond (39 page)

CHAPTER 2

Yvette said she didn't want anything from the store, but Austin stopped anyway, insisting she needed to have a few things on hand in case the snowstorm hit hard. She stayed in the truck while he picked up soup, milk and cereal, apples, cheese and crackers—her favorites—plus some salt for her walk. She was dying, and he couldn't believe whom she was most worried about.

Roger. The creepy caretaker who squatted on her property. Lived in the cabin out back and shuffled around, mumbling to himself. Austin didn't know if he was a drunk, or on drugs, or was mentally disabled. And if that was the case, he felt bad, he really did, but Yvette shouldn't carry someone else's burden to that degree. Why was she so worried about him? Yvette wasn't exactly the warm and fuzzy type. Maybe it was just the fact that Roger had been around for so many years, or maybe there was a lot more to the story than he'd ever been told. Austin didn't like people prying into his business; he heard enough of people's pain all day long at work, and he wasn't the type to pry. But he couldn't stand seeing her so worked up. He'd ask around at the churches; maybe there was a shelter or home Roger could move into, maybe that would help ease Yvette's worries. She certainly couldn't expect whoever bought the property to let the old man keep living there.

Austin was almost out the door when a silver ornament dangling on a display tree caught his eye. Silver letters spelled out the word JOY
.
Neither he nor Yvette had celebrated Christmas in a long time. And she'd probably hate it. But maybe she wouldn't. Maybe it would make her smile. He returned to the register to pay for the ornament, then tucked it into the bag and headed for his truck.

“Why did you buy those?” she asked, pointing to the apples the minute he returned to the truck.

“They're good for you.”

“Don't be a fool.” She shook her head. “It's too late to keep the doctor away.”

“It's never too late.”

“If I didn't know better I'd say you're hoping for a Christmas miracle.”

“Would that be so bad?” As Austin started the drive back home, he purposefully avoided her gaze. He needn't have bothered. Yvette stared out the window.

“The real miracle is that I made it this far,” she said.

Me too,
Austin thought, but he didn't voice it. Would have sounded cruel coming from a thirty-two-year-old regardless of the fact that quite often that was exactly how he felt. Life could do a number on you if you let it. They fell into an uneasy silence as he took the curves and climbed higher up the mountain road to her sprawling property. He couldn't help but wonder who would inherit her estate. The place had belonged to her late husband, Rupert Harris, who had run a sled and skating outfit in town in the winter and horseback riding all other times of year. Rupert Harris had come from money and his first wife died in a car accident. She passed young so there were no kids, and by the time he fell in love with Yvette, both of them were well into their sixties. Yvette had a son from her first marriage, but Austin had never met him, and the one time he pressed Yvette on it she simply said:
He's gone
. The set of her mouth and the pain reflected in her eyes made him back off. Austin didn't know whether that meant he had passed away or he had taken off. He never brought up the subject again.

If Yvette had any other family or friends, they didn't come around. She had twenty acres and a gorgeous log home that resembled a mini ski lodge. He hoped whoever inherited or purchased it would love it and take care of it the way she had.

Leavenworth was such a charming place; he'd hate to see the house abandoned or torn down for God knows what a developer might come up with. A hotel, or actual lodge, he supposed. With its twenty pine-tree-filled acres, and skating pond, and hills to sled, surely someone would be thinking along those lines. He'd buy it himself if he could afford it, but he could barely afford his own three-room cabin and two acres next door. Not that he needed more room, it suited him perfectly fine. But he sure didn't like the thought of having new neighbors. Not that this was any time to be thinking about himself. He had to find a way to cheer her up. They pulled up to the black iron gate that secured the entrance. Austin rolled down the window and punched the key code into the security system. A few seconds later the electronic gates slid open. He thought it was cool that Rupert had combined modern technology with the old-fashioned gates. Austin pulled in and took the half-moon drive up to the house where he put his truck in park. Then he grabbed the groceries with one hand and with the other he helped Yvette up the steps to the wraparound porch and into her house.

They entered into a mudroom. Austin put the groceries down and pulled off his boots, then hung his winter coat on the rack on the wall. Yvette had already slipped out of her coat and boots and had headed into the house. Austin followed.

The main floor reminded Austin of an expansive loft apartment. There was a fireplace with a stone chimney that took center stage on the main wall, towering at least fifteen feet up to the start of the second level. An arrangement of soft leather sofas faced the fireplace, and a bank of windows overlooked the expansive grounds. A few feet behind the sofas was a marble island with stools all around, delineating the chef's kitchen behind it. With so many windows, the place definitely had an indoor-outdoor feel, and the natural light helped offset all the wood—from the thick planks in the floor to the logs in the walls. Had it been closed in, the effect might have been suffocating, but with all the space and cathedral ceilings, it transformed into something artistic and welcoming.

Yvette's room was on the main floor down a hall to the right, and the second story housed at least five guest rooms, but Austin had never been beyond the main room and kitchen. Not that he felt any need to nose around, he certainly would never let anyone poke around in his little cabin.

He knelt down in front of the fireplace, added a few logs and kindling from the bin sitting next to it, and tossed some crumpled-up newspaper on top. Just as he had struck a match and lit the newspaper, a horrifying scream rang out. It had come from Yvette, who was in the kitchen area putting away the groceries. Austin dropped the match into the fire, then shot to his feet and hurried toward Yvette.

She was standing stock-still, mouth open like a rendition of
The Scream
. Dangling from her fingers was the ornament.
JOY
. He watched her stare at it like it was a snake ready to strike.

“What on earth is the matter?” Austin heard his own voice echoing back, sounding slightly hysterical. His heart was thumping in his chest. Yvette's eyes flicked to the windows, and Austin turned around and looked. Roger was standing in the yard, staring into the windows. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders. He wore a cracked leather jacket and always had on a red cap. The way he silently appeared and stared always made Austin think he was an alien, sent here to observe human life but not participate in it. That was the nicest comparison Austin could make about the older man. He was younger than Yvette, probably in his fifties. Before Yvette passed away Austin was going to have to find out what the guy's deal was. The last thing he'd stand for was somebody scamming her for an inheritance. “Did he scare you?” Austin said. “I told you that guy is creepy. I'll go talk to him.” Austin headed for the door.

“It's not him,” Yvette said. “It's you.”

Austin turned back to Yvette. She wasn't making any sense. “Me? What did I do?”

“What is the meaning of this?” Yvette was literally shaking as she bobbed the ornament up and down.

“Who are you?” she said. “Some kind of Ghost of Christmas Past?”

That stopped him in his tracks. “What?”

“What is this?” She flicked the ornament with her index finger and they both watched it swing for a second.

Austin shrugged. “I thought it might cheer you up.”

Yvette recoiled. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I'm sorry it's upsetting you so much.”

“What's the third one?”

“Do you need me to get you something? Water? Your pills?”

“Just get it over with. Say her name.”

“Say whose name?”

Yvette shook her head, then removed a flask from one of the kitchen cabinets and took a long swig. How many of those did she have lying around? Maybe a bit of paranoia was a side effect of stopping chemo or being told you wouldn't live much past the new year. Who did these doctors think they were, giving Yvette news like this at this time of year? He turned back to see if Roger was still skulking on the lawn. Not only was he still there, but he had edged closer to the windows.

“Don't stare at him, it's not polite,” Yvette said, coming up behind him.

“He's the one standing out there just staring into the windows,” Austin said.

“He's not hurting you.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Go on home now. I need my rest.”

Austin really wanted to know why she was so worked up about the ornament. Not only had he not cheered her up, she seemed even more upset than before. “Have a little faith,” he said. This time in addition to letting out another bloodcurdling scream, Yvette Garland lifted a rolling pin and charged him.

CHAPTER 3

Hope Garland paced her tiny apartment, clutching her iPad and practicing her pitch. “It's been five years since the three of us spent Christmas together.” She stopped. Could it be longer? Definitely longer since the three of them spent Christmas with their mother.

“Can you do that somewhere else?” Michael called from the sofa. She glanced at the top of his head, dark hair sticking up in the middle. He'd been glued to the television for the past hour, captivated by some kind of extreme fishing show. Bigger boats, more waves, hairier fish.
Gawd.
He hadn't even taken her suggestion of watching
It's a Wonderful Life
seriously. Another piece of evidence that he wasn't the right guy for her, bagged and sealed and placed in the evidence locker. Truthfully, she'd known it after their first month together, when it became obvious that he wasn't a dog lover, but she'd spent the next five months trying to talk herself into him. Every time she wanted to break up with him, she could hear her older sister, Faith, in her ear. “Not everyone is a dog fanatic, Hope.
Must Love Dogs
is one thing.
Must Think Life Revolves Around Dogs
is you being psychotic. Give people a break!”

Faith was never one to tiptoe in on little cat feet. So Hope tried. She'd given him multiple breaks. Maybe she was the one who was broken. Or maybe, she knew it all along. He just wasn't the guy for her. Why did she think she had to turn him into a villain to admit it wasn't working out? She hadn't fostered a dog since they'd started dating, and she couldn't wait to get to work every day just to be around those big eyes and wagging tails. She missed having a dog lying at the foot of the bed, snoring away. She missed the click of their nails on the wood floor, and the exuberant joy when it was time for a walk. Dogs taught people how to live in the moment. She felt bad that Faith couldn't see that. But that wasn't the only reason she wanted to end things with Michael. And maybe all her reasons were all little things, things other women would consider trifling—but the little things added up.

“Look at the size of that bass!” he said. “That's a whopper.”

“Wow,” Hope said. “Size does matter.” She could see him nod. He didn't register sarcasm. She felt mean. But seriously. Did he expect her to get excited over a fish? She didn't understand the male brain. Slippery, and elusive. Like a fish? Just because one lived in the Pacific Northwest did not mean they loved freaking fish. Maybe, if he had ever tried to get excited about dogs, she would have tried to get excited about fish. At least dogs were incredible companions. And smart. So, so smart. Could you say the same about fish? Could you cuddle up on the sofa with a bass? Was it all about stringing it up and posing for the picture? Sometimes she thought men weren't just from different planets, they were off in their own solar system.

Be nice, Hope.
As soon as the holidays were over, she was going to end this relationship as neatly as possible. She would let him down gently. She would put it in a language he understood.
As you know, Michael. There are plenty of fish in the sea.
Holidays should not be about heartbreak. Would Michael be heartbroken? She doubted it. Hope tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went back to silently begging her sisters to spend Christmas with her this year.

“As long as you're pacing, would you get me a pilsner?” Michael called out. Hope rolled her eyes, knowing he'd never turn around to see it. She headed for the fridge. He was on his third beer within the hour. She shouldn't be counting, it was Sunday, they weren't going anywhere, but she knew by the end of the day the six-pack would be gone, and he might even rummage through her cupboards for some hard liquor, and he would fall asleep on the sofa and snore. She was twenty-eight. Not married, no kids. Was this really the life she wanted? He wasn't a drunk now, but if he kept this up, what would he be like in ten years? It was too reminiscent of her parents. But she didn't say a word. She didn't want to fight. She handed him another beer and headed for the hall between the living room and her bedroom where she could pace in relative peace. She wished he'd just go home, but in order to get her wish, she'd actually have to have a conversation with him. One she didn't want to face right now. Right now she had to focus on her sisters.