The Last Boyfriend

Chapter Nineteen

Hope shifted the clear vase of white roses an inch to the left.

“There.”

Though Avery didn’t see the difference, she nodded approval.

They’d transformed the long table borrowed from Turn The Page with a draping of white linen. With Hope’s focused eye, clear, square vases of newly opened white roses and tiny white tea lights in silver holders graced what would serve as the dessert and champagne bar.

Clare may have opted against a white wedding, but her wedding shower was going full-out.

“Gifts there, food there, desserts and champagne here.” Hands on hips, Hope turned a circle in The Dining Room. “You did a great job on her chair.”

“I amazed myself.”

They’d positioned one of the high-backed chairs to face the room. An enormous bow of white tulle crowned the top, its tails flowing to the floor. Garlands of white and pale, pale pink twined around the rungs, the arms, the legs.

“I forget how much I like girly stuff until I have a chance to do some.”

Gorgeous red heels clicking on hardwood, Hope walked over to shift candles minutely. “I’m going to put some wine, some nibbles in The Lounge so people can wander around, settle down wherever they like.”

“You know a lot of people coming haven’t seen the place yet. You’re going to get hit up for tours.”

“Already figured on it. It’s just too bad it’s really not warm enough so we can spread out into The Courtyard. Anyway, the place looks great, and we look . . .” She turned, hooked an arm through Avery’s so they reflected together in the gold-framed mirror. “Fabulous.”

“Agreed.”

“So . . . Pre-party champagne?”

“Twist my arm.”

They went into the kitchen where Hope poured two flutes. She clinked hers against Avery’s. “To maids of honor and godmothers.”

“That would be us.”

“And in about eight months, we’ll be hosting a baby shower.”

“Four kids. Whew.” Avery took a drink, then hoisted her glass again. “More power to them.”

“They’ve got it. Loves runs the engine.”

“You think?”

“I do.” Hope slid onto a stool. “How long do you think they can keep this a secret? The two of them are absolutely radiant.”

“Most people will think that’s about the wedding, and part of it is. If they can keep it quiet until after the honeymoon—that’s Clare’s goal anyway—it gives them a little breathing room.”

“I can’t believe you kept it from me for an entire day.”

“I was dying to tell you.” In her spring green dress, Avery hopped onto her own stool, tugged down the narrow skirt. “And I would’ve come over and filled you in after work, but the whole Owen thing was so weird.”

“What are the chances?” Because it still amused her, Hope leaned back and laughed. “Seriously, he turns the corner in the drugstore just as you’re buying the test kit.”

“Fate’s twisted little joke on him.”

“Poor guy. Imagine what was going through his mind.”

“That’s just it. I can’t, or not clearly—and I usually get Owen’s mind. But he was so serious. I can’t figure out if he was mad, scared, what.”

“A combo of both, I imagine.”

“Even after I explained?” It continued to nag at her, just a little. “We both brushed it aside, but really, I can’t be sure. Mad and scared because maybe I was, or maybe I was and hadn’t said anything.”

“I’d guess he had to process the okay, it’s Clare, but what if it had been? Didn’t you?”

“Maybe. A little. But only because I had to think what if we’d gone down that road after his reaction. You know Owen by now. He’s a planner. Everything in its time, in its place. He’s the guy who actually checks the expiration date on the milk carton before he buys it.”

“So do I.”

“Which is why you get him. An unplanned pregnancy?” Avery rolled her eyes. “That would shake the very foundation of his life plan.”

“What’s his life plan?”

“I don’t know, but you can bet he’s got one.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Hope topped off their flutes. “I say that because I share a lot of sensibilities and traits with him. Yes, he probably has a basic plan, which includes goals, achievements, events, steps. But he’s also capable of adjusting the plan.” She lifted a hand, gesturing around her. “I did.”

“Sure, he can adjust.” Organized and efficient wasn’t rigid, she told herself. It was just . . . a little stiff by her personal gauge.

“Okay, since we’re playing what-if? If I’d been buying that kit for myself, and if the results had been positive, he’d adjust, and plan out from there. The first step of the plan would be marriage.”

“That annoys you?”

“No. No. He’d see that as doing the right thing, the necessary thing. I wouldn’t want to get married because it’s the right thing.”

“Better that than the wrong thing,” Hope pointed out.

“You know what I mean. I’d want to get married because I want to get married, I’m ready, in love, excited about the idea of spending my life with someone.”

Because they were there, Hope took one of the little pastel mints from a bowl on the island. “You’d say no.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. You’d say no because you’d feel obligated to prove a point, and to let him off the hook—both of those in equal measure.” Recrossing her legs, Hope studied Avery over her next sip of champagne. “I can take care of myself, and you’re not obligated to marry me. Share responsibility for the child, yes, be a vital and integral part of the child’s life, yes. But under no obligation to you, individually.”

“That sounds hard-line.”

“I don’t think so. It sounds like you—pride, caution, heart, tangled up with parental issues.”

“Would they have gotten married if she hadn’t been pregnant with me?” A bit grimly, Avery took a gulp of champagne. “I don’t think so.”

“If they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here wondering about it. They made a choice; you’re the result.”

Avery lifted a shoulder. “The Hope Beaumont Practical School of Logic.”

“It generally works. Listen, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if Jonathan hadn’t made his choice—which led to mine. I’ve thought about that, a lot, in the past months. I’m happy here, happier than I was when I was with Jonathan, when I thought my life was proceeding according to my very solid, very Practical School of Logic plans.”

Avery considered a moment. “I get your point, but, Hope, Jonathan was an asshole.”

On a laugh, Hope lifted her glass. “Yes, but I thought he was my asshole.” She checked her watch. “We should start putting the rest of the food out.”

They’d barely begun when Clare tapped on The Lobby door.

“I know I’m a little early,” she began when Avery answered. “I dropped the kids off at the new house—which is really almost entirely a house. Beckett and his brothers are going to put the kids to work. God help them all. Oh wow. Just wow, look at those flowers!”

“Wait till you see The Dining Room. Give me your coat first. We’ve got a rack for coats in the laundry. How are you feeling—it’s just me and Hope. Nobody else is here yet.”

“Good.” Laughing a little, she tossed her sunny blond hair off her shoulders. “When I threw up this morning, all I could think was, I’m having a baby. Beckett and I are having a baby. So I’m good.”

“It shows. I don’t mean the baby,” Avery said with a snicker when Clare laid hands on her belly. “Come see.”

When she dragged Clare into The Dining Room, Hope stepped back from the buffet.

“What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful. Oh, it’s so beautiful. All the flowers, and candles. You made me a chair!” Clare blinked at the tears swirling in her eyes. “I’m watering up again. I don’t know if it’s happiness or hormones, probably a mix of both. I got teary when Beckett did the breakfast dishes this morning.”

“A bride’s allowed to get teary at her shower,” Hope told her.

“I hope so, because I have a feeling . . . Thank you, so much, for everything. For all this. For being mine.”

“Keep it up,” Avery warned, “we’ll all be crying. I’m going to go hang this up.”

She hurried out, hung Clare’s coat next to her own jacket. As she started back again, something drew her across The Lobby, and down to the base of the stairs. Had she heard something? It was more felt something, Avery thought. She walked quietly up, away from Clare’s and Hope’s voices.

The door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. But then all the rooms stood open, as Hope wanted to allow the guests to wander, to enjoy the rooms if they were busy playing hostess.

In E&D, the porch door stood open as well. A touch of honeysuckle hung on the cool March air blowing gently into the room.

She didn’t hear, or see, but again felt. And what she felt was sorrow.

“Please come in,” she murmured. “Please come inside. I know you’re sad. It must be so hard, so hard to accept. Owen’s looking for Billy. If anyone can find things out, figure things out, it’s Owen. But meanwhile, you’re not alone here. I know how it feels, because I’ve felt alone.”

She took another step toward the door, waited. “But I was wrong to feel that way. I always had someone who cared about me, even when everything seemed so hard, so sad. You do, too. We care about you.”

She hesitated, then chose impulse. The majority of the time, Lizzy seemed happy, even playful. Romantic, Avery thought. A young woman with a cheerful nature.

“I have a secret. I think I could tell you because I bet you know how to keep a secret. Especially a happy secret like this one. Please come inside.”

The door to the porch slowly closed.

Taking the presence on faith, Avery sat on the side of the bed. “We’re having a party downstairs today. A bridal shower for Clare.” She wasn’t sure if they’d had the tradition of bridal showers in Eliza Ford’s time. “It’s something we do. Women, I mean. We have a party to celebrate our friend’s upcoming wedding. We have food, games, we bring her gifts. It’s happy. Only a few people who’ll be here know the secret, but I know Clare wouldn’t mind if I tell you. You care about Beckett, and Clare, and the boys. They’re making such a nice family. And in a few months, they’ll be a bigger family. Clare’s pregnant. She and Beckett are going to have a baby next winter.”

The scent bloomed, strong and sweet as summer, and the air warmed with it.

“I know. Isn’t it great? You watched them fall in love. I think it really started here, in the inn. Now they’ll be married here, in just a couple weeks. Everything about them is so strong and sure and right. That’s rare, don’t you think? To be that strong and sure and right? To find the person who fits and fills in, links up. I don’t even know the words.”

She glanced down, saw she was clutching the little key Owen had given her. And there were tears, her own tears, on the back of her hand.

“Clare’s hormones must be contagious. I’m not sad. I’m not.”

She felt something stroke her hair, and she closed her eyes in wonder that she could be comforted by the touch.

“I’m not sad,” she repeated. “I’m just not as strong and sure as I wish I could be. How do people risk it? You must have risked so much for Billy. How do you do that?”

As she watched, a light fog covered the glass of the porch door. And the outline of a pretty heart shone against it.

“It seems so simple,” Avery murmured. “Why isn’t it?”

The sound of voices, of laughter, drifted up the stairs. “Party’s starting. I’ve got to get down.”

She pushed to her feet, moved to the little mirror to make sure her eyes showed no sign of tears. “You should come. I’m issuing an official invitation. You don’t have to be alone,” she added, and went down to be with her friends, knowing she spoke as much to herself as her ghost.

She dived into the party. Yes, she did enjoy the girly when she had time. Pretty dresses, pretty food, talk of weddings and men and fashion and morsels of gossip.

Even better to remember she had a very juicy morsel herself, known only to a handful of the women—and one ghost—in attendance.

She drank champagne and served it, ate fancy finger sandwiches and carried dishes to the kitchen. While Hope efficiently kept a log of gifts and givers for Clare, she bagged the torn wrapping. Carolee artfully fashioned a paper-plate bouquet out of discarded ribbons and bows.

Silly things and female things. The scents, the sounds against the backdrop of bride white and flickering candles. The bride-to-be and expectant mama drinking ginger ale disguised in a champagne flute and laughing at the whistles and cheers when she opened a nearly transparent black nightie.

“You girls did good.” Over the boisterous competition in another game, Justine gave Avery a squeeze. “Couldn’t have done better.”

“We loved every minute.”

“It shows. Clare’s smart and lucky in her friends.”

“I feel the same about myself.”

“That shows, too. I think we could use another bottle of champagne. Give me a hand?”

“Sure.”

“I really just wanted a minute with you,” Justine said as they went into the kitchen.

“Okay.”

Justine took the bottle Avery got out of the fridge, set it on the counter. “I’m a really good mom.”

“I don’t know better.”

“And you won’t.” She grinned back at Avery, then her face softened as she stroked a hand over Avery’s hair. “I’ve thought of you as mine even before Traci left.”

“Oh, Justine.”

“I always figured you knew, but I never said it to you. Maybe I should have.”

Touched, so touched, Avery could only shake her head. “I always knew I could count on you, could go to you.”

“I hope so, and I hope you always will. Avery, you’re one of the brightest lights I know, certainly one of my brightest. I’m sorry to see some of that bright dim off and on the last few weeks.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You don’t have to. You feel what you feel.”

Owen had said exactly the same, Avery remembered. Like a stroke on her hair, it comforted.

“I’m going to take a chance now and say something I’ve wanted to say for a lot of years. Traci was, and is, a flighty, selfish woman who always wanted more than she had, and always blamed someone else if she didn’t get it. If she did get it, it was never really right, never really enough—and that was always someone else’s fault. You’re nothing like her. I’ve watched you grow up, and I know who you are, what you are.”

“Do you think she ever loved me?”

“Yes.” With no hesitation, Justine gave Avery’s hand a squeeze. “Yes, she loved you, and I think she loves you now. Just not enough.”

“Not enough might be worse than not at all,” Avery murmured.

“Maybe, but that’s not on you, honey. It’s nothing about you, and all about Traci. I want to think you know that, deep down. Maybe you haven’t gotten there yet. Meanwhile, you’re smart and lucky in your friends, and you can count on them. But sometimes a girl needs a mom. You have me.”

Avery went into her arms, held hard. “I knew. I always knew, but it helps hearing you say it. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Part of the job, but I don’t worry much when it comes to you.” She lifted Avery’s face, smiled. “Bright light. You’ve always found your way.”

After the guests, after the cleanup—and with Carolee handling the two party guests who’d booked rooms for the night—Avery talked Hope into coming to her apartment for a break.

“Feet up.” Avery plopped down, put hers on the coffee table. “Congratulations, co-hostess.”

“Back at you. Jesus, I’m exhausted.”

“Half of that’s adrenaline drain. You get hyped.”

“I do—but that was one kick-ass shower.”

“And onto one kick-ass wedding.” Self-satisfied Avery stretched her arms up, rolled her shoulders. “I’m going to make us some tea in a minute, then we can talk about Janice and what she was thinking when she put on those pants. They made her butt look like an enormous beefsteak.”

Laying her head back, Hope closed her eyes, chuckled. “God, they really did. On the other hand, Laurie looked so pretty, and so excited about her own wedding. It’s too bad they’d already booked the venue before we were finished with the inn.”

“You’re a glutton for punishment.”

“Maybe. Charlene did pull me aside. She and the other bookstore girls want to give Laurie a shower. And now they want to talk about having it at the inn. I need to talk to Justine, figure out a venue fee for an event like that.”

“I thought I was a workhorse.” She pushed herself up, kicking off her shoes on the way to the kitchen—then detoured at the knock on the door. “Please don’t be a problem downstairs, please don’t be a problem downstairs,” she muttered. “Owen.”

“Saw the light. I thought we could— Hi, Hope.”

“Hi. I was just leaving.”

“No, she wasn’t. She was about to have some well-deserved tea. Carolee’s in charge at the inn for a couple hours. You want some tea?” she asked him. “Or I’ve got some beer.”

“I’ll take the beer. We put in a long one, too. I can take it to go if you—”

“Jeez, sit.” She pushed him toward a chair. “All this politeness is making my teeth hurt. And my feet already do.”

“She’s always so welcoming.” But he bypassed the chair, sat on the couch. “I had some time last night and early this morning,” he told Hope, “for a little research.”

“As soon as the wedding’s done, I swear I’ll put in more time on that, help you out.”

“No problem. I couldn’t give it much today because we’re really pushing on Beck’s place.”

“How’s it coming?” Avery called out.

“We’re nearly there. A lot of painting, punch-out, details.”

“Sounds familiar,” Hope said with a smile.

“I’m working out the time line—”

“Also familiar,” Avery said from the kitchen.

“It’s going to be close, but we can just about knock it out by the wedding, get the final inspections. I was thinking we could load them in while they’re on their honeymoon. We couldn’t have everything in where they’re going to want it—you know, like hanging pictures or the fussy stuff—but we could get the furniture in there, stock the kitchen. That kind of thing.”

Avery came out with a tray and mugs of tea and a bottle of beer. She set it down, leaned over and kissed him. “That’s you. That’s you who’d think of that.”

“It’d be nice for them to get back and basically move right in.”

“It’s a great idea. I’ll help all I can,” Hope promised. “I do know where she plans to put a lot of things. We’ve talked about it.”

“Hope’s got a memory like an elephant.”

“But not an ass like an enormous tomato.”

Owen just lifted his brows when Avery snorted in her tea. “Girl joke,” she told him.

“Okay. Anyway, we’ll plan for it. How’d it all go today?”

“It was perfect.” Hope curled up her legs. “And we had one unexpected guest. I caught her scent off and on all through the party—and I really think she helped herself to some champagne, if that’s possible. I found an empty glass up in E&D, after I’d already done the check through and all the others had gone.”

“I invited her.” Avery sipped her tea. “I went up there before, and I don’t know, I just got the feeling she was down. Sad. I told her about the baby, and the shower. It seemed to cheer her up.”

“That’s you,” Owen murmured. “That’s you who’d think of that. I might have more on her. I’ve been looking into her family. She had two older brothers and a younger sister. One brother died in the war. The other came back, got married, had four kids, so I’ve got those threads if we need them. The sister married a couple years after the war. Five kids, but one died as a baby. From what I’ve found, the sister lived way into her nineties. They moved to Philadelphia a couple years after the marriage. That might be something for you to look into, Hope, as that’s where your family’s from.”

“Can do.”

“Do you know anything about Liberty House School?”

Surprise flooding her face, Hope looked up from her tea. “As a matter of fact I do. Why?”

“I haven’t pulled all the details yet, but I ended up going off on a tangent—you know how it happens—and I came on the Liberty House School for Girls—founded in 1878. It has the sister as one of the founders—and a big influence on providing education to girls at a time when it wasn’t a big thing. It’s coed now, but still a respected private school up there.”

“It is. I went there.”

“Seriously?” Surprised, Owen leaned forward, forearms on thighs. “Small world.”

“Yes.” Frowning, Hope set down her tea. “What was the sister’s name?”

“Ah, Catherine.”

“Her married name?”

“Darby. Catherine Darby. I read that the library in the school’s named for her.”

“It is, and it is a really, spookily small world. The Catherine Darby who helped found the Liberty House School for Girls in 1878 was my great-times-three-grandmother.”

“Holy shit.” Avery gaped. “And again, holy shit! Hope, if all this is right, you’re related to Lizzy. You’re her great-times-three-niece.”

“You’re sure about this, Hope?”

Hope merely glanced at Owen. “I went to Liberty House from kindergarten through middle school. Just like my mother and uncle did—and my maternal grandmother, like my brother did, like my sister did. It’s a family tradition. And before you ask, I don’t know much about the family history—not that far back. I imagined Catherine Darby as the old woman—old to a kid—in the painting in the library at school. I’ve never heard about her having a sister who died. I didn’t even know her maiden name.”

“Do you think anyone in your family would know more—the more personal stuff that might not show up in research?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, but I can find out. This is . . . so strange.” So strange she felt a tickle at the back of her throat. “I need to let it settle in. I can’t think straight on this yet. I’m going to go.”

“Do you want me to go with you? To stay with you tonight?”

“No, no, I’m not afraid. I’m not upset. I just need to process.”

“Why don’t I walk you across?”

“Stop it,” Hope insisted with a little laugh before Owen could stand. “I think I can make it across The Square. I just need to clear my head, then think. This is just really strange.”

Avery popped up, went with Hope to the door. “You call me if you can’t settle. Promise.”

“All right. Processing.” She tapped her temple. “You know I need to.”

“Yeah, otherwise, I wouldn’t let you go without me. But Hope?”

“Hmm.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

When Hope went out, Avery turned back to Owen, and did. “Wow.”

“The sister,” he murmured. “I don’t know why I followed that path, really. I just wanted the information. The-more-you-know kind of thing. But I didn’t see how it could help find the Billy Lizzy wants. And now . . . I know coincidences happen, but this? This is really stretching it.”

“So what? Fate?”

“What else?” He pushed up to pace. “You’re born and raised in Boonsboro, and Hope’s born and raised in Philadelphia. You end up being college roommates, and friends. Solid friends. So solid, she visits here, makes solid friends with Clare. The same Clare my brother’s about to marry. My mother falls in love with the old hotel, manages to buy it, we put blood, sweat, and tears into rehabbing it. The person we’re hiring as innkeeper gets pregnant, has to bow out, and you and Clare come up with Hope.”

“Who’s looking to relocate because she’s been screwed over by her asshole and his family.”

“She’s tailor-made for the job,” Owen continued. “Hotel manager, knows all the ropes—some we hadn’t even thought of. Overqualified, and not really looking to relocate here. And my mom hires her on the spot—barely talked to her, and boom, she’s hired. Hope accepts the same way—boom.”

“Well, when you add it all up that way . . .”

“That’s how it adds up.” He stopped his restless pacing to face her. “One twist, then another, one choice, then another, all leading to the same place. The inn, Lizzy, Hope—and maybe, if it keeps adding—to this Billy.”

“Do you think she knows—Eliza, I mean?”

“I don’t know. It seems if she did, she’d have made more effort to connect with Hope. When you think about it, it’s been more with us—Beckett, me, Ry—though Ry doesn’t talk about it much. My mother. Even you.”

“And Murphy. He’s the first one who saw her, that we know of.”

“Kids.” Owen shrugged. “They haven’t learned not to believe the impossible. This is . . .”

“Is what?”

He looked at her, lit up with a grin. “So fucking cool. And . . . wait a minute. I was distracted, caught up. I just noticed.”

“Noticed what.”

“Your hair. It’s back.” He crossed to her, ran his fingers through the bright golden red. “It’s Avery’s hair again.”

“I decided to try being me for a while, see how it goes.”

“The way I like you best,” he told her.

“Really?” Intrigued, she studied him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your hair, but this is your hair.” Bending down, he sniffed at it. “Smells like it, feels like it, and now it looks like it. I’m crazy about your hair.”

“Come on.”

“Always have been. I’ve never made love with you and your real hair.”

She laughed, then laughed again when he boosted her up. Obliging, she hooked her legs around his waist.

“I think I should,” he continued, “just to see. Get a comparison study.”

“You do like your research.”

“And some more than others,” he agreed as he carted her into the bedroom.