The Next Always

Chapter Fourteen

Hope said nothing when they walked in. Clare started to speak, but Avery shook her head. Understanding, Clare kept her silence.

Boxes were stacked everywhere with barely a pathway between. Kitchen cabinets, Clare noted. So that installation would begin soon, but she worried Hope might not appreciate the lovely tiles since the boxes and tarps hid so much of them.

They snaked their way through to the wide archway.

“The colors are good.” Hope’s tone stayed noncommittal, but she stood in the cluttered space for several moments before continuing down the short hall into the lobby area.

There she made a little sound—pleasure and surprise.

“All right, gorgeous. Elegant and unique without being fussy. Do you know if it’s safe to walk on this part, too?”

“Owen said anything we couldn’t walk on would be taped off.”

Wanting to see for herself, Avery crossed the tile and flipped on the work light inside one of the restrooms. “Big wow.”

“What? Oh.” Hope stepped in, ran her fingers over the stylized pattern of the wall tiles. “Look how it picks up the details in the tile rug but doesn’t duplicate it. I love this.”

“Want it?”

Hope merely gave Avery an arch look. “I’m sure there’s more to see.”

She wandered to the first guest room, and stood at the taped doorway of the bathroom.

They’d laid the floor, Clare noted, and thought of that first moment with Beckett, right there. Of the sudden, surprising awareness. Of the scent of honeysuckle.

She backed out, left her friends cooing over colors and tile details to go to the dining room.

“That’s a great look,” Hope said when she joined Clare. She continued to study the ceiling a moment before she wandered to the front windows.

“Are you really not sure?”

Still looking out, Hope lifted her shoulders. “I guess I feel out of my element, and that’s unnerving. This, all of this, is such a big change, and I want that—I think I need that. But now that I’ve done it I wonder if I’m ready for this big a change.”

She turned back. “Still, there’s something about this place. It just speaks to me, and makes me think maybe this is my element now. It feels right when I’m in here. I’ll probably go back across the street and panic again, but it feels right when I’m in here.”

She looked up to the coffered ceiling again when she heard the sound of footsteps overhead. “Avery must’ve gone up without us.”

“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze angled up as well, Avery walked in.

“It’s probably Ryder or Owen,” Clare began.

“Could be, but I didn’t see their trucks out front or out back.”

“Well, somebody’s up there, and since the doors are locked, it’s somebody with a key.” To solve the matter, Hope walked out to the hall, stood at the base of the steps. “Hello!”

Her voice echoed back; silence followed.

“Must be the ghost.” Avery grinned, her face full of fun. “Let’s check it out.”

“Avery—” But she was already jogging upstairs. Resigned, Clare followed with Hope beside her as Avery continued to call out.

“Is this cool or what?” Avery stood in the doorway of E&D. “Can you smell it?” She breathed in deep. “Summertime. Honeysuckle.”

“It’s just your imagination.” But Clare folded her arms, chilled, because she smelled it, too.

“Then my imagination took the same trip. It’s fascinating.” Hope moved into the room. “Has anyone done any research to try to find out who she was? That would be . . .” She jumped as the porch door opened. “Look at that!”

“The door wasn’t latched and locked. That’s how someone got in,” Clare insisted.

“Someone carrying an armload of honeysuckle? I don’t think so.” Avery went to the door, opened it wider. Closed it again. “And it wouldn’t be easy to access that porch from the outside, when it’s still light out on top of it.”

“It doesn’t feel sad, does it?” Hope circled the room, opened the door again, stepped out. “Whatever, whoever—it feels friendly.”

“It can’t feel anything, because it’s stone and brick and wood.” Temper snapped in Clare’s voice.

“So was Hill House.” Avery lowered and deepened her voice. “And whatever walked there walked alone.”

“Oh, stop it.” This time, Clare rounded on her. “Just stop it. It’s an old building. Floors creak. They need to fix the door. That’s all.”

“Honey.” Avery reached for her hand. “Why are you so upset?”

“You’re standing here making this place out to be the haunted hotel and you wonder why I’m upset?”

“Yeah.” She tightened her grip on Clare’s hand. “If you don’t believe in spooks, you’d just think we’re being silly. But you wouldn’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just tired of being pulled into talking about ghosts as if they existed.”

“Okay. I’m not upset if you don’t believe. Why should you be upset if I do?”

“You’re right. Absolutely. It’s been a hard day, and I’ve still got to fix dinner. I should get home.”

“We’ll go back,” Hope began.

“No, you should stay, go through the rest. I’m sorry. I really am tired. I just—” Her voice broke, undoing her. “I don’t believe in all this.”

“Fine, no problem.” Avery gave an irritated shrug. “We should go up so Hope can see her apartment.”

“I don’t want to believe in all of this.” Tears clogged her throat, stung her eyes. “If it’s possible, why didn’t Clint come back?”

“Clare.” Before Clare could evade, Avery had her wrapped in a hug. “I’m sorry. I never even thought.”

“It’s stupid. I’m stupid.” Giving in, giving up, Clare let the tears come. “And it’s stupid to get mad, but why does she get to come back? Why does she get to stay?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Murphy saw her.”

Avery jerked back. “What? When?”

“When we were here with Beckett. It scared me, seeing him starting upstairs, smiling at . . . her. And it made me furious. Why should he see her, Avery? Shouldn’t he have had the chance to see his father? Just once? Just once. Hell.”

She walked out onto the porch, into the air. As she stood at the rail, Hope pushed a tissue into her hand. Then Hope’s arm came around one side of her, Avery’s on the other.

“It is stupid to be mad.” A sigh trembled out as she wiped at her eyes. “Useless to ask why. I’ve done all that already, and I got past it. When they first started talking about ghosts, I didn’t believe it, so it was interesting. The way a novel is. Just a good story, that’s all. But then, Murphy.”

“You’re allowed to ask why,” Hope murmured. “Even when there’s no answer.”

“I didn’t know why it twisted me up this way, until now. Or maybe I couldn’t admit it.”

“We’ll get out of here,” Avery suggested. “We’ll go back over to Hope’s, just sit and talk awhile.”

“No, I’m all right now. It’s better to know, to admit it, then deal with it.”

Clare turned, watching the door open wider. And let out a long breath.

“I’d better deal, because it doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere.”

In the morning, Beckett huddled with his brothers in the laundry room. If Owen hadn’t called the meeting, he could’ve gotten another hour of sleep—maybe two—since he planned to work at home through the morning.

But Owen was Owen, he decided, and meetings and agendas were his cotton candy.

“The electrician’s coming in this morning to install the exterior lights here, and the new interiors over at the gift shop. The boxes are marked, but you need to double-check the fixtures, Beck. And before you ask why,” Owen continued, “we’ve got close to two hundred light fixtures between here and across the street. We don’t want to waste time, money, and man-hours switching something out if it got mis-marked.”

“Fine. I’ll do it before I go over to my office. And before you ask, yes, I have my checklist.”

“While you’re at it . . .” He added a half dozen tasks and calls to Beckett’s list.

“What the hell are you doing while I’m on the fucking phone?”

Owen turned his clipboard around. The length of the list shut Beckett up.

“Why aren’t you giving a chunk of that to the innkeeper?” Ryder asked.

“Because we’re giving her a couple days to move in, for God’s sake. She’ll earn her rent next week, believe me.” Owen flipped a page on his clipboard. “That’s a list I’ve started for her. While I’m installing the counter across the street, what’s your plan?”

“Two men over there, punching out.” Ryder checked his own list. “When it opens, they’ll go pick up the desk Mom settled on down at the flea market, haul it up to the office there. Exterior painting continues, probably forever, and I’m going to have them start inside, get going on The Lobby since the floor’s done.”

He ran it down while Beckett drank his coffee, and the radio switched on to country rock with the crew’s arrival.

“Mom’s got an appointment in Hagerstown,” Owen reminded them. “So she’ll swing through on her way home. Tell the crew the big boss is coming in. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Thank Christ.”

When Beckett yawned, Ryder smirked. “Babysitting wear you out last night?”

“Is that code for sex?” Owen wondered. “I need to be updated if we’re using codes.”

“No, it’s not a code, and no, it didn’t wear me out. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep. Probably since babysitting isn’t code for sex.”

Ryder kept smirking. “She have a headache?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Beckett said mildly. “It’s not time—it’d be weird to sleep with her with the kids right down the hall. They’re not ready for that, especially since Harry grilled me over kissing his mom.”

“No shit?” Now Ryder’s smirk bloomed into a full, appreciative grin. “Good for him.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to admire him, looking out for her. They’re great kids. Murphy wants me to build coffins for his action figures, for when they die in battle. Who thinks of that?”

“I wish we had,” Owen mused. “That would’ve been cool. We could’ve buried them out back, made little headstones with their emblems on them.”

Brilliant, Beckett thought. “Then they’d rise again, recharged by some supernatural force, to seek revenge.”

“You could burn in their emblems on the coffin lids, too. Every man should have his own coffin. You’ve still got your wood-burning kit, right?”

“Sure. Man, he’d love that.”

“While you two are playing with your toys, I’m going to work.” Ryder strapped on his tool belt. “Plenty of scrap plywood around,” he added as he walked out.

Owen waited until Ryder was out of earshot and shouting to the crew. “You know if you build them, he’s going to want in, and he’s going to call dibs on Wolverine and Venom, just like always.”

“Yeah, he will. You?”

“Damn straight I want in. I get—”

“Dibs on Spidey and Moon Knight.”

“Damn it. I was going to call Spider-Man.”

“Too late.”

“Batman and Joker.”

“It’s a start.”

He intended to go directly home, straight to his office, but got roped in to pulling on work gloves and helping tear down the old fencing. Then he answered the call across the street to consult with Madeline on the display shelves she wanted to stagger on the left wall of the gift shop.

On his way out, he spotted the barber on the bench outside of Sherry’s, stopped to talk.

“Looks real good.” Together they watched the electrician install one of the big carriage lights flanking the doors. “I hear you’re going to have a big party when it’s done.”

“That’s what I hear, too.”

“People driving by break their necks looking at it.”

“They haven’t got your view, Dick.” The phone jingled in his pocket. “I’ll see you later.” He pulled it out as he walked. “What’s the matter, Ry? Did you miss me?”

“Like a butt rash. Tile guys have a question on the wall pattern down here. Mom’s in Hagerstown, so you’re elected to answer.”

“On my way.”

He finally walked into his office closer to ten than the nine o’clock start time he’d planned on. But he didn’t mind. Every step, he thought—and poured the last of the morning’s coffee in a mug—was a step.

He dealt with the calls first because he hated them most, then settled down to update the plans for furniture placement with some additional purchases.

Once he shot the updates to everyone’s email, he opened a file.

He was damn well going to finalize the signage today—and they’d better like it.

They’d whittled it down to three possible fonts because nobody wanted to commit. Well, today he committed for all of them.

He fiddled around with all of them, with spacing, size, color tones. Got up, walked around, went to the window and stared out at the building, trying to see it. Went back, rechecked measurement, math, fiddled some more.

Food, he decided, and called downstairs for a calzone.

This is it, he told himself, and printed out a copy. He took it to the window, held it up with one eye closed. Smiled.

“And he deems it good.”

To add impact and persuasion, he sat again, worked on a sign for the gift shop using the same palette and font.

“Yeah, it’s open,” he called out at the knock on the door. He started to rise, reach for his wallet. And his day got just a little brighter when Clare came in with a take-out box.

“Moonlighting at Vesta? I bet you make great tips.”

“I’m saving up for a new car.” She offered the box and a smile. “I was downstairs when they boxed it up, so I said I’d bring it since I wanted to talk to you. It’s on your tab.”

“Good deal.” He set it aside. “I’ll split it with you.”

“Thanks, but I’m just going to grab a quick salad, then give Hope a hand for an hour. But I wanted to—”

“I didn’t give you your tip.” He braced his hands on her hips, drew her in. “You smell great.”

And looked, he thought, a lot more relaxed and happy than she had since their discussion about Lizzy.

“I’ve been sampling some new body lotions we’re thinking of carrying. This one’s apricot and honey.”

“Sold.”

He leaned down, slid into the kiss, into apricots and honey and Clare. Too long, he thought, as her arms linked around his neck. Too long since he’d really held her, really had her.

“You’re an excellent tipper.”

“That’s just the down payment.” He backed her toward the door. “You have to come with me for the rest.”

He backed her out, and into his apartment.

“Beckett.” She laughed, but he heard the hitch in her breath, felt her quiver when he grazed her bottom lip with his teeth. “I can’t. We can’t. It’s the middle of the day.”

“Lunch break.”

“Yes, but—”

“I think about you all the time.” He kept backing her up, his lips gliding over her neck, back to hers. “About being with you again, like this. It’s hard seeing you and not being able to touch you.”

“I know. I—”

“Let me touch you.”

He already was, his hands roaming, molding, spreading needs to smother common sense.

“I guess I could be a little late.”

He slid his hand under the skirt of her dress, trailed it up her leg, over her, down again.

“I can definitely be late.”

She fell back on the bed, her heart already racing, her body already revved. Crazy, irresponsible, wonderful, she thought when his mouth pressed, his teeth nipped at her breast—somehow wildly sexy with the material between them.

She let out a gasp of shock when his fingers snaked under the dress again, and into her.

“God. Oh God.”

“Just go.” Crazed now, he drove her higher while he feasted on the warm skin of her throat. “Just go.”

She bucked under him, her hands clutching at the tangle of sheets, her eyes dazed. When she came, the long, shuddering moan arrowed straight to his loins.

And when she went limp, when her eyes closed, he yanked down his jeans, tossed up her skirt. And plunged into her.

The cry of shock sounded again, and now her hands clutched at his hips, nails digging in. His name trembled from her lips as she stared into his eyes.

Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and matched him beat for frantic beat.

Spent, they lay together, still half dressed, breath whistling.

“I should always deliver your calzones.”

“Works for me.”

She closed her eyes, wanting just another moment to bask. “That goes on my list of firsts.”

He lifted his head. “During the day, you mean?”

“No, but in the middle of a workday—and I’m still wearing my clothes. Nearly all of them.”

“I was in kind of a hurry.” He lowered, rubbed his lips over hers. “But I can get you undressed now and start over again.”

“I don’t think my system or my schedule can handle another tip. But thanks very much for your patronage.”

“Best calzones in the county. Shit, I’ll get it,” he said at the knock on the apartment door.

Which of course wasn’t locked, he remembered when he heard Avery’s call. He dragged on his jeans as Clare sprang up, began trying to straighten and smooth her dress.

“Hold on! Be right out.”

But she’d already made it to the door, where she stood, mouth dropping open, finger pointing. “You had a nooner! Look at the two of you all sex-eyed and guilty. My body can’t hold any more of this jealousy. I’m going to have to hire a man. What do you charge?”

“Funny.”

Clare tugged the band out of her hair, then realized she’d left her purse—with her brush in it—in Beckett’s office. “We were just coming—”

“Evidence indicates you’ve already done that.”

“She’s a riot.” Turning to Clare, he jerked a thumb at Avery.

Then the two of them just smiled at each other like, Avery thought, two people who’d had a nooner.

“I knocked,” she told them. “On the office first because that’s where you wanted the calzone delivered—and where Clare said she’d take it because she wanted to”—Avery inserted air quotes—“ ‘talk to you.’ ”

“I did, and I haven’t. Look, I need to get my brush—my hair. I’ll be over at Hope’s in a few minutes.”

“You can’t have any more sex now. I’m putting my foot down. I’ll know if you do, then I’ll cry, and cut my own hair. You don’t want to be responsible for that.”

“I’m just going to put myself back together. I’ll be right there. Promise.”

Avery said nothing, just pointed her finger at both of them, added a narrowed look, then left.

“I thought she’d never leave. Why don’t we—”

“No.” Clare tossed up a hand, palm out. “Absolutely not. I promised. I’ve got to get my purse. I wanted to talk to you, to apologize.”

“For what?” He followed her back into the office.

“For being so distracted I didn’t even really thank you for watching the kids yesterday, for being bitchy when you fixed my sink, and for snapping at you the night we went to the inn and had dinner—which is the reason for the rest of it.”

She grabbed her purse, glanced around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before—in the office. It’s nice. It’s you. Is that a bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“I need the mirror.” She stepped in, left the door open as she brushed her hair back into order. “Avery, Hope, and I went over to the inn while you were with the boys. And, well, we heard something upstairs, like footsteps. And we smelled her up there. The door to the porch opened.”

She took the band off her wrist, twisted her hair into a smooth tail. “I jumped all over them, like I did with you. No,” she decided. “Even more. I was so angry.”

She pulled out lipstick, repaired the damage there.

“Why?”

“That’s the question. And I realized why, or let myself. I realized I was angry because if it’s possible, if this is really happening, if it’s really possible to come back, then—”

“Oh shit. Clint. I never thought of it, of him. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. There’s no reason for you to think of it. And none for me to take it out on you, on Avery and Hope. Except that’s what you do when you’re upset. Take it out on the people who care.” To finish the job, she dug out her compact.

“It hurt you, and I wouldn’t let it alone.”

“You didn’t hurt me, the situation did. And now that I know why I felt that way, it won’t hurt.”

“Just like that?”

“I had a good cry after I put the boys to bed, and did a lot of thinking. No, it won’t hurt anymore.” She tossed the compact back in her purse as she came back out. “I don’t know why some people come back—at least you hear stories about it. So I can’t know why Clint didn’t. Or maybe he did, and I wasn’t ready or open so I didn’t see him or feel him. But I know he’s gone, and I can’t be angry with him, or you, or . . . whatever is over there. So I’m sorry, and thank you for taking the boys through, for fixing that damn sink, and watching them yesterday so I could start working this out.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now I really have to go.”

“I want to see you this weekend.”

“I want you to see me this weekend.” She moved into his arms, just held for a moment. “Let me check the schedule.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” She went to the door, opened it. “Oh, one more thing. Thanks for the tip.”

He walked to the window, waited so he could watch her cross the street. She did it at a run, skirts flying, legs flashing. When she reached the opposite corner, she looked back, saw him there and waved before hurrying to the back of the building.

He thought about her, about love. What it cost, what it offered. Then he took his take-out box to his office microwave to heat up his very cold calzone.

It was near the end of the workday by the time he made it back to the inn. His mind on other things, he smelled the paint before he saw it.

They’d need another coat, but the quiet straw color already picked up the light, played with the tones in the tile. He heard the grind of the tile saw, the thump of hammers. When he got to the base of the stairs, his mother’s voice carried down to him.

Perfect, he’d get them all at once.

He found his mother and Carolee on two in the Eve and Roarke room.

“Hey. I was hoping I’d catch you.” He crossed back to the bath.

“Look at this!” His mother thrust a cut sheet at him. “It’s the perfect towel warmer for this room.”

“You already—”

“I didn’t order the other one because I wasn’t a hundred percent. This is a hundred percent. Heated glass.”

“It’s kind of—”

“Pricey, I know, but it’s exactly right. It looks futuristic.”

“It is pretty cool.” Studying it, he brought the rest of the room’s features into his head. “It works with the lights, the fixtures we’re putting in here.”

“Good, because I already ordered it. But that’s not the big news.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

She slapped his arm. “Carolee—”

“Carolee’s pregnant?”

“Aren’t you in a good mood? No, and it’s a good thing she’s not, because Carolee is going to be our assistant innkeeper.”

“That is big.” Surprised, he looked at his aunt. “I didn’t know you wanted to work here.”

“I’m dying to.” Carolee’s eyes sparkled with the thought of it. “I love this place, and giving up my part-time job at the outlet won’t hurt my feelings a bit. I’m good with people, and you know how I love to entertain. I wrote up a resume.”

“As if.” Justine bumped her sister with her elbow.

“It’s business, Justine. Family business, but still business.”

“My vote is you’re hired,” Beckett said. “You’ll be terrific.”

“See? That makes it unanimous.”

“I’m so excited! I really love this place. I’ll be able to walk to work instead of driving all the way to—” She stopped, shook her head. “But we have to see how Hope and I get along.” Carolee held up her fingers, crossed them. “Then we’ll make it official.”

“Well, this news blows my news out of the water.”

“Clare’s pregnant.”

Beckett’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus, Mom.”

“Tit for tat, my baby boy. What’s the news?”

“Where’s the rest of us?”

“Upstairs in Hope’s apartment. They went ahead and laid the tile in her kitchen and bath since it’s simple.”

“Let’s get them down here, so we can all do this together.”

He went out, yelled up. “Family meeting, ASAP. Eve and Roarke.”

“What’s this about, Beckett?” Justine asked.

“Something I finished up today. Oh, I need to use the shop for a while, just FYI. I have to build some coffins.”

Not much surprised Justine Montgomery, especially when it came to her boys, but this one had her blinking. “Coffins?”

“For the kids, for action figures who’ve fallen in battle. I’m probably going to head over there when—Okay, here they come.”

“What’s up?” Owen demanded. “We’re just knocking off.”

“And I want a beer,” Ryder added.

D.A. moseyed in behind him, circled the room to sniff everyone hello.

“You can buy me one.” Beckett opened his folder, took out the mock-up of the sign. “This is it. Anybody doesn’t like it, I’ll kill them with a sledgehammer. I’ll feel bad if it’s Mom or Carolee, but I’ll still do it.”

Ryder studied it, said, “Huh.”

“What font is that?”

“The one I picked,” Beckett told Owen. “I can kill you. I have a spare brother.”

“Justine, look at the colors.” Carolee laid a hand on Beckett’s arm as she leaned in.

“They’re exactly what I wanted, that rich brown on creamy, beigy tan.”

“It’s to scale. Plenty of room for the website and the phone numbers without crowding the name.”

“Not bad.” Ryder nodded, scratching D.A.’s ears while he shot Beckett a grin. “Not bad at all.”

“I still need the font. If we’re sticking with this—”

“We’re sticking with it,” Beckett insisted.

“I need it for the stationery, business cards, room plaques, key fob—”

“Okay, shut up.” Beckett took a disk out of the file, handed it to Owen. “Everything’s on here.”

“It’s like the towel warmer.” Justine wrapped her arm around Beckett’s waist. “It’s a hundred percent.”

“I made one up for the gift shop, figured we’d go vertical there, hang it out on a bracket, print on both sides.”

“I love it!” Justine took it. “Carolee, let’s go see if Madeline’s still over there. She’ll want to see this. Good job.” She gave Beckett a squeeze. “Really good.”

“I guess I’ll buy you a beer,” Ryder decided.

“I guess you will.”

“Meet you there. I need to clean up since I wasn’t riding a desk all day.”

“Did you give me the point size on the—”

“It’s all there, Owen,” Beckett assured him.

“I’ll check it out. After Ry buys me a beer.”

“Why am I buying your beer?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Bullshit.”

They argued about it on the way out.