Snowfall On Haven Point. RaeAnne Thayne
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over the last few months, a calm she had needed desperately.
“I saw in the paper that our neighbor next door had an accident of some kind,” Louise said.
Now, there was someone who didn’t give her peace. Marshall Bailey. “Yes. He was struck by a hit-and-run driver a few days ago and ended up with a badly broken leg.”
“Oh, the poor man! Charlene must be having fits!”
“I don’t think Marshall wants his mother to know until she and Mike return from their honeymoon.”
Louise gave an approving nod. “Good decision. Why give her needless worry?”
“I agree.”
“So who’s watching over him?”
Andie raised her hand. “Well, I don’t know that I’d go as far as to say I’m watching over him. Wyn just asked me to check on him a few times a day. I’m heading there after I pick Will up from preschool.”
She felt too foolish to add that she wanted her son to come along as a buffer. “It would be helpful if you and Herm would keep an eye on things, too.”
“Oh, of course. We would be glad to do that. His mother is one of my dearest friends, though she pulled away a little after poor John had his accident.” She paused. “Do you think Marshall would enjoy some of my shortbread? I made plenty.”
“I’m sure he would. I can take it to him, if you’d like.”
“Thank you! Let me find a container.”
She bustled around the kitchen for a moment and ended up producing two tins printed with smiling families of snowmen.
“Here you go. A box for him and one for you and your children, if you’d care for it.”
“Oh, thank you! They will love it.”
These kind little gestures neighbors did for each other here always warmed her heart. She had enjoyed living in Portland. It was a beautiful, vibrant town filled with interesting people, restaurants, shops. But in all the years she had lived there after striking out on her own, it had never really felt as much like home as Haven Point, even though she and the children had been here less than six months.
She glanced at the whimsical owl clock on the wall. “I should go. Will is going to be done soon from preschool. I don’t know where the time went!”
“I’m so glad we had the chance to visit a little. You made me feel a little better.”
“I’m glad.” She hugged Louise, then slid her friend’s lovely collection of watercolors into the portfolio she had provided. “And thank you so much for these. I can’t wait to show them to my clients.”
“I do hope they like them,” Louise said again, her expression anxious.
“How could they not? They’re stunning. You really need to have a show, more than just the few you’ve given Kenzie to hang in the shop. You should think about talking to the owner of that new art gallery that just opened up downtown.”
“Me? Oh, I could never do that! I only paint for fun.”
“Think about it, my dear.” She slid her arms in the sleeves of her coat and headed for the front door. As she neared the stairs, she heard loud, discordant rock music coming from upstairs, then a crash followed by a string of crude vulgarities.
Louise’s cheeks turned pink. “That boy! I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry on my account, Louise. He’s a teenage boy going through a rough time right now. A little creative expression is only to be expected.”
She hugged her friend one more time, then walked out of her house with the portfolio under one arm and the tins of cookies nestled in the crook of the other.
She took a few steps toward home, then paused and turned back to the house next to Louise’s. She could check on Marshall now. Will wouldn’t be out of preschool for another half hour.
Why couldn’t she stop now, drop off the cookies, check to make sure the man was doing all right and then be on her way?
Yes, he made her nervous and she didn’t really want to be alone with him. Or any man, really. Maybe that was all the more reason to push herself into it. While he was big and rough and intimidating, he was also relatively helpless at the moment. This would be a good test for her.
After what had happened the day before, she wasn’t in a big rush to surprise him, so she texted quickly as she headed next door.
Can I stop by now?
His answer was so succinct, she had to smile.
Why?
Homemade shortbread, she texted back.
His answer in reply made her smile turn into an actual laugh. Door’s open.
Apparently Wyn hadn’t been joking about his sweet tooth.
Despite the warning she had just given him, she didn’t feel right about just barging in, so she rapped a few times on the door before opening it. “Hello?”
“Back here,” he answered, with the same brevity of his texts.
This time she found him on the recliner, with a book open on the table beside him and a rugby match muted on the TV. The worst of the bruises on his face seemed to be fading, she was happy to see, and his color looked better than it had the day before.
“Did you get breakfast?”
He nodded. “I grabbed some toast and coffee, plus a yogurt and banana.”
He probably needed groceries and had no way to get to the store. She should have thought of that the night before and at least checked to make sure he had basics. Guilt pinched at her. She was doing a terrible job of filling Wyn’s small request to watch over her brother.
“I need to run to the store later today. If you can think of anything that sounds tasty, I’m happy to pick it up for you. Just make a list.”
“Homemade shortbread is a good start,” he said, a blatant reminder to turn over the goods.
She fought a laugh and set the tin on the table beside him. “Here you go. It might still be warm.”
Without hesitation, he opened it and popped one small square into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed with a look of clear appreciation. “Oh, wow. That’s delicious.”
“I wish I could take credit for making it, but it’s a gift from your neighbor next door. Louise Jacobs.”
He had just been about to pop a second piece in, but at her words he froze for just a second and returned the cookie to the tin. “You’ve been to see Louise and Herm?” he said, his tone oddly neutral.
“Only Louise. Herm volunteers once a week, stocking shelves at the library. Apparently retirement didn’t completely agree with him and he gets bored during cold weather when he can’t fish as much. Louise is a friend of mine and she’s doing a little work for me.”
“What kind of work?”
She held up the brown portfolio. “I’m a commercial graphic artist—computer graphics, mostly, but photography, sometimes oil on canvas. I needed a watercolor, which isn’t exactly my specialty, and Louise was kind enough to work up a few possibilities for me. They’re wonderful.”
“Oh. I guess I didn’t realize she was artistic.”
“She considers it more of a hobby, but she’s really talented. And not just in making shortbread.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked distracted—whether from pain or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“Is there anything I can get you right now?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“I’ll