Tara had reached the door and was about to go through. Carla felt a wave of panic. “Can you start on Monday?” she called.
Tara turned and her voice came back like a wave breaking over the surf. “I will. And thank you, Miss … uh … Carla.”
As the door closed, another opened, and Carla stepped again into the past. The sun dropped lower and lower over the bay like a field of wilting roses in a blue china bowl. They had explored the coves and caves around Stony Point and watched the whales breaching in the distant bay. They’d come as close as they dared to the seals, wanting to touch the sleek gray bodies on the sun-drenched rocks. They picked wild daisies and made flower wreaths for their hair. “He loves me, he loves me not.” Carla could feel the thick curly locks in her fingers as she tucked a wreath into that mass of hair.
“Do you think you’ll fall in love, and get married some day? Have kids?” In answer, Corky lay back with her arms flung over her head and stared into the blood-red sky. What was love anyway?
The bellowing and barking from the pens broke through her reverie. Boomer bounded in again, crookedly, pressing his wet nose against her leg. How long she sat there after Tara Frasier left she couldn’t have said, but it was time to pay attention to the four-legged orphans who needed her; time to stop the memories stirred by the girl who looked so much like Corky. So much like the girl who had destined her to a life of unabated guilt.
10
Annie woke to the aroma of coffee brewing. A glance at the clock revealed she’d slept longer than usual; maybe that was because she’d spent several hours in the attic looking through boxes for information about Tara’s mother.
She hadn’t found any mention of anyone with the name Claire, but she had located a number of small, carefully stored cross-stitch pieces she hadn’t known existed. Several pictured cats that might have been inspired by Boots. Annie suddenly realized that Boots had started her day without her—usually the hungry cat pawed her mistress awake. Her mind drifted back to the small cross-stitch pieces; they would be just the ticket for the shelter benefit. They could be framed or inserted in covers of jewelry boxes. As Betsy Originals they’d bring a good price.
She threw on jeans and a light knit top, and headed for the kitchen. Tara had been with her almost a week and a half; she had finally made herself at home as Annie had urged her to do.
She turned around to face Annie when she entered the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” Tara said. “I started the coffee.” She wore jeans and the same blousy top she’d worn the day before. It still looked clean and fresh, so she must have washed it. Her mass of curls was held back with combs, and her complexion shone with delicate color.
She’d come a long way since the night she’d stumbled, ashen and weak, up the hill to Grey Gables. The previous day she’d even insisted on walking the two miles to the shelter “to save you the trouble of driving me.”
“I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m glad to take you; I usually have some errands to do in that direction anyway.”
Not only had Tara started the coffee, but two places were set at the table, and the butter and jam were in place for toast.
“Will it be cinnamon raisin or wheat?”
“I’ll have the raisin. Thank you, Tara, but you don’t need to wait on me.”
“But you’ve done so much for me, Annie. I want to help. And just for the record, I’m going to pay you back for all these meals you’ve been giving me when I get my first check … that is, if Carla doesn’t fire me first.” She arched her eyebrows and gave a small smile.
Annie slipped into a chair. “And how did your first two days go?”
“OK, I think,” Tara said, buttering a piece of toast. “I keyed in a lot of records and worked on a website for her; it should be up and running in a day or two. She’s hoping to spread the word about the animals in order to find good homes for them. She gave me a bunch of photos to post on the site.”
“Wow, you have been busy. Did she like the website you designed?”
“Well, I don’t think she hated it, but Carla isn’t much for compliments.”
Annie sighed, understanding. Her encounter with Carla Calloway had been awkward at best the day she’d introduced Tara. The woman could do with a course on winning friends and influencing people. “She’s a strange one,” she said. “No one seems to know anything about her really. She hasn’t been in town long and has no relatives here … that we know of. Ian’s been out to welcome her; he even helped her with some business details for the shelter. He said she wasn’t much for compliments either.”