“I ran out of the house like a maniac,” Heather continued. “Oh, I did notice Eli’s car wasn’t at Bluff House. Don’t tell me he’s already gone back to Boston.”
“No.”
Unwilling to leave it at that, Heather zipped up her coat. “I just wondered. It’s such a big house. With Hester, well, she’s a fixture, if you know what I mean. But I imagine, especially with everything he must have on his mind, Eli just rattles around in that place.”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“I know you see him when you go over to take care of the house, so that’s some company. But I’d just think, with all that time on his hands, well, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. That can’t be healthy.”
“He’s writing a novel, Heather.”
“Well, I know that’s what he says. Or that’s what people say he says, but he was a lawyer. What does a lawyer know about writing novels?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Ask John Grisham.”
Heather opened her mouth, closed it again. “Oh, I guess that’s true. But still—”
“Heather, I think it’s starting to rain.” Greta Parrish stepped up. “Would you mind giving me a ride home? I think I may have a little cold coming on.”
“Oh, well, sure I will. Just let me grab my mat.”
“You owe me,” Greta murmured as Heather dashed off.
“Big time.” She gave the older woman a grateful squeeze of the hand, then hurried off to look busy stacking mats.
The minute her house was empty, she let out a sigh.
She loved her at-home classes, the intimacy, the casual conversations before and after. But there were times . . .
After she’d straightened the sunroom, she went upstairs, put on her favorite pajamas—fluffy white sheep frolicking over a pink background—then walked back down.
She intended to pour herself some wine, build up the fire and snuggle in with a book. The sound of rain plopping on her deck made her smile. A rainy night, a fire, a glass of wine—
Rain. Damn it, had she closed all the windows in Bluff House?
Of course she did. She wouldn’t have forgotten to . . .
Did she? Absolutely every one? Like the one in Hester’s home gym?
Squeezing her eyes tight, she tried to visualize, tried to see herself walking through, securing the windows.
But she just couldn’t remember, just couldn’t be sure.
“Hell, hell, hell!”
She wouldn’t relax until she’d checked, and it would take only a few minutes. In any case, she’d made that turkey stew earlier. She’d take the container she’d culled out for Eli down with her.
She pulled it out of the refrigerator, then took off her cozy socks to stick her feet in her ancient Uggs. She pulled her coat over her pj’s, grabbed a hat and, dragging it over her head, jogged out to her car.
“Five minutes, ten tops, then I’m back home with that glass of wine.”
She zipped down to Bluff House, unsurprised by a rumble of thunder. Late March equaled crazy in the weather department. Thunder tonight, snow or sixty and sunny tomorrow. Who knew?
She made the dash through the rain, heading straight for the front entrance, keys in one hand, turkey stew in the other.
She booted the door closed with her hip, reached out to flip the light switch so she could key in the alarm code.
“Great. Perfect,” she muttered when the foyer remained dark. She knew all too well the iffy power in Bluff House during a storm, or in Whiskey Beach altogether. She flicked on the little penlight on her key ring and followed the tiny beam to the kitchen.
She’d check the windows, then she’d report the power outage—and the fact that the backup generator had failed. Again. She wished Hester would update that old monster. She worried how Hester would get by in a serious power outage, no matter how the woman pointed out she’d been through plenty of them and knew how to hunker down.
In the kitchen, she retrieved a full-size flashlight out of the drawer. Maybe she should go down into the basement, check the generator. Of course she didn’t know what to check, but maybe.
She started for the door, stopped. Dark, cold, potentially damp. Spiders.
Maybe not.
She’d just leave a note for Eli. If he came home in the middle of the night to no power, no heat, no light, he could bunk on her sofa. But first she’d check the windows.
She hurried upstairs. Naturally, the window she’d worried about was secured, and naturally now she could clearly remember pulling it shut, flipping the latch.
She went back down, turned toward the kitchen. She wasn’t easily spooked, but she wanted to get home, wanted out of the big, dark, empty house and into her own cozy cottage.